The Fox

By Adam S. Toporek

A NOVELLA

 

August, 1933. Seven months after Hitler's ascension to Chancellor, Germany is almost completely Nazified. Friedrich Foxx, the most famous radio personality in the country, has been a part of this transformation—a brash voice for German rebirth.

 

As the country he loves descends rapidly into a fascist dictatorship, Friedrich is brought face-to-face with the legacy of his words and is forced to make a decision—continue to support the madness or fight it.

 

In clarion call for our times, author Adam S. Toporek revives the ghosts of the media's past, laying bare the compromises that fuel the creep of tyranny and showing the tragic ends to which propaganda and misinformation can lead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: El Arte Es Amor Productions, LLC
• Release date: Jan 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986664231

Book preview

You will of course be receiving information here but also instructions. You are to know not only what is happening but also the Government's view of it and how you can convey that to the people most effectively. We want to have a press which cooperates with the Government just as the Government wants to cooperate with the press.

Joseph Goebbels’s first press conference, March 15, 1933 (45 days after Adolph Hitler became Chancellor of Germany)

Berlin, Germany | August 1933

ONE

Friedrich Foxx was coughing uncontrollably, his sharp, phlegmy hacking piercing the sterile calm of the reception area. Leaned over, hand on knee, he held up a finger to his secretary.

Are you okay? she asked.

Yes, he said, sputtering. But I made great haste coming here. He knew he should not have rushed so many blocks to the broadcast station, but he could not wait to see his coins.

When are you going to finally realize that you are no longer a young man?

I am young enough, he said, righting himself.

Well, then, perhaps your cigarette plan has failed, because we do not have many stairs here.

Dear God, woman, I’m only a week started with the cigarettes. He removed his hat and began unbuttoning his coat. I have but overexerted myself.

"As if that is the reason for your state. Can I get you anything Herr Foxx? Coffee? Aspirin? A waste can?"

You can get me my coins. Friedrich pressed his eyes shut and took a long, shallow breath, trying not to trigger another coughing fit. He dropped his hat and overcoat onto a guest chair for her to deal with. And spare me the moralizing. You know very well I was entertaining my friend from New York last night.

It had been a long night. Too much alcohol, not enough women, and having to listen to his American friend lecture him about his inability to see Hitler and the Nazis for who they truly were. When he reminded Charles that he was a member of the Nazi party, his friend replied, If you are a Nazi in form, I understand, but if you are a Nazi in your heart, then I think the Friedrich I have called a friend for thirty years is either blind or dead.

Friedrich winced at the memory. He loved Charles dearly, fast friends since the day they met at Oxford University, but he was an American and his view of Germany was forever colored by fighting in the Great War. Charles could never understand Germany nor Friedrich’s role in its rebirth.

You are just jealous, Friedrich had said to him. "With the depression, you are finally feeling the pain we have known since your Carthaginian peace—and now we are getting strong again."

Perhaps, Charles said, grabbing Friedrich’s beer, taking a sip, and giving a teasing smile that quickly vanished. I just like to think that I am different than most people.

How is that?

Most people fear the other person’s demagogue yet love their own. I fear them all.

At the time, Friedrich had shrugged off the comments, changed the subject, and invited some uninteresting and, in the end, unsporting women to join them; now, the comments had returned, seeming to weigh even heavier in the leaden melancholy of the morning’s hangover.

Friedrich stood tall and forced a large smile, smoothly melting into his Fox voice, the dulcet, resonant tone he used—as his friend Joseph Goebbels once said—to woo women in the clubs and the German people in their homes. He walked towards Eva, placing both hands on the edge of the desk and leaning in. My loyal, wonderful Eva, you are right. It was a hard night, so forgive me if I’m not at my finest. But this is a morning to celebrate, for our coins are finally here. He placed a hand on top of hers, supporting his faux flirtation. Now, would you be a dear and grab them for me?

Eva shook her head slowly. You know your cad routine never works on me.

Yet there you are—he smiled—reaching in the drawer.

She rolled her eyes as she removed an unfinished wood box from the drawer by her leg. She placed it on the desk, then slid the thin cover through the wooden grooves, revealing a row of large coins cradled in velvet. Friedrich grabbed a coin before she had even fully removed the lid.

He inspected it. Eva. These are spectacular! Better than I ever imagined. He rolled the coin in his fingers. What work Herr Brandt does. What do you think?

I do not know of coins.

Oh, come now, what do you think?

I think they should remain in my drawer.

Friedrich looked briefly at the ceiling, trying to maintain his composure. And what purpose would they serve there?

No one would see them.

That’s brilliant Eva, truly. After all the effort I put into these coins, that is your suggestion.

Friedrich, you have been gone almost two months, and much has changed in Berlin since you left. Let us hold on to the coins a bit longer. We lose nothing if we wait.

You are wrong—we lose opportunity! In radio, you must always be first; you must be bolder, louder, and newer to capture the people’s attention.

It is the attention that concerns me.

Why must you always see the darkness? Why can you never see the possibility of a thing?

If you prefer having your boots licked to the truth, then speak with Simon. She looked at Friedrich, sneering. He should be easy to find; he is in your office all of the time now.

Friedrich squeezed the edge of the desk as hard as he could. May I have but one day without your petty grievances?

I am simply observing what is happening around here lately, and I just find it curious how much time he spends in your office. Perhaps his hook nose has caught on your desk, and he is unable to leave?

Friedrich blenched. As a member of the Nazi party, he was certainly accustomed to such comments, but never before from her.

He shook it off, holding the coin to the light and trying to recapture his initial enthusiasm. It did not work.

Just tell me what I have today.

You have Hadamovsky in an hour.

What!

His secretary called late yesterday, after you left.

Friedrich sighed as he slid the coin into his pocket. And what does that petty bureaucrat want?

You know exactly what he wants.

TWO

The National Socialists had been taking control of public life.

The process of consolidation had extended to every part of German society, no matter how small. From local governments to civic organizations, from universities to the press, all organizations were brought to heel—party loyalists installed, independent thinkers ejected, priorities reset.

Eugen Hadamovsky was the head of the Chamber of Radio, a department of The Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda. He had one job, which he had been executing with the zeal of a man inflated with title and purpose. He had been tasked by Reich Minister Joseph Goebbels—one of the most widely known and increasingly more powerful Nazi leaders—with bringing all radio broadcast stations under the Propaganda Ministry’s control.

Friedrich knew that all the other stations in Germany had received a visit from Hadamovsky or his staff. However, because of his relationship with Goebbels, Friedrich had assumed that he would be able to remain autonomous. He hoped Eugen was just coming to update him, possibly to give him some soft-handed guidance.

They would not dare try to consolidate the Fox’s station.

Eva peeked her head into Friedrich’s office. Herr Hadamovsky. Friedrich nodded and stood.

The office door opened, and Hadamovsky came into full view. When Friedrich saw him, he instinctively took the new coin off his desk and pocketed it. Eugen was not wearing his customary suit but a brown National Socialist uniform, a clear message. That weasel. Friedrich extended his hand towards Eugen, putting on his best Fox smile. Eugen, you old dog. How are you?

Excellent. Our consolidation is almost complete, and that is exactly what I have come to discuss.

Straight to business. Very well.

Friedrich gestured towards one of the guest chairs as Eva closed the door.

Hadamovsky picked up an engraved name plate from Friedrich’s desk. It read, The Fox’s Lair, and had been given to him by Reich Minister Joseph Goebbels himself. Friedrich was known throughout Berlin and much of Germany as The Fox, and the station was sometimes referred to as the Fox’s Lair by extension.