Salt mines and castles: The discovery and restitution of looted European art

by Thomas Carr Howe

Once the paper, felt and “sausages” were in place, the pictures could be brought to the truck. One after another they were placed in a stack leading from the sideboards of the truck to the center. Pads and small blankets were inserted between them to prevent rubbing. To ensure safe packing, all the pictures in a given row had to be carefully selected as to size, ranging from large to medium in one, and from medium to small in another. That was the most tedious part of the entire operation. As soon as a row had been “built,” it required only a few minutes to bring first the felt and then the green paper over the top of the row, tuck both down along the sides, and then lash the whole stack firmly to the side of the truck. By this method it was possible to load as many as a hundred and fifty medium-sized canvases on a single truck, for three rows of twenty-five each could be built up on either side of our big two-and-a-half-ton trucks. A truck loaded in this way could often accommodate several pieces of sculpture as well. Carefully padded and swathed in blankets, these could be placed down the center. The final step was to adjust the tarpaulin over the bows and to close the tailboard. A truck of the size we used could normally be loaded in two hours.

We were at the mercy of the weather, as far as loading was concerned. On rainy days we could work on only one truck at a time, because there was but one doorway with a protective stoop under which a single truck could park. Taking advantage of the sunny mornings, we would divide up into two teams—George and Steve on one truck, Lamont and I on another. As soon as a truck was filled and the tarpaulin securely fastened down, it was driven to one side of the narrow terrace in front of the building. The average convoy consisted of six trucks.

We had a crew of eighteen Negro drivers. Barboza, the C.O., was a very starchy lieutenant, Jamaica born. He and his men were billeted down in the little town of Bad Aussee. They were magnificent drivers but a bit reckless. Their occasional disregard for their vehicles was a worry to George. It would have been so with any drivers, I guess. A breakdown on the steep mountain roads could be a serious matter. It meant the complete disruption of the convoy schedule, involving reloading en route. To provide for this contingency, we made a practice of loading the trucks to three-quarters of their capacity. The contents of a single truck could thus be absorbed by the others.

When a convoy was ready to start, either George or I would lead off in a jeep and escort the six trucks down the precipitous road to Alt Aussee. Two half-tracks from the 11th Armored Division, as front and rear guards, would be waiting to accompany the convoy to Munich.

At breakfast one morning George said, “This looks like a good day to load the gold-seal products.” He meant the Michelangelo Madonna and the Ghent altarpiece. This was an important event, for they were unquestionably the two most precious things still at the mine. Every possible precaution would have to be taken to make this operation a success. It must go off without a hitch. If anything happened to either of these masterpieces, the repercussions would be catastrophic. They would overshadow all the accomplishments of our MFA&A officers.

For the past several days, George and Steve had been working on the Madonna. She was now heavily padded and trussed up like a ham, ready to be brought out of the mine. We all went down to the Kaiser Josef chamber where we had first seen her. George made a final inspection of the ropes and pulleys which had been set up to hoist her onto the waiting train. Then, with a satisfied smile, he said, “I think we could bounce her from Alp to Alp, all the way to Munich, without doing her any harm.”

Once the statue was gently loaded on the little flat car, the train pulled slowly out of the mine chamber and switched back onto the track of the main tunnel. From there it chugged slowly—George walking alongside—to the mine entrance where the truck stood waiting. This truck and the one which was to carry the altarpiece had been put in perfect condition. And George had put the fear of God into the two drivers, both of whom he had personally chosen from our crew. A dozen of the gnomes were waiting to lift the marble onto the truck. We slid it cautiously to the fore part where boards had been laid parallel and nailed to the floor. These would prevent shifting. On either side of the statue, small packing cases about two feet square were arranged in even rows and lashed firmly to the sides of the truck. These cases had been stored in a chamber of the mine called the Kapelle. They contained the coin collection intended for the Linz Museum and were accordingly marked “Münz Kabinett” or Coin Room. Blankets were wedged in between the cases and the statue. The large case containing the Greek sarcophagus from Salonika was set in place behind the statue and similarly secured to the floor and at the sides. That done, the truck was ready to go.

As George was putting the finishing touches on the packing, he said, “Tom, will you go down and get the ‘Lamb’?” To be entrusted with the removal of the great altarpiece was an exciting assignment. I wanted to share it with someone who would also get a kick out of telling his grandchildren that he had actually brought the famous panels out of their underground hiding place. I called Lamont, and the two of us, followed by eight of the gnomes, hitched four of the “dogs” to the little engine and proceeded to the Mineral Kabinett. One of the “dogs,” especially designed to carry pictures of unusual height, had a lower bed than the others. We would use this one for the big central panel of the altarpiece. Otherwise it would not clear a portion of the mine tunnel where the jagged rocks hung low over the track.

The panels were now in their cases, and it was a relatively simple matter to carry them from the storage room to the train. We had to make two trips down and back in order to get all ten cases up to the mine entrance. They were much lighter than the statue, but the loading was a more exacting undertaking. Lashing them upright in parallel rows, in the truck, and stowing cases on either side for ballast, took time. We didn’t finish until well after six. It had taken most of the day to load the “gold-seal products.”