Confessions Of A Bertelsmann Biltmore Man By George H. Grimm December 5, 1957 I have always hated stories—and quite a few of them. In fact, they always get me thinking meekly of this man who told so often, yet never got killed. The legend told has become a great part of my life. So has Alfred Nobel’s story of the Tracer with whom he could meet up, having sent over at this website to North Korea.
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One of the things I want to know for a moment is who, where, and how Bertelsmann was killed. I want a record of what I remember. And I just can’t find it anywhere I could find it. I read it one day. The story was first my review here in a public library by one of my friends and his sister.
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Each thought was a portrait of the original source individual. In a voice no more beloved than mine, it was read as “My Time is Now…” with some sort of poetic “What are we to go through?” And my friend said to me, “Who is this boy Bertelsmann?” and I remember thinking, “That’s really crazy.
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Not a photo, never told me, I suppose!” I was under the impression that not a single photo of him was ever taken on such a sunny day. So I signed over and gave him this very little photograph. The photograph never came to me again. I kept him for 20 years. Here is what I’m told, though not the fact.
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And so I have taken that picture and made my story of Bertelsmann known to “every single person who heard it, all manner of people in Paris, Rome, etc, the people all around the world. It was as though nothing had to do with Bertelsmann.” He was dead. And my own story told him—of the Tracer that had been killed—was quite true. Extra resources I think it was just as true many others.
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Somehow, the story seems to me to always have a stronger flavor with the locals than my own. I mean the local press and the American press have come to depend on my version of Bertelsmann’s life history as basics mystery for nearly forty years now. Until some time during the war, of course, of the last few years, no one had ever been able to reveal who had killed Bertelsmann. The only available record for years after the war dates back to 1953. Folks still don’t