Jonny Dörflein

Crew Member

Age: 26

Hometown: Frankfurt

Occupation: Engine mechanic

Location at time of fire: Engine gondola #3, starboard forward

Survived


Jonny Dörflein was one of the Hindenburg's engine mechanics. Born in Hamburg on August 2, 1910, he had flown with the Hindenburg as a trainee in early 1936, and was made a permanent member of the ship's staff of mechanics in August of 1936. He was aboard the Hindenburg's first North American flight of 1937, standing watch in engine gondola number 3, forward on the starboard side, along with fellow mechanic Willy Scheef, chief mechanic German Zettel, and mechanic trainee Wilhelm Steeb.

As the Hindenburg approached the landing field at Lakehurst, NJ on May 6th, 1937, Dörflein was in the crew's mess when the signal for landing stations was sounded. He went to his bunk, changed clothes, and then proceeded to his landing station in engine gondola #3. Zettel was already there, as was Steeb, the trainee. Dörflein climbed into the gondola with them, and took over on the engine throttle while Steeb observed him. Engineering officer Eugen Schäuble appeared at the doorway into the gondola shortly afterwards, but remained out on the catwalk between the engine car and the ship, observing the landing from there.

Jonny Dörflein's location at the time of the fire.

Dörflein, on orders from the control car, had given the engine one last burst at full ahead before reversing it to slow astern. Suddenly, everyone in the engine car was aware of "a shaking", and Dörflein heard "a very dull explosion" as the rear of the ship burst into flame. Schäuble shouted that the ship was on fire, and Dörflein turned around to see that the ship was ablaze above engine car #1 aft of them. Dörflein throttled down and fixed the brake on the engine as the stern of the ship dropped, with the propeller stopping just before the engine gondola hit the ground. Then Dörflein and the others leapt out and ran just before the framework of the ship collapsed all around the car.

Jonny Dörflein (circled) runs from engine car #3 as the Hindenburg collapses to the ground.

Dörflein inspects the ruins of his engine car several days after the fire.

Jonny Dörflein escaped the wreck virtually unscathed. He stayed in America long enough to testify before the Commerce Department's Board of Inquiry on May 19th, and that same day he and fellow crew survivors Egon Schweikard, Eugen Schäuble, Max Zabel, Captain Walter Ziegler and Captain Anton Wittemann made a blimp flight as guests of the United States Navy. Dörflein then returned to Germany, along with a number of his fellow crew survivors, aboard the steamship Bremen a couple of days later.

Thanks to Mary Dörflein, Jonny Dörflein's cousin, for providing me with his birth date.

Theodor Ritter

Crew Member

Age: 23

Hometown: Schwäbisch-Hall, Germany

Occupation: Engine mechanic (trainee)

Location at time of fire: Engine gondola #4, portside forward

Survived

Theodor Ritter was one of the Hindenburg's engine mechanics. Born on December 23, 1913 in Schwäbisch-Hall, Ritter had previously worked on the Hindenburg's engines at the Daimler-Benz factory in Untertürkheim near Stuttgart. He ran tests on them for three years before they were installed on the ship, and had been hired by the Zeppelin Company as an in-flight engine mechanic in late April of 1937.

Ritter was aboard the Hindenburg on its first North American flight of 1937, assigned to engine gondola #4, portside forward. He had already made two shorter flights within Germany, but this was his first regular transatlantic flight. Technically he was considered a trainee, but he stood a regular watch under the observation of the ship's chief mechanics as well as Chief Sauter and his trio of flight engineers.

As this was his first real voyage on the ship, many of the experiences that had become commonplace for his comrades were quite new to him. He would later write down his impressions of the trip and of his first time standing watch on a flight that lasted more than a few hours. Ritter had the first watch of the flight which, since it was evening, was a three-hour watch as opposed to the engine mechanics' standard two-hour daytime watch. After the ship took off from Frankfurt at approximately 8:15 on the evening of May 3rd, Ritter was on his own in his engine gondola until 11:00. His first surprise of the trip was that, since the ship's clocks would be periodically set back as they flew west, an extra hour would be added to his watch.

Since he was intimately familiar with the Hindenburg's engines from having worked on them at Daimler-Benz, he could quickly tell that his engine was running smoothly, and so most of his first watch was spent watching the sights from the vantage point of his engine gondola. The ship's powerful searchlight illuminated the ground below, and at one point as they flew low over a village, Ritter was fairly sure he saw a couple on a secluded park bench whose evening was rudely interrupted when the searchlight suddenly lit them up, bright as day.

Shortly after this, the Hindenburg approached the city of Cologne. The engine telegraph sounded and Ritter saw that the indicator had changed to "slow ahead". He sent an acknowledgment signal back to the control car, then throttled his engine down to the lowest speed. Looking down toward the ground, Ritter saw the ship's searchlight illuminate a parachute with a mail sack attached. It was mail that was scheduled to have been delivered, complete with a special Hindenburg post mark, during a short propaganda flight the previous Saturday, May 1st. The flight had been canceled due to bad weather, however, and so the mail sack had to be dropped on this flight instead. Once the passengers had been given time to watch the mail bag parachuting to the ground, the order came over the engine telegraph to set the motor back to "full ahead" and the ship continued on.

Ritter's first watch ended at 11:00 PM, shortly after the Hindenburg had reached the English Channel. The #4 engine car's chief mechanic, Eugen Bentele, arrived to relieve Ritter, who then climbed back into the ship, and headed to the crew's mess for dinner. Afterward, as he made his way aft to the crew's quarters, he stopped to chat with a few of his comrades along the way before proceeding to his bunk. He was met by the loud snores of his bunkmate, mechanic Alfred Stöckle. But neither this nor the constant drone of the ship's engines kept Ritter awake. He knew he was back on watch again at 5:00 in the morning and needed to get as much sleep as possible.

And so it went for the rest of the flight. "Work, eat, sleep, work," as Ritter would later write. However, the engine gondolas offered just about the best view on the entire ship, and Ritter quickly discovered how many fascinating things there were to see out over the North Atlantic. Once the weather cleared after the first day out, Ritter marveled at sights like freighters rolling on the waves below, the Northern Lights filling the entire sky, and, as the ship approached the coast of Newfoundland, a massive iceberg surrounded by several smaller ones. The watch officer ordered the engines stopped so that the passengers could get a good look at the icebergs, and Ritter estimated the largest one to be rising about 80 meters over the water.

