Rothenburg ob der Tauber, Germany

“Hallo! Hallo! Glückliches Neues Jahr!” (Happy New Year!), my old friend from Germany chimed! I love New Years, birthdays, and such. Not for any great significance, but because they make us pause, reflect, and on our better days, even reconnect with friends from years ago, and maybe miles away. We chatted, reminiscing over the days long past, common friends, trips taken together. As I hung up, I walked smiling down the cobbled memory lanes… On one fine day, she had taken me to Rothenburg ob der Tauber, giving me a first glimpse to their heritage, the charm, the quaint towns with their even quainter stories… mine is not A Tale of Two Cities, it’s a tale of two saves of the same historic city. My story is based on actual events.

 

March 31, 1945

John McCloy gazed unseeing out of his office window at the grey Washington skies — the World was at War, hundreds of thousands of lives were lost, or changed, on every single day of the last few years! Despite the largest military offensives, and some encouraging victories, the War raged on, showing no sign of decisively ending. Today on his 50th birthday, John felt immeasurably older, his mood greyer than the DC skies, with a fatigue that had nothing to do with age.

As every morning, he had read all the war reports that came to his desk. Today’s reports had been a mixed bag, but at one line item, his heart had stuttered! It had been just a small line under the subheading “Allied Forces Advances, South Germany”, yet it had stopped him! Rothenburg ob der Tauber! Oh no, Rothenburg? His Rothenburg had been bombed? Coffee forgotten, John had made a quick call, getting the details. 37 people dead, 306 houses, 6 public buildings, 9 watch towers, and over 2,000 feet of the city wall destroyed. As losses went this was relatively insignificant, yet for John this touched a bond far more personal.

He wondered if turning 50 had brought on the added nostalgia. As Assistant Secretary of War, the 2nd highest ranking civilian office of the US War Office, he’d been intimately tied to the War efforts, and was known for his trademark efficient thoroughness and objectivity. Yet this morning he’d been unable to shake off the images that flooded his mind – the stories his mother had told him of her visit to Rothenburg, that medieval town in Franconian Bavaria she’d so loved. He recalled how he had been fascinated as his mother had described the beautiful medieval castle and walled city of red roofs, set on the hill overlooking the Tauber River.

His boyhood daydreams had been filled with the visions she’d planted, through her stories and her numerous sketches! So many gory medieval battles had he imagined himself fighting at the towers of that walled city, keeping enemies out! Oh! And how many times had he fashioned himself the hero of daring saves on those cobbled streets flanked by buildings with the exposed wooden beams? Her vivid descriptions and sketches had fed his imagination – Rothenburg’s medieval central market square, with its gothic and renaissance Town Hall, Clock Tower and fountain were oftentimes more real to him than his own center city Philadelphia!

She’d told him the history of this most German of German towns, how its medieval ambience had remained almost untouched by time. In their living room hung one of her water colors of Rothenburg, and he’d often ruminated on it. As he grew up, his interest hadn’t diminished, he’d read everything on this quaint fortressed town that had gained eminence between the 12th and 17th centuries, and he had dreamed on. As a child he’d pestered his mother for repeats of her stories of Rothenburg, as only little children could!

He remembered the night when as a 5-year old, he’d snuggled close, listening spellbound as she’d first narrated with shining eyes, the story of another time Rothenburg had faced destruction… The year had been 1631. During the bitter Thirty Year War, the Catholic Imperial troops under Count Tilly’s command had taken control over Rothenburg, which was by then Protestant. The town had officially surrendered, but they wouldn’t really cower down, making Count Tilly angry at their continued resistance. He had ordered the town to be destroyed, and the town councilors to be executed. The townsfolk had pleaded for mercy, but Count Tilly had been unmoved. The hangman had been sent for. Meanwhile the Count had been offered their finest Franconian wine, served in a huge tankard of 3.5 liters! As they waited, Count Tilly had offered in jest that if a councilor drank up the whole tankard of wine in one go, he would spare the town! A brave Mayor Nusch had stepped forward and surprised Tilly, draining the whole tankard in just one gulp! Tilly had been honor bound to spare the town – everyone had celebrated, though the poor mayor had slept three days straight! Smiling, John recalled how he’d bounded out of bed, excitedly jumping, and his mother had laughingly stayed longer, had finally lulled him to sleep – a sleep, as always, filled with dreams of Rothenburg.

John had broken his reminiscing, his mind made up. The War Office had responsibilities of the finance and maintenance of the US Army, but also minor authority influencing military affairs. He had dialed US Army General Jacob Devers, discussing and ordering an artillery-free victory over Rothenburg. And then he’d waited impatiently for updates.

Finally at the end of the day, he received the news…
Battalion Commander Frank Burke, had sent six soldiers of the 12th Infantry Regiment, 4th Division to negotiate for the town’s peaceful surrender. German speaking Private Lichey had translated their Commander’s offer of sparing Rothenburg from being bombed and shelled to the ground, if the Germans agreed to give up its defense, latest by 6:00pm local time. Ignoring Adolf Hitler’s direct orders for all towns to fight till the very end, the German Military Commander Major Thömmes surrendered Rothenburg to the Allied Forces.

John closed his eyes in thankfulness. Rothenburg had been spared complete destruction. It had been a black day for Rothenburg, but at least their material losses had been contained, the damage repairable.

Leaving the office he reflected, it had been a long day – heck it had been a long day, a long week, for several weeks on end. But on his 50th birthday, despite the futility and hopelessness of War, John had held on to his childhood dream!

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Notes: Based on actual events

1. in November 1948, US Assistant Secretary of War John J McCloy was named Honorable Protectorate of Rothenburg
2. after the War, repairing Rothenburg of the bombing damage was quickly completed by the residents, donations being received from all over the world
3. Rothenburg celebrates the Master Drought Festival (Festspiel der MeisterTrunk) every year, commemorating the events of 1631 when Mayor Georg Nusch drank 3.25 liters of wine in one gulp, saving Rothenburg from destruction by Count Tilly of the Catholic League
4. Pictures courtesy: Wikimedia Commons
o User Berthold Werner, Michael W Bauer, Weners, 25asheshsharma
o Historical photo circa 1945 – source photobucket – Jimmy001

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Gallery (surrounding areas Franconia)