Some of the Earliest Warnings of the Hitler Menace Came from New Jersey

One of our state’s greatest treasures can be found in its academic institutions, particularly in the two largest ones, Rutgers and Princeton. It’s a shame that more people in New Jersey do not take advantage of the numerous free lectures, seminars, exhibits and presentations that occur at these institutions on a frequent basis. Just a glance at their well-publicized calendars shows a wide variety of speakers, many authorities and trendsetters in their industries and disciplines. Every year, present and former governors, senators, scholars, teachers, businessmen and witnesses take to the lecterns of these schools to tell riveting stories, propose innovative ideas and sometimes, to warn.

This is where it gets interesting. Many of the greatest events in history, both famous and infamous, have been discussed, dissected, analyzed in our universities. But there have been times in the past, right here in the storied academic halls of New Jersey, which witnessed the most prophetic, dire warnings. Like a scene from a Spielberg movie, there have been times when the halls of Princeton and Rutgers have invited in voices from the political wilderness, to accurately inform of great peril.

Through my research, I found one of those moments. I wish I could have been there. The setting was right out of “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” The scene was Princeton’s stately, neo-gothic Mc Cosh Hall. There, inside, in a lecture hall that is perhaps one of the most architecturally impressive of its kind, a professor took to the lectern. It was a cold November day in 1931.

Mc Cosh's famous lecture hall, Princeton University

First, it should be stated that it wasn’t the only lecture that day, or week, on campus. According to The Daily Princetonian, other speakers were discussing the current political issues in the Hoover Administration. Another, Dean Wycks, gave a talk on “Mystical Appreciation.” Several professors were also to give a series of short talks on their most recent books. The Garden Theater was showing a play titled “Traveling Husbands,” which promised, in its half-page ad, to be told with “Speed and Sparkle…You’ll enjoy every minute of it!”

But this lecture was different, though we can only see that from our present point of view. The talk was given by one Professor William Starr Myers of Princeton’s Politics Department. The subject was one that was really yet to be addressed in higher academic circles, but Myers now felt that it deserved much wider attention. The title: Hitler of Germany As Menace to the World.

It was, to be honest, a rather audacious title for a lecture at the time. Germany in 1931 was still a functioning, troubled democracy and an economic mess. Whether the recently defeated state would hold together under the then-present circumstances was debatable. In earlier articles the university paper, when mentioning Hitler at all, described him inaccurately as a “prank” or a “monarchist” seeking to reestablish the Kaiser to power. But this was one of the first lectures that I’ve found where a speaker clearly says no, this man is dangerous, not in some abstract political way, but someone for Americans to be very, very aware of.

Myers opened his talk by comparing Hitler to “Scarlet Fever,” then a horrendous contagion universally feared. Hitler, like a tumor, was taking advantage of Germany’s chaotic economic situation to gain absolute power:

“Hitler has used many of his own pet prejudices in outlining his party’s declaration of principles, especially anti-Semitism and state control of all institutions. These ideas have gone far toward popularizing National Socialism in Germany…”

The professor went on to warn his audience that Hitler’s dictatorial aspirations included foreign conquest, or what Hitler would call "Lebensraum" as well:

“If however Hitler does gain control, he no doubt will try to expand to Russia…an attempt which might kill him off and bring a happy ending to National Socialism.”

Myers observations were dead on. Hitler did certainly come to power as part of a democratic coalition of right-wing political parties in 1933. And the dictator’s obsession with destroying Judaism and the Soviet Union would undeniably consume much of Nazi Germany’s energies. Hitler indeed killed himself in his Berlin bunker in April of 1945 as Soviet troops closed in.

In the coming months, Princeton welcomed several other speakers who discussed Nazism and its possible widespread effects on Europe and the rest of the world. But from my research it was only Myers' prophetical voice, speaking in the earliest days of the fascist crisis, who got it right. And it happened right here, in New Jersey.

A Growing Silence Creeps Into A University Town...But Who's to Blame?

Princeton is a college town, and proudly so. As any of its residents and frequent visitors will

tell you, the town-gown connection is strong and reflected in brick and mortar. Just a walk along the town’s main drag, Nassau Street, reveals a variety of cosmopolitan and quirky establishments, from coffeehouses to bookstores to our small movie theater that runs both the latest movies and specialty films aimed at a smaller, though intellectually aware, audience. Nearing Palmer Square, one can visit a small newspaper/smoke shop that stocks daily publications from around the globe. And perhaps the greatest point of pride is the town’s public library, adorned with columns and glass with a huge “glass book” that spreads its wings from the roof, inviting in the curious and scholarly alike.

