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On This Day, in 1918…
Manfred Albrecht Freiherr von Richthofen, known to the civilized world as The Red Baron, was killed in action on April 21, 1918, when his Fokker triplane was shot down over France. As his plane had too many wings, and was painted bright red, it was only a matter of time. After 80 kills, it was his turn. By all accounts, he took it in good humor.
He had no time to marry, but he left behind an autobiography that was quite the beach read at the time. Kaiser Wilhelm II auctioned off several of his surplus names, embezzling proceeds to fund his baking hobby, which led to the development of the “Kaiser Roll.” His job as commander of Fighter Wing 1 was taken by none other than notorious rotund demon, dope fiend and crossdresser, Hermann Göring. But perhaps his greatest legacy is the frozen pizza company which bears his name and carries on his tradition of attacking Western targets.
To this day, it hasn’t been confirmed who actually killed the man with too many names. A couple of Canadian aces of the time have been given credit, and there is also evidence that anti-aircraft fire was able to fix on the glaringly conspicuous big red plane in the sky, and kill The Red Baron. We may never know. I will stick with the theory I first learned as a young one with a thirst for history:
He would be so proud:
Published in General
I don’t understand this. He only had three names:
I have that many names. That’s nothing. Sure, his last name is longer with the nobiliary particle, and he beats me by two letters, but that’s not long. You want a guy with names, try Charles IV of Spain:
The Kings of Spain became so known for it that they started taking a shortcut. Here is Phil the Sixth’s names:
See that number five? That’s the shortcut. “All the saints.” In other words, “We got tired of adding names. Give him four and throw in the kitchen sink.”
Maybe you are seeing Freiherr (free lord) as a name, but that was his title. It’s the Kraut version of “baron.” In German, they come between given names and family names. As for “von,” that’s a nobiliary particle. It’s not a name by itself. It’s an indicator that the person comes from a noble family. In French that would be “de” or “du” and so forth. The Dutch equivalent is “van,” but is much less restrictive. So, Ludwig van Beethoven was not noble, merely a pretentious git.
(Also, the author is making this up. Fun, though.)
As in Friedrich Wilhelm Ludolf Gerhard Augustin Louis Freiherr von Steuben. (I’ve seen it suggested that von Steuben’s father may have purchased the freiherr. Such things were possible then.) Freiherr is approximately the same level as “baron.” It differs in that the sons of a freiherr are born with the title, even if Dad is still kicking around. Manfred’s younger brother Lothar was also a freiherr.
Pretty much true of all German titles. Burgraf, graf, margrave, herzog, whatever. The exception was Elector (Churfürst), which was through primogeniture.
Now, Manfred’s distant cousin was decent on the names:
This, you were definitely right about.
And the beat went on. Some Richthofens moved to South America, and got into trouble there.
Maybe I should say “even there.” I’d heard about this case when it was happening, but only now do I read a Wikipedia article, and in it there is a fond reference to the family, in which a neighbor noted that this last or latest Manfred used to rake leaves in the yard. I had no idea anyone in Brazil ever did that.
Germans.
Good to know.
I will have to write this down on a sticky note and put it on the fridge, in case the question ever comes up.
I first thought of just trying to memorize it, using a mneh-mneh…mnmonic, like the name “Lothar” sounds like a kid who would have frizzy hair, and “frizzy hair” sounds like “freiherr”.
But more and more, that hasn’t worked, because sometimes I have to use the old “opposite mneh-ahh-heck!..memory device”.
Like if I had to be sure to remember that…
…I would remember that it seems like he WAS a kid with frizzy hair, and it is just the opposite of what you would think, so he must NOT have been a freiherr.
Nowadays with so many important things to remember, I always end up, like, was this one a normal one of those, you know, those things? Or was it an “opposite” one??
So as I said, now I’ve got something to write down on a yellow sticky note. I will bookmark this Comment to remind me what it was that I needed to write down.
How do you create a bookmark? Sorry, I know you’ve told me a million times.
Shall we talk about the Junkers?
Lothar was a pilot too. Forty victories. He flew like a lunatic compared to Manfred, who was much more disciplined.
