The Bulletin’s Day Book

This department, for one, mourns the death of that brilliant Nazi, Ernst Roehm, whose moral quirks, incidentally, Herr Hitler winked at while his loyalty to Der Fuehrer was unquestioned, but which became a cataclysmic crime the moment the fanatic militarist engaged in a bit of braying that annoyed His Nibs.

The mourning will be the more readily understood by Daybook devotees when they are reminded that the gallant pervert was a never-failing source for a laugh of the type that could range anywhere from a giggle to a guffaw.

When Hitler temporarily halted his rantings, the cause of humor suffered. But Hitler’s lieutenants worked day and night and managed to keep the flow of comedy up to standard. However, sometimes even mighty, iron-fist Goering would slip, or the usually reliable Streicher would fall down on the job, or giddy Goebbels would forget his duty to humor. But on the infrequent occasions when these heaven-anointed, self-appointed guardians of “Aryanism” had adhesive tape over their lacerated lips, then the Daybook could always fall back on the riotous rumblings of Roehm. Roehm never failed.

When talk of his unnatural sexual habits has died and his perversions have been forgotten, the Daybook believes Ernst will always be remembered for his unconsciously humorous sallies. There were many, but his masterpiece is the one that should be his epitaph. In one of his more inspired moments, Roehm threw this one off. The coming of Hitler, he said, will go down in history as of equal importance with the coming of Christ.

Perhaps Hitler, who was trying to build himself up as a Nordic brute whose creed was blood and brawn ueber alles, resented this comparison between him and the mild Christ. The resentment may have been rankling all this time. And who can say but that, when Hitler dashed in and discovered his sidekick in such an embarassing predicament, he really had in the back of his mind that fatal analogy.

And so Roehm, requiescat in pace, and know that though you may not be missed in the German ghettos, your going has cast a pall of gloom over the Daybook from which it fears it may have difficulty recovering. Unless, of course, Herr Streicher or Herr Goering or Herr Goebbels decide to take the tape off their mouths and say something in their old, inimitable vein.

—H. W.

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