After the end of World War Two, an estimated 10,000 Nazi war criminals made their way into the United States. One of those 10,000 worked as an OPRF custodian for over two decades.
In 1957, former SS guard Reinhold Kulle illegally immigrated to the United States. His family started a new life in Forest Park, and in 1959 OPRF hired Kulle as a custodian. In 1963, he was promoted to chief night custodian.
“When his shift started (at 3:30), he would go into teachers’ classrooms, shake their hand, and ask if they needed anything. He made sure anything they needed was covered,” said Michael Soffer, OPRF graduate and Holocaust studies teacher. “He was a really, really good custodian. He worked so hard that some of his colleagues complained that they were missing opportunities for overtime.” This spring, Soffer will be publishing a book with the University of Chicago Press about Kulle and the community.
Kulle’s contact with students was limited, but he frequently interacted with students who participated in the theater program or during school dances.
By the time educator, advocate, and organizer RaeLynne Toperoff moved to Oak Park in 1973, Kulle had been chief night custodian for a decade. In the early 1970s, the village experienced a period of great change. Housing prices dropped, and people like Toperoff– “people who were looking for a liberal, progressive, on-the-move community”–flocked to the community. Toperoff compared life in Oak Park to “living in paradise.”
“I was absolutely astounded by how intelligent people were; the people that I somehow had the good fortune to land in their midst,” said Toperoff. “So many brilliant people that cared so deeply about the community.”
One morning in 1983, as Toperoff read through the morning paper–“I think it was the Tribune”–she saw an article that made her “bolt upright.”
The article was about that day’s federal court proceedings, and said there was a judicial hearing scheduled to determine if Kulle lied on his immigration papers about being a member of the SS.
When she realized who the man was, Toperoff decided to take action. She called her friend Rima Schultz, who was working from home, and the two rushed to take the green line downtown to witness the public hearing. Soon the two were regularly attending these hearings and became more familiar with Kulle’s past.
Kulle, born in Germany in 1921, grew up a member of the Hitler Youth. In 1940, he volunteered to join the Waffen-SS, “the lead Nazi paramilitary group that was largely responsible for many of the atrocities the Nazis committed against various groups including Jews, POWs, Roman Sinti, homosexuals,” said Soffer.
In August 1942, Kulle was transferred to the concentration camp Gross-Rosen, where he worked as a guard and a training leader. Of the estimated 120,000 prisoners who entered the concentration camp between 1940 and 1945, 40,000 died.
While working at the slave labor camp, Kulle earned two promotions.
After learning of Kulle’s past, Toperoff and Schultz went to the OPRF administration and met individually with Board of Education members in an attempt to put the custodian on paid leave.
“We made presentations at the School District 200 board,” said Toperoff. “Everybody said we want to wait and see how the ‘trial’ turns out.”
Toperoff pointed out that it was not a “trial,” but rather a judicial hearing. When Kulle was originally called in for questioning in August 1982, his identity as a former SS guard was confirmed. “He didn’t deny anything,” said Soffer.
While attending the hearings, Toperoff witnessed community members express “love and adoration” for the custodian. She recalls one OPRF employee claiming to have “even more respect for (Kulle)” after hearing of his past.
Toperoff and Schultz continued to push the administration to take action, working with local organizations to raise awareness and bringing Holocaust survivors to speak at Board meetings. “They kept saying, no hard evidence,” said Toperoff. “Yada yada yada.”
Eventually, the two women gathered a group of citizens and “decided to go to the Board of Education and ask if they felt that it was within OPRF school policy to employ somebody who was a former member of the Nazi SS. If they said yes to that, then that would be a terrible admission. If they said no, they would have to terminate Kulle because his employment would be a conflict with district policy,” said Toperoff. “And that’s eventually what happened.”
In January 1984, the school announced that at the end of the school year, Kulle would be placed on a terminal leave of absence. In November, a judge ordered Kulle to be deported to Germany.
Before the affair, “Oak Park was so good at addressing problems before they became visible,” said Toperoff, and many community leaders lacked experience with an unexpected scandal of this size. Local media outlets, including the Wednesday Journal, failed to accurately report on the situation and often defended Kulle, said Soffer.
“Nobody wanted to take (the issue) on,” said Toperoff. “They wanted us to go away.” To some, Toperoff said she became the “village idiot” or a “witch.”
“Why were we the issue, instead of the issue being the issue,” said Toperoff.
“Oak Park is a community that prides itself on its ideals,” said Soffer. “Sometimes our ideals place us in personally uncomfortable situations where our ideals come in conflict with our friendships…It’s really hard to do the right thing. Oak Park did not live up to its ideals, but RaeLynne Toperoff and Rima Schultz made sure that it did.”
“I don’t mind being remembered as being angry,” said Toperoff, “as long as I’m remembered as being determined and trying to have some principles.” Later, she reflected on the events in an email: “What happened to us as individuals was insignificant against what happened to us as a community.”