by Ted Richthofen, ed. by Tori Richthofen
 |
| Arnold Büsch portrait, Aug 1917 |
Even after almost 100 years, so much is left to uncover about so many things.
In April of 2018, both France and Germany held a moment of silence to remember the 100th anniversary of the death of the Great War’s most memorable fighter, Manfred Albrecht Freiherr von Richthofen, who was better known as the Red Baron. Even though Manfred’s life has been very well researched, we are still uncovering historic details to this day. Slightly separate from historical studies is Manfred’s legacy in popular culture; his name has been thoroughly beloved and mythologized in the century since his death through numerous films and books. Heck, there’s even an American pizza company named after him, not to mention Snoopy vs. the Red Baron.
Someone else, however, who has been continually left off or side-noted in history was Manfred’s younger brother, Lothar Siegfried Freiherr von Richthofen. Lothar (pronounced “low-tar”, like the cigarettes) was certainly not as celebrated as his brother, despite also being a very skilled aviator. While Manfred might have gained the most publicity, and the highest aerial kill count during the First World War (80 victories), Lothar proved himself to be equally as skilled during his time as an aviator. In fact, he was noted as being incredibly reckless: he was brash, brazen, and unafraid in combat. This, combined with nimbleness and skill while flying, made Lothar an effective weapon for the German military. He rose in the ranks as an aviator very quickly after he began flying at his older brother's encouragement in 1917, and by war’s end in 1918, had ranked up to Oberleutnant (Sr. Lieutenant).
He quickly (much more quickly than almost any other pilot) climbed the ranks to ace, eventually ending his time in the military at the end of the war with 40 air victories. It is noteworthy that he accomplished this within a year, claiming half the number of Manfred’s victories in half the time. After his brother became famous for painting his biplane bright red, Lothar followed suit and painted his plane bright yellow. It is easy to see how Lothar had quite a lot to prove, and it is recorded that he was often at odds with Manfred. Despite this, there is also evidence of brotherly love, tomfoolery, and lightheartedness between them. They found peace between harrowing moments of carnage.
Miraculously, Lothar survived the war, although Manfred did not. While there is much more to say about his life prior to his death, and I have original research to contribute, that will be a post for another day (perhaps I’ll do a full biography post). This post in particular concerns my original research about the events surrounding the death of Lothar.
Lothar’s life was far less publicized after the war. As far as accessible sources go, we suddenly lose most information about him in the post-war years. Even though his death dates and the location of his death have been widely available for decades, I’ve never been content with these bare-bones facts. There was a distinct lack of knowledge about specifics surrounding his death, and I wanted those intimate details. What did Lothar say, think, and do, during his final moments? It deeply mattered to me. Pretty much all that anyone knew of his death was something like this:
Lothar was a commercial and mail pilot who died in a plane crash on July 4th, 1922 outside of Hamburg. He was carrying actress Fern Andra and her director George Bluen from Berlin to Hamburg when the engine failed. Lothar died, while Fern and George survived with major injuries.
And that was it. Some websites and blogs had inklings of information, such as obituaries and dates of his funeral, but nothing about what happened. Since Fern and George survived, I knew there had to be more information out there. Something. I needed to scrape together a better picture of Lothar’s last days. Armed with the toolbox of a historian, I went searching. And I’ve found it! At last, since it happened in 1922, the world can learn about what exactly happened to Lothar’s plane, and what happened during the flight that would be his last.
I must preface this by saying that I am a newspaper addict. I will spend 8 hours straight with no breaks just scrolling through historic newspapers digitally, and scanning through microfilms in the library. Whenever I find something amazing that I could contribute to history, it always blows me away me that, technically, this information is public access. Anybody could have known this or found this. However, it is often the situation that the things I find have not been written about since these publications were contemporary. This is exactly the case with Lothar’s death in 1922.
