In the winter of 1946/47, our paths crossed—Axel Springer's and mine—in an unexpected moment within the vibrant heart of the Hamburg Kammerspiele. The icy breath of winter enveloped the foyer as we met in the spotlight of a theater evening. Axel, a man of remarkable presence, stood out from the crowd, his appearance and demeanor surrounded by an unusual aura that drew all eyes toward him. It was a reunion of old acquaintances, as Axel and my friend Erik had known each other since their youth.

In the weeks and months that followed, a close friendship grew between us. We joined a group of young people seeking to rediscover life after the horrors of war. Besides Axel and his then-wife Katrin, our circle included Irmgard Bibernell—affectionately called Bibi—and her husband Haensel. Bibi had fled from the ruins of Berlin and established a flourishing fashion salon in Hamburg. Robert Dependorf, Erik, and I completed this diverse group.

Our weekends were filled with shared experiences, laughing faces, vibrant stories, and the sparkling sound of champagne glasses. We often wandered through the nighttime streets to the "Tarantella" in the Colonnaden, surrendering to the rhythm of dance and enjoying the freedom of the moment. In these carefree hours, we all felt a deep gratitude that the war and the dark period of Nazi rule were finally over. We were young and full of zest for life, determined to build a new future.

Axel, like Gerd Bucerius, had an impeccable political record and soon obtained the first licenses for his newspapers from the English military government. With his impressive determination and sophisticated tactics, he consistently managed to skillfully evade the demands of the time. When war news crackled over the radio, he swore never to don a uniform or fight for Hitler's dark machinations—and he kept his word.