Category Archives: Podcasts

Mildred Harnack and the Red Orchestra (Volume 1, Podcast 3)

Mildred Fish Harnack, the Only American Female Ever Executed For Espionage by Nazi Germany

Mildred Harnack, courtesy, Eric D. Carlson
Mildred Harnack, courtesy, Eric D. Carlson

Mildred Fish Harnack was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin on September 16, 1902.  Her parents, descended from a New England, protestant background, separated when Mildred was a teenager and she was primarily raised by her mother.  After her father’s death in 1918, the family relocated to the Washington, DC area but Mildred returned in 1921 to attend the University of Wisconsin.

Arvid Harnack
Arvid Harnack

While a student at the University, Mildred met a German Rockefeller scholar, Arvid Harnack, in 1926.  In September they were married and Mildred continued with her studies and taught literature.  Having been immersed as a youngster in the deeply German immigrant culture of Milwaukee and subsequently exposed to the radical political atmosphere of Madison, Mildred’s attraction to a German intellectual would be completely predictable.  From the very beginning, the Harnack’s marriage was atypical.  Although Harnack’s uncle was the esteemed German theologian Adolf Von Harnack, Arvid’s father also died when he was a teenager and his immediate family was struggling with the disastrous German economy of the twenties.  When Harnack’s academic stipend ran out in 1928, he was forced to return to Germany.  Mildred Harnack obtained a teaching position at Goucher College in Baltimore and the young couple hoped to reunite quickly.

Harro Schulze-Boysen
Harro Schulze-Boysen

Horst Heilemann, a young member of this German cryptology unit was also a former student of Harro Schulze-Boysen and regularly socialized with the couple.  After Harro confided that he worked with Russian intelligence, Heilemann mentioned that his group had successfully intercepted some communications and identified some Russian agents.  When Heilemann returned to his office and reviewed decoded messages he determined that the Schulz-Boysens had been compromised.  He unsuccessfully attempted to telephone Harro and was forced to leave an urgent message.  Later, when Harro returned the call, instead of Heilemann he got a senior colleague on the line.  Confused by the cryptic message he had received, he unfortunately identified himself.  Heilemann’s stunned colleague figured out what had happened and immediately informed the secret police.  The Gestapo did not want to risk further warnings to other members of the group and Harro Schulze-Boysen was arrested on August 31, 1942.  Convicted by a military court, he was hanged in Plotzensee Prison, Berlin, December 22, 1942

Libertas Schulze-Boysen
Libertas Schulze-Boysen

Libertas Shulze-Boysen was in the unique position of having access to film footage that was used by the propaganda ministry.  She was able to produce photographic copies of atrocities that were being committed against Jews and others on the Eastern Front.  Unsuccessful attempts were made to get this information to the West.  She was guillotined in Plotzensee Prison, Berlin, December 22, 1942, one hour after her husband was hanged.

Mildred Harnack, May, 1938, courtesy of Eric D. Carlson
Mildred Harnack, May, 1938, courtesy of Eric D. Carlson

George Smith Anthony and the Voyage of the Catalpa (Volume 1, Podcast 2)

Captain George Smith Anthony and The Voyage of the SS Catalpa
Captain George Smith Anthony
In 1874, rebel leader John Devoy received another letter from Fenian prisoner James Wilson that he chose to read aloud at a national meeting of the Clan Na Gael.  Part of it read:

     “Think that we have been nine years in this living tomb since our

       first arrest and it is impossible for mind and body to withstand the

       continual strain that is upon them.  One or the other must give way

       …We think that if you forsake us, then we are friendless indeed.”

This missive, the “Letter From the Tomb”, compelled the Clan to understand that to rescue the military Fenians was their moral imperative.  Devoy was officially urged to devise a plan of escape and he immediately proceeded to Boston and a meeting with John O’Reilly, the only man ever to successfully escape from an Australian penal colony.  O’Reilly was still in touch with members of the New Bedford, Massachusetts whaling community, including some of the former members of the crew of the Gazelle.  This close knit group quickly sold Devoy on the idea that any rescue attempt should also try to fund itself by engaging in a legitimate whaling expedition.  They also agreed that there was only one man for the job, Captain George Smith Anthony.

The S. S. Catalpa

Recruiting Anthony was merely a start.  Devoy, O’Reilly and Richardson began to scour New England for a suitable ship.  Although the Clan Na Gael had secretly raised some money from a national base of contributors they were still short of the purchase price of an appropriate vessel.  It took Richardson fronting thousands of dollars and another Clan Na Gael member, James Reynolds, mortgaging his home to provide the funding for the purchase of the ”Catalpa”, a ninety foot merchant ship that had recently returned from the West Indies.  In March of 1875, the ship was towed to New Bedford where Captain Anthony could personally supervise its repairs and reworking as a whaler.

By the end of April, a twenty-two man crew had been selected with only one man, Dennis Duggan, aware of the true mission of the Catalpa.  Duggan, Irish, was also a carpenter by trade so he would not arouse the suspicions of customs officials about any atypical crew aboard a whaler.  On April 30, 1875, Captain George Anthony raised anchor in New Bedford and began the first leg of the mission to rescue the six Irish rebels.

