If one happens to be interested in inter-war Berlin, the graphic and sound documentation is rich. If you are instead interested in the Paris of Victor Hugo, or in Victorian London, you have access to only a limited amount of daguerreotypes and no sound or film recording.
Of the Berlin of the 1920s there are lots of photographs. People sipping coffee at some of the Kurfürstendamm's sidewalk cafés, people admiring a variety show at the Admiralspalast, boarding a tram that will take them from Alexanderplatz to Potsdam street. But if we want to know a little more about these people, if we want to "zoom" the photo, we meet the documentation's natural limits : the definition is not infinite, after a certain degree of enlargement, the details of the image dilute in small patches of gray, white, black. We have no way to know on which street this girl who jumps gracefully over a puddle in the street lives, whether she is married or not, for which party she voted in the latest Reichstag elections, where her place of work is and where she goes to have some fun on Saturday evenings.
But sometimes we can pin a name on the anonymous face, and even a biography. The gentleman whistling on the picture at the top, for example:
By digging into the almost inexhaustible archive called the Internet, we learn that his name is Reinhold Habisch. that he was born in Berlin in 1889, at the Strausberger Platz. He wanted to become a cyclist but an accident while riding on a tram deprived him of the full use of his legs. But he continued to take an interest in sports, especially in one of Berlin's biggest sporting events, the Six Day Race.
The first six-day race in Europe was held in Berlin in 1909 in the zoo's showrooms; in 1911 it was moved to Sportpalast (Palace of Sports). After an interruption during the First World War, it became a real social event in the Weimar Republic. The spectators followed the movements of the cyclists but not only that; they ate, drank, and smoked. There was an orchestra too, to liven up the show.
The audience was composed of all layers of the population. While the best places were reserved for the "good society", the workers and the employees crowded on the ground and in the higher rank (called The Hay Barn). Here one found the true cycling enthusiasts who were often members of a cycling club and therefore really interested in the sport. For their part, members of the upper classes saw the race rather as entertainment, which could be attended as soon as theaters and concert halls closed. They went there more to see and be seen than out of real interest in the sport.
Of the Berlin of the 1920s there are lots of photographs. People sipping coffee at some of the Kurfürstendamm's sidewalk cafés, people admiring a variety show at the Admiralspalast, boarding a tram that will take them from Alexanderplatz to Potsdam street. But if we want to know a little more about these people, if we want to "zoom" the photo, we meet the documentation's natural limits : the definition is not infinite, after a certain degree of enlargement, the details of the image dilute in small patches of gray, white, black. We have no way to know on which street this girl who jumps gracefully over a puddle in the street lives, whether she is married or not, for which party she voted in the latest Reichstag elections, where her place of work is and where she goes to have some fun on Saturday evenings.
But sometimes we can pin a name on the anonymous face, and even a biography. The gentleman whistling on the picture at the top, for example:
By digging into the almost inexhaustible archive called the Internet, we learn that his name is Reinhold Habisch. that he was born in Berlin in 1889, at the Strausberger Platz. He wanted to become a cyclist but an accident while riding on a tram deprived him of the full use of his legs. But he continued to take an interest in sports, especially in one of Berlin's biggest sporting events, the Six Day Race.
The first six-day race in Europe was held in Berlin in 1909 in the zoo's showrooms; in 1911 it was moved to Sportpalast (Palace of Sports). After an interruption during the First World War, it became a real social event in the Weimar Republic. The spectators followed the movements of the cyclists but not only that; they ate, drank, and smoked. There was an orchestra too, to liven up the show.
The audience was composed of all layers of the population. While the best places were reserved for the "good society", the workers and the employees crowded on the ground and in the higher rank (called The Hay Barn). Here one found the true cycling enthusiasts who were often members of a cycling club and therefore really interested in the sport. For their part, members of the upper classes saw the race rather as entertainment, which could be attended as soon as theaters and concert halls closed. They went there more to see and be seen than out of real interest in the sport.
