The Christmas Train to Ft. Lincoln by Ursula Vogt Potter

It was seven days before Christmas in 1941 that Karl Vogt was taken from his cell in the Spokane County Jail in the state of Washington to a waiting train car. This car was filled with men from all over the West who had also been arrested on December 9, 1941, two days after the bombing of Pearl Harbor and two days before war was declared between Germany and the U.S.
These men shared a common ancestry---they were all German nationals; most were legal permanent residents of the U.S., who had been wrested from homes and occupations and taken to county and city jails in Los Angeles and San Francisco, California, Portland, Oregon, Seattle and Spokane, Washington and other western communities. Now the train was heading for Bismarck, North Dakota, to a place called Ft. Lincoln where a new type of holding facility was being established---an enemy alien internment camp.

As Karl looked out through the open door of the train car, a slight flurry of snow was visible in the afternoon sky. "Armin will be happy," he thought. "Four year old boys love snow, especially at Christmas time." Then the stricken faces of his family swam into his memory again, making him feel almost nauseous. "No," he thought, "Christmas will be a sad time for my family this year."
"Sir! Sir!" a persistent voice interrupted his thoughts. "Are you all right? You look very pale."
Looking up, Karl saw two kind eyes staring at him across the aisle. "Hello. My name is Heinrich Hoffmann."
"Karl Vogt. I am pleased to meet you. Is it Father Hoffmann?" Karl responded, noticing the gentleman's clerical collar.
"Yes, I am a priest, albeit a misplaced one. I was only intending to visit America for a few months. Now going home looks somewhat hopeless."
"Where is home for you, Father?"
"My most recent home is the Vatican. I am part of the library staff there. I was studying the library system here when I was picked up by the F.B.I. Oh, oh, don't be impressed," said Dr. Hoffmann noticing Karl's surprised look. "My status is evidently not lofty enough to remove me from this mess! And you, my son, where is your home? And do you have a family?"
"My wife, my brother and I own a farm near Plaza, Washington which is about 20 miles south of Spokane. I have two children---a son who is four years old and a daughter who is just a baby---she turned one this fall."
"Tell me why you are here, my son. I look around me and I see no one who looks the least bit dangerous, and you look the least dangerous of all!"

With that encouragement, Karl poured out his story to this kind listener. He told him how three F.B.I. agents came to the farm on the afternoon of December 9 and accused him of engaging in un-American activities. How when asking them what these un-American activities were, they said something about his having sent money to Hitler---a ridiculous allegation! How after searching the house from top to bottom, all while Elsie, his wife, and his two children wept uncontrollably, they hauled him off to the Spokane County Jail where he was mug shot and fingerprinted---like a common criminal. How he was left to languish in the jail without advice from counsel of any kind. How his wife was only allowed one short visit with him during this time, and now he was on this train going to some place in North Dakota---and it was almost Christmas!

By this time the fellow sitting next to Father Hoffmann had awakened and had heard with great interest most of Karl's story. "Sounds like what happened to me.---Hello, I'm Erich Braemer from Seattle.---Only difference---my wife, Mimi, cried while my daughter-in-law, Helene cussed those guys out royally. Would you believe that Helene's husband, my son, Fred, is in the U.S. Army Air Corps----and now I'm being hauled off to an internment camp?!"

As the train slowly made its way to Ft. Lincoln a special friendship grew between these three men, and this friendship seemed to spread throughout the whole car. Men shared their stories. They had very similar stories---some more tragic than others, but the core issues were essentially the same: they had been wrongfully accused; they had been denied legal counsel; they had been embarrassed and humiliated; they were victims of wartime hysteria. Now it was nearly Christmas and they were being taken away from the warmth of family circles; away from the respect and goodwill of their neighbors; away from the magic of Christmas trees and gift giving. These miracles of the season would be denied to them, but the true gift of Christmas would flame as brightly as ever. God would visit them through new friendships.

When the train finally crept into Bismarck, North Dakota and stopped, the men disembarked from the train, and as they walked throught the snowy landscape to Ft. Lincoln, they heard music in the distance. They were not the first people to arrive here after all! A group of men was standing just inside the gates---near the haunting outline of the guard tower. They were singing:

From Heav'n above to earth I come,
To bring good news to everyone!
Glad tidings of great joy I bring,
To all the world we gladly sing!