Lothar:
The brothers:
I suspect Snoopy never told us everything there was to know about his relationship with the Red Baron. My guess is that a woman was involved, despite the fact that the Red Baron’s internet biography doesn’t mention any women aside from his mother.
I’ve done some reading on that score, as a result of my family summering for many years on Canada’s Prince Edward Island, and our annually-renewed acquaintance with Stephen.
In his eighties and nineties when we knew him (this was 1970s), Stephen was a colorful character who’d been deeply affected by his experiences in the First World War, for which he enlisted in the 105th Overseas Battalion, Canadian Expeditionary Forces, at the age of 31 in 1915. When we met him, he was living in a tiny cottage, on the corner of a larger piece of land he was quite sure his family owned, on which the actual owner granted him the right to do so. Every Winter, he’d chop up his wooden porch and use the results of his labors as fuel for his little woodstove, and every Spring, a group of locals (one of whom must have owned a sawmill), would take him the necessary lumber and hardware, and help him build a new one.
Stephen spent his days partly at the local Royal Canadian Legion imbibing his daily dose of Seagrams and and partly wandering a mile-or-so down to the harbor, where we’d see him always smartly turned out in military uniform.
He was a lovely man. Like many of the folks I’ve known who have almost nothing to their name, he loved spending what little he had on others, and giving small gifts to those he loved. My sister and I have fond memories of chocolates.
Dad, of course, very much enjoyed talking to Stephen and listening to his stories, one of which was a highly detailed explanation of how Stephen, and not the RCAF, was the man who deserved credit for shooting down The Red Baron. I’m not sure how widely-known at the time was the theory was that Richtofen had been shot down by ground fire, or how Stephen would have discerned it, but he was pretty sure he did it…
Buncha Fokkers flying Messerschmitts…
There is a theory that the Australian machine gun unit that the Baron flew over might have done it, and surely they weren’t the only troops in the area or the only ones shooting.
There is a tale from the Battle of New Orleans where an elderly volunteer already noted for prodigious acts of marksmanship took a shot at a British officer. The officer promptly toppled from his saddle. The marksman was asked “Was that your shot?” and he modestly replied “Well, I can’t be sure, but if it was, I hit him a finger’s breadth above the center of his right eyebrow.”
And so it was.
Actually, it was Manfred Albrecht Freiherr von Richthofen. So that’s one more.
He was outdone by his father, who was Major Albrecht Philipp Karl Julius Freiherr von Richthofen.
Mom was Kunigunde von Schickfuss und Neudorff.
As mentioned above, Freiherr is not a name. Next you’ll be telling me Viscount Nelson’s middle name was “Lord.”
Next you’ll be telling me Barron Trump only has a last name.
And that Meghan’s first name is “Grace,” and her legal last name really is “Sussex.”
Nope. He has three: Barron William Trump. Barron is his name, but Freiherr is not old Manny’s name.
I thought her first name was Rachel.
It was, but she’s a Duchess, and likes to be addressed as such. That’s why people are always saying to her, “You’re Grace.” Or something very like it.
You are an esteemed defender of nobiliary particles. Admirable.
You are saying that Her Grace appreciates having her style?
Yes, wish we had them in English. The Scots sort of do with “of that ilk.”
I wish Squire Thompson’s house was still standing. He was an early settler in southwest Michigan north of Niles (in the 1820s) and figured as a troublesome character in some stories regarding missionaries and Indians. In 1998 I stopped by his house and took a photo, but the sun was already too low to get a decent photo. I did talk to the renter who was living in it, who knew nothing of the history. The next time I rode past at a decent time of day, his old brick house had been torn down and replaced with a new, grander structure.
His given name was Squire. It was not a title. You run into things like that every now and then in the days of the early Republic. I wonder if in those republican days it was meant as a subtle dig at Old World titles.
I see that his FindAGrave page contains a photo (or daguerreotype) portrait of him that I had never seen before, not even in the local historical museum. And he had a grandson whose middle name was Squire.
I also heard of someone whose given name was Senator, but I think that was a fictional character in a Garrison Keillor skit.
How can one have a style when one has no class?
The Christmas version of the song is better.
One is granted by the monarch, the other by God.