Editor's note: Jill M. Nussel teaches History at Indiana University-Purdue University Fort Wayne and is also a member of the Philharmonic Friends, the Fort Wayne Philharmonic's volunteer organization.

Sixty-five years ago this month, we were still in the midst of World War II. We sent our boys to the front, planted our Victory Gardens and buried our dead.

But there was new excitement that autumn. On Oct. 18, 1944, Maestro Hans Schwieger lifted his baton to conduct musicians in the first notes of George Bizet's “Carmen.” He had forged an 89-piece orchestra from teachers, factory workers, salesmen, engineers, bank clerks, housewives and 16 recruits from the Chicago Symphony.

On that evening, the Fort Wayne Philharmonic was born.

Most people in the audience knew Schwieger was from Germany, but very few knew he had fled that country or of the struggles he had faced in America.

Discovering the real Hans Schwieger has been a detective story in itself.

As a history professor at IPFW, I was interested in a good story. Help came from Peter Lange, editor-in-chief at Deutschlandradio Kultur (similar to National Public Radio here), who researches Nazis in exile.

Frank Borkowski, former chancellor of IPFW and now retired from Appalachian State University, is the custodian of Schwieger's musical archives. We were brought together by some extra-credit research by IPFW sophomore Carlye Gillingham, with translation help by Anna Demas of Toledo.

Borkowski supplied Schwieger's unpublished autobiography begun in his later years. The search for the real Schwieger led to archives in the Allen County Public Library, the Missouri State Historical Society and Appalachian State University. We found a rich story in now-unclassified documents of German Gestapo files, U.S. and German government documents, newspaper stories in several countries, and interviews with people who knew him.

Despite the circumstances of his life, Schwieger always insisted the music was the most important thing.

The eldest of five children, he was born June 15, 1906, in Cologne, Germany, into a relatively prosperous family. His childhood was marked by World War I and the death of his mother.

From an early age, he showed interest in music. It was in college he found his calling was for conducting.

When he was 26, Schwieger became the youngest general music director in Germany, when, on Jan. 30, 1933, he was introduced by the city of Mainz as its music director.

That same day, Adolf Hitler was appointed chancellor of Germany, sparking a clash of Nazi supporters and right-wing fanatics that night in Mainz, and attracting the attention of the Reich. At his concert several nights later, Schwieger said, there were at least 20 storm troopers in the audience.

Despite the presence of the storm troopers, Schwieger wrote that he felt his career was assured and, in October 1933, he married Elsbeth Bloemendal. They were married in a civil ceremony in Cologne and later in a Catholic Mass in St. Stephen's Church in Mainz. Although Elsbeth had converted to Catholicism, she was born a Dutch Jew.

As the Nazis began their systematic removal of Jews from German society, a law was enacted making it illegal for a person of “German blood” to marry a Jew. The Schwiegers were already married, and Elsbeth had converted to Catholicism. There would be no problems, or so Schwieger thought.

German radio editor Lange discovered in Mainz Music Academy files that as Schwieger's star was rising, composer Hans Gal, who was the director, was fired because of his Jewish origins. Several Jewish musicians resigned and emigrated.

Schwieger wrote that, by the end of February 1934, German Civil Service required workers to prove they were Aryan to obtain a work card. It was no problem for Schwieger, but impossible for his wife. The Mainz city administration decided it would not extend a contract to Schwieger because of his wife.

Schwieger fired off an angry letter to the mayor asking for some explanation. He received a letter from the Reich Music Association saying, “Any Aryan who has a Jewish woman should not be considered for service to the state…,” although exceptions could be made for artists.

Records at the Mainz Music Academy indicate the skittish mayor fired Schwieger, saying his “Jewish problem” was not the issue.

The Schwiegers moved from job to job, and money was tight. Eventually, Schwieger landed a job in Krefeld, not far from his hometown of Cologne. According to a Gestapo report about a concert on July 1, 1935, at the moment when the theater orchestra began, the crowd began to whistle, catcall and boo.

Schwieger added that, a few minutes after he had begun conducting, people cried, “Out! Out! Schwieger is a slave of the Jews!” His first reaction was not to be beaten down, but, as the shouting got louder, he stopped playing. He was fired again.

This time, the Office of Art Preservation put him on a sort of blacklist of artists the Reich believed were unacceptable. Next to Schwieger's name was the notation: Jewish kin. From then on, no matter where he performed, audiences protested.

The pressure became too much for Elsbeth, and she left Schwieger, writing that she felt overcome with guilt about destroying his career. She added: “I'll be there for you, no matter how many years it takes. But now, you have to be alone, without me.”

Schwieger was devastated. He wrote that his father and stepmother came to Berlin, where they met him in a cafe. His father offered substantial financial support if he and Elsbeth divorced. Schwieger jumped up, nearly turning over his chair, saying, “Father, we have nothing more to say.” Schwieger reportedly never communicated with his father again.

German court records show Schwieger and Elsbeth were divorced in 1935.

Schwieger was a “good German” again, but he was broke. Even though he finally obtained a Nazi card that would permit him to find work, his reputation prevented employment in Germany. Schwieger opted in 1936 to take a conducting position in Tokyo, Japan.