Somehow, Lothar’s name was lost to time, and he was referred to by various incorrect names such as “Baron Oswald von Richthofen” (who was a distant relative who died in 1906), or “Karl”. The Denver Post got close in 1931, referring to him as “Lota”. Most United States newspapers that I have found get his name wrong until at least the 1970s. In a story apparently written by Fern herself in 1924, she refers to Lothar as “Hartmann”, causing me to wonder if maybe he introduced himself as Hartmann to her. In another article, published in The Evening Star (Washington DC) in May 1930, he is once more called Hartmann. Most likely though, this was the mistake of the publishers on both occasions, as Fern spoke in various later interviews about her fondness towards “Lota”. All of these sources that refer to him by an incorrect name are still validated because they all refer to him as the brother of Manfred, the Red Baron. Needless to say, it was not an easy feat to find information about him, but when there’s a will, there’s a way!
 |
| Lothar in a Fokker Dr.1 Triplane during WWI |
Due to possible post-traumatic stress from combat (that most likely went untreated), Lothar spent the years immediately following the Great War struggling with depression and deep uncertainty in his life. He resigned as a first lieutenant from the Luftstreitkräfte(eventual Luftwaffe) after the war. His buddies stayed in the military and would rank up to be powerful Nazi leaders someday (such as Hermann Göring and Ernst Udet). Glad he didn’t get all caught up in that. Lothar definitely seemed fatigued by the pomp of the military, something he was sort of a black sheep about anyways. He tried a stint as a married man, father, and farmer, but it didn’t last very long. In 1919, Lothar married Countess Doris von Keyserlingk. Many in the family speculate it was an arranged marriage, common in the Prussian Adel (nobility). Although he fathered two children (Manfred-Wolf and Viola), the marriage was quickly dissolved. By the time the 1920s rolled around, Lothar was living in Berlin, and was in the pilot’s seat again, carrying private passengers and mail around Germany. Commercial and postal airlines had not been created in Germany yet, so oftentimes former skilled war fliers were recruited to help fill this niche market. The plane that his death occurred in happened to be a biplane used in the war, and was refitted to have three seats (a Fokker D 1481).
 |
| Tall Lothar in his typical light suit and bowtie visiting with Ernst Udet in Munich in the 1920s. He also met with General Ludendorff, where ceremonies were held for aviators killed during the war, during “die Fliegergedenktage” (the names are mixed around on this photograph. Lothar is with the cane, NOT in uniform) (from International Autographs Auctions, LTD) |
 |
Lothar in Munich, May 20-24th 1921. Notice him hiding his walking cane behind his back (From The Blue Max Airmen Volume 8: German Airmen Awarded the Pour le Mérite by Lance J Bronnenkant) |
 |
| Lothar at the same Fliegergedenktage in Munich, May 1921. |
 |
| Family photo of Lothar. Possibly him in civilian clothes during or before the war |
The most complete record I have found of the events leading up to Lothar’s death is in the previously mentioned Denver Post article written by Fern Andra. Fern had a very colorful life; she went by a variety of pseudonyms, and was known as an actress, baroness, heiress, and spy. Originally a circus and vaudeville performer, she became well known throughout Germany as a sort of “vamp”, and starred in a variety of Avant-Garde silent films. Various newspapers used terms to describe her as a sort of spoiled, promiscuous person. She admitted that “fussy” was her favorite nickname, and within 10 years was married three times to varying degrees of powerful German men. Newspapers loved to call her a “tomboy” who “advocated going barefooted”. She was very proud of her accomplishments and her career, as she should be. She was a skilled performer and a real daredevil. Her names include: Vern Andra, Vern Andrea, Fern Andra, Fern Andrea, Fern Andrews, and probably other variations of that. Most commonly though, she liked to refer to herself as Freifrau (baroness).
 |
| Fern Andra in her own airplane, 1922. The Bridgeport Times and Evening Farmer, 17 July 1922, p.9 |
A daring aviatrix, she entertained herself in 1920s Bauhaus Berlin by befriending noble flying men and walking on their plane’s wings mid-flight. At least, that’s what she did with Lothar. Apparently, widowed Fern and divorced Lothar became fast friends, and spent the next few weeks getting to know each other by frequenting a coffeehouse in Berlin. Fern was preparing to start filming a new picture where she would do a number of daredevil airplane stunts, including walking on wings mid-flight. She wanted to use her own plane, but after chatting a few times about it, Lothar offered his own Fokker for the film, and he promised to fly. That way the film could get in some one-of-a-kind stunts from one of the best aviators, and Fern could still appear out of the pilots’ seat. She was sold on the idea, and it was set that Fern and Lothar would star in a film together. Knowing that the Americans in Hamburg were throwing a large 4th of July celebration with a fireworks show, Lothar invited his American friend to fly there with him, get some lunch together, and then attend the ceremonies. He figured they could practice some stunts on the way there, and make a date out of it. It is very sad to say, but Lothar von Richthofen died on his way to go on a date with a new, exciting American woman. It really breaks my heart. To quote Fern herself:
The Richthofen brothers didn’t know what it [The Great War] was all about, except the Fatherland had summoned them and they answered. They bore no malice when the fighting ceased. Indeed, it was to celebrate the Fourth of July with me that Lothar Richthofen invited me to fly with him to Hamburg for lunch and celebration. He had gone thru war, was wounded and recovered.
