Plunderpraxis

If any German professor wants to write a handbook called How To Take A Conquered Small Country Apart, he will find valuable source material in an article "I Saw Greece Looted" which the Nation published last week. It is by Ralph Kent, an American from Rome, N.Y. who was principal of Athens College. Mr. Kent reports that the Nazis stripped Greece of not only food, automobiles, bicycles and furniture, but carried off even doorknobs, locks & keys. Latest Nazi wrinkle: Mussolini sent 1,000 cases of milk to Greek babies who needed it desperately; ten cases were distributed, then the Nazis followed the old Nazi custom--"borrowed" the remaining 990.

These and other details of the New Order's Pluenderpraxis (sack technique) were corroborated last week in Manhattan by Constantine George Cotzias, 49, Minister-Governor (Mayor) of Athens until the city fell last April. If Mayor Cotzias were in U.S. politics he would inevitably be known as Big Con, for he is 6 ft. 4 in. tall and when he steps on the scales they whimper out 286 lb. He has blazing brown eyes and a magnificent head. With him are his wife, who headed the hospitals of Athens during the gallant six-month struggle, and three children, including his strapping, 23-year-old son, George, who had one more week to go on his medical studies when the invasion of Greece began.

When Mayor Cotzias escaped on April 27, Greece had flour enough to last two more weeks. The vast majority of Greeks live on bread and olives. Greece does not raise sufficient wheat for her own needs, ordinarily imports it from the U.S.S.R. and Rumania. These sources are, of course, cut off; Greece's own wheat crop was only one-half normal this year, and of this the Germans promptly "borrowed" half. The olive crop was also way below normal. Greeks now live on wild herbs, raisins and a few perishable fruits unsuitable for borrowing. It is expected that by November there will be general starvation.

"It is not good for the children of heroes to die," Mayor Cotzias said.

Because he has worked on it only since his escape, His Honor's English is still a little jagged, but he can convey what he wants to say almost perfectly and enjoys telling how the Greeks took shoals of prisoners:

"We employ two systems. First, wait till the sun comes out, then pull forth the bayonet and shake it over the head so the Italians can see the gleams. Then put the bayonet on the rifle. Second, gather shoulders-to-shoulders, take a deep breath and together shout: 'Aera! Aera!' " Aera means "wind."

"The Germans cannot do the bayonet with us," he continued. "They are not humanistic, they are mechanistic. They are chauffeur. During the last eight days we could get no food, no ammunition to the front, because the mules are all dead. From the front we receive telegram: 'Our eyes are drained from crying, please give us the order what to do.' From Athens we send 600 donkeys with the food and the ammunition. The spies advise the Germans and they kill the little donkeys from the air."

One of Constantine Cotzias' missions in the U.S. is to present the Gold Medal of Honorary Athenian Citizenship to President Roosevelt, to whom it was voted last March. Greece's King George II, who now lives near Pretoria, South Africa, holds only the Silver Medal.

When Hermann Goering, who loves nice things and is a great hand at Pluenderpraxis, visited Athens in 1935, Mayor Cotzias showed him the town. One of the sights included the National Archeological Museum. For more than an hour, Goering stayed in the Salon of Mycenaean Antiquities, pop-eyed and well-nigh drooling over the collection of golden swords, daggers, goblets, vases, collars, crematory urns and other priceless objects of pre-Homeric craftsmanship. The next year His Honor visited Berlin and saw Goering, who immediately said: "How's the Mycenaean collection? Is that beautiful stuff! Ach, du lieber!"

When the invasion began, the collection was removed from the museum and buried in the ground, later transferred to the Bank of Greece's vaults. Mayor Cotzias is solemnly positive that Hermann Goering has it now in his home, sits and plays with it lovingly.

' "I cannot give the proof," His Honor said, "but I know it in here." He tapped his heart.

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