Remington typewriter, February 1943

[Karl Pötzl]: As far as I know, Schmorell borrowed the typewriter for the last time about 8 days before he was arrested; he got it from my 16-year-old brother Hermann Pötzl. My younger brother told me that he came around the time I have stated and borrowed the typewriter without giving a reason for needing it.


Note 1: The date (“about 8 days before he was arrested”) ties to the activities of the White Rose group as detailed by Willi Graf’s diary and Gisela Schertling’s interrogations.


Source: Karl Pötzl’s March 10, 1943 statement.

The American typewriter

It was impossible to determine which specific German system the typewriter in question utilizes. Currently, an investigation is underway to determine whether it could be a foreign-made typewriter. In this context it is interesting to note that in the opinion of the State Police Headquarters in Vienna it is possible that the typewriter in question is a foreign-made model (Remington and Underwood brands). Continue reading

The Remington typewriter

As far as I can recall, Schmorell borrowed the portable typewriter (“Remington Portable” [Note 1] brand, serial number unknown) for the first time about 1-1/2 years ago from our family; I do not know who in our family lent it to him. I believe he said he needed it to copy out poetry, because he often said that he wrote poetry. I myself never handed the typewriter over to Schmorell. But my mother or my younger brother always told me when Schmorell had borrowed the typewriter. … Continue reading

Karl Pötzl comments about Alexander Schmorell

[Karl Pötzl]: I have known Alexander Schmorell since childhood, since he lives very near my parents’ home. We attended the same middle school, but of course we were not in the same grade, since Schmorell is two years older. …

Among Schmorell’s circle of friends, I never met the Scholl siblings. Probst was introduced to me by Alexander Schmorell at a meeting in the winter of 1939 / 40. We spoke only briefly and then said goodbye. Continue reading