He was born in Koenigsberg, Prussia (now Kaliningrad, Russia), in 1896; his father, a strict Prussian General. By 1915, he had found his way to Marburg University to follow a less violent branch of the family tree by studying medicine. He joined Hasso-Nassovia, a Protestant fraternity, and via the fraternity, was introduced to the finer points of Mensurfechten - fencing in a small, confined space.
The fencers were allowed to wear protective eyepieces, a chest guard and a heavy scarf. Each wielding a heavy saber-like Schlager, two fraternity "brothers" faced each other and took turns at slash and parry, aiming for the only unprotected body part - the face. They were not allowed to flinch or move further away than arm's reach. They fought like this until first blood was drawn. The resulting facial scars were worn as a badge of honor, a symbol of higher education, Protestant religion and courage in adversity.
He eventually became a pediatrician and, in part because of his very visible scars and what everyone knew they meant, was embraced by those in horrendous power in 1930s Berlin. The scars, they knew, were proof that he was a true German, a Protestant, an educated Aryan.
I have only recently embarked on researching more of my grandfather's history during that war. What I've uncovered has sometimes been less than flattering and has sometimes bordered on troubling. His own memoirs end with statements of personal remorse and contrition.
My lesson? While it may be reputation building at the time, surviving the seemingly noble duel does not always guarantee character. We are always a work in progress. Sometimes conscience and responsibility are the very best lesson to teach.
The fencers were allowed to wear protective eyepieces, a chest guard and a heavy scarf. Each wielding a heavy saber-like Schlager, two fraternity "brothers" faced each other and took turns at slash and parry, aiming for the only unprotected body part - the face. They were not allowed to flinch or move further away than arm's reach. They fought like this until first blood was drawn. The resulting facial scars were worn as a badge of honor, a symbol of higher education, Protestant religion and courage in adversity.
He eventually became a pediatrician and, in part because of his very visible scars and what everyone knew they meant, was embraced by those in horrendous power in 1930s Berlin. The scars, they knew, were proof that he was a true German, a Protestant, an educated Aryan.
I have only recently embarked on researching more of my grandfather's history during that war. What I've uncovered has sometimes been less than flattering and has sometimes bordered on troubling. His own memoirs end with statements of personal remorse and contrition.
My lesson? While it may be reputation building at the time, surviving the seemingly noble duel does not always guarantee character. We are always a work in progress. Sometimes conscience and responsibility are the very best lesson to teach.
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