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

by Thomas Carr Howe

We asked him what plans he would have for us when we completed the job. He said he might send us to the Castle of Neuschwanstein. The place was full of things looted from Paris. In fact, it was one of the major repositories of the Einsatzstab Rosenberg. The French were clamoring to have it evacuated. Then there was another big repository in a Carthusian monastery at Buxheim. That too contained loot from Paris. Perhaps we could take a run down to both places and size up the jobs after we had finished with the Göring things. The captain was tired after his long trip, so we didn’t go into details about either of the two prospective assignments. He offered us a billet for the night and the three of us turned in shortly after eleven. It was none too soon for me: I still had forty-two unopened letters from home in the pocket of my jacket.

When we arrived at the Collecting Point the next morning, the two German workmen who had been with me at Hohenfurth were starting to unpack the truck with the sculpture. Lamont and I examined each statue as it was lifted from its nest of excelsior. All twenty-nine had come through without a scratch. Our experiment was a success. We would be able to use the same technique with the rest of the sculpture. I instructed the workmen to leave all of the excelsior in the truck, as we had none to spare.

I persuaded Craig to drive back to Berchtesgaden with us for the night. He looked tired and I thought the change would do him good. His responsibilities at the Collecting Point—the “Bau,” as we called it (our abbreviation for Verwaltungsbau)—were heavy; and he never took a day off.

On the return trip he told us his latest troubles. Only three days ago a small bomb had exploded in the basement of the “Bau.” It had blown one of the young German workmen to bits. Craig gave all the grisly details, which included discovering one of the poor fellow’s arms in a heap of debris fifty feet from the scene of the explosion. The tragedy had had one beneficial result. For weeks Craig had been harping on the subject of additional guards for the Collecting Point. His words had fallen on deaf ears—until the bomb episode. He said that a general and three colonels arrived at the building within half an hour. Since then everyone had been so “security-conscious” that he had had no further difficulty in obtaining the desired number of guards. The Bomb Disposal Unit inspected the premises and some pointed comments were made about the thoroughness of the original survey.

In our absence Steve had loaded three trucks. As a reward for his labors, I suggested that he take Craig up to the Eagle’s Nest the following morning. While they were gone, Lamont and I finished three more loads. We had the convoy of six lined up by noon. Craig returned to Munich in one of the escort jeeps. This fifth convoy contained one hundred and sixty-seven paintings, one hundred and six pieces of sculpture, twenty-five tapestries, sixty-eight cases filled with bibelots, and fifty-three pieces of furniture. It was our largest convoy out of Berchtesgaden thus far.

It was also the first one to break down. Late in the afternoon, the rear escort jeep arrived at the rest house with word that two of the trucks had broken down fifteen miles out of Berchtesgaden. Steve and I drove to Berchtesgaden to arrange to have them towed in for reloading. I also wanted to do a little investigating. There could be little excuse for breakdowns on the Munich road if the trucks had been in good mechanical condition when they started out.

On the way into town, Steve said, “Tom, I think I know what caused the trouble. I didn’t think of it till just now. But the other day on the road back from Alt Aussee, two six-by-sixes passed me at a hell of a clip. I thought I recognized the drivers as two of ours.”

I questioned the lieutenant in charge of the drivers. He professed ignorance of any unauthorized junkets back to Alt Aussee.

“I am going to have a word with Tiny,” said Steve as we left the lieutenant’s room. Tiny was the head mechanic and the only one of the entire crew who was always on the job. Steve wanted to talk to him alone, so I waited in the car.

A few minutes later he came back with a satisfied grin on his face. “I got the whole story,” he said. “The drivers have been racing back and forth to Alt Aussee all the time we’ve been here. They were crazy about it up at the mine. Tiny says they hate it here at Berchtesgaden.”