SOUNDING OFF:

For most of my adult life I’ve been a history buff.

Since retiring a year ago, I’ve indulged my hobby by reading books on Lincoln, Grant, the Great War, Churchill, Roosevelt, the men of the 502nd Parachute Infantry Regiment, Eisenhower, Patton and more.

But the one historical personage who leaves me absolutely mystified is Adolf Hitler.

I was 3 months old in 1945 when Hitler died by his own hand in his Berlin bunker. To me, from a psychological standpoint, he’s always been dead. Was he ever truly alive? Unfortunately, the answer to that question is yes.

Though some actually considered him to be superhuman, it seems that he abided genuine human frailties. It is said that he suffered serious stomach problems throughout his career, didn’t sleep well and had a volcanic temper.

In recent weeks I’ve grown addicted to a television series on the Military Channel, titled “Hitler’s Bodyguard.”

There’s one scene of Hitler coming out of his Berghof (headquarters) in the Alps. Probably filmed prior to 1941, the shot shows him exiting the building in full uniform on a cold morning. With his aides in tow, he’s obviously aware of the camera as he strides imperiously across the portico — during an actual moment in time — and down the grand staircase to a waiting Mercedes to do some sort of work for the Third Reich. His hubris is palpable.

Where was he off to that frosty Bavarian morning? Who knows. But everything looks all too immediate and real on my high-def TV screen as he walks briskly to the waiting auto. He could be any modern world leader off to discharge a duty.

The series also details the June morning in 1940 when Hitler celebrated one of his greatest triumphs: the taking of Paris. He spent three hours exploring the captured French capital like a tourist.

Then, there’s the famous still-photo of him standing on the stone balustrade of the Trocadero, overlooking the Eiffel Tower. I, too, have a picture of myself at that exact spot. It all feels kind of creepy.

I’ve trod the surf at Omaha Beach, prayed at the church at Sainte-Mere-Eglise, walked the crooked streets of Bastogne, paused on a bridge crossing the Rhine, and walked through the Brandenburg Gate. I’ve wept silently as I inspected the snow-covered grounds at Dachau and moved reverentially through the barracks, gas chambers and crematoria of Auschwitz.

But only when I saw him living and breathing on my high-def screen — 64 years after his demise — did I truly “feel” the actuality of der Fuhrer’s existence. Modern media seemed to confirm that to me, and it was chilling. Because of this monster, the world suffered 50 million needless deaths in the middle of the last century.

Humanity will continue to pay a price for Hitler’s existence until the last trumpet.

JIM CARNETT lives in Costa Mesa.