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| Poster of the film |
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| "Um eine Nasenlänge" |
However, the different layers of society were not strictly separated. The atmosphere of popular festival made possible an exchange across the rows of seats and the social boundaries, if only acoustically. The best example was Reinhold Habisch, nicknamed Krücke (crutch) because of the consequences of his accident. His dream of a cycling career had met an abrupt end, but he remained faithful to the sport throughout his life as a spectator and adept. By his funny and irreverent comments and especially by his characteristic whistle, he became the head of the "hay barn" and the secret king of Sportpalast, the one to whom it was allowed to mingle with "stars", celebrities. From time to time he was engaged to liven up six-day races in other cities like Dresden or Breslau. He played in two films on the six-day race, including "Um eine Nasenlänge" ("By a Hair"), from 1931. And in 1928, Max Schmeling, the boxing champion, donated him 3,000 marks, the start-up capital for a cigar store, which he opened at Kommandantenstrasse.
But that whistle that made Krücke Habisch famous, when did he make it? Well, to know it we will have to deepen (it's a way of saying) in the history of Viennese music.
In 1892, the Viennese Siegfried Translateur, then only 17 years old, composed a waltz called Wiener Praterleben (Life in the Viennese Prater). In its composition, Translateur had incorporated the hand flapping, that was customary at the Vienna Prater, as a mandatory accompaniment. The play was already relatively popular, having been performed since 1923 at the Six Days of Berlin. It was Krücke Habisch who had the idea to replace the applause with whistles: the Waltz of the Sports Palace, the Sportpalastwalzer was born.
To listen to a recording of 1932, with the voice of Alexander Flessburg, click here:
To listen to a recording of 1932, with the voice of Alexander Flessburg, click here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ujSE_UWXNY
The history of this waltz illustrates two things: first, the international character of the development of modern sports activities. Thus, the music went from Vienna to Berlin, the sports competition itself was imported from New York. Secondly, it shows that these forms of internationally distributed entertainment find a local expression: the six-day race was a city-specific event with a strong local reputation and Berlin reference models. This was particularly the case of the active participation of the public in Six Days.
While the audience in theaters and cinemas is silent in order to fully concentrate on the artistic performance, at the Sportpalast the public could express itself freely. In fact, its singing was an irreplaceable part of the show, the "total work of art", which was staged once or twice a year during the 1920s.
A gramophone recording of 1932 still gives a living impression. We hear the shouts of the public, the arguments of the vendors of refreshments, the exchange of salacious words between the sexes, and also, of course, the whistles of "Krücke", without forgetting the Palast Orchestra.
The Sportpalastwalzer is thus part of a local acoustic (and commercial) patriotism specific to Berlin, and the whistle of "Krücke" became a mark of the city.
Krücke Habisch survived the war and died in 1964, in his native Berlin. Siegfried Translateur, on the other hand, followed the fate of so many German and Austrian Jews: he was murdered by the nazis at the Theresienstadt camp in 1944. As for the Sportpalast, it was demolished in 1973.
Information largely from the website of the Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung.
While the audience in theaters and cinemas is silent in order to fully concentrate on the artistic performance, at the Sportpalast the public could express itself freely. In fact, its singing was an irreplaceable part of the show, the "total work of art", which was staged once or twice a year during the 1920s.
A gramophone recording of 1932 still gives a living impression. We hear the shouts of the public, the arguments of the vendors of refreshments, the exchange of salacious words between the sexes, and also, of course, the whistles of "Krücke", without forgetting the Palast Orchestra.
The Sportpalastwalzer is thus part of a local acoustic (and commercial) patriotism specific to Berlin, and the whistle of "Krücke" became a mark of the city.
Krücke Habisch survived the war and died in 1964, in his native Berlin. Siegfried Translateur, on the other hand, followed the fate of so many German and Austrian Jews: he was murdered by the nazis at the Theresienstadt camp in 1944. As for the Sportpalast, it was demolished in 1973.
Information largely from the website of the Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung.
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