Fremantle Prison today.
Fremantle Prison today.

In January of 1868, after three months at sea, their prison ship reached western Australia.  On the tenth, it dropped anchor in Fremantle and the prisoners were transported to the jetty at Victoria Quay.  From there they marched through the town to the Fremantle Gaol, a forbidding stone edifice with a practically medieval appearance.  Nicknamed “The Establishment” this prison confined over three thousand human beings,  fifteen per cent of the western region’s twenty thousand inhabitants.  Escape was considered impossible.  If a convict even made it outside of the walls of Fremantle Gaol, he would have to circumvent thousands of miles of shark infested ocean or an equally lengthy trek through the desert like conditions of the Australian bush country.  He would  probably die of thirst before aboriginal trackers found him and dragged him back to be hanged in the prison yard.  The military members of the Fenian group were placed in one man cells that were three feet wide, seven feet long and nine feet high.  Here they were doomed to service on a work gang, eventual death and burial in an unmarked grave along some Australian road.

 

 

John Paul Jones-American Admiral, (Volume 1, Podcast 1)

John Paul Jones, Admiral and Patriot

John Paul Jones
John Paul Jones

Considered a hero of the American Revolution, John Paul Jones was born in Scotland, carried out most of his naval exploits in the British Isles and died in Paris.  His most famous encounter, a victory over the British warship, HMS Serapis, took place off of the coast of Yorkshire, England, thousands of miles from the American colonies.

Artist's rendition of the Bon Homme Richard vs. HMS Serapis.
Artist’s rendition of the Bon Homme Richard vs. HMS Serapis.

It is now a matter of historical debate as to when or even if John Paul Jones actually uttered the famous phrase “I have not yet begun to fight”.  But if there ever was a moment for him to say it, now was the time.  Some of his crew members, fully aware of the damage done below, unlocked the dozens of British prisoners on the verge of drowning in the hold, clambered on to the deck and not seeing the captain began to shout for quarter from the other side.  Paul Jones was intent on knocking down the Serapis’ main mast with his personally manned nine pound gun.  Upon hearing his own crew attempting to surrender he first tried to shoot at them with an unloaded pistol and then hurled it as the startled sailors fled below deck.  Knowing his fate to be either imprisonment or even the noose, the captain had clearly adopted a much more modern outlook.  Failure was not an option.  Hearing the commotion, Pearson asked if the American ship had struck.  Most likely Paul Jones’ response was not as theatrical as chronicled but he certainly made it clear that he would rather sink than surrender.

Plaque in front of the building on the Rue de Tournon, Paris where Jones died.
Plaque in front of the building on the Rue de Tournon, Paris where Jones died.

The American ambassador, Gouverneur Morris, found John Paul Jones to be a tiresome pest.  However, when he received a message in July of 1792 that Paul Jones was gravely ill he proceeded to the captain’s rented apartment on the Rue de Tournon.  There he had Paul Jones compose a modest will and hastily left for a dinner engagement.  When he returned later that evening he found John Paul Jones dead, face down on his bed, his legs in a kneeling position on the floor.  He curtly informed Paul Jones’ landlord that the deceased should be buried as modestly as possible, most likely because he feared that he personally would be stuck with the bill.  Luckily, officials of the French government became aware of the naval hero’s demise and incredulous at the ambassador’s response, took charge of John Paul Jones’ burial.

John Paul Jones sarcophagus, in the crypt of the US Naval Academy Chapel.
John Paul Jones sarcophagus, in the crypt of the US Naval Academy Chapel.

John Paul Jones languished in obscurity for over one hundred years.  As the city of Paris expanded, it covered over the small cemetery with full fledged urban dwellings.  It took a determined American ambassador and the patriotic fervor of President Theodore Roosevelt to congressionally underwrite an archeological dig.  This needle in a haystack proposition at least had the knowledge that Paul Jones’ undertakers, presuming that eventually America would come calling, buried him in a lead coffin, sealed in alcohol.  It took five years and the exhumation of dozens of graves but, in 1906, when his coffin was opened, John Paul Jones was so well preserved that his face was instantly recognizable.  Dimensions from the Houdon sculpture confirmed his identity and following an autopsy that attributed his death to a combination of kidney failure and pneumonia, John Paul Jones began the lengthy journey back to his adopted homeland.  His casket, now encased in polished wood and the American flag, was paraded through the streets of Paris, accompanied by hundreds of American and French military personnel.  Transported to Cherbourg, it was loaded on to the USS Brooklyn and accompanied on its transatlantic voyage by a flotilla that swelled to eleven warships by the time it reached the Chesapeake Bay.  It would take seven more years to construct a suitable repository for the mortal remains of John Paul Jones, appropriate for a man who spent much of his career impeded by the indecision of others.

Houdon marble bust of Jones, crypt at the Naval Academy.
Houdon marble bust of Jones, crypt at the Naval Academy.