Today I visited Berlin's western boroughs, Spandau and Charlottenburg. The purpose of the trip to Charlottenburg was clear: Werner March's (and Albert Speer's) Olympic Stadium, constructed between 1934-1936. While there are many other traces of 1930s era architecture in Berlin, only the Olympic Stadium really captures the style of the Nazi dictatorship. The stadium seems low-slung by Miller Stadium standards, but once you go inside you notice immediately that the playing field is set lower into the ground, so there is still plenty of room and there are plenty of seats (approx. 75,000). The playing field actually had to be lowered an additional 2.5 meters in to meet FIFA soccer standards so that Berliners could host the 2006 FIFA World Cup. The stadium was thoroughly renovated by 2004, so it is a vibrant public space, hosting games and rock shows (in fact, I believe that AC/DC played there last weekend).The secondary purpose of the space was to further legitimate the power and success of Hitler's dictatorship. If not for the Marienfeld directly to the west of the stadium, it might be easier to do. Hitler had the Marienfeld built so that he could hold parades and military demonstrations. Today, the viewing stands are covered over with grass, although the soccer fields are still clearly in use.
Would this be a good site for our students to visit? Yes and no. For one thing, we'll be visiting in March, and depending on the weather it may be a cold, cold tour. Also, there is much visually to see, but far less to read and explore. I think that the Jewish Museum is far more engaging in that respect. So is the Deutsches Technikmuseum Berlin.
Although it is impressive in all respects, the DTB is about engineering, and touches far less on political or social history. That's not a bad thing. In fact, I began to better appreciate the Panzermuseum more after I visited here--there's only so much that a museum can communicate unless the narrative is concieved prior to the acquisition of artifacts. The Jewish Museum and the DTB (not to mention the USHMM in Washington DC) are impressive in the way that they provide models for 21st century public learning. For those museums, a pre-existing narrative could help determine the choice of artifacts and even influence the physical construction of the site. That's a bit more difficult to do when the museum is also a warehouse (like it was in Munster).
The DTB is located in a striking space, much as the Jewish Museum is, and the collection of artifacts are ... well ... breathtaking. From dozens upon dozens of model ships to entire airplanes, the museum overwhelms with stuff. Honestly, I felt like I was in a giant child's cluttered playroom. I would be curious to know what the members of our science department would think of the museum.
Finally, my trip to Spandau and the Charlottenbrueke was linked together by Helmut Altner's memoir, Berlin Dance of Death. At age 17 in April and May, 1945, Altner survived a series of harrowing experieces, including the arial bombing of Spandau, the Soviet assault on the Seelow Heights east of the city, bitter fighting in Spandau and Charlottenburg (around the Olympic Stadium, no less) and a night of terror fighting his way through the subway tunnels all the way to Zoo Station in the center of town. I found his account of the battle so compelling (how he recalled such clear, clean details of the event I can't imagine) that I wanted to go visit the single landmark that I knew still stood. One can see how some of the battle-damage to the bridge has been patched up with additional steel buttressing. Otherwise the bridge is the same.
On the morning of May 2, 1945, a mass of civilians, following behind a military vanguard of armored vehicles and soldiers, tried to break out of the Soviet encirclement and escape to the Americans, who they were sure would treat them better. The Charlottenbruecke was the only remaining bridge to the west. The escapees piled up behind a barracade before racing across the bridge-- in the open-- and scrambling into cover on the western bank.
Helmut Altner:
"Shots ring out ahead again... Suddenly a truck comes out of a sidestreet and races over the dead and wounded. Its windscreen is splintered, the driver's face distorted and determined. He races past and we jump out of cover and run across the pavement opposite. All hell has broken loose. Machine-gun salvos hit the walls, shells explode and walls collapse, then we are through and fall exhausted into a quieter place. ...
There are ruins left and right. The flood of people has eased off, pressed tight under cover in a dead angle against the barracade. ... Everyone runs, racing through the fire. The dance of death has begun and the big reaper is mowing his broad swathes through the rows of women, children and soldiers.
The street ends and a big road junction appears with house facades and ruins, in which hundreds of people are crowding. ... Occasionally a few people jump up out of the shelter of the steps and run across the bridge. ... Beside me among the soldiers are women with babies in their arms, old women, children and young teenagers of both sexes. I look carefully over the top step. Shots are racing across the bridge, and the horror hits me for the bridge is swimming in blood.
I take another deep breath and jump up into the tacking of the machine-gun bursts, throwing myself into the death mill as the bullets strike all around. The road surface is slippery with blood and there are bodies lying around and hanging over the bridge railings. Vehicles and tanks race across grinding the bones with a crack. I dive forward, not seeing any more, just driven by the thought of getting cover. ...
... I can see figures ahead of me running and stumbling as if through a fog. I am without feeling and run, jumping over the dead and trampling on the wounded. Everyone is for himself and has no time to think of others. Then I reach the end of the bridge and crouch down behind the barracade, grasping for air. Shots wing over my head and hit the bodies. The number of figures on the bridge is increasing. Women with babies in their arms and holding children by the hand, Hitler Youths, girls, civilians, old men and women, fall to the ground, dragging down others with them. ... Death plays his dance, mowing his bloody path. Tanks roll over the bridge, over people, squashing them to a pulp, churning them up with their tracks and a wide street of death and blood, of bits of corpses and torn bodies spans the river murmuring beneath the bridge.
...There is a sudden explosion on the bridge and an ammunition truck blazes like a red torch in the roadway. ... The bridge superstructure has been destroyed and people are falling into the river from the opposite bank of the Havel and swirling away. All Hell has opened up."
