The Bulletin’s Day Book

The streets of Berlin are crowded today. Two million yes-men will concentrate on Tempelhof Field to participate in the great May Day celebration the modern counterpart of the Roman gladiatorial games.

The similarity between the two affairs is striking. Historians tell us that the shows in the Arena at Rome were limited to two a year, so that the appetite of the mob would be whetted continually. The imbecile emperor Claudius loved the pastime and would sit from morning to night in his throne overlooking the games, going down to the arena every so often to coax or force the poor gladiators to go on with their horrible work.

Hitler, aping Claudius, has announced that his May Day show will be bigger and better than last year, with two million or more people taking part. Last year only a million were promised. The German propaganda-hounds evidently have a better knowledge of psychology than even the imbecile Roman emperor, for they limit their big circuses to one a year, so that the mob will eagerly await each event.

There is no doubt that the brown shirts will do themselves brown with today’s event. Everyone has to march, with attendance taken at every step he makes. One wonders how the onlookers will be supplied-perhaps their attendance will be taken too.

The most interesting feature of the shindig today is not, however, the number of people participating, or the fact that the poor celebrators will have to be on their feet for twelve hours straight with only a sandwich and a chance sip of warm beer to sustain them. It isn’t even the announcement that 410 doctors and 6,500 members of the Storm Troop ambulance service will be on hand all day at Tempelhof Field.

The most interesting feature of the shindig lies in the reason for that announcement. And for that, we must go back to the 1933 Nazi May Day celebration.

Last year they had a big crowd too. Of course, it wasn’t as big as this, but even a mere million is a number that rolls out of your typewriter in nice, fat, round figures, like this: 1,000,000. A million is a lot. And to get that many people to attend, Nazidom had issued an order that everybody must be there, with no excuses to be accepted at all. They came. Workers glad to get a day off, school children out for a noisy holiday, serious storm troopers, girls all painted up like on Saturday nights, mothers, wives, children, all came. Yes, they had quite a mob there.

But it seems that the Nazi order had been taken too seriously-which is easy to understand, conditions in the Reich being what they are. So, when the crowd came to Tempelhof Field, expectant mothers came with the rest of them-anything for the Fatherland.

And on May 1, 1933, seven children were born on the Field, probably fine strapping youngsters with a silver swastika in their mouths, and a curse for the Jews on their lips, and their knees all set for genuflecting before the Fuchrer.

Hitler, they say, was quite upset. He had issued no orders for birth giving on a May Day celebration. Why, it was almost a case of insubordination!

So, today, police captains have very strict orders about the march. No babies allowed! The several thousand men acting as commanders of the parade will see to it personally. Dr. Robert Ley himself, all-powerful leader of the Nazi Labor Front, is stationing himself in a blimp over the field to make sure that no mishap occurs.

And then, of course, there are the 410 physicians and the 6,500 members of the storm troop ambulance service, just in case some buxom blond young Frau’s loyalty to handsome Adolf will overcome obedience to his orders.