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Bronze Member
DALLAS—Robert Edsel will tell you he’s no Indiana Jones. But the former Dallas oilman has traded the search for Texas black gold for what he calls the greatest treasure hunt in history.
Like the swashbuckling Jones, Edsel has faced countless roadblocks and general skepticism.
The Allied force rescued thousands of works, including many of Europe’s most famous masterpieces. “I would say it’s the great untold story of World War II,” he says. “To try to convince people that there’s still a great, untold story about World War II out there—you’re really swimming upstream.”
He sees the story as nothing short of epic: How an obscure group of 350 men and women helped save Western civilization from the Nazis’ unprecedented and systematic looting and destruction of Europe’s great paintings, monuments and other cultural treasures.
Over the last 10 years, Edsel, 50, has devoted his time and a considerable amount of his fortune—“well north of $3 million”—on a mission that many have seen as quixotic.
He wrote and self-published a book, “Rescuing Da Vinci,” that included hundreds of rare photos he found in musty government archives. He has also co-produced a documentary, “The Rape of Europa.”
What keeps this story relevant, says Edsel, are the fresh headlines about looted masterpieces that are just now being located and restored to their rightful owners.
“This is today’s news,” he says.
The oil business took a lot of research and a willingness to take risks and act on educated hunches. So does his new pursuit.
“I identify with the excitement of discovery,” he says. “There’s something there, and you go find it.”
About 10 years ago, the self-described “Type Triple A” found himself in unfamiliar territory—a midlife stall. Growing up with dreams of becoming a professional tennis player, he pursued the sport with a fierce passion, becoming a nationally ranked player on his high school and college teams.
But when he realized he couldn’t excel on the pro circuit, he turned to business. After graduating from Southern Methodist University in 1979, he went to work for a family friend in the oil business. A quick 18 months later, he left to start his own company.
Despite his company’s success, something was missing. By the mid-’90s, work consumed 100 percent of his time, but only 20 percent of his abilities, he says. “I felt like a gerbil on the treadmill.”
Thinking “there had to be more to life,” he sold his company and went to Europe with his wife and 2-year-old son. They left on Leap Day 1996. After a brief stay in Paris, they visited Italy and fell in love with Florence. There, in one of the greatest art centers in the world, they decided to settle down.
Edsel had never shown much interest in art. But now he tackled it with a characteristic obsession. He hired a local art professor to be his personal tutor, and they visited museums. He devoured books about art and cultural history.
Still, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
Then one day in 1997, while he stood on the Ponte Vecchio, a medieval bridge over the Arno River in Florence, a thought occurred to him: How was it that this bridge—one of Europe’s great cultural treasures—hadn’t been destroyed during World War II? For that matter, how had so much of Europe’s great artwork survived a war that had destroyed so much of the continent?
“I was so embarrassed, and I didn’t want to ask anyone, because I figured they’re going to think I’m the dumbest person ever,” he says. “Much to my surprise, others didn’t know how this stuff survived the war, either.”
Reinvigorated, Edsel decided to discover and tell the story of what happened to cultural Europe during Adolf Hitler’s Nazi reign. Hitler’s megalomania extended well beyond ruling Europe. He wanted to create a new civilization based on the Nazis’ belief in the superiority of the Germanic race.
In his youth, Hitler was a struggling artist who was denied admission to study at Vienna’s Academy of Fine Arts. Hitler’s deep resentment over his rejection by the academy’s predominantly Jewish faculty helped fuel his anti-Semitism and obsession with creating a world-class cultural center.
Hitler set out to build the Fuhrer Museum in his hometown of Linz, Austria, an art “acropolis” that would outshine the Louvre in Paris and the Hermitage in Russia as the greatest museum in Europe, if not the world.
He and his henchmen took time from war planning to draw up lists of the greatest works of art throughout Europe and then set out systematically to obtain them—usually on the heels of a military invasion.
