At 1:00 a. m. on October 16, 1946, John C. Woods, the American master sergeant who had volunteered to serve as executioner, stood in the gymnasium of Nuremberg Prison with the first condemned man before him.
The gymnasium had been transformed into an execution chamber, its three gallows waiting in the dim light. Allied officials, military officers, and journalists had gathered as official witnesses, and they recorded everything that happened in the final moments of each man’s life. These executions were the conclusion of the International Military Tribunal at Nuremberg, a historic proceeding that had begun in November 1945. For the first time in history, the leaders of a nation were held accountable not merely for military defeat but for crimes against peace, war crimes, and crimes against humanity.
The tribunal had indicted 24 major war criminals. Twelve received death sentences by hanging, but only ten would actually face the gallows. Hermann Göring cheated execution by taking his own life in his cell hours before his scheduled hanging, and Martin Bormann was tried in absentia, his whereabouts unknown and his death presumed. The first man brought to the gallows was Hans Frank, once Hitler’s personal lawyer and later the brutal governor general of occupied Poland.
In that role, Frank had overseen the systematic murder of millions of Polish civilians and Jews, governing a territory he himself had described as a devil’s playground. During his final weeks in prison, Frank had undergone what appeared to be a genuine religious conversion, spending long hours with the prison chaplain and claiming to have found redemption through faith. On the gallows, he no longer resembled the arrogant figure who had appeared in court. His demeanor was subdued, almost broken, and his hands trembled as the noose was placed around his neck.
His final statement was brief. He expressed thanks for the kind treatment he had received during captivity and asked God to accept him with mercy. The chaplain who attended him believed his repentance was real, though others remained skeptical of so convenient a transformation. The next condemned man offered a very different face.
Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel had been chief of the high command of the armed forces, and his signature had appeared on numerous orders violating the laws of war, including the infamous Commissar Order, which called for the execution of captured Soviet political officers. Throughout the trial, Keitel had defended himself by arguing that he was only following orders, a soldier’s sacred duty to his superior. That defense would come to be known as the Nuremberg Defense, and the tribunal rejected it. But Keitel himself never wavered.
He had maintained strict personal discipline throughout his imprisonment, and on the morning of his execution he walked to the gallows with the measured pace of a soldier on parade. Witnesses described him as appearing almost relieved that his ordeal was ending. He showed no sign of religious awakening or remorse. His final words were delivered in the same formal tone he had used in military briefings: he called on God to have mercy on the German people, noted that more than two million German soldiers had died for the fatherland before him, and declared that he now followed his sons, all for Germany.
What struck witnesses most was Keitel’s apparent inability to understand why obedience to orders was not a valid defense. To the end, he saw himself not as a war criminal but as a soldier who had done his duty. Julius Streicher presented something far more disturbing. Unlike the other condemned men, Streicher had not wielded military or administrative power.
His weapon had been words. As publisher of Der Stürmer, the viciously anti-Semitic newspaper, he had spent more than two decades poisoning German public opinion with racist propaganda. In prison he had remained unrepentant and often belligerent, taking pleasure in provoking reactions from guards and officials. On the morning of his execution, his behavior was erratic and disturbing.
Witnesses noted the wild look in his eyes. His final moments were marked by open defiance. He shouted Heil Hitler, then made a reference to Purim, the Jewish holiday commemorating deliverance from persecution, and finally declared that the Bolsheviks would hang his executioners one day. He seemed proud of his life’s work, and his hatred appeared to radiate from him even as the noose was placed around his neck.
Woods later reported that Streicher’s execution was among the most difficult he had performed, not because of technical problems but because of the condemned man’s behavior. Streicher made one final outburst that was so inflammatory it was kept out of many official reports, deemed too dangerous to preserve for history. Ernst Kaltenbrunner, standing over six feet tall, was the highest-ranking SS officer to survive the war. As chief of the Reich Security Main Office, he had overseen the Gestapo, the criminal police, and the intelligence services, and he had been directly responsible for implementing the Final Solution.
Throughout the trial, he had maintained his innocence with cold, calculated denials, presenting himself as a professional administrator who claimed ignorance of the crimes committed by his subordinates. His approach to his own death was consistent with that defense. He had spent his final night writing letters and organizing his personal effects with the same methodical efficiency he had brought to his bureaucratic duties. Witnesses described him as appearing almost analytical, observing the proceedings from a professional distance.
His final statement was brief. He spoke of being a victim of circumstances and claimed that history would vindicate him. There was no acknowledgement of the millions who had died under his authority and no expression of remorse. Fritz Sauckel had been responsible for one of the largest forced labor programs in human history.
