-Caveat Lector-

An excerpt from:
The Devil's Chemists - 24 CONSPIRATORS OF THE INTERNATIONAL FARBEN CARTEL WHO
MANUFACTURE WARS
Josiah E. DuBois, Jr. & Edward Johnson (collaborator)
©THE BEACON PRESS 1952
BOSTON
First Edition - 374pps - Only edition
-----
3. Before Armies March

A FEW DAYS BEFORE THAT CHRISTMAS Of 1946, I caught the Washingtonian out of
Philadelphia. That was the week the United States called on the United
Nations to urge the Spanish people to get rid of Franco, and a Senate
committee had gone down to Jackson, Mississippi, to look into the campaign
practices of Senator Bilbo. Some time during that week I must have wondered
wearily why the State Department had abetted Franco to power in the first
place, and why the upper chamber had ever seated the Senator from
Mississippi. Throwing the New York Times onto the rack above my seat, I
zipped open my briefcase and pulled out my file on the tax matter.

No use trying to concentrate! Frost bit the window, designing it into two
uneven panes. Winter in Washington was usually a comfortable prospect, after
the miserably humid summers; but this time I would feel alone even if
comfortable. The man who had introduced me to I.G. Farbenindustrie would not
be there. He was Bernard Bernstein, Assistant General Counsel of the Treasury
Department during the years before Pearl Harbor. Early in 1941 Bernstein had
wired me in Camden to come down and help out for the "short while" that had
lasted over six years.

As Bernstein's Chief Counsel of Foreign Funds Control, I had helped to freeze
I.G. Farben's assets in the Western Hemisphere. Bernstein and I had worked on
the executive order which placed under the vigilant eye of the Treasury
Department Farben's main holdings in the United States � the companies of the
old American I. G. Chemical Corporation, which was renamed "General Aniline
and Film Corporation."

Then the Treasury had sent me on a journey through a dozen Latin American
countries, to try to get their co-operation in defending the whole hemisphere
economically. I found that I.G. Farben dominated the political and economic
life of many small countries. Guatemala was practically a Farben subsidiary.
In June 1942 I was secretary of a conference in which twenty American
republics finally agreed to do battle against Farben, the Japanese Zaibatsu,
and similar interrelated interests. According to the exact words of the
conference, as I remembered them, these interests had "been plotting the
downfall of the free peoples who gave them an opportunity to prosper and grow
rich by honest trade. "

This agreement had not been easily reached. To an extent unknown even by the
presidents of the Latin American republics, Farben had so extended its
influence in synthetics, and had gained control of so many banks, that to
close down or boycott their interests would have led to serious economic
depressions. The United States had urged the taking over of General Aniline
as an example to the other American governments; we offered to start a school
to show them how to do it. But the Latin American representatives had
tactfully pointed out how naive the United States was. "A school! It's all
right for you in the United States to close down one big company. That has
perhaps a small effect on your economy. But a move like this would wreck us.
Can you tell us how to replace the employees that I.G. Farben would take out
of the country? Can you replace their scientific knowledge? Have you got the
people to send us from the United States?"

But now, on the eve of 1947, although the current activities of General
Aniline and Film were still extremely important, few people in Washington
cared any longer what General Aniline did.

After taking care of my tax case at the Treasury, I wandered around to F
Street, where the Capitol Theater was playing "The Best Years of Our Lives."
Remembering the picture, I envied the veterans � not the wounds of battle,
nor, later, their trying to find homes and jobs, but the fact that they had
won somethingWhen a battalion captures a town, foreign policy cannot take
away the victory. When the Allied troops were splashing onto the Normandy
beachhead, I was preparing to go to London to work out France's makeshift
money system. Already we had closed down factories by financial blockade, had
frozen the enemies' assets. These measures, as well as tactics and medicines,
had saved some lives. But our battle was now a stalemate, and the men who
believed that economic warfare never ended had left the government, feeling
so out of line with the new policy that it would be useless to stay.

Again I thought of Bernard Bernstein. General Eisenhower had appointed him
his financial advisor, on recommendation of Secretary Morgenthau, when the
prospective invasion of Africa was still a well-guarded secret. Although
Bernstein was a colonel, he carried the war of money personally to the front
lines. The North African invasion took place in November 1942, and I joined
Bernstein there in December. Together we worked out the system to block enemy
assets in Algiers, Tunis, and Casablanca and to set up a sound currency.
There was no thought then of bringing to trial any businessmen.