Schwieger wrote that he and Elsbeth had continued their relationship, living in constant fear of discovery, so Tokyo looked promising. He would go alone and send for Elsbeth later. She returned to her parents' home in Amsterdam, and her German citizenship was revoked.

While in Japan, Schwieger, still without Elsbeth, went to the American Embassy and asked to immigrate to the United States. Two days later, he received the necessary papers, and U.S. immigration records show he arrived in San Pedro, Calif., on a cargo ship in March 1938.

Four months later, Elsbeth arrived in New York on a ship from Rotterdam, according to U.S. immigration records. On the ship's passenger list, she is listed as Dutch, but that was scratched out and Hebrew handwritten in its place.

According to Schwieger, U.S. authorities would not let her enter because of a general fear that single women without professions could only be prostitutes.

Elsbeth was finally granted an entry permit on condition that Schwieger sign papers promising to marry her immediately. New York records show they married for the second time in August 1938.

Jobs as a classical conductor were difficult to find. Many of Europe's best conductors immigrated to the United States and the market was glutted, even for the most talented conductors. Schwieger took the only conducting job he could find: In April 1941, Time magazine reported, Schwieger was the founding conductor of the Southern Symphony in Columbia, S.C.

According to Rhonda Hunsinger at the South Carolina Philharmonic, Schwieger forged the orchestra from a few local musicians and some borrowed from New York. The orchestra performed a grueling schedule, traveling around the state giving 20 concerts over 11 weeks.

A local reporter asked Schwieger how he kept his composure after a stage light had caught fire, and he replied, “The most important thing in my life is that the music goes on.” Perhaps his statement was foreshadowing what was to come.

On Dec. 8, 1941, the day after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, a presidential proclamation gave the FBI sweeping powers to identify potential enemy aliens, and agents searched Schwieger's home.

On paper, he had been a Nazi, had recently worked in Tokyo and had a “quickie” marriage. Schwieger was under suspicion of espionage and was sent to an internment camp in Stringtown, Okla.

The former prison now held German and some Italian detainees. The published camp rules stated residents were to be comfortable, but anyone trying to leave would be shot.

Elsbeth moved near the prison and took a job in a hotel. During this time, she met a Catholic priest in Washington, D.C., who helped her make a case for her husband's release. After 401 days in internment, Schwieger was released.

He wrote that, in early 1943, after his release from Stringtown, he and Elsbeth went to New York, where he eventually landed a position as Leopold Stokowski's assistant at the newly formed New York City Symphony. Here Schwieger was introduced to the legendary Arturo Toscanini, who later invited Schwieger to be a guest conductor of the NBC Symphony.

Immigration records show the Schwiegers moved into a home in Kew Gardens, an eclectic neighborhood in Queens noted as the residence of artists. Elsbeth took a position in the Fifth Avenue fashion industry and Hans was granted U.S. citizenship on July 5, 1944.

Schwieger wrote, “(Even though Elsbeth had been suffering from headaches,) we wanted to celebrate my big day. I fetched Elsbeth from work and we walked down Fifth Avenue to a friend's home. As we arrived, she suddenly said, ‘Hans, hold this book,' and collapsed.”

Five minutes later, Elsbeth was dead from a brain tumor. Schwieger could not be consoled. They had lived through Nazi oppression, poverty and detention. New York no longer had the same promise.

Three months later, Schwieger took the stage as Philharmonic conductor in Fort Wayne.

According to Philharmonic historian Anita Cast, it was thought Schwieger would be a good fit with the German-American population here. The City Directory shows Schwieger took up residence at the Anthony Hotel.

Schwieger led the Fort Wayne Philharmonic for four seasons before leaving in 1948 to become conductor of the Kansas City Philharmonic Orchestra.

In December l946, the Fort Wayne Philharmonic was featured on the National Broadcasting Company's radio series “Orchestras of the Nation,” a philharmonic history said. In 1947, the Radio Retailing Yearbook's list of 50 non-recording orchestras included the philharmonic, with an asterisk indicating it was one of 13 on the list judged to be of “especially high artistic standing of both orchestra and conductor.”

In spring 1948, world-renowned violinist Isaac Stern played with the philharmonic as a guest performer, the history said.

Schwieger also pioneered the philharmonic's music education for young people and broadened the appeal of classical music to people in Fort Wayne.

When Schwieger left for Kansas City after the 1947-48 philharmonic season, he did not leave alone. Schwieger had met Mary Fitzpatrick Shields, who worked for Lincoln Life Insurance in Fort Wayne. According to John Beatty at the Allen County Public Library's Genealogy Center, the two married in 1948 and lived at 926 W. Berry St.

Alan Steere, 101, former president of Lincoln Life, remembers Shields as lovely, friendly and full of life. “I can tell you there were many disappointed single men in Fort Wayne when she got married. … There were many disappointed people around town when she left Fort Wayne.”

After a distinguished career that included several European and Japanese tours, the Schwiegers retired to Naples, Fla., celebrating more than 40 years together before his death in 2000. Mary passed away two years later.

There have been several music directors in Fort Wayne since Hans Schwieger, but they have all followed in his path of striving for excellence, bringing music to people of varied interests in the Fort Wayne area and providing education for countless young people.

This season, the Fort Wayne Philharmonic welcomes Music Director Designate Andrew Constantine to continue taking the orchestra in the direction Schwieger envisioned from the beginning.