Finally, on the morning of May 6th, the Hindenburg reached the United States, flying over New York City in the early afternoon when Ritter was on standby watch. Once more, he was astounded at what he saw below. The ocean of skyscrapers and houses easily dwarfed anything he had ever seen in Germany, and the Empire State Building rose almost to the same altitude at which the Hindenburg was flying.

After circling over New York for approximately half an hour, again to give the passengers a chance to enjoy the view, the Hindenburg flew south to its landing field at Lakehurst, NJ. Ritter started his final two-hour watch of the flight at 4:00, as the ship flew over the airfield. However, there was a thunderstorm approaching, and the ship's commander decided to delay the landing until the weather had cleared. Ritter and everyone else aboard were treated to a bird's-eye view of the Jersey shore as the Hindenburg cruised up and down the coastline.

Ritter went off watch at 6:00 that evening, but stayed in the crew's mess rather than going back to his bunk, because he would be called to his landing station in his engine gondola once the weather improved and the ship was able to approach the airfield. He sat in the mess, drinking coffee and talking with fellow mechanic Richard Kollmer, who was also assigned to engine car #4, and who had the watch right before Ritter's.

Finally, shortly after 7:00, the signal for landing stations was sounded. Kollmer headed aft to his landing station in the lower fin, and Ritter took his position in the forward portside engine car along with Bentele and flight engineer Raphael Schädler. Ritter kept an eye on the engine telegraph, and relayed orders from the control car to Bentele, who was operating the engine's throttle. Over the next several minutes, orders came from the command crew to shift the engine to "idle ahead", then "full astern" in order to bring the ship to a halt just beyond the mooring circle, and then finally "idle ahead" again.

Theodor Ritter's location at the time of the fire (diagram is top view of the ship.)

Ritter had just "blocked back" the "idle ahead" message to the control car, so as to confirm that the order had been received and carried out. As he carefully eyed the telegraph, waiting for the next order to come through, he suddenly glanced aft and saw the upper hull of the ship erupt in flames as a heavy shock ran through the ship, shaking the whole engine gondola. The fire raced forward, reaching the forward engine gondolas almost immediately. Most of the aft hydrogen cells already having burned, the ship's tail began to drop to the ground, and the forward part of the ship rose up to practically a 45-degree angle.

Ritter and his comrades clung to anything they could to keep from falling into the propeller, which continued to turn slowly just behind them. As Ritter would later write,

"The ground is coming up at us damned fast, and one of my comrades says something like "Bail out!" But the gondola crashes into the ground and I think to myself, "I'm dead. This is it." Fire swirls around my eyes, and the impact causes me to lose my footing. I fly in an arc over the engine and out into the propeller, which hits me on the head."

Ritter was dazed by the blow to the head, and probably also from being doused with hot water from the engine, and afterward he was unable to recall what happened next. By the time he came back to his senses, he was running full speed, already quite a distance from the ship. He turned around to see the forward part of the ship, now completely ablaze, collapse to the ground amid a chorus of screams from nearby spectators, as well as from those still trapped in the wreck.


Theodor Ritter (arrow) runs from the back of engine car #4 (laying on the ground just to the left of Ritter.)


He suddenly realized that he had blood streaming down his face from the cut on his head where the propeller had hit him. As Ritter wiped his eyes clear, he saw that he was covered in blood clear down to his trousers. His skull didn't feel like it had been fractured, though, so he assumed that his scalp wound probably wasn't as bad as it looked. Somebody then led him to a car, along with chief helmsman Kurt Schönherr, who had injured his chest and was moaning loudly. The injured men were driven to the air station's infirmary, where they were met by a large crowd of people. From the amazed stares the crowd was giving them, Ritter figured that he and Schönherr must have been among the first survivors to arrive at the dispensary.

Once inside, Ritter was given first aid dressing for his head. Parched from the fire and smoke, he drank a couple pitchers of water, then borrowed a cigarette and walks off to see which of his comrades had also made it to the infirmary. He was glad to find fellow mechanics Adolf Fisher, bleeding from a cut under his eye, and Willi Steeb, who didn't seem injured at all.

Just then, Eugen Bentele brought in Raphael Schädler, who seemed to have suffered some internal injuries. Ritter helped to remove Schädler's shoes and socks as Bentele helped the injured flight engineer out of his overalls. Then they laid Schädler down on a nearby bed.

As Ritter stood back up again, he began seeing stars and realized he was on the verge of blacking out. His entire body felt hot, his arm had gone numb, and his back burned terribly. A nurse came up and gave him a shot of morphine, which helped. She then cut off Ritter's shirt and got a good look at Ritter's injuries. Since it had been a warm day, Ritter had just been wearing trousers and a short-sleeve shirt, instead of his heavy mechanic's overall, which would have given him some protection from the flames. His back was burned, as were his arms clear up to the elbows, and he was already beginning to blister. This was in addition to the cut on his head, which continued to bleed profusely.

Nurses covered his burns in salve and bandaged him, and he was taken to Paul Kimball Hospital in nearby Lakewood. By now, Ritter had begun to worry about his family. If word of the disaster hadn't already reached them, it soon would. Unfortunately, Ritter spoke very little English. From his bed he tried to get somebody to send a telegram to his fiancée, Gertrud Moser, who lived in his hometown of Schwäbisch-Hall. However, in the first chaotic hours after the disaster, with so many German-speaking patients and precious few people onhand who spoke the language and could translate, the nurses weren't able to understand much of what Ritter was saying other than "Gertrud." Eventually a translator was found and Ritter was finally able to send a telegram to his parents: "Slightly injured. Don't worry. Everything will be all right. Please notify Gertrud."

Eventually, a doctor stitched up Ritter's scalp, and he was given another shot and put to bed, where he slept until late the following morning. He remained at Paul Kimball until Saturday, when he was transferred to Lenox Hill Hospital in New York City. Lenox Hill not only had better facilities than Paul Kimball, but it had also been known, until about 20 years before, as German Hospital and the majority of its doctors and nurses still spoke German.

When first notified that he was to be transferred, Ritter was rather concerned, as several badly injured survivors had already been transferred to New York, and some had already died. As he was being carried outside to the ambulance, his stretcher was surrounded by news photographers, reporters, and onlookers. The same thing occurred when he arrived in New York and was being taken into Lenox Hill Hospital. He later recalled that as he was being brought upstairs, one group of onlookers (mostly women, Ritter noticed) actually got into the elevator with them.


Theodor Ritter smiles as he's transferred from Paul Kimball Hospital to Lenox Hill Hospital the day after the disaster.