- Fern Andra, in Denver at the time of this interview, The Denver Post, 19 Aug 1931, p.4
◈◈◈
So, the morning of July 4th rolled around, and since they were going to be practicing stunts for the upcoming film, (and he was also American), Fern’s director George Bluen was also invited along for the trip. The plan was that they would simply run through some of their stunt ideas during the flight, and then enjoy the rest of their American holiday. According to Fern, a dear friend of hers, Frau C. von Scheven, had a premonition, and drove to the airfield where the trio was about to fly away (around 6 am). Apparently she begged and pleaded with Fern to stay behind, but Lothar laughed at her and said “This is one of the best airships in Germany”, and they certainly had one of the best aviators to fly it. Frau von Scheven made Fern promise to call her when she arrived safely in Hamburg. She promised. The trio climbed in to the old Fokker, George and Fern in the backseat together, and Lothar of course in the front.
The Baron pulled a lever and there was a droning hum. The big plane quivered like a wounded bird, but did not move forward. Richthofen looked annoyed and pulled another lever. Still the Fokker only quivered. The German ace swore under his breath, then by some magical touch he got the machine under control. It darted forward and then slowly began to rise skyward.
- The Denver Post, 30 March 1924, p.72
As their elevation leveled out, mostly through sign language Fern and George communicated that they wanted to start running through the first stunt. It consisted of Fern having to crawl out of the backseat, walking on to the wing of the Fokker, and then climbing into the forward seat with the pilot.
I had no sooner stood erect on the wing of the plane that I realized that it was far from steady. I had driven planes myself and I knew that was a bad sign. It seemed to be rocking under my feet.
- Ibid.Disturbed by this rocking, Fern quickly plopped into the front seat with Lothar. Bluen gave her the signal of approval and settled into his seat. Instead of rejoining him, Fern decided to stay in the front. Just then, the plane lurched, and she saw the elevation gauge had fallen significantly. In her account, Fern states how instantly disturbed she became after thinking about what might have happened to her if she was still walking on the wings when this drop had happened. She continues:
Richthofen was trying to move a lever which by wires controlled the tail of the machine. He shook his head and, with a gesture to me, he made it clear it was impossible. Something was wrong. He motioned that I should climb back to the rear seat, which is where the wires passed; and try from there to move them. Uneasy about what had just happened with our elevation, Richthofen smiled faintly at me and nodded that it was okay.
I stood up and tried to see __ of the machine. It was impossible. Gingerly, I made my way back, picking every step carefully until I reached the rear compartment. To my amazement, Bluen was sound asleep, all unconscious and unaware of the danger that surrounded us. I did not awake him for he knew nothing about airplanes and would have been of little assistance. Operating my own plane had taught me their general mechanism. I knew that it was these wires that controlled the tail.
I seized them and tried to move them. They were icy cold. Undoubtedly, they had become rusty. For ten minutes I struggled, but could not budge them. I saw Richthofen peering back at me through the glass that divided the two compartments. There was a look of alarm on his face.
Again, I crept to the front seat of the airplane, slumped down in the seat beside Richthofen and I started to adjust my goggles. It was only then that I discovered that in my frantic efforts with the wires they had cut through my gloves and deep into the flesh. My right hand was bleeding badly.
I motioned to Richthofen that it was impossible to move the wires. I saw from his look that he was desperate. He jerked one lever after another. Then, reaching over so that his face almost touched mine, he shouted at the top of his voice: “Get back, Fern! Get back and try the wires again, for God’s sake!”
I made an attempt to rise. At that moment a terrific explosion occurred at the rear of the machine. Above the noise of the motors, it sounded like a gun-shot. Something like a great disk of steel whizzed past Baron Richthofen’s head, missing him by the hundredth part of an inch and cutting through the propeller as if it had been paper. I saw him turn deadly pale. The motors were stopping.