After I left North Africa to go back to my desk in the Treasury, Bernstein
had traveled with the invading troops, into Sicily and Italy and France.
Then, just before the Allies invaded Germany, he gathered under his command a
group of infantrymen who had been Treasury investigators, to search for the
business records and the history of every important firm on the continent. My
brother Herb, who had marched into Germany as an infantryman, had been
requisitioned by Bernstein to find the gold which the Nazis had hidden in
salt mines, in chicken yards, and in the Bavarian mountains. The gold-hunters
unearthed 99 per cent of all the gold bars in Germany, most of which had
previously been stolen by Germany from the countries it overran. Again, I.G.
Farbenindustrie had been only one objective; the mission's purpose was to
discover what influence industry and investments had played in the coming of
war. They would still play their part in future wars.

I couldn't get up the courage to go over to the War Department without first
phoning Bernstein.

I went into a comer store and called Bernstein's New York office. His deep
voice greeted me without preliminaries. "Hello, Joe. I understand you're in
Washington. Are you thinking of going to Nurnberg?"

"No," I said. "The news travels fast. I did want to ask you what you thought
about it. Why don't you take the job?"

"No, thanks."

"I didn't expect you would, after just getting back into practice."

"There's that and-well, I don't believe it would be a good idea, under the
circumstances, for me to head up any prosecution of German industrialists."

We chatted for a few minutes. I waited for him to say, "Go ahead, you take
it, it's an opportunity." But he didn't. He laughed. "If you do go, Joe, get
Abe Weissbrodt to go with you. He's always good for a laugh."

"You're kidding. You really don't think he'd go?"

"No � just a joke."

We said good-by, and that was that.

Bernstein's final report on Farben had gone to the Kilgore subcommittee. Much
of it was still secret. It was not like him to make a joke of anything
involving his service with the government. Stories of his bravery had become
legendary, but he'd been so implacably serious that some of the boys who had
worked for him asserted that his bravery was unconscious � that to him
bullets were mere annoyances in an economic war.

Get Weissbrodt? Weissbrodt was a very capable man; it was surprising that
Bernstein had recommended his prankishness rather than his ability.
Weissbrodt, who had tracked down some of the first evidences of Farben's
influence on the Continent, had been an infantry corporal ready for discharge
by the time he got the call from SHAEF. Three times he ignored orders to
leave his company and proceed to SHAEF headquarters in London. Then he was
given a choice: investigate or take a court-martial. By this time Colonel
Bernstein was in North Africa.

"But where in North Africa, sir?" he asked his commanding officer.

"Somewhere in North Africa. Go find him and report."

Some days later the corporal found him in Palermo. Sicily. A raid was going
on. The Allied command area was deserted except for Colonel Bernstein, who
was striding down the headquarters street with two briefcases under each arm,
looking neither right nor left, apparently oblivious to the enemy bombs
falling all around him. The corporal caught up with him and saluted. The
colonel answered by raising two of the briefcases in the general direction of
his face, and smiled faintly to acknowledge their past association in the
Treasury. Then the corporal started to run, and the colonel called him back.

"Weissbrodt, where are you going?"

"To find a shelter, Colonel."

"Weissbrodt, I have a nice job for you. You go find the Banca d'Italia and
close it. Shut her up tight."

"But, sir, I haven't got time to close any banks."

Bernstein was offended. It was reported later that he honestly felt he was
giving the corporal an opportunity to distinguish himself. "Weissbrodt!" he
exclaimed. "Where did you ever get a chance in your lifetime before either to
open or close a bank?"

I found myself in the Statler Hotel, phoning another of the first Farben
investigators who had stayed on in the government. What was I doing in town?
I told him. Deftly he shifted the talk to the Washington weather-it was warm
for December. Had I got mixed up in something that had lately turned
subversive? . . . This very week the President had established a Temporary
Loyafty Commission, and that had scared many of the absolutely loyal, along
with a few who were presumably disloyal. I thought: Whatever else you might
say about the Roosevelt administration, at times a genial friendliness rose
above even the most unutterable confusions; people stopped to ask you the
time. In its place was a wary watchfulness.

I stayed at the Statler longer than I should have, listening to three men at
a table near the bar. Their politics were not disclosed. Discussing the last
war, they were turning their backs on it, looking forward to the next.
Between the two wars they found not even a psychological connection. They
agreed vociferously and bitterly that the last war had been unnecessary,
whereas the next was inevitable. We had fought the wrong enemies, apparently
by our own choice and without a single righteous reason. But the next war
would have an honest moral basis.