Perhaps the “trademark” site (actually, I think there are two of them) that visually defines the town as an intellectually active community isn’t even a business. It’s a kiosk, located in front of our movie theater on Nassau Street, directly across from Princeton’s massive Firestone Library. It is on this kiosk that student organizations, potential employers, local cultural institutions and university departments post their announcements. On any given day, the eight foot tall structure is completely covered with hundreds of flyers announcing all sorts of events and services. Last month I took a good look at it. One bright blue flyer announced an upcoming lecture by a former Israeli Ambassador on campus, while another yellow one – posted on all sides of the kiosk – advertised “resume building” services, complete with perforated, tear-off numbers at the bottom. Atop both of these flyers was a well-made, small poster presenting the schedule of upcoming Princeton Tiger basketball games. Peppered in between these flyers were purely political messages, with some calling attention to recent war crimes of the Assad regime in Syria, with others demanding an end to the “War on Food Stamps.”

All in all, it’s a very lively kiosk, and a visible trademark of a cultured, connected community concerned with local and distant issues, as well as, of course, making money. It’s the manifestation of the university town as a free marketplace of ideas.

And let us not forget Princeton’s stately academic structures, stone edifices that remind us that the world of learning is an old, important and ongoing one. Literally lording over the main quad is the university’s pride, Nassau Hall, which over four centuries has hosted classes, a fierce Revolutionary War Battle, Congressional gatherings, contentious protests, and formal university events (the latest being, of course, the moving investiture of the university’s newest president).

Just a twenty-minute drive up Nassau Street, or as locals know it, Route 27, is Rutgers University’s main campus in New Brunswick. Again, from a physical standpoint, we see much of the same. Dignified academic buildings, small businesses catering to an educated population, exotic and cheap eateries, and of course, kiosks obscured in leaflets, brochures and other papers.

But this physical geography of the college town has changed dramatically over the past two decades, and if you visit either Princeton or New Brunswick on the sunniest or rainiest of working days, when the universities are in session with tens of thousands of students present, you cannot escape it. It’s so visible, so obvious, that when I stop to think about it, it more or less takes my breath away and stops me in my tracks.

If first noticed it a few years ago, but now it’s getting more extreme, and please reply to this blog if you think I’m crazy, or being over-reactive, because that’s not beyond me. But I think I’m more or less “right on” here, because its a phenomena that you can test for and witness day after day after day, whether classes are in session or not, regardless of the weather. It can best be summed up by these two simple questions:

Where is everybody? Where did everybody go?

Really! Was there a zombie apocalypse that I didn’t hear about? Has most of the population been vaporized by a sudden alien attack right out of War of the Worlds? Did the much-prophesizedRapture of the New Testament occur overnight, whisking millions of believers to some Eternal Destination?

Now don’t be alarmed. On any given day in Princeton there aresome people walking out and about, but from my perspective they’re all tourists, out-of-towners. In fact, one outgoing group of 15 people I had the pleasure to meet last week in front of Starbucks had traveled all the way from Shanghai to see one of America’s finest schools. None, as far as I saw, were knapsack-toting, overwhelmed and overworked students. Not a one.

On any given day, when classes are in session, there are over 8,000 members of the academic community present on Princeton campus. Students, administrators, professors, workers…this population is a large one for such a relatively small space (about a square mile). New Brunswick’s academic population is even larger, over 10,000.

I went to college in the 1990’s, earning my B.A. and M.A. degrees at Rutgers, though I was a frequent Princeton visitor as my university I.D. allowed me to use the Firestone Library. I remember both campuses on most working days resembling something close to Times Square. I remember students by the hundreds loitering around town and campus, debating, chatting, enjoying some coffee, reading books, conversing with professors. I remember visiting the Frist Student Center on a late January day in 1992 and feeling absolutely sandwiched between the crowds, waiting on long lines to grab a Coke and a sandwich, then scurrying to find a table to sit at amongst the multitudes.

Those crowds, that physical vibrancy, are gone. The students and community are still there, of course, somewhere, but their presence, is almost altogether missing. Again, it’s the same in New Brunswick. What happened?

It’s not difficult to figure out, and the proof is in the silence. Everyone, lock, stock and barrel, has folded up operations and altogether moved to the Web; to the Internet. Everything, from group work to lecture review, to shopping to socializing has gone online. The kiosks are still there, coated in a zillion flyers angrily flapping in the wind for attention, but nobody is reading them…at least, not in the physical world.

Don’t mistake my sentiments; I’m a huge believer in the Internet. I regard it as solely responsible for reinvigorating civil and social discourse in this country, and it ha brought a new sense of community to people who have long been cut out of the national conversation. The Web is amazing in its power to bring an unprecedented level of connectivity to the masses. But it’s impact on the physical world, and especially on working intellectual communities such as Princeton and New Brunswick, is unmistakable. Its impact is beyond evident, and from an observable standpoint, devastating.

Am I sounding zany here, or am I on to something? 

Witherspoon: A Name Etched in Marble, Yes, But He Had Heart Too

The Princeton area, and the grounds of the University in particular, are filled with regal

monuments. At the end of Nassau Street stands a triumphal assemblage of them to George Washington, marking his 1777 victory nearby. All around Nassau Hall, the University’s ivy-covered heart and historic epicenter we see tigers preserved in bronze, zealously guarding the ancient structure and institution.

