dust. I pulled the Triumph into the driveway and backed into a spot over on the right side. Von Klamer had enough parking spaces to accommodate at least twenty cars.
I turned off the car and sized up the house. The house was huge and in pretty good repair. I thought to myself that the architect who designed this house had to be deranged. I guess you would have to categorize the style of the house as Gothic. I really wasn’t sure how to describe it, the mansard roof was a complete contradiction to rest of the house. It certainly wasn’t Victorian, but if Von Klamer liked it, that was all that counted. Maybe in his own mind, he thought of it as a medieval German castle. Hell for all I cared, he could put a damn moat around it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I popped out of the car and checked my watch, it was exactly 12:58 p.m., I was right on time. I’d always prided myself on my punctuality and I felt rather proud of myself under the circumstances. Even though I had to contend with insane numbers, and old pickup trucks getting in the way, they still proved no match for me and the Triumph. As I walked up to the front door I noticed the driver of the pickup. He appeared to be a man of medium build around fifty years of age. Everything about him was average. He was the type of man that would be hard to describe but easy to remember. He seemed to be lurking about on the side of the house. I got the strangest feeling that he was trying to hide from me. I was probably just getting a little paranoid. Why should he be hiding? I had no answer, and quickly convinced myself that he was probably the gardener innocently checking some plant or shrub in the beds that wrapped around the sides of the mansion.
I was at the front door now. Since I couldn’t find any doorbell I knocked on the door. After about a minute’s wait, I knocked on the door again, only this time a little harder and with a little more urgency. From inside the mansion, I could hear someone on the other side of the door unbolting the latch.
The hinges desperately needed to be oiled, as the door creaked open.
An elderly woman in a maid’s uniform with a stern presence now stood before me, she appeared to be well into her seventies, from the look on her face she could also use a good oiling. I spoke first.
“Good afternoon, I’m Fred Dansk. I have a one o’clock appointment with Mr. Von Klamer.”
“Hello Mr. Dansk, I’m Hilda, Mr. Von Klamer’s housekeeper. Mr. Von Klamer is expecting you. Unfortunately he’s currently tied up on a long distance phone call. Please come in and have a seat in the hallway. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
I entered through the door into a massive hallway. To the left was a closed doorway and on the right side of hall there was an arched doorway that led to a pristine formal dining room. The hallway must have been more than sixty feet in length. At the end of the hallway there were eight-foot high French doors leading to the backyard of the estate. From my vantage point, I could actually see the view through the back doors and it was a breathtaking view of the Navesink River. The walls, were a deep walnut and were lined with pictures and drawings presented in a most professional manner. I had the feeling I was in the corridor of an art museum. Hilda knocked and then entered through the closed doorway, undoubtedly to announce me to Von Klamer.
I took a seat and waited for Hilda’s next direction, she quickly returned from behind the closed door and asked in her German accent if she could get me anything. I declined and asked her if she would mind if I took a closer look at the artwork.
“Of course, are you a collector Mr. Dansk?”
“A very modest collector of sorts, but I do enjoy it.”
“Then please enjoy it. If you change your mind and need anything, please call me. I’ll be in the kitchen right in back of the dining room.”
“Thank you.”
I walked along the right side of the hall and checked out each picture, I didn’t recognize any of the artists. I was somewhat surprised at Von Klamer’s tastes. Most of the artwork was modern. Finally, after about ten paintings I finally found an artist that I was familiar with, Karl Schmidt-Rottluff. Rottluff was an expressionist painter who along with Bleyl, Hechel, and Kuchner used their artwork as a form of social protest in the early part of the twentieth century. Rottluff’s work was strongly influenced by early African sculpture. His shapes over time became simpler and more exaggerated. The colors he used were exceedingly bright, almost jarring to the eye. It reminded me of the colorful primitive art you could get these days from Haiti. During his time in the twenties and early thirties, his work was explained as a protest against the middle class. Hitler would never have approved of this, I’m sure he would have considered it decadent. I continued my walk down the hall. Just before the French doors, I found another artist I was familiar with, Otto Dix. Dix had painted a picture, titled Portrait of Dr. Glaser, that I had seen, in some gallery, many years ago. As I recall it was a portrait of a Dresden lawyer, but I actually found it to be more of a caricature. Dix was known for his ironic approach to art, and was a socialist artist of the same period as Rottluff. His work was noted for standing out in opposition to the middle class structure of German society and served as a whimsical judgement of the period.
As I reached the back of the hallway, I stopped and admired the view through the French doors.
Von Klamer didn’t have any artwork hanging on the walls that could compare to the view from his own back door. As I was enjoying the scenery, I couldn’t help but reflect on Von Klamer’s odd choice of art.
No real self respecting Nazi would ever have this type of artwork on his walls. From 1933 to 1945, Hitler did everything in his power to suppress not only this type of art but the artist as well. Although I was no fan of modern art, I had always wondered why Hitler despised it. Was it that, he personally felt threatened by liberals? Or was it because of his personal disappointment of not gaining entrance into the Academy of Fine Arts back in 1907 and 1908? Then again it may be simply that Hitler, like myself, thought the artwork sucked.
I was deep into my thoughts when a German voice authoritatively called, “Herr Dansk, I am ready for you now.”
CHAPTER NINE
I turned and faced the front door as the echoes reverberated throughout the great hallway. Von Klamer was now poised in the hallway on the side by the door to his office. He was a small man about 5'8" inches in height and slight of build. He appeared to be well into his eighties but the way in which he carried himself belied his years. He was dressed in a three-piece suit with a starched white shirt and a silk blue tie. The old man was really quite stylish, he could have well been in an ad for Gentlemen’s Quarterly.
As I walked towards the voice I got a better look at him, his white hair was thinning, had a thin mustache, and wore gold-rimmed glasses. As I approached him, I extended my hand and returned the greeting, “Mr. Von Klamer, I’m Fred Dansk, pleased to meet you.”
The old man accepted my hand with a firmer handshake than I would have imagined.
“Won’t you join me,” as Von Klamer gestured to me to enter his office.
As I entered the office, I was first taken aback by its size. It was the largest office I had ever been in. It struck me that Von Klamer’s office was bigger than my house. Maybe when I got to know him a little better I’d ask him why such a small man needed such a large office. If I’d brought my basketball, the old man and I could have played a little one on one. The ceilings were high enough to accommodate a backboard, as they must have been all of fourteen feet. In the front of the room there was nothing but glass windows. The far wall had a huge fireplace with oversized double hung windows on each side. As I looked to the back wall,