Everyone was afraid these days, I told myself. In 1932 the American people
had been afraid too; but their fear had sunk to a warmly communicable despair
that often yielded positive action and a defiant release from the thing
Franklin Roosevelt called "fear itself." Now the fear which the government
should be meeting with vigorous courage expressed itself in an apathy and
cynicism more disturbing than bonus marchers or farmers standing on their
front steps with pitchforks in their hands.

These men in the Statler bar � their views were exceptional, maybe. But how
many normal voices were heard in Washington? How many others, fearing the
evil prospect, would greet the future world with solutions that stood upon
the worst features of an equally evil past? Fear may come to the mind long
before physical danger. Footsteps may march up and down the hallway time and
again before the knock comes on the door. Then a sudden terror, as if your
mind, loosely planted, has been uprooted before it can reach down to the soil
or up to the sunlight. . . .

Colonel Mickey Marcus, who was later killed in Palestine, headed the War
Crimes Division of the War Department. In the labyrinthine Pentagon Building,
his office was distinguished from hundreds of others only by the name plate
beside his door. He! and I had got to know each other while drawing up the
Army laws for invasion-and- occupation currencies. Having served at one time
as Commissioner of Correction in New York City, and having helped to draft
the Italian, German, and Japanese surrender terms, he could be tough and
gentle by turns � although it never seemed to me that he enjoyed the tough
role. He had my letter, before him.

"As I get it, you're interested enough to discuss it seriously."

"That's right," I said. "Do you think there is enough evidence to connect
them with the war plans?"

"I haven't seen the evidence. But I doubt it."

Mickey began to pace, occasionally stopping abruptly, frowning back at me.
Now he came back and sat down.

"Certainly a trial would have great military value if we could get all the
proofs together. Right here in Alexandria there is a warehouse full of Farben
records that no agency has studied. Other countries went digging for Farben
documents, too. In the heat of victory they wanted them; then they stuck them
away in corners."

"Why couldn't the prosecution staff be increased?"

He ignored my question. "Maybe the Farben leaders were masters of economic
warfare, but if I were a judge, I would want to know how you blame a war on
men who weren't even in the Army or the foreign office. I'd want to know what
made Farben any different from, say, DuPont in this country."

"Don't you think the Farben leaders were different?"

"Yes, I do. Still, they didn't pull any triggers."

I agreed. What puzzled me most was that a staff had been over in Nurnberg for
months, and a lot of accusations against the Farben directors had been flung
around, but no single idea had been presented to show why these men, above
all industrialists in the world, were the kind of men who would deliberately
bring on a war. "Yet I don't think we have to show that these directors
lusted for blood," I said. "We don't have to show that they enjoyed pushing
pins around on a map. But suppose we could show that they bad power far
greater than any general in the field. Then how would the War Department
feel?"

He was slouching in his chair, swiveling slowly.

"In this Department, we're thinking about two things: Russia and the atom.
God knows these things are important, but I think myself -just my own opinion
-that we may have a lot more to fear from the Russians if we don't consider
some other facts, too. Many of these Farben men were chemists. Chemistry
played its part in the atom bomb � right? There are also other deadly
chemical weapons that a country can make in secret. These men made some of
these weapons, we know that. A country cannot very easily test an atom bomb
in secret, but for ten years these guys did make secret weapons that are
still important strategically. How did they do it? There's a question a trial
might answer. Chemistry today is still the greatest secret weapon."

He loosened his tie, climbed out of the chair, and walked around the office
with his hands in his pockets, as he explained that chemistry was the sperm
of World War II.

"I know, I know: you're going to say I'm reversing myself. But it's true. In
this war, in Germany at least, chemical production was not just production.
It was strategy. It takes a long time to make an atom bomb. But without
retooling any machines, without changing anything but the label and the size
of the can, in a few months the great chemists of Germany made enough Prussic
acid to kill millions. And in Germany, chemistry was I.G. Farben, wasn't it?
These men could make a kind of war people 'don't even know about. Let them go
free, and they alone, working for the Russians, might have the decisive
influence on whether there's to be a war."

"Or working for us?"

"Or for us, yes. They might also place Germany in a position to play the game
both ways, for or against the Russians. We know that they can make a rocket
tomorrow out of the nitrogen that would dye your wife's old dress today. When
the war ended Farben was working on a rocket that would make the destruction
of Hiroshima look like a small auto accident."

His knowledge of Farben chemical power made an almost unbelievable tale, much
of which I had never heard. I had heard of Tabun, the Farben poison gas so
deadly it could penetrate any gas mask in existence. But Farben had
deve

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