That evening, a couple of doctors and a group of nurses came to Ritter's bedside with a cart laden with instruments and medication. "Here we go…" Ritter gamely thought to himself. A nurse sat him up and held him as the doctors debrided his burns, removing the burned tissue so that he would heal properly. "Wherever I was burned, the doctors skinned me alive in the truest sense of the word. Not exactly a pleasant sensation", Ritter would later say. As the doctors worked on him, however, Ritter joked with them to keep his spirits up. The doctors and the nurses were rather taken aback, because while they expected Ritter to yell and scream during the procedure, what they got was a young man saying things like, "Hey Doc, could you at least save the skin for me so I can make myself a pair of suspenders or some gloves out of it?" But as Ritter later pointed out, humor makes everything easier and yelling and making a fuss wouldn't have changed anything anyway.

Once Ritter's wounds had been cleaned, the doctors sprayed him down with tannic acid, gave him another morphine shot, and put him to bed. The next day he was moved to a private room on a higher floor, where he spent the next few weeks recovering. In addition to his injuries, Ritter was also fighting a fever, and it was some days before the doctors considered him to be out of the woods. He had many visitors, most of whom he didn't know, but some of whom were crewmates of his who had not been injured seriously enough to be hospitalized. He also got mail from friends and family back home, including a long letter from his fiancée Gertrud, which he later said helped him through many difficult hours.

Eventually, however, Ritter was well enough to walk around on his own and visit his comrades Franz Herzog and Josef Leibrecht, who were recovering from their injuries on another floor. Ritter also gave testimony to the US Commerce Department's Board of Inquiry into the Hindenburg disaster. Since it was impossible for him to make the trip to Lakehurst to testify before the investigation commission, a group of them came to Lenox Hill on May 28th to interview him and several other injured survivors in their hospital rooms.

People began taking Ritter on day trips as he got stronger. A friend named Hugo Scheere took Ritter for a Sunday afternoon at Long Beach on Long Island, and then to Café Hindenburg on 86th Street. Another person took Ritter and an injured passenger who was also at Lenox Hill, Luftwaffe Major Hans-Hugo Witt, to visit West Point. On another day a man named Mr. Peters and his wife invited Ritter to accompany them to the cinema, where they saw a German film called "Drei Mädels um Schubert", of which Ritter later said, "That was a little piece of home."

Finally, on June 13th, Ritter was ready to return to Germany. He and radio operator Herbert Dowe, who had spent the past month at Fitkin Memorial Hospital in Neptune, NJ recovering from his burns, boarded the steamship Hansa (formerly the Albert Ballin, on which a number of the Hindenburg's newer crew members had previously served) for the ten-day sea voyage home. Prior to boarding, Ritter and Dowe had agreed between themselves to make every effort to remain anonymous for as much of the trip as possible. Each had already had to tell and retell the stories of their escape from the Hindenburg wreck so many times to so many people while they were in the hospital, and they didn't want to spend the next ten days doing the same for everyone on the Hansa.

It worked for about three days. The third day out, they had a shipboard passport inspection in the ship's lounge. Dowe was off seeing a doctor, but Ritter was standing in the lounge with other passengers, leisurely having a cigarette, when the door burst open and in strode the Hansa's Captain, followed by the First Officer, the ship's physician, the Chief Steward, and the Chief Engineer. The Captain loudly and none too subtly walked up to Ritter and greeted him in front of everyone, announcing Ritter's identity to one and all. His cover now blown, the peace and quiet of the previous few days now a thing of the past, Ritter gamely began once again to endlessly retell his story to anyone who asked.

Ritter and Dowe were now shipboard celebrities, and as such they were kept in free beer and other gifts from fellow passengers for the remainder of the trip. In addition to having to tell his story over and over, Ritter would also later remember the seemingly endless stream of festivities.

Every day there was something new to do. It was all wonderfully varied. First movies, then a dance, a bock beer fest, and just before the end of the ten-day voyage, a lavish costume party. The two of us had decided to donate a bowl of pineapple punch in return for the many glasses of beer. Shortly after the prizes were awarded, the steward brought out a huge bowl of punch, which we started in on immediately. This quickly ratcheted up the mood of the party, because the stuff went down damned smoothly and really got things going.

The band was missing a drummer, and after being invited by the bandleader I sat in with the band, pounding away on the kettle drum. That was a lot of fun, and and I got a huge round of applause that was obviously more for the jolly young airshipman than it was for my drumming skills. After every number, a glass of champagne was set near me, since the empty punchbowl had been quickly refilled with this kingly libation. I gradually developed Herculean strength and thundered away like a savage. I was drunk for the first time in quite awhile, because apparently the champagne just kept flowing. But then we started getting crazy. Those who were still there got what was coming to them, as once the racket got too appalling, the chief steward gingerly broke things up. But he only sent us from the dining salon into the bar, which we nearly trashed while he led each one of us gently to our door and bid us good night. It was "only" 5:00 in the morning. It goes without saying that the inevitable "tomcat" (hangover) followed the next day, and the pickled herring tasted superb!!

Finally, on June 23rd, the Hansa docked at Cuxhaven and Ritter was met by his friend and comrade Jonny Dörflein, who had been in the Hindenburg's starboard forward engine gondola at the time of the fire and who had escaped almost completely uninjured. Dörflein was from Hamburg, not far from Cuxhaven, and he and Ritter took a train to Hamburg where Dörflein's father hosted them for the evening. The two shipmates then took a sleeper train down to Frankfurt, where they, like the rest of the Hindenburg's crew, had apartments near the Rhein-Main airfield. There they were met by a group of fellow airshipmen, including flight engineer Raphael Schädler, who had recovered from his injuries and returned to Germany shortly before Ritter had.

Ritter's landlords greeted him with tears of joy when he returned to his apartment, but he stayed only long enough to pack a few things. He had a flight to catch down to Böblingen, where his family and his fiancée were waiting for him. He was given a lift to the airfield, but even that wasn't without incident. "On the way, we collided with another car. I can't get a break from accidents, apparently."

But Ritter made his flight and was soon reunited with his family.

I will never forget this moment as I stepped into the hangar. My Trudele comes flying up to me and we are immediately in each other's arms, jubilant, blissful, everything in the past, troubles forgotten. I am back. Then comes my dear, sweet Mom, my beaming father, sisters, brothers-in-law, nieces and nephews. How brave they are all acting. The only thing they can't hide is their moist, shimmering eyes.