He leaned over and caught me by the wrist. With his lips close against my ear, he screamed “Prepare! In ten seconds we’ll all be dead!” For some unaccountable reason, his wrist watch attracted me. It’s hands pointed at 8:32. In that awful moment I noted the time and recalled that we had left Berlin at 6:30. We must be near Hamburg. My eyes seemed riveted to the fur on Richthofen’s cap. What an odd color!
I realized we were plunging toward the earth. I felt slightly sea-sick. My senses began to reel: I heard strange noises as if songs were being carried to me on the wind from a long way off. It seemed as if a terrific cyclone was tossing us about.
George Bluen awoke right as they reached the earth. According to Fern, he screamed and screeched, having only moments of consciousness before their demise. And then…
There was a crash, a sound of splintering wood, of breaking glass, of crunching steel--a blinding flash. Just before my merciful unconsciousness came, I saw Baron Richthofen’s mangled body twisted between the two wings of the plane. I saw, too, the body of poor George Bluen. I prayed, the light was going out…
It is noteworthy here that Fern’s account contradicts what I have previously seen about this incident; originally, I read that George Bluen had survived, yet Fern’s account makes it clear that he did not. In a different account she gave to The Denver Post in 1931, she also included the additional detail that Lothar had to make a split second choice, and while it cost him his life, he might have saved the lives of many others:
We had reached Hamburg when something happened to the plane, an old war time bus, and it was a choice of falling into a crowded street or on hard land near the river bank. He chose the chance of the river.
- The Denver Post, 19 August 1931, p.4
It turns out that by flying towards the river, Lothar had probably hoped they could land in the water. Unfortunately, the Fokker clipped the top of a tree on their rough descent, and they crashed into the gardens of a prison complex just in the outskirts of Hamburg.
Fern described how horrifying the next part of this experience was for her. She was so severely injured, with a fractured skull and most of her bones broken, that she was unable to move or stay conscious very long. She describes she knew that George and Lothar died instantly, just from seeing their carnage in the wreckage. The prisoners were released from their cells to help the victims of the accident. By the time the trio was extricated from the “twisted mass of wreckage”, an ambulance had arrived, and they were whisked off to an operating room. Before a doctor was able to view them, it was determined that they were all three dead, and instead taken to a morgue. Fern laid in a coma, her warmth and breathing apparently untraceable. She described how horrified she was, unsure if she really was dead or alive. She was laid out on cold metal slabs next to Lothar and George’s bodies at the morgue, slipping in and out of consciousness, but unable to manipulate her body enough to give the morticians a sign that she was alive.
 |
| This illustration, included with the article, portrays the scene with Fern in the seat behind Lothar, although in fact, her director Bluen was sitting in the back seat, and Fern was sitting on Lothar’s lap when they crashed, according to her account. (The Denver Post, 30 March 1924) |
Amazingly, Fern’s friend Frau von Scheven had been so anxious about the flight that she took her own motor car to Hamburg. She lost no time, and fortunately her entrance into Hamburg went past the penitentiary. As she drove into the area, lots of cars and commotion tipped her off that something had happened. Upon seeing the plane wreckage, Frau von Scheven was determined to find Fern’s body. When she found the three in the morgue, she threw herself on Fern’s body in anguish. The attendants laughed at her when she said she felt a little warmth, thinking Fern’s injuries too severe to survive. Then, Frau von Scheven pulled out a compact mirror and placed it near Fern’s mouth. When it became covered in moisture, the attendants quickly scurried to get her into an ambulance and into surgery. Fern would learn about this incident from Frau von Scheven several weeks after the event when she woke up from her coma. From there, she faced over a year and a half of recovery.
For months, most American newspapers were still publishing photos of the American-born daredevil actress with sad news of her death. A Tulsa, Oklahoma newspaper continued to report her death until at least October that same year. A family friend of Fern’s, a woman in Denver, Colorado, USA named Bird Millman, confirmed that she was in fact alive, but recovering from serious injuries. Simultaneously, Lothar’s aunt, Louise von Richthofen, also of Denver, Colorado, confirmed to Americans his death in the crash. While Lothar and George died, Fern survived. After multiple surgeries, Fern spent the next year and a half recovering in both Bad Nauheim and then in Deauville. The daredevil did not let the event shake her, and after she recovered returned to movies and the stage, eventually returning to the United States to live and work when the fascists began to gain significant power.