Searching for Erich-The Erich Braemer Story

When Ursula Vogt Potter first began the task of organizing the memoirs of her family members for the book, THE MISPLACED AMERICAN, she soon realized that some of the internment stories passed down to her from her dad, Karl Vogt, would need to be researched and verified. One of those stories centered around a man named Braemer whom Karl had met on the train to Ft. Lincoln and who was one of the few released from Ft. Lincoln and sent home to Seattle, Washington early in 1942. This man was said to have had a son who was part of Jimmy Doolittle’s raid over Tokyo in April of 1942. After Braemer’s release, he sent a letter with newspaper clippings back to the fellows who had been left behind at Ft. Lincoln. According to Karl, these newspaper clippings told of how Seattle was proud of the Braemers and that the Braemer son was a national hero. The stories centered around the Doolittle Raid.

The first step then, for Ursula and her husband, Ted, was to do some research about the Doolittle Raid. They soon found a website dedicated to the Raiders and yes, there was a man named Braemer who was a part of that group. Fred Braemer had been the bombardier on the lead airplane, piloted by Doolittle himself. General James Doolittle had led sixteen B-25 bombers, which had been modified to enable them to take off from the deck of the U.S.S. Hornet, to a very dangerous attack on Tokyo. (http://www.doolittleraiders.com/) Ursula and Ted were very excited to learn of Fred Braemer’s role in this mission.

Next, Ursula and Ted looked through microfiche of old Seattle Times Newspapers and found many articles about the Raid and the Braemer family. With copies of some of these articles in hand, they set about trying to locate members of the Braemer family. Ted searched Social Security records and death notices, and found the name of the mid-western town where Fred Braemer had died. A very helpful librarian in that town, located an obituary with names of survivors. One of the survivors was Fred Braemer, Junior. With a minimal amount of sleuth work, Ted was able to find the this man’s phone number. Fred was very surprised to hear from the Potters, but very cordial and directed them to the widow of his father. He told the Potters that his grandfather’s first name was Erich. Ursula soon contacted Mrs. Fred Braemer, who was also very cordial, and after conversing with Ursula for several minutes said that she should contact Clara Wetherby, who in her words, was the “family historian”. Clara is the granddaughter of Erich and the niece of Fred Braemer (the Doolittle Raider).

The Potters and Clara Wetherby met in Vancouver, Washington at the home of a friend of the Wetherbys. This was a magical afternoon for the Potters and also for Clara. She said that she had wondered for years about what had happened to her grandfather, Erich, during December of 1941 and after, but that both her grandfather and grandmother refused to talk about it, so any new information about this event in her family’s history would be greatly appreciated. Sadly, it was revealed that both Erich and his wife, Mimi, were deceased.

Clara then went on to talk about her grandfather, Erich. Born in German in 1889, he immigrated to the U.S. in 1910, settling in Seattle and eventually establishing a painting and paperhanging business there. When asked later, why he never became a citizen, he answered that he was busy and just never got around to it. He was a much loved husband, father and grandfather and a popular member of his community. Although Eric was really stepfather to Fred and his sister, they took the Braemer name and considered him to be their father in every respect. Erich was a member of several German American clubs---social in nature--- and was the financial secretary of one of them. He subscribed to at least one German language newspaper. All of these things, the Potters pointed out to Clara, probably put him on some kind of list, making it easy for the F.B.I. to locate him.

Clara also told of what she knew of the afternoon of December 9, 1941. Clara related that Helene, Fred Braemer’s wife, was staying with Erich and Mimi while Fred was gone on active duty for the Army Air Corps. The shock and dismay of the family when the F.B.I unexpectedly came to search the house and arrest Erich, was amplified even more by the outrage of Helene. “His son is in the Army Air Corps”, she screamed as the F.B.I. agents were taking Erich away in handcuffs. Erich was then held at the King County Jail until the train bound for Ft. Lincoln picked him up and took him to North Dakota along with Karl Vogt and others from several western states.

Clara also told of becoming friends with some of the surviving Raiders, who, after the raid, often visited the Erich Braemer home, meeting and socializing with Fred and his family as well as the other members of the household.

Like many other internees and their families, the story of what happened on December 9, 1941 and later, was somehow thought of as a shameful part of the family history and thus never discussed.