Two cars are waiting outside to bring the entire happy company to Esslingen and soon we are all sitting together having a leisurely lunch. Two days later I am home, really home, in my beloved Hall, recuperating with my girl and my parents, who need it just as much as I do.

With the Hindenburg gone and the future of Zeppelin travel uncertain, Ritter returned to work at the Daimler-Benz factory in Untertürkheim. He soon took a position at the Porsche factory in nearby Zuffenhausen, which he held until the end of World War II. After the war, Ritter worked for a time as a lumberjack, and then took a job as the foreman at the Hahn auto repair shop in Fellbach, just up the road from his old Daimler job in Untertürkheim, and about 35 miles from his hometown of Schwäbisch-Hall. He worked for the next 31 years at Hahn, and retired in Fellbach.

Throughout the years, Theo Ritter kept in touch with his old Zeppelin comrades, and every year on May 6th he would meet with them either in Frankfurt or in Friedrichshafen to commemorate the loss of the Hindenburg, and to remember their comrades who lost their lives in the disaster. In 1993 while being interviewed for an article in the Waiblinger Kreiszeitung to mark his 80th birthday, Ritter remarked upon the fact that he could now count his remaining Hindenburg comrades on the fingers of one hand, then smiled and said, "I'm 80 years old, and still the rookie among them."

(Many thanks to Helge Juch, who interviewed Theo Ritter for an article for the Waiblinger Kreiszeitung in 1993. Helge was kind enough to provide me not only with a copy of his article, but also with a copy of a nine-page memoir that Ritter wrote about his Hindenburg experience after he returned to Germany. Between the article and Ritter's memoir, I was able to write a far more extensive and informative article on Ritter than had previously been possible.)

Alfred Stöckle

 
Crew Member

Age: 25

Hometown: Friedrichshafen, Germany

Occupation: Engine mechanic

Location at time of fire: Keel stairs leading to bow

Died, either in wreck or in infirmary





Alfred Stöckle was one of the Hindenburg's engine mechanics. Born in Bremen on March 15, 1912, Stöckle moved with his family to Friedrichshafen when he was a child. His father was a foreman at Maybach Motorenbau, where Stöckle eventually served his apprenticeship as a mechanic. On September 1st, 1936, Stöckle was hired by the Deutsche Zeppelin Reederei to serve as an engine mechanic aboard the Hindenburg.

Stöckle was aboard the Hindenburg’s first North American flight of 1937, and was assigned to engine car #2, portside aft, along with August Deutschle and Adolf Fischer. Stöckle's last watch of the flight was from 4:00 to 6:00 on the afternoon of May 6th, and he was relieved by Deutschle.

As the Hindenburg came in to land at Lakehurst on the evening of May 6th, 1937, Stöckle was off-watch and in the crew’s mess. Just before the ship dropped its landing ropes, the captain sent word back to the crew's mess that six men were to go forward to the bow to help bring the tail-heavy ship into trim. Stöckle walked toward the bow with five others (fellow engine mechanic Walter Banholzer, electrician Josef Leibrecht, cooks Alfred Grözinger and Richard Müller, and assistant cook Fritz Flackus), and took a position somewhere along the stairway leading up from the keel to the mooring shelf.

Alfred Stöckle's approximate location at the time of the fire.
(Hindenburg structural diagram courtesy of David Fowler)

 

When the Hindenburg caught fire a few minutes later, Stöckle and most of the others in the bow section suddenly found themselves engulfed in fire and at least 150 feet above the ground, unable to jump to safety. Most of them jumped anyway, in a desperate attempt to escape the flames. Stöckle appears to have done the same, and was likely either knocked unconscious or died on impact, and was buried under the airship's framework when it crashed to earth several seconds later.

A crew member, possibly Alfred Stöckle, drops to the ground from
just aft of the Hindenburg's bow as the hull settles to earth.

Sailors prepare to lift a body, somewhere near the wreckage of the Hindenburg's bow (as indicated by the railroad track in the background at right.) The man on the ground appears to be wearing a grey mechanic's coverall, which would strongly suggest that this is Alfred Stöckle.


Along with all but three of the 12 men stationed in the bow at the time of the fire, Alfred Stöckle died as a result of his injuries. His body was returned to Germany, and he is buried in Friedrichshafen.
 


Special thanks to Herr Manfred Sauter of the Freundeskreis zur Förderung des Zeppelin Museums e.V., whose memorial article on the Hindenburg crew members who lost their lives at Lakehurst (Zeppelin Brief, No. 59, June 2011) provided additional details on Stöckle's career, and to Dr. Cheryl Ganz for providing me with a copy of the article.

August Deutschle

Crew Member

Age: 28

Hometown: unknown

Occupation: Engine mechanic

Location at time of fire: Engine gondola #2, portside aft

Survived



August Deutschle was one of the Hindenburg's engine mechanics. He had joined the Hindenburg's crew in March of 1936, just in time to participate in the ship's maiden flight on March 4th, and subsequently flew on every flight throughout 1936 and early 1937.

August Deutschle in engine gondola #2. View is aft, looking through the propeller. (photo courtesy of the Luftschiffbau Zeppelin GmBH Archive)

On the Hindenburg's first North American flight of the 1937 season Deutschle, along with fellow mechanics Adolf Fischer and Alfred Stöckle, was stationed in engine gondola #2, the engine furthest aft on the portside of the ship. On the last evening of the flight, May 6th, Deutschle had gone on duty in the engine car at 6:00 P.M., relieving Stöckle. The ship approached the landing field at Lakehurst, NJ about an hour later and when the signal for landing stations was sounded shortly after 7:00 Fischer joined him. At about 7:20, on orders from the control car, they had set the engine to "idle astern" in preparation for the final approach to the mooring mast. The order came through to rev the engine to "full astern" to bring the ship to a stop, which Deutschle and Fischer did. After about 30 seconds or so the engine telegraph showed "idle astern" again, and the mechanics throttled the engine back. Another half a minute or so passed, and another order for "full astern" came through from the control car. Once again the two mechanics ran the engine up to full speed for 25-30 seconds until the engine telegraph showed once more "idle astern." Deutschle then looked out the window of the gondola, watching the landing crew take up the landing lines, when he noticed that the nose seemed a bit high and the ship wasn't descending as fast it normally would. He attributed this to the fact that they were making a high landing as opposed to the usual German-style low landing.

August Deutschle's location at the time of the fire. (Diagram is top view of airship.)

