Berlin, September 1, 1939
At six a.m. Sigrid Schultz—bless her heart—phoned. She said: “It’s happened.” I was very sleepy— my body and mind numbed, paralyzed, I mumbled: “Thanks, Sigrid,” and tumbled out of bed.
The war is on!
It’s a “counter-attack”! At dawn this morning Hitler moved against Poland. It’s a flagrant, inexcusable, unprovoked act of aggression. But Hitler and the High Command call it a “counterattack.” A gray morning with overhanging clouds. The people in the street were apathetic when I drove to the Rundfunk for my first broadcast at eight fifteen a.m. Across from the Adlon the morning shift of workers was busy on the new I. G. Farben building just as if nothing had happened. None of the men bought the Extras which the newsboys were shouting. Along the east-west axis the
Luftwaffe were mounting five big anti-aircraft guns to protect Hitler when he addresses the Reichstag at ten a.m. Jordan and I had to remain at the radio to handle Hitler’s speed for America. Throughout the speech, I thought as I listened, ran a curious strain, as though Hitler himself were dazed at the fix he had got himself into and felt a little desperate about it. Somehow he did not carry conviction and there was much less cheering in the Reichstag than on previous, less important
occasions.