The definitive book on the subject was “The Rape of Europa,” by Lynn Nicholas, a 512-page volume published in 1994. A brilliant piece of scholarship, it is not very accessible to the average reader, Edsel says.
He met with Nicholas and then set out to produce a companion book to hers, which would rely more on images than text.
Edsel tracked down and interviewed the few remaining survivors among the group that was known as the “Monuments Men.” (The official name was the Monuments, Fine Arts and Archives program.) Along with a team of assistants, he explored dusty, government warehouses, digging up hundreds of long-forgotten files filled with extraordinary photos, which showed such things as looted masterpieces discovered stashed away in an Austrian salt mine.
He sees the book and documentary as a chance to honor a unique group of individuals who had rescued much of the world’s greatest art, but who had become mostly a footnote in history.
This small Allied force, which included art historians and curators, was responsible for identifying, protecting and rescuing the thousands of paintings, sculptures and other cultural treasures, which included many of Europe’s most famous masterpieces.
“Robert was very excited about the story and felt it should be wider known and appreciated,” says Edmund “Ted” Pillsbury, former director of the Kimbell Art Museum and the Meadows Museum, who wrote the forward to Edsel’s book.
“He assembled and published for the first time a lot of photographs that had been unknown and neglected,” he said, calling Edsel’s book “an essential companion piece” to the scholarly Nicholas work.
Edsel also met with filmmakers who had the film rights to the story and decided to co-produce a documentary, “The Rape of Europa,” based on the author’s book of the same name.
Many of the looted paintings were hidden in salt mines and other underground depositories. While filming the documentary, Edsel squeezed into the winding tunnels of the salt mine in Altaussee, Austria, where thousands of pieces of art had been hidden during the war, only to be discovered and rescued by the Monuments Men.
“I think it was an adventure for him,” says Pillsbury.
He also believes that Edsel’s work points out how the Monuments Men helped influence post-war American culture. Many members of the military’s monuments task force returned to the United States to become directors and curators of museums. They brought an expertise in European culture that benefited the growth of the American art scene, Pillsbury says.
In June, after Edsel’s relentless lobbying efforts, Congress passed a resolution honoring the World War II team’s efforts.
Edsel also recently set up a nonprofit foundation to help promote the legacy of the Monuments Men, who included Richard Howard, one of the first directors of the Dallas Museum of Art. Edsel’s office includes snapshots of these men, now in their 80s and 90s, with Edsel.
The foundation’s mission also includes raising awareness of the need to protect art and cultural treasures in the midst of war.
“Frankly, that didn’t happen in Baghdad,” he says, referring to public looting of museums in the early days of the Iraq war. Protecting the cultural treasures of Iraq wasn’t a priority, Edsel says.
“And that is the key distinction with World War II,” in which President Franklin D. Roosevelt and Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower understood the need to protect and preserve the cultural heritage of the countries in which they were fighting.
Finally, Edsel also sees the foundation taking a role in helping with restitution of art that was lost during the Nazi era.
That includes art brought home by scavenging GIs and quietly hidden away in trunks and attics.
“The foundation exists to help people who might be the kids or grandchildren of a veteran, who might have something and don’t know what to do about it,” Edsel says.
Perhaps the most notorious such case involved a Texas soldier who, in the waning days of World War II, took priceless medieval treasures hidden in a cave near Quedlinburg, Germany.
Joe T. Meador, an Army lieutenant, was believed to have taken the treasures from their hiding place when his Army unit occupied the area in April 1945 and shipped them back to his hometown of Whitewright.
After his death in 1980, two relatives tried to sell the collection of ancient illuminated manuscripts, reliquaries and other religious artifacts dating back at least a millennium. Lawyers for the two said their clients never learned from their brother that the artworks were stolen and a criminal case was dropped.
Running a nonprofit foundation isn’t nearly as lucrative as the oil business. But Edsel hasn’t considered going back to his old line of work, even as the price of oil skyrocketed and former competitors grew richer.
