That was in 1933, shortly after Hitler came to power.
He'd come into my hotel room in Berlin, where I’d been on my annual visit to Europe, and explained what he wanted.
He was willing to relinquish all future share in royalties for a flat payment of one million dollars, to be held in escrow for him in the United States.
This was agreeable to me, of course. His share of the royalties would amount to much more than that over the licensing period.
But I didn't understand why. So I asked him.
He got up out of his chair and walked over to the window,
"You ask me why, Herr Cord?" he asked in his peculiarly accented English. His hand pointed out the window. "That's why."
I walked over to the window and looked down.
There in the street in front of the Adlon, a group of brown-shirted young men, scarcely more than boys, were tormenting an old frock-coated man.
Twice while we were watching, they knocked the old man into the gutter.
We could see him lying on the edge of the sidewalk, his head in the gutter, blood streaming from his nose.
The boys stood there for a moment watching him, then walked away after kicking him several times contemptuously.
I turned to Strassmer questioningly.
"That was a Jew, Herr Cord," he said quietly.
"So what?
Why didn't he call the police?"
Strassmer pointed across the street.
Two policemen stood on the opposite corner.
"They saw everything that happened."
"Why didn't they stop them?"
"They are under instructions not to," he answered.
"Hitler claims that Jews have no right under German law."
"What has this got to do with you?"
"I am a Jew," he said simply.
I was silent for a moment. I took out a cigarette and lit it.
"What do you want me to do with the money?"
"Keep it until you hear from me." He smiled. "My wife and daughter are already in America.
I would be grateful if you'd let them know I'm all right."
"Why don't you join them?" I asked.
"Perhaps I will – in time. But I am German," he said. "And I still hope this madness will one day pass."
But Herr Strassmer's hopes were not to be realized.
This I found out less than a year later, as I sat in the office of the Reichsmarschall.
"The Jews of the world are doomed, as are the Jews of Germany," he said in his polite voice. "We of the New Order recognize this and welcome our friends and allies from across the sea who wish to join our crusade." I was silent, waiting for him to speak again. "We men of the air understand each other," he said.
I nodded. "Yes, Excellency."
"Good," he said, smiling. "Then we do not have to waste time." He threw some papers on the desk. "Under the new laws, the Reich has confiscated the properties of a certain Otto Strassmer.
We understand there are certain monies due him which you are hereby instructed to pay over into the Reichsbank."
I didn't like the word "instructed."
"I have been trying to get in touch with Herr Strassmer," I said.
Goring smiled again.
"Strassmer had a severe breakdown and is presently confined to a hospital."
"I see," I said. I got to my feet.
"The Third Reich will not forget its friends," the Reichsmarschall said. He pressed a button on his desk.
A young German lieutenant appeared in the doorway.
"Heil Hitler!" he said, his arm upraised in the Nazi salute.
"Heil Hitler!" Goring replied negligently. He turned to me.
"Lieutenant Mueller will escort you to the Messerschmitt plant.
I look forward to seeing you again at dinner, Herr Cord."
The Messerschmitt plant opened my eyes.
There was nothing like it building airplanes in the United States.
The only things comparable were the automobile production lines in Detroit.