Fr. Viktor had spent twelve long years fighting to preserve the humanity of his German flock. On April 24, 1945, it must have stunned him to realize he was doing the same for his American countrymen.
The significance of sowing Passionist spirituality in Germany likely dawned upon him at that moment. He alone could see the disparity between American perceptions of Germans and the unlikely realities that he’d cultivated in Schwarzenfeld.
Half of his male parishioners were driven at gunpoint to the mass grave and ordered to disinter bodies. The other half rushed to the town cemetery, where they began digging a trench broad enough to bury 140 coffins. All of them expected to die.
The task of constructing caskets fell to Schwarzenfeld’s women and children, none of whom had touched a hammer or saw in their lives. Imagine the emotional magnitude of hammering at a coffin while pondering the imminent death of a father, a son, a brother, a family friend.
Wartime supply shortages further hampered the effort. In war-decimated Germany, the nails customarily used for carpentry work were in short supply. Children scampered to barns around town, collecting spent horseshoe nails. There are even rumors of household furniture being taken apart for the purpose.
Fr. Viktor hastened to the town’s three carpentries, then to the cemetery, then to the mass grave, tracking progress, coordinating. He must have felt himself trudging through a war zone between conscience and country. Keenly aware that the Schwarzenfelders were failing to fulfill the ultimatum’s grim conditions, he confronted the commander. What he said at that dark and desperate hour was never recorded for posterity, but one thing is certain. It must have been the most impassioned sermon he had ever delivered in his life.
Frau Zita Mueller, a resident of Schwarzenfeld, had constructed coffins in one of the town’s three carpentries. Her recollections convey the psychological weight of events:
“My mother, aunts, and sister were constructing caskets in the carpentry shop. We were terrified, working a whole day and night, and despite the long hours we spent hammering the caskets together, we knew that we would not be able to finish in time. I kept looking at the old carpenter who ran the shop and thinking, ‘He will die.’
The next morning, American soldiers burst through the door. We shrank away, crying, crying …. Then, like an angel, Fr. Viktor appeared in the doorway and physically pushed the soldiers back. He spoke stern words to them, then he spoke to us, calming us down. He told us, ‘We have another day to complete this task. It’s all right. We have another day…’”
—Frau Zita Mueller interview, May 12, 2005.
The 48 hours passed without a shot fired. Conscience and humanity prevailed—all thanks to one American priest.
Useful reminders
This post is part of a month-long series reflecting upon historical events that contributed to my debut historical fiction novel, The Sower of Black Field. Visit the “Latest News” area on my website for a recap »
The Sower of Black Field is available in paperback, eBook / Kindle, and audiobook on Amazon. Get your copy »
To learn more about the American role in events in Schwarzenfeld—and other historical instances where American forces compelled German civilians to tend Holocaust victims, see Dr. Christopher Mauriello’s Book, Forced Confrontation: The Politics of Dead Bodies in Germany at the End of WWII. The book is available on Amazon. Get your copy »