“What drives me is meaningfulness and feeling fulfilled and trying to use all my abilities,” Edsel says. “That’s why it’s so satisfying for me now.”
kenb
Like the swashbuckling Jones, Edsel has faced countless roadblocks and general skepticism.
The Allied force rescued thousands of works, including many of Europe’s most famous masterpieces. “I would say it’s the great untold story of World War II,” he says. “To try to convince people that there’s still a great, untold story about World War II out there—you’re really swimming upstream.”
He sees the story as nothing short of epic: How an obscure group of 350 men and women helped save Western civilization from the Nazis’ unprecedented and systematic looting and destruction of Europe’s great paintings, monuments and other cultural treasures.
Over the last 10 years, Edsel, 50, has devoted his time and a considerable amount of his fortune—“well north of $3 million”—on a mission that many have seen as quixotic.
He wrote and self-published a book, “Rescuing Da Vinci,” that included hundreds of rare photos he found in musty government archives. He has also co-produced a documentary, “The Rape of Europa.”
What keeps this story relevant, says Edsel, are the fresh headlines about looted masterpieces that are just now being located and restored to their rightful owners.
“This is today’s news,” he says.
The oil business took a lot of research and a willingness to take risks and act on educated hunches. So does his new pursuit.
“I identify with the excitement of discovery,” he says. “There’s something there, and you go find it.”
About 10 years ago, the self-described “Type Triple A” found himself in unfamiliar territory—a midlife stall. Growing up with dreams of becoming a professional tennis player, he pursued the sport with a fierce passion, becoming a nationally ranked player on his high school and college teams.
But when he realized he couldn’t excel on the pro circuit, he turned to business. After graduating from Southern Methodist University in 1979, he went to work for a family friend in the oil business. A quick 18 months later, he left to start his own company.
Despite his company’s success, something was missing. By the mid-’90s, work consumed 100 percent of his time, but only 20 percent of his abilities, he says. “I felt like a gerbil on the treadmill.”
Thinking “there had to be more to life,” he sold his company and went to Europe with his wife and 2-year-old son. They left on Leap Day 1996. After a brief stay in Paris, they visited Italy and fell in love with Florence. There, in one of the greatest art centers in the world, they decided to settle down.
Edsel had never shown much interest in art. But now he tackled it with a characteristic obsession. He hired a local art professor to be his personal tutor, and they visited museums. He devoured books about art and cultural history.
Still, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
Then one day in 1997, while he stood on the Ponte Vecchio, a medieval bridge over the Arno River in Florence, a thought occurred to him: How was it that this bridge—one of Europe’s great cultural treasures—hadn’t been destroyed during World War II? For that matter, how had so much of Europe’s great artwork survived a war that had destroyed so much of the continent?
“I was so embarrassed, and I didn’t want to ask anyone, because I figured they’re going to think I’m the dumbest person ever,” he says. “Much to my surprise, others didn’t know how this stuff survived the war, either.”
Reinvigorated, Edsel decided to discover and tell the story of what happened to cultural Europe during Adolf Hitler’s Nazi reign. Hitler’s megalomania extended well beyond ruling Europe. He wanted to create a new civilization based on the Nazis’ belief in the superiority of the Germanic race.
In his youth, Hitler was a struggling artist who was denied admission to study at Vienna’s Academy of Fine Arts. Hitler’s deep resentment over his rejection by the academy’s predominantly Jewish faculty helped fuel his anti-Semitism and obsession with creating a world-class cultural center.
Hitler set out to build the Fuhrer Museum in his hometown of Linz, Austria, an art “acropolis” that would outshine the Louvre in Paris and the Hermitage in Russia as the greatest museum in Europe, if not the world.
He and his henchmen took time from war planning to draw up lists of the greatest works of art throughout Europe and then set out systematically to obtain them—usually on the heels of a military invasion.
The definitive book on the subject was “The Rape of Europa,” by Lynn Nicholas, a 512-page volume published in 1994. A brilliant piece of scholarship, it is not very accessible to the average reader, Edsel says.