As plenipotentiary for labor deployment, he had overseen the deportation and enslavement of more than five million foreign workers, men, women, and children torn from their homes and forced to work in German factories under brutal conditions. At trial, he had tried to portray himself as a reluctant administrator who had attempted to improve conditions for the workers, but the evidence showed his personal involvement in planning and implementing the slave labor program. Unlike some of his codefendants, Sauckel had displayed visible emotional distress throughout his imprisonment. On the morning of his execution, his anxiety was apparent to everyone present.
His complexion was pale, his hands trembled, and witnesses described him as a frightened, broken man. His final statement was markedly different from those of his predecessors. He spoke of his family and expressed fear for their future, and there was a pleading quality to his words, as though he were still hoping for a last-minute reprieve. His fear was so overwhelming that prison officials had to support him to keep him standing.
The man who had shown no mercy to millions of forced laborers was now pleading for mercy himself. General Alfred Jodl had been one of Hitler’s closest military advisers, serving as chief of operations staff of the high command of the armed forces. His strategic mind had helped plan some of the war’s most devastating campaigns, and his signature appeared on numerous orders that violated international law. Unlike Keitel, who had relied on blind obedience, Jodl had attempted to justify his actions on strategic and tactical grounds, arguing that military necessity had dictated his choices.
In his final weeks, he had spent considerable time writing what he called his historical testament, a detailed justification of his wartime decisions. On the morning of his execution, Jodl appeared composed and thoughtful, described by witnesses as looking like a professor about to deliver a lecture. His final words reflected his continued belief in the righteousness of his military service. He spoke of his duty to Germany and his conviction that future historians would understand the impossible situation he had faced.
There was no acknowledgement of criminal wrongdoing. Even on the gallows, he delivered his words with the precision of a military briefing, as if presenting a final strategic assessment rather than facing death. Wilhelm Frick had been one of the Nazi Party’s earliest members and had served as Reich Minister of the Interior. In that role, he had created the legal framework for Nazi persecution, drafting laws that stripped Jews and other minorities of their civil rights and paved the way for genocide.
At trial, he had tried to distance himself from the violent aspects of Nazi policy, portraying himself as a legal administrator who had merely codified political decisions. His bureaucratic mindset remained intact even in the face of death. On the morning of his execution, he walked to the gallows with the measured pace of a man attending a routine legal proceeding. His final words reflected his continued belief in the legality of his actions.
He spoke of his role as a lawyer and administrator, claiming he had simply followed proper legal procedures. He showed no recognition that laws themselves could be criminal when used to facilitate persecution and murder. The man who had perverted law to serve hatred maintained his dry, legalistic tone to the very end. Arthur Seyss-Inquart, who had been instrumental in the Nazi annexation of Austria and later served as Reich commissioner for the occupied Netherlands, was the final man executed that day.
In both roles, he had overseen brutal occupation policies that had resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of civilians, including the systematic deportation of Dutch Jews. During the trial, he had maintained an attitude of intellectual superiority, arguing that his actions had been justified by historical necessity, and he appeared genuinely proud of his role in expanding Nazi control. In his final weeks, he had spent considerable time writing historical analyses of his actions, approaching his situation with the detachment of an academic studying past events rather than a condemned man facing death for his crimes. On the gallows, he appeared calm and intellectually engaged, looking like a professor even at the moment of execution.
His final statement was perhaps the most chilling of all. He expressed no remorse and maintained his belief in the historical necessity of Nazi policies, reflecting an unshakable conviction that history would vindicate him. He seemed genuinely satisfied with his life’s work, and his intellectual arrogance remained intact even as the noose was placed around his neck. The executions were completed by 2:45 a.
m. The bodies were cremated, and the ashes were scattered into the Isar River to prevent any location from becoming a shrine for Nazi sympathizers. The final words of these ten men, recorded by official witnesses, reveal no single pattern but rather a spectrum of responses to ultimate judgment. Some, like Frank, claimed religious conversion and expressed remorse.
Others, like Keitel and Jodl, maintained their professional dignity while failing to comprehend the criminal nature of their actions. Still others, like Streicher and Seyss-Inquart, remained defiant and unrepentant to the end. The executions themselves established a lasting precedent for international justice. The principle that following orders is not a defense for war crimes, rejected in the cases of Keitel and Jodl, became a cornerstone of international humanitarian law.
And the documented final moments of the condemned men became part of the permanent record of humanity’s attempt to hold individuals accountable for crimes against peace, war crimes, and crimes against humanity.