“My face as it now is represents a triumph of the plastic surgeons”One newspaper in August of 1922, The Evening Star, referred to the death of Lothar and George, with Fern’s serious injuries, as a call for Americans to protest that post-war airplane building restrictions on Germany was causing many deaths. Apparently, right after Lothar and George died, a similar crash happened on the Berlin-Hamburg route, killing several more people. According to this newspaper, these restrictions on keeping planes “light weight” is what caused Lothar and George’s death, the columnist charging that three passengers in the former war biplane was too heavy a load. It continued to say that Lothar was killed “in an airplane constructed under stipulations imposed by the allies for the purpose of preventing the Germans from building airplanes for war purposes”, partially shifting blame for the accident on those same allied countries that killed Lothar’s famous brother just a few years prior.
- Fern Andra, The Denver Post, 19 Aug 1931, p.4
Lothar von Richthofen’s funeral was held in his hometown of Schweidnitz, at the Garrison church, and was attended by many of his old flying comrades. He was buried in the Garrison Cemetery (Garnisonfriedhof) next to his father Albrecht (who died in 1920).
 |
| Lothar’s obituary notice issued by von Hoeppner: “We have again lost one of our most outstanding fighter pilots. He fell victim to the thing he mastered like no other. The former flying troupe is deeply depressed, mourning the loss of this admirable man, who was lost the same as his brother Manfred, this especially beloved comrade. His image will live on in us: a day of greatness, a light in our bleak time.” (from Frontflieger.de) |
◈◈◈
The Russians invaded the Richthofen home in Schweidnitz (modern day Swinica, Poland) some years after Lothar died, forcing the family to relocate within the new borders of Germany. The Garrison Graveyard where Lothar and his father were buried was razed by the invading Red Army. Apparently, the graveyard is now under a football field, and a plaque (?) remains. However, when we visited in 2016, Victoria and I were unable to find it. Hopefully we can do some more snooping around next time we are in the neighborhood of Swidnica. It is our deep hope to someday locate Lothar and his father’s bodies, and reunite them with the rest of the family at the Wiesbaden cemetery, where Lothar’s famous brother, Manfred, his mother Kunigunde, his younger brother Bolko, and his sister Ilse are buried.
 |
| Tori visiting with Lothar's memorial plaque in Wiesbaden, 2016 |
In later years, Fern Andra and Kunigunde Freifrau von Richthofen (Lothar and Manfred’s mother) met in Wiesbaden in at the 1954 Great War armistice day celebration. Fern had been in America for the past 22 years, only returning to Germany after the Second War to track down the "more than 100 films" she made there during the 1920s. Although Kunigunde was 85 at the time, I’m sure it gave the mother, who suffered a lot of loss squeezed between two World Wars, some closure about her son.
 |
| Stars and Stripes, 14 Nov 1954 |
And so, that is the updated, extended version of the context and events that led up to and transpired the day Lothar von Richthofen died. Please know that there are several more factors of this story I want to research and pursue, so please check back over time for updates. For example, I have a photo of the wreckage itself (after the bodies have been pulled from it), but the quality is so poor you can’t even tell what you’re looking at. Someday, I plan on renting a car for a couple weekends to scour the Hamburger microfilm archives in their library. Luckily I have a lifetime of doing this exact sort of thing ahead of me; piecing together the puzzle of the past from the bits that were left behind.
The Bridgeport Times and Evening Farmer, 17 July, 1922, p.9.
Bronnenkant, Lance J. The Blue Max Airmen Volume 8: German Airmen Awarded the Pour le Mérite. Aeronaut Books, 2016
The Denver Post, 3 September, 1922, p.21.
The Denver Post, 30 March 1924, p.72.
The Evening Star (Washington DC), 2 August 1922, p.15.
The Evening Star (Washington DC), 22 May 1930, p.39.
The Morning Tulsa Daily World 20 Aug, 1922, p. 30.
Rowan, Timothy. “Von Richthofen's mother, actress Fern Andra meet”, Stars and Stripes, 14 November, 1954.
Von Richthofen, Kunigunde. Mein Kriegstagebuch. Berlin: Ullstein, 1937.
No comments:
Post a Comment