Over the years, one monument in particular has always caught my eye. It looks ancient, but it’s not; it was installed in 2001. Located adjacent to the medieval-looking fortress that is Pyne Hall stands the majestic and completely appropriate bronze statue to the Rev. John Witherspoon, Princeton’s Revolutionary President, Educator and signer of the Declaration of Independence.

The value of such monuments is debatable, because while they certainly try to project an enduring, even ageless image of a person, in doing so they frequently deprive such subjects of their humanity. Sometimes this isn’t important, as in the case of the State of Liberty, but other times, it needs to be noted. In the case of the Witherspoon Monument, I’m bringing it up because if you accept the man asthat statue, you’ll never see the man that was. You’ll never understand the wonderful, warm, thoughtful leader he was,especially for his time (he died in 1794). He’s worth writing about because his contributions to the nation in general, and the Princeton area in particular, are interesting and worth recounting.

Witherspoon was not a military leader; he led no great armies to fierce victories. He never ruled any nations or established any banks. He never amassed a titanic fortune. He was an educator, a reverend and an observant writer and human being. It was Witherspoon who introduced the concepts of civil liberty and the thoughts of John Locke to students like James Madison, whowould, in fact, go on to lead the nation in war and peace.

As a scholar and educator, Witherspoon wrote for most of his adult life. The subjects of his writings vary dramatically, from the concept of liberty in the Magna Carta to theories of education to my favorite missive, Letters on Marriage. Written and published towards the end of his life, his three letters on this vital institution are filled with wit, wisdom, warmth and a progressiveness that was far ahead of his time.

Divided into three parts, it’s the first that has always impressed and moved me the most. There, out of the darkness of the late 18th century, in a time of absolute kings, hideous slavery and medical treatment that could only be described as barbaric, Witherspoon took the time to recognize the important elements that make wedlock work. And he didn’t write about it from the point of view of a man on a pedestal; rather, he wrote it as simple, straightforward advice. Why should marriage be honored? How do we set ourselves up, as single people, for disaster in marriage due to our silly preconceived notions? How does marriage change people? And why is a practical equality between the sexes so important – even central - in making this lifelong relationship work – and last?

How many articles and books, in this modern age, deal with these important questions? Interestingly enough, he begins his letter with this very thought in mind. What he has to offer, he tells readers, is the product of “real observation and personal reflection.” The words that follow are not, interestingly enough, filled with Biblical Quotes or Puritanical warnings of hellfire and Divine Fury. They’re just the advice of someone who has, to paraphrase his own words, been around the block a few times. Witherspoon had some mileage on him and his tire treads were wearing, so it was time to reflect, and reflect he did. 

The quality of the advice is impressive and thoughtful, and begins with a thorough denunciation of, dare I say, romance and beauty.

The great Princeton President, the educator of Founding Fathers and a man who put his life on the line by affixing his name to the Declaration of Independence warns us to stop putting so much value on good looks. In fact, he stipulates, from the point of view of a husband or wife, good looks constitute more or less of a misleading, bait-and-switch trap. In his experience, “fairness” in looks rarely if ever translated into any part of the essential skillset essential for people to get along. Literature and media, both then and now, are filled with beautiful faces frequently cast as heroes and objects to be desired. But aside from perhaps the Honeymoon night (yes, he wrote this), real strength and character is reflected in a person’s beliefs, practices and values. Want to know what qualities keep a marriage together? Not a pretty face…try industriousness, patience and a will to act…. the will to work.

Witherspoon also warns potential spouses of thinking that any marriage will amount to some sort of lifelong dream or ecstatic song. Rather, from a realistic point of view, it is a team effort, a united front in a world of challenges. Married people will have to be reasonable with each other, and deal with each other as equals. In short, marriage not a fantasy, it’s a real world partnership.  

This is where he gets really interesting. Witherspoon attacks the idea that a man who listens to his wife, who routinely turns to her for advice and comfort, is somehow “henpecked” (again, hiswords, not mine). In his experience, time and again he’s witnessed wives providing capable, calming advice – evenleadership - to nervous or uninformed husbands.

Overall, Witherspoon claims that marriage is good for the human condition. By forcing people to compromise and care for others, it compels them to moderate the most extreme attributes of their personalities. Marriage obliges humans to exercise that most “Christian” of principles: sharing. Yes, he concedes, marriage and childmaking begin with desire and lust, but the ultimate qualities of love, cooperation and sharing are what make the institution ultimately work, succeed and benefit for all involved.

Several centuries separate us from Witherspoon, but I’ve rarely gotten better advice from anyone on marriage or relationships, living or dead. I always keep this in mind when I look at that statue outside of Pyne Hall. It may accurately reflect his presence in history, but it’s his words that reflect his heart.