As the Russian horde overwhelmed the last remaining Berlin defenses at the end of World War II, Adolph Eichmann shed his SS uniform and vanished into the Austrian Alps. Eichmann, who had been the operational director of the “Final Solution” and had overseen the deportation of millions of Jews from German-occupied countries to the death camps, knew that he would be labeled a war criminal. He managed to evade capture for several weeks, but by June 1945, he found himself in an Allied detention camp for prisoners of war. The Allies, however, did not realize who he was and allowed him to remain in a relatively low-security camp. Eichmann eventually escaped, worked in relatively anonymity as a logger in northern Germany for several years, then managed to travel to Argentina in 1950 using a forged passport.
Hunting Eichmann is the fascinating story of how Eichmann managed to create a new life for himself in Argentina using the alias Ricardo Klement, how an international manhunt eventually began closing in on him, and how the fledgling Mossad conducted a clandestine mission on foreign soil to kidnap Eichmann in 1960, smuggle him out of Argentina, and bring him to trial in Israel. Neal Bascomb, best-selling author of The Perfect Mile, has written a superb thriller about one of the final chapters of the Holocaust. Highly recommended.
Adolph Eichmann was hanged for his crimes by Israeli authorities in May 1962.
Recognizing that most of the music I listen to (blues, reggae, and what is disturbingly referred to these days as “classic rock”) was recorded decades ago, I decided to lively up myself and check out the current state of popular music, so I downloaded the ten “Top Songs” on iTunes for $1.29 a pop (pardon the pun). The only song I recognized was “Pumped Up Kicks” (which I heard for the first time on the radio the other day). I then put on a pair of headphones and listened to all ten songs in one sitting, and then again a second time. Doing so did nothing to change my taste in music, but I certainly now feel much more enlightened and hip. And because it would be incredibly selfish of me to keep my insights to myself, I now give you the benefit of my wisdom and impeccable taste in music.
On a hot June afternoon in 1876, George Armstrong Custer, commander of the United States Seventh Cavalry Regiment, impetuously decided (against the strenuous advice of his Indian scouts) to attack an Indian village on the banks of the Little Bighorn River in what is now southern Montana. Custer vastly underestimated the size and strength of the Indian encampment, and he then compounded his error by dividing his forces. (Custer had a total of approximately 670 men at his disposal, whereas thousands of Indians were living in the village, including estimates of 1,500-2,500 warriors.) The result was a slaughter that is now known to history as Custer’s Last Stand and that has transcended the basic black-and-white facts of its occurrence and assumed a mythological status in American history. This is no doubt due in large part to the mystery that surrounds those final hours, as not a single one of the 200 cavalryman who were present with Custer on what is now known as Last Stand Hill survived. The Last Stand, by Nathaniel Philbrick, is the second book to appear in recent years on the subject of the Battle of the Little Bighorn (the first was A Terrible Glory, by James Donovan, published in 2009). The Last Stand was a pleasure to read and I recommend it to anyone interested in learning more about the battle and its two main protagonists, Custer and Sitting Bull. Nevertheless, when all is said and done, I preferred A Terrible Glory to The Last Stand. Both books are well written and highly readable, but Donovan’s is more of a traditional military history, whereas Philbrick’s is more literary in its style. I also liked that Donovan devoted a significant part of his book to the 1879 Court of Inquiry that was held at the request of Major Marcus Reno, who was accused of cowardice and drunkenness and had been scapegoated for his role in the battle. In any event, you can’t go wrong reading either book.
Empire of the Summer Moon, by S.C. Gwynne, is the story of the rise and fall of the Commaches. Gwynne convincingly makes the case that the Commanches – not the Sioux, not the Cheyenne, not the Apaches – were the most powerful Indian tribe in American History. Originally a relatively inconsequential tribe inhabiting modern-day Wyoming, the horse revolution of the 1600′s transformed the Commanches into an aggressive war-like tribe that for the next two hundred years would out-ride and out-shoot everyone else in North America, including the Spanish, the Texans, the Americans, and other Indians. Sometime in the late 1600′s, the Commanches migrated southward on their horses onto the southern Great Plains, evicting the Apaches and other Indian tribes in the process and establishing their kingdom – Commancheria – in what today comprises large chunks of Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Kansas, and Oklahoma. They ruthlessly presided over Commancheria for the next two hundred years until eventually driven into submission by the United States military in the 1870′s.
I recently finished The Girl Who Played With Fire, the second installment in Stieg Larson’s trilogy thriller built around the enigmatic character of Lisbeth Salander. Fire picks up where The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo left off; Salander, flush with kronors after embezzling millions at the end of Tattoo, is now kicking back in the Caribbean, and Mikhail Blomkvist, her counterpart and estranged lover, is back at the helm of Millenium magazine and preparing to publish an expose on the sex trafficking trade. But then, on the eve of publication, the article’s author and wife are brutally murdered, Salander is identified by the police as the prime suspect and goes on the lam, and Blomkvist, with the occasional computer assist from Salander (whose whereabouts are unknown), begins investigating the crime on his own. It all sounds familiar, doesn’t it? At its core, the plot of Fire is not far removed from that of Tattoo – Salander and Blomkvist must solve a murder (in this case, murders) that the police have not been able to solve themselves. Still, there are enough new twists and turns to keep the story fresh, and the books are written in an easygoing style that makes them a pleasure to read. My only question is – the first eighty pages of the book tell of Salander’s Caribbean encounter with an American preacher from Austin, Texas, who tries to murder his wife. The incident does not appear to have any relevance to the rest of the book. Why spend eighty pages describing an incident that appears to have nothing to do with the the price of tea in China? I can only assume that all will be revealed in the third and final installment, The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet’s Nest. Once it comes out in paperbook, I’ll read it and let you know.