He met with Nicholas and then set out to produce a companion book to hers, which would rely more on images than text.
Edsel tracked down and interviewed the few remaining survivors among the group that was known as the “Monuments Men.” (The official name was the Monuments, Fine Arts and Archives program.) Along with a team of assistants, he explored dusty, government warehouses, digging up hundreds of long-forgotten files filled with extraordinary photos, which showed such things as looted masterpieces discovered stashed away in an Austrian salt mine.
He sees the book and documentary as a chance to honor a unique group of individuals who had rescued much of the world’s greatest art, but who had become mostly a footnote in history.
This small Allied force, which included art historians and curators, was responsible for identifying, protecting and rescuing the thousands of paintings, sculptures and other cultural treasures, which included many of Europe’s most famous masterpieces.
“Robert was very excited about the story and felt it should be wider known and appreciated,” says Edmund “Ted” Pillsbury, former director of the Kimbell Art Museum and the Meadows Museum, who wrote the forward to Edsel’s book.
“He assembled and published for the first time a lot of photographs that had been unknown and neglected,” he said, calling Edsel’s book “an essential companion piece” to the scholarly Nicholas work.
Edsel also met with filmmakers who had the film rights to the story and decided to co-produce a documentary, “The Rape of Europa,” based on the author’s book of the same name.
Many of the looted paintings were hidden in salt mines and other underground depositories. While filming the documentary, Edsel squeezed into the winding tunnels of the salt mine in Altaussee, Austria, where thousands of pieces of art had been hidden during the war, only to be discovered and rescued by the Monuments Men.
“I think it was an adventure for him,” says Pillsbury.
He also believes that Edsel’s work points out how the Monuments Men helped influence post-war American culture. Many members of the military’s monuments task force returned to the United States to become directors and curators of museums. They brought an expertise in European culture that benefited the growth of the American art scene, Pillsbury says.
In June, after Edsel’s relentless lobbying efforts, Congress passed a resolution honoring the World War II team’s efforts.
Edsel also recently set up a nonprofit foundation to help promote the legacy of the Monuments Men, who included Richard Howard, one of the first directors of the Dallas Museum of Art. Edsel’s office includes snapshots of these men, now in their 80s and 90s, with Edsel.
The foundation’s mission also includes raising awareness of the need to protect art and cultural treasures in the midst of war.
“Frankly, that didn’t happen in Baghdad,” he says, referring to public looting of museums in the early days of the Iraq war. Protecting the cultural treasures of Iraq wasn’t a priority, Edsel says.
“And that is the key distinction with World War II,” in which President Franklin D. Roosevelt and Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower understood the need to protect and preserve the cultural heritage of the countries in which they were fighting.
Finally, Edsel also sees the foundation taking a role in helping with restitution of art that was lost during the Nazi era.
That includes art brought home by scavenging GIs and quietly hidden away in trunks and attics.
“The foundation exists to help people who might be the kids or grandchildren of a veteran, who might have something and don’t know what to do about it,” Edsel says.
Perhaps the most notorious such case involved a Texas soldier who, in the waning days of World War II, took priceless medieval treasures hidden in a cave near Quedlinburg, Germany.
Joe T. Meador, an Army lieutenant, was believed to have taken the treasures from their hiding place when his Army unit occupied the area in April 1945 and shipped them back to his hometown of Whitewright.
After his death in 1980, two relatives tried to sell the collection of ancient illuminated manuscripts, reliquaries and other religious artifacts dating back at least a millennium. Lawyers for the two said their clients never learned from their brother that the artworks were stolen and a criminal case was dropped.
Running a nonprofit foundation isn’t nearly as lucrative as the oil business. But Edsel hasn’t considered going back to his old line of work, even as the price of oil skyrocketed and former competitors grew richer.
“What drives me is meaningfulness and feeling fulfilled and trying to use all my abilities,” Edsel says. “That’s why it’s so satisfying for me now.”
kenb