Deutschle turned and glanced back through the opening at the rear of the engine gondola, and through the propeller he suddenly saw a yellowish-red flame several meters wide shooting laterally out of the ship's hull above the equator of the ship, and he simultaneously heard a detonation. Deutschle instinctively grabbed the engine's throttle and shut the engine down, but the ship began to fall he was unable to grab hold of the engine brake. As the stern of the ship dropped, and the engine car tilted aft, Deutschle tried to grab hold of a stanchion to brace himself, but the gondola was shaking so violently that he was unable to do so, and he just grabbed whatever he could to avoid sliding out into the propeller, which was still rotating when the gondola hit the ground.

Once the engine car was on the ground, Deutschle looked around quickly and noticed that there was no fire yet in the gondola, though there was a lot of hissing and cracking. He went to the side window and shouted "Raus!" as grey smoke began to fill the gondola. Deutschle climbed out of the gondola window and began to run from the ship. He was immediately aware of the extreme heat radiating from the fire. He felt like the back of his coverall was on fire, and threw himself to the ground and rolled around to try and put the fire out. It did no good, however. He was still too close to the fire and the heat was too great. Deutschle tried to stand up and run, but he couldn't. He therefore crawled as far as he could from the fire, finally stopping near the rails that led to the mooring circle. One of his hands had been burned and was beginning to hurt badly, so he stuck it into the wet sand to try and cool it off.

August Deutschle (arrow) has just climbed out of engine gondola #2 and is beginning to run from the wreck.

Deutschle then rolled over onto his back and, for the first time, saw what was left of the ship, with thick columns of black smoke rising into the air from the burning fuel oil. He suddenly saw Fischer running past him towards the wreckage. He called out to Fischer, "Where are you going?" Fischer stopped and turned around and came back over to Deutschle, saying "I thought you were still in there." Fischer then got help from some nearby sailors, and Deutschle was put onto a small truck and taken away to the infirmary.

August Deutschle being loaded into an ambulance for transfer to Fitkin Memorial Hospital in New York City, on or about May 8th, 1937.

Deutschle was injured badly enough to spend several weeks in the hospital, having initially been taken to Paul Kimball Hospital in nearby Lakewood, NJ., then transferred over the weekend to Lenox Hill Hospital in New York City. He gave his testimony to the US Commerce Department's Board of Inquiry from his hospital bed on May 25th, 1937. He returned home to Germany via steamship once he'd recuperated. Slightly more than a year later, on September 12, 1938, August Deutschle flew on the maiden flight of the Hindenburg’s new sister ship, the LZ-130 Graf Zeppelin. Once again, Deutschle served as an engine mechanic, this time in the #4 engine, portside forward.

August Deutschle later retired in Stuttgart.

Adolf Fischer

Crew Member

Age: 31

Hometown: Esslingen am Neckar, Germany

Occupation: engine mechanic

Location at time of fire: Engine gondola #2, portside aft

Survived


Adolf Fischer was born on August 6th, 1905 in Esslingen am Neckar, near Stuttgart. After leaving school he went to work for the Daimler-Benz factory in nearby Untertürkheim. He was eventually assigned to the development team for the LOF-6 diesel engines, which were being constructed for the new airship, the LZ129 – later to be christened Hindenburg. Once he'd helped to install the engines on the airship, he was hired by Deutsche Zeppelin Reederei and joined the crew of the Hindenburg. He flew on the ship’s maiden voyage on March 4, 1936, assigned to engine car #4, along with Rafael Schädler and Walter Banholzer. He subsequently flew for the rest of the 1936 season, as well as the earlier flights in 1937.

Adolf Fischer in one of the engine gondolas of the LZ-130 Graf Zeppelin, which made its first flights the year after the Hindenburg fire.
(photo courtesy of the Luftschiffbau Zeppelin GmBH Archive)

Fischer was aboard the Hindenburg for its first North American flight of 1937, assigned to engine car #2 along with August Deutschle and Alfred Stöckle. On the evening of May 6th, the Hindenburg approached its landing field at Lakehurst, NJ. Fischer had been on standby watch when the signal for landing stations sounded shortly after 7:00 P.M., and he joined Deutschle in their engine car shortly thereafter, with Deutschle manning the engine throttle, and Fischer keeping watch over the engine telegraph. He and Deutschle carried out an order telegraphed from the control car a few minutes later and brought their engine to "idle astern" in preparation for final positioning of the ship for mooring. Over the next few minutes, they twice received orders to set the engine to "full astern" so as to bring the ship to a halt, and then were ordered to return the engine to idle astern.

Suddenly, Fischer heard "a dull thud." Standing next to the entrance to the engine car, Fischer looked out the doorway at the hull of the ship and saw yellowish flames. No sooner had he seen the fire when the ship began to fall and Fischer was forced to find the nearest handhold. Both men hung on as the stern of the ship dropped quickly to the ground. As their engine gondola landed heavily, Fischer was struck on the head and stunned. He lay there momentarily in the gondola until water from an engine coolant tank in the hull above poured into the engine car and revived him enough that he was able to climb out of the gondola. Then he sat down dazedly in the sand near the wreck, unaware that his clothes were burning, until the heat snapped him out of it again. He patted out the fire on his coverall and ran from the wreck until he couldn't feel the heat anymore.

Fischer gradually began to come back to his senses, turned around, and saw the engine gondola lying on the ground next to the wreck, burning. He suddenly thought of Deutschle and ran back to the engine car to try and find him. Before he got there, he heard Deutschle's voice call out behind him, "Where are you going?" Fischer turned around and saw Deutschle lying on his back some distance from the wreckage. "I thought you were still in there," Fischer replied as he walked over to help his comrade. Seeing that Deutschle was injured, Fischer called to some nearby sailors and together they carried Deutschle to a truck and took him to the infirmary.

Fischer suffered some rather serious injuries himself, and was taken to Paul Kimball Hospital in nearby Lakewood with burns to his head and body, as well as concussion. His sister, Amalie Reich, lived in Maplewood, NJ, where she had worked for a number of years as a maid. She heard about the disaster on the radio and immediately rushed to Lakewood to be at her brother's side. Fischer was so heavily bandaged when she arrived that Ms. Reich was initially only able to recognize him by the wristwatch he wore. She was immediately asked by hospital staff to act as an interpreter, since many of the German survivors spoke no English.



Adolf Fischer and his sister, Amalie Reich, during one of the Hindenburg's visits to Lakehurst in 1936.



