The Wernher von Braun Theory of Birth Control

Wernher von Braun

My father often told the story of interviewing Wernher von Braun and telling the great rocket scientist about his “Wernher von Braun Theory of Birth Control.” Since my father claimed to have sired at least 18 children, it would seem that he did subscribe to this theory, or more accurately, excuse.

It’s a bit of a shaggy dog story, but here it is in his own words from the unpublished “Tales of the Living Legend”:

I went out to the NASA-Redstone Arsenal to interview Wernher von Braun, the great ex-Nazi Rocket expert. Von Braun, a huge barrel of a man with a lionesque head, was one of the singularly most important men in the U.S. Space program. By size alone, he tended to intimidate all who met him—myself included.

When I entered his office the first person I met was his wife—who also doubled as his secretary. She buzzed him and then introduced me to this relative giant of a man. Although this was not the first interview I had ever done, I decided to break the ice with this affable ex-member of the Third Reich and protege of Adolph Hitler. So, I asked him if he had ever heard of the Wernher von Braun theory of birth control. He leaned forward from his perch on the corner of his desk (sitting on it with one leg draped over the corner) a way he often chose to talk to people, tending to subconsciously dominate the conversation.

“No,” said he, “tell me about it.”

He still had the same German accent—no doubt the one with which he directed his slave workers at Peenemünde who were building all those V2 rockets to rain down on London. 

“Well,” said I who—as I began to think more about it, thought it might be not such a good idea after all—“you remember, in 1945, when the Allies were closing in on you from both sides—the Russians from Berlin, the British from the Huertgen Forest just to the West— you wrapped your left arm with all the top-secret rocket documents and plans and had your doctor make a broken shoulder cast around them, so you could escape with the documents unobtrusively?”

He nodded and leaned forward seriously, intense with interest (The details seemed to indicate I was well-versed). He nodded to keep me going further—but a lump was growing in my throat as I slowed at the thought of reminding this man of his Nazi past. This guy was big enough to make mincemeat of me—and that thick German accent!

“Well, you chose to head west, hopeful of being taken by the more civilized British than the Russians who had said they would kill you on the spot. And sure enough the British caught up with you in the forest and you were taken back to their headquarters for interrogation.” (I could see by his attention that he was reliving the events—I gulped and slowed down, but he urged me on, not quite seeing the connection between this and either birth control or NASA).

“The British, wanting the top secret rocketry information, were putting on the pressure, but you were reluctant, hoping to cut a deal with the Americans to exchange the information for immunity, a visa for your wife and family and an opportunity to carry on your rocketry work with American colleagues. The British were relentless: even to the point of hinting that they might take you back to England, where you would surely be tried for war crimes . . . and what 12 Brits wouldn’t fail to convict you!”

He was nodding his assent, urging me on, but I was already shriveling in fear.     

“Well, I was impressed by your reply . . .” 

I paused; silence; he paused.

“Yes?”My mind was racing—should I attempt to recreate that inimitable accent and underscore the impact? or should I quit while I was ahead, possibly preserve my job[1], and make the appropriate point? I pushed on.

“You replied: ‘I vas only responsible for ze launching of ze rockets! Vere zey came down, und vit vhat effect—dot vas not in my jurisdiction!’ And that, sir, is my theory of birth control!”

There was a long, stony pause as it all sank in as von Braun, expressionless, towered over me. (Ice-breaker, indeed, I said to myself as I awaited the volcanic explosion. And explode he did.) The room exploded into raucous laughter. He could hardly contain himself; he certainly could not stay on his desk-corner perch. His whole body convulsed with laughter. Obviously, I had taken a considerable risk, but it seemed to have paid off. But there was more! Having digested it all, he turned to his wife, who, having heard the noise, came into the office.

Von Braun absolutely insisted that I tell my story all over again, so his wife could enjoy a good laugh as well! The ice had been well and truly broken, I got a great interview, gained a new “buddy,” and prayed that [security officer] Puffer wouldn’t get wind of what I’d said to the great von Braun.[2]

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[1] It should be noted that von Braun had a direct line to Washington where, with one call, he could terminate me with NASA!

[2] But, who knows, as a WWII marine vet, Puffer might have enjoyed my reminding von Braun of his Nazi past and of his possible war crime trial, which he plea-bargained away! It might have wiped clean the Puffer slate!