My favorite “Schurik” story
My favorite “Schurik” story
On July 13, remember Alexander Schmorell's death. But honor his life.
Out on summer break, Alexander Schmorell and two friends decided to bike from Munich to Donauwörth, intending to catch a boat and float down the Danube to Austria. On paper, the 100-kilometer (60 mile) bike ride looked easy. The terrain was relatively flat, a biker’s paradise.
But as they limped into Donauwörth, they only knew they were exhausted. And hungry, because the sole food they had thought to bring along was Limburger cheese, and no one but Alex liked it. And that between them, they did not have enough money for a hotel.
At first, they planned to camp out on the banks of the Danube. But one of the boys spotted an untethered boat by the shore. Following a short debate over the ethics of taking someone else’s property, and whether a boat that was not secured really belonged to anybody, they climbed aboard. Franz, whose father owned Munich’s Vier Jahreszeiten [Four Seasons] Hotel, was a natural acrobat. His athleticism enabled them to get their gear stowed in short order.
It was a flat-bottom barge, this boat they were not stealing. They were so intent on preparing things so they could sleep through the night, that no one saw the bridge before the boat crashed into it. With their craft splintered into a thousand toothpicks, the boys fought their way to shore. As they lay panting on dry land, clothes clinging to shivering bodies, one of the boys glanced at Alex and burst out laughing. Somehow, in the face of imminent death by drowning, Alex had managed to save the Limburger.
By now, they were in a real bind. Wet clothes on a cool summer evening, no place to sleep, and their bicycles were at the bottom of the river. Alex told his friends that he thought they needed to find a farmhouse, because farmers were good people who would always help you out in a bind.
Sure enough, they quickly found lodging. The peasants lent them clean clothes and hung up the dripping clothes to dry. The next day, they let them use the telephone to call home. The parents agreed that the three boys should walk home, a plan that suited them just fine!
Erich Schmorell recollects that his father badly wanted to be stern with Alex when he appeared at the door of their comfortable villa a few days later. He fully intended to lecture Alex on his misdeeds. But when he saw his penitent son standing on the threshold clutching Limburger cheese, his sternness vanished into hearty laughter.
As I re-tell this funny story for you, in my mind’s eye I can still envision Erich Schmorell himself laughing at the memory. Oh!, how he loved his older brother! As we talked over white asparagus and wine, he and Hertha regaled us with vignettes from their shared youth. To Erich and Hertha Schmorell, Alex – Schurik! – wasn’t a saint with gilded halo. No, he was a mischievous, serious, fun-loving, crazy, grounded fellow who loved life and friends, whose intensity during White Rose work was only exceeded by his passion for art.
Everyone we talked to about Alex reflected the same deep, enduring love for Alexander Schmorell, whom they affectionately called Schurik even sixty years after his death.
In September 2007, I sat with Herta Probst shortly before traveling to Orenburg, Russia for the commemoration of Schurik’s ninetieth birthday in that place. She was already weak, very frail. Her family had said I couldn’t visit. But she said, “No, I want to see her again!”
When she learned I was headed to Orenburg (thank you, Igor Khramov and Dilya!) for Alex’s sake, Herta told me, commanded me, “You must tell them how Alex could make us laugh! He would walk into a room and he would make us laugh. He was so happy!”
Lilo Ramdohr too invariably would smile her sunniest when she spoke of her friend, her Alex. Her respect for Christoph Probst, Hans Scholl, and Willi Graf was palpable, especially Christl, whom she deemed the backbone, the moral conscience of the friends.
But Alex? To her, memories of their ‘sibling’ bond remained strong. She saw him at his most vulnerable, at his strongest, when he was upset, when he was fearless.
As Sophie and Hans fell asleep in their brightly lit cells, Alex made another attempt at escape, this time under cover of darkness. He had to find Willi Graf. That would be the key to his getting out of Germany alive.
Around 10 pm, Lilo accompanied him partway, aware that this could be the last time she would see him alive. But he returned at midnight, reporting that he could not get through, and that he could find no trace of Willi. An air raid siren interrupted their discussion. Lilo went to the shelter while Alex waited alone in her apartment.
It had been a false alarm, so she prepared tea. But Alex grew impatient. They expected the Gestapo to show up on Lilo’s doorstep any moment. Since I cannot find Willi, he said, I will have to flee by myself. Lilo did not try to dissuade him. He would certainly be discovered if he stayed in her apartment much longer.
She regretted she had so little food. She’d hovered over him like a mother hen the last three days, barely allowing him out of her sight. Which meant she had not been grocery shopping since the arrests. She scraped together what she could, but in her mind, it was not nearly enough.
Shortly before daybreak, Lilo went part of the way with Alex. They said their final farewell, knowing but not admitting that they would never see one another again. “If I make it through, my life will change,” Alex said. “If not, then I will rejoice in death, because I know that it does not end.”
A few more steps, then, “I am very happy that everything has happened this way. Something in my life had to change.” Lilo could not make sense of those words then or now, but she could not make herself ask him what he meant.
Instead, she took his hands wordlessly. This was it. He was really leaving. Alex stood with her, hand in hand, silent for an eternity. Then almost as if to himself, “You, my best friend. Du, mein bester Freund.”
Lilo repeated his last words twice in her memoirs. Grammatically, it’s all wrong. Lilo was and is a lovely woman. Alex addressed her in the masculine. In 2002, I asked her about this. She leaned forward, moved by the memory. “Don’t you understand? He was not talking to me. He was talking to God, his only best friend.” For Alex had lifted his hands, almost as a benediction, a prayer.
With those words, he left. She stood perfectly still so she could hear his footsteps. As they faded away, she felt like she had been struck by lightning. Her lean-to near Chiemsee, Bumpererhof! “My God, why didn’t I think of that earlier?” she rebuked herself.
She took out running, not caring who may hear her or report her unusual activity. She looked and looked, and could not find Alex. “Angry and deathly sad, I returned to my apartment,” she said. “There was no way to reach Alex now. I could no longer help him.”
In a few days, on July 13, as you remember his execution, remember Alexander Schmorell, Schurik, as a real live human being. As the teenager who stole a boat and rescued Limburger cheese. As the young man who made his friends laugh. As the older young man, taking his leave from a precious friend, lifting his hands in a final benediction.
Yes, remember his death. But honor his life.
If you can be as real, transparent, and open as Alexander Schmorell, if you can love with every fiber of your being, if you are passionate about justice, if you put hands and feet to your passion, if you encourage your friends, lift them up, maybe even make them laugh, then you will make a difference.
Even if you steal a boat and rescue Limburger cheese. (Really, Limburger cheese?)
Thank you, Erich and Hertha, for honoring your brother so well.
Substack post © 2024 Denise Elaine Heap. Narrative about Alexander Schmorell and the boat from White Rose History, Volume I, Chapter Five: Loss of Innocence. © 2002 Denise Heap and Exclamation! Publishers. Narrative about Lilo Ramdohr and Alexander Schmorell farewell from White Rose History, Volume II, Chapter 48: What Were You Thinking? © 2007 Denise Heap and Exclamation! Publishers. Please contact us for permission to quote.
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