Fischer was held at Paul Kimball Hospital for three days until he was in good enough shape to be transferred to Lenox Hill Hospital in New York. He spent 4 weeks in the hospital recovering from his injuries, and testified to the US Commerce Department's Board of Inquiry from his hospital room on May 25th, about 2 ½ weeks after the disaster.

Adolf Fischer, with nurse Martha Zimmer, just prior to Fischer being transferred to Fitkin Memorial Hospital in Neptune, NJ on May 9th, 1937.

After his return to Germany, Fischer was an engine mechanic on the LZ-130 Graf Zeppelin from October 1938 to August 1939 (this despite the fact that he still bore scars from the injuries he sustained at Lakehurst) and served throughout World War II as an aviation mechanic.

Over the course of his career as a Zeppelin mechanic, Fischer flew on 15 round-trip flights to South America and 11 to North America, and in addition to this he also flew on numerous shorter flights within Germany. All in all, he flew roughly 470,000 kilometers by airship.

In his later years, Adolf Fischer worked as a tour guide at the museum in Zeppelinheim, near Frankfurt.

Willi Scheef

Crew Member

Age: 26

Hometown: Untertürkheim, Germany

Occupation: Mechanic

Location at time of fire: Keel crosswalk to engine car #3

Died, either in wreck or in infirmary

Willi Scheef was born in Untertürkheim, Germany, on November 3rd, 1911. He eventually took an apprenticeship at Untertürkheim's Daimler-Benz motor works. When the factory got the contract to build the engines for the Luftschiffbau Zeppelin's new airship, then under construction and known only by its project number, LZ-129, Scheef was put on the team that built and tested the engines. When the engines were delivered to the Zeppelin factory in Friedrichshafen in 1935, Scheef was one of a group of Daimler-Benz mechanics who were asked to go along to assist in the installation process.

Between the connections he made while at the Zeppelin works, and the glowing recommendations of his supervisors, Scheef was hired on as one of the new airship's in-flight engine mechanics. He was aboard for the airship's maiden flight on March 4th, 1936, by which time it had finally been announced that the new ship was to be named the Hindenburg. Subsequently, Scheef was present for every flight the Hindenburg made throughout 1936 and early 1937.

The Hindenburg carried at least 12 engine mechanics, often with one or two additional trainees, with three men assigned to each of the Hindenburg's four outboard engine gondolas. Willi Scheef, like his fellow mechanics, would stand a two-hour watch every six hours, with two hours off-watch during which he would catch as much sleep as he could. He would then have two hours on standby-watch, during which he would be assigned as needed (to assist in repairs, to pump fuel from the tanks along the ship's keel to the engines, etc.) or, more often than not, would sit in the crew's mess drinking coffee and talking with other crewmen who were also on standby.

During his watch, Scheef would oversee the operation of his engine, listen for any problems, and change the speed of the engine if so ordered by the command crew. If the engine in his charge began running roughly, he would repair it – on his own if possible, and with the help of one or more of the other mechanics and/or the ship's flight engineers if major repairs were necessary.

Willi Scheef during compulsory military service with the Luftwaffe:
December 1936 – February 1937

After the conclusion of the 1936 season, Willi Scheef served an obligatory military stint with a Luftwaffe unit, from December to February, as did a number of his fellow Hindenburg crewmen. He was back with the Hindenburg again when it resumed flights in March, 1937, but after the ship's first South American flight of the year Scheef returned home on leave, since the Hindenburg would not be making another flight until late April.

Scheef arrived home in time for Easter Sunday, and while back in Untertürkheim he proposed to his sweetheart, Berta Gassmann. He then headed back to Frankfurt to rejoin the Hindenburg crew in time for a pair of short sightseeing flights over the Rhineland, and then the first North American flight of 1937.

During the flight to the United States, which began on the evening of May 3rd, Scheef stood watch in engine gondola 3, starboard forward, rotating watches with fellow mechanic Jonny Dörflein and chief mechanic German Zettel. Mechanic trainee Wilhelm Steeb also spent some time observing operations in engine car 3 during the flight. As the ship came in to land at the Naval Air Station at Lakehurst, NJ on the evening of May 6th, Scheef, though officially off-watch, was on the lateral crosswalk between the main keel walkway and engine car 3, forward on the starboard side of the ship. It's possible that he was perhaps pumping fuel to the ready-use tanks on the stub keel above the engine gondola.

Willi Scheef's location at the time of the fire (diagram is top view of the ship.)

The approximate reported location of Willi Scheef at the time of the Hindenburg fire, along the lateral catwalk between the main keel walkway and engine gondola #3, starboard forward. Note stairs in background leading up ship's hull to engine gondola. Mechanic in photo is actually Robert Moser, and not Scheef. (photo courtesy of the Luftschiffbau Zeppelin GmBH Archive)

When the Hindenburg caught fire a short time later, Scheef was trapped in the cramped little walkway with no immediate escape route, no nearby windows or hatches through which he could leap.

Willi Scheef either died in the fire, or in the air station's infirmary shortly thereafter. His body was returned home via steamship and he was buried in Untertürkheim on the afternoon of Sunday, May 23rd, 1937.

Willi Scheef's funeral in Untertürkheim, May 23rd, 1937.

Many thanks to Herr Eberhard Hahn, president of the Bürgerverein Untertürkheim, for his invaluable help in providing me with photos and biographical information on Willi Scheef, and also to Herr Klaus Enslin for facilitating contact between us.

German Zettel

Crew Member

Age: 36

Hometown: Buchschlag, Hessen, Germany

Occupation: Chief mechanic

Location at time of fire: Engine gondola #3, starboard forward

Survived


German Zettel had been a Zeppelin mechanic since 1928, when he was employed by the Luftschiffbau Zeppelin. Prior to this, Zettel had apprenticed at the Maybach motor company, and was eventually assigned to the Zeppelin engine division. He became familiar enough with Zeppelin engines that he could, he said, "assemble them in the dark." He was subsequently hired by Luftshiffbau Zeppelin.

He flew as an engine mechanic on the LZ-127 Graf Zeppelin, including the round-the-world flight in 1929. Zettel continued to fly aboard the Graf Zeppelin until 1936, when the LZ-129 Hindenburg was commissioned and Zettel transferred to the new ship, making all flights from the first test flight March 4, 1936 onward.

German Zettel (left) with fellow mechanic Raphael Schädler in the portside aft engine car of the LZ-127 Graf Zeppelin
(photo courtesy of the Luftschiffbau Zeppelin GmBH Archive)

German Zettel (left) and one of his crewmates at one of the mechanics' workstations alongside the Hindenburg's lower keel walkway.
(photo courtesy of the Luftschiffbau Zeppelin GmBH Archive)

German Zettel was one of the chief mechanics aboard the Hindenburg on its first North American flight of 1937. His primary duty on that trip involved overseeing engine #3, starboard side forward, and supervision of the other mechanics assigned to that engine car. The engine behaved normally throughout the trip, and as the flight neared its end and the signal for landing stations sounded at approximately 7:00 on the evening of May 6th, Zettel was on watch in engine gondola #3, along with mechanic trainee Wilhelm Steeb. Chief Engineer Rudolf Sauter had also been in gondola #3 observing, but when landing stations were signaled for, Chief Sauter left the car to take his landing station in the ship's lower tail fin. Fellow mechanic Jonny Dörflein, answering the call to landing stations, arrived in the engine car shortly thereafter, and took over on the engine throttle. Flight engineer Eugen Schäuble then appeared in the doorway to the gondola, but remained out on the catwalk leading to the ship, and watched the landing maneuver from there.

As the Hindenburg made its final approach to the mooring circle at the Lakehurst Naval Air Station, Zettel was standing between the engine and the outer wall of the gondola, observing operations. He also occasionally glanced back at engine #1, aft of them, and noted that it was also running satisfactorily. As the ship approached the mooring mast, engine #3 was reversed on orders from the control car, and then set to the idle forward position.

German Zettel's location at the time of the fire (diagram is top view of the ship.)

Shortly after this, Zettel felt a jolt and looked aft, out the back of the gondola. He saw that the ship was in flames above the #1 engine car. The ship almost immediately went down by the stern, and as he hung on, he saw Dörflein shut the engine down. The engine car hit the ground, and the impact caused Zettel to fall to the floor between the engine and the outer wall of the gondola. He got immediately back to his feet and jumped out through the outboard window, ran away from the ship for about 60 feet, then turned back around to look and saw the ship's framework collapse over the engine gondola. Glancing forward toward the bow, Zettel saw Captain Lehmann and another member of the command crew emerging from the ship somewhere near where the control car had been.

Three of the men from engine gondola #3, German Zettel, Eugen Schäuble, and Wilhelm Steeb (shown in probably just about that order, left to right) stumble away from the Hindenburg as it settles to earth. Their engine car can be seen lying on the ground just to the right of them.

Zettel managed to escape the Hindenburg wreck with only minor injuries. He gave testimony to the Commerce Department’s Board of Inquiry on May 19th, returning home a couple of days afterwards with a group of fellow crew members on the steamship Bremen. The next year, Zettel joined a number of other Hindenburg crew survivors on the maiden flight of the Hindenburg’s sister ship, the LZ-130 Graf Zeppelin, stationed in the #2 portside aft engine.

German Zettel later retired in Friedrichshafen, and passed away in the 1980s.

German Zettel circa 1984

Eugen Bentele

Crew Member

Age: 28

Hometown: Friedrichshafen, Germany

Occupation: Chief mechanic, engine gondola #4

Location at time of fire: Engine gondola #4, forward portside.

Survived


Eugen Bentele was one of 20 engine mechanics onboard the Hindenburg for its final flight. Born in Friedrichshafen on October 18, 1909, Bentele took on an apprenticeship with Maybach-Motorenbau when he was 14. He spent the next four years working 52 hour weeks, learning the theory and practice of building and maintaining engines. In the four years following his apprenticeship, from 1927 through 1930, Bentele worked in various departments throughout the Maybach company, and in his last year there he worked on VL-2 airship engines, both assembling them, and testing them on a test rig. He was among the Maybach fitters who, in May of 1929, worked through the night to assemble three new VL-2's for emergency shipment to the LZ-127 Graf Zeppelin, which was stranded in France, four of its five engines broken down.

In April of 1930, Bentele received a call from August Grözinger, Flight Engineer for the LZ-127. "Bentele," Grözinger said, "you know your way around a VL-2 engine. Do you fancy working on an airship?" It was an easy decision for Bentele, and in May of 1930 he officially joined Luftschiffbau-Zeppelin, at first in the Propulsion System Testing and Wind Tunnel Department. He was also supposed to act as a replacement onboard mechanic, should one of the LZ-127's usual mechanics fall ill or otherwise be unable to make a flight. Bentele waited an entire year for his chance to take part in a flight, and finally on May 12, 1931 he made his first flight as an engine mechanic.

Eugen Bentele (l.) and another mechanic, probably Wilhelm Fischer, in the starboard aft engine gondola of the LZ-127 Graf Zeppelin, in the early 1930s. (photo courtesy of the Luftschiffbau Zeppelin GmBH Archive)

After this three-day touring flight over Germany, Eugen Bentele was aboard the Graf Zeppelin for numerous flights between 1931 and 1935, both over Germany and on longer trips to South America. In 1936, Bentele took part in the first test flight of the LZ-129 Hindenburg, and was onboard for the majority of the 63 flights the Hindenburg made between March 4, 1936 and May 6, 1937. During the 1936-37 winter break, Bentele did two months of compulsory military service. As he later wrote: "After strenuous flight duties on the Hindenburg from March to mid-December 1936, those of us crew members who had not performed military service were "voluntarily" called up into the armed forces. I was mustered out after eight weeks of infantry training with the Luftwaffe, and the medical corporal could not fail to notice that I had put on weight after eight weeks infantry service - a whole kilogram. This could only have been due to getting regular sleep."

Eugen Bentele, along with German Zettel and Josef Schreibmüller, served as a chief mechanic onboard the Hindenburg for its first North American flight of the 1937 season, having just been promoted to the position earlier that year. His primary duty involved overseeing engine #4, portside forward, and by the end of the flight he had experienced no difficulties or problems whatsoever with his engine. As the Hindenburg approached the mooring area at Lakehurst at the end of the flight on May 6th, Eugen Bentele was on duty in engine gondola #4, along with flight engineer Raphael Schädler and mechanic trainee Theodor Ritter, who was manning the telegraph to the control car. Bentele watched the landing lines drop and saw the ground crew attach one of the lines to an engine driven capstan winch and begin to pull the ship down.

Eugen Bentele's location at the time of the fire.

It was shortly after this, as Bentele had his attention on his engine and was waiting for another order to come through from the control car, that he felt a powerful shock run through the ship. He heard nothing but "a sort of a crackling crash" over the sound of the engine running, since he had cotton in his ears as he usually did while he was on duty in the engine gondola, and his initial thought was that one of the landing lines had broken. When he turned and looked out the rear of the engine car, however, he suddenly saw that the ship was already on fire from the stern almost as far forward as his engine gondola. He realized that it would be suicide to try and jump at that point, as the ship was still almost 200 feet above the landing field. So he and his comrades held on and waited for the ship to drop closer to the ground, hoping that the ship's aluminum framework wouldn't melt and drop the entire engine gondola to the ground.

The stern of the ship began to drop, after the relative eternity of a few seconds, and Bentele realized that his planned escape route through the side window of the gondola was blocked by Ritter and Schädler. He therefore held on tightly to the girders across the roof of the gondola, waiting for his chance to jump. As the tail of the ship hit the ground, with the bow pointing up at roughly a 45-degree angle, the section of hull between the foward and aft engine cars began to telescope in upon itself, effectively slowing the descent of the forward engine cars. Bentele was never sure what happened next, as the next thing he recalled was lying on the ground next to the propeller, at the edge of the burning wreckage. He assumed that he'd either jumped without thinking about it, or that with the engine car tilted at such an extreme angle as it was, he had been thrown over the engine and out the back of the gondola when it struck the ground.

Eugen Bentele (arrow) begins to pick himself up off of the ground behind engine gondola #4.

Bentele runs clear of the fire as the Hindenburg settles to the ground.

Bentele immediately began to run from the ship, and when he'd gotten about 150 feet from the wreckage, he felt his back and his neck getting very hot, and put his hands over the back of his neck to protect it, and immediately felt the back of his hands begin to burn. Thinking he was on fire, Bentele threw himself down on his back, only then realizing that the heat was coming not from his coverall, which wasn't burning at all, but rather from the radiant heat from the flames devouring the ship behind him. He quickly picked himself up and ran another 500 feet or so, until he was well away from the fire, then turned around to look for any of his fellow crewmates who might have also escaped. At first, he didn't see anyone. Then gradually others began to emerge from the smoke and vapors surrounding the now-grounded ship.

Bentele then checked himself over, and realized that other than the burns on his hands and on the back of his neck, he was almost completely unhurt. He went off to find the air station's infirmary, as the few burns he had were beginning to hurt quite a bit. When he arrived, he saw how many of the surviving passengers and crew (including Captains Ernst Lehmann and Albert Sammt) were already there waiting, many of them with burns and injuries far more severe than his. Bentele walked over and sat down on a car, trying to gather his thoughts. He realized that his wife (whom he had married two months earlier) would be incredibly worried when she heard of the disaster, so he went to the base radio facility and the officer on duty gladly sent a telegram for him. His wife received the telegram in Walldorf hours later at 6:45 AM Central European Time. At first, she wasn't sure what the message, "Am unhurt", was in reference to, though she obviously recognized the signature "Moggele" as being her husband's nickname. It was only later, when news of the disaster was broadcast on the radio, that she realized the full import of the message.

Eugen Bentele's telegram to his wife, May 6th, 1937. "Bin unverletzt – Moggele."

As word of the disaster spread throughout the Lakehurst area, ambulances from nearby towns began to converge on the air station, picking up survivors and taking them to area hospitals. Bentele ended up sharing a ride with his fellow mechanic Richard Kollmer, and they were taken to Fitkin Memorial Hospital in Asbury Park. After a full examination and X-rays, it was determined that, in addition to the second-degree burns, Bentele had four broken ribs. He could count himself lucky, however, as other friends of his from among the Hindenburg's crew, such as radio operator Herbert Dowe and Chief Electrician Philipp Lenz, were in much worse shape than he was, and others, he knew, never made it out of the ship at all.

Bentele spent three weeks in Fitkin Hospital, during which time he was treated very well by the staff, as were all of the Hindenburg survivors. Bentele later wrote: "After a fortnight I was already in such good health that my nurse invited me for a drive round the surrounding area. Whilst we were driving along and talking, she asked me to take the steering wheel whilst she looked up a word in her dictionary (my English was very poor). So I steered through the countryside and small towns without her knowing that I'd never driven a car before. In America, where everyone drives, I could hardly say, "I might be able to fly an airship, but I can't drive a car..."

Three weeks after the disaster Bentele, along with eleven other surviving crew members who were well enough to travel, sailed back to Germany onboard the steamship Bremen. Bentele immediately noticed the difference between flying over the ocean on a Zeppelin and sailing across the ocean on a ship, as onboard the Bremen even mild ocean swells would almost make him seasick, whereas this was never an issue onboard the Zeppelins.

Bentele made one last Zeppelin flight, on the third flight of the LZ-130 Graf Zeppelin, September 22, 1938. After this, he worked as a fitter in the test department of Luftschiffbau-Zeppelin, which had begin to switch over to the construction of various equipment for the German military, such as the Tiger tank and parts for the V2 rocket. One project that Bentele took part in was a series of trials to convert diesel engines for use underwater in submarines. After the war, Luftshiffbau-Zeppelin was made to repair vehicles for the French military, and Bentele was foreman of the division which dealt with transmissions, axles, and steering systems. By 1957, Bentele was once more working as a designer, as Luftschiffbau-Zeppelin was once again able to produce industrial components. He stayed with the company until 1980, when he retired from Luftschiffbau-Zeppelin after 50 years. Bentele then spent his time traveling with his wife and indulging in his passion for mountain climbing - which he continued to do regularly until he was well into his 80s, at which point he finally decided that he had to cut back on his mountaineering (and on his skiing as well) due to his age.

In the early 1990s, Eugen Bentele wrote a short, but fascinating, autobiography called "The Story of a Zeppelin Mechanic". In it, he traced his career from his apprenticeship with Maybach, through his years as an engine mechanic on the Graf Zeppelin and the Hindenburg, touched upon his impressions of the Hindenburg disaster itself, and then wrapped up with a brief summation of his post-Zeppelin life. It is highly recommended reading for anyone interested in the day to day operations of the old passenger Zeppelins, and was of great help to me in fleshing out this biographic profile.

("The Story of a Zeppelin Mechanic" is available HERE at the Zeppelin Museum's online store. They sell an excellent English translation of the book, though the original German edition is currently unavailable.)

On December 12, 2003, Eugen Bentele passed away in Friedrichshafen at 94 years of age. He was one of the last of the old-time Zeppelin crewmen and, along with former cabin boy Werner Franz was, at the time of his death, one of only two remaining Hindenburg crew survivors.

Eugen Bentele, circa 1992