REMBRANDT would have liked to paint poor but honest Frau Pauline Hauptmann who on Nov. 20, 1899 at Kamenz, Germany gave birth to Bruno Rich ard Hauptmann, accused of extorting ransom for the return of the Lindbergh baby, suspected of the kidnapping and murder. Apple-cheeked Bruno saw battlefront service, was 19 when the War ended. He came through unscathed, undistinguished, but two brothers were killed. After the War he broke his mother's heart by turning out to be the bad boy of Kamenz. He served one term for theft, escaped a second by breaking jail. Twice he entered the U. S. illegally, the second time successfully. With 3SE_P]

LIKE MOST GERMANS, Bruno Hauptmann enjoyed trinken und grosse Cigarren with compatriots on special occasions. This 1932 New Year's Eve party occurred ten months after the Lindbergh kidnapping. Host Hauptmann had neither sought nor found work in that time.

A HAPPY, CAREFREE MAN was Bruno Hauptmann in the summer of 1932 after his wife Anna went to Germany to visit her family and his. With other young, gregarious and jolly Germans from uptown Yorkville and The Bronx, Hauptmann found his way to Hunter Island on Long Island Sound. Among his friends were John Braue, now a counterman at the Radio City Doughnut Shop, and Anita Lutzenberg, a dressfitter for Oppenheim, Collins & Co. "Nita," explained Braue, "liked to jump around and go with this man or that on the beach." It was not long before she was jumping around with "Dick" Hauptmann. And "Nita" Lutzenberg did not like conventional photographs iked to do things and make funny poses." Little did Photographer Braue realize that two years later, without his knowledge, his land lord would make a tidy sum peddling his pictures of "Dick" and "Nita" to Manhattan newspapers. That summer Hauptmann had a lame leg, due, he said, to varicose veins. Braue and Miss Lutzenberg never saw him afterward.

EIN BUMMEL is what Germans call al fresco funmaking. Below, with a half-consumed banana in his mouth, is Bruno Hauptmann, with some Hunter Island friends on a bummel. None of his circle was handier at collecting bits of driftwood, none could roast sausage nearer to a turn, none could play the mandolin or sing with greater virtuosity. An Irish park guard recalled that he was also a great horseshoe pitcher. Hauptmann, the Outdoor Man, was a good hand at inshore sailing. He owned a canoe which he kept at nearby City Island . Another boatsman of the vicinity was Dr. John F. ("Jafsie") Condon, the aged and eccentric Bronx school master who as an intermediary handed $50,000 in ransom cash to someone whom he cannot yet positively identify. Bruno Hauptmann did not confine his outdoor life to city parks. His neighbors remember that he used to go hunting in the autumn, bring home a full bag of game, none of which he ever gave away. Once he went as far north as Canada. With Carl Henkel, six months after the ran som payment, he went to Maine.

HERE LIES tuberculous Isador Fisch in a New Jersey thicket in 1929. One of Hauptmann's oldest friends, he died in destitution last March in Leipzig. He and Hauptmann dealt in furs from time to time. Fisch's friends in The Bronx knew him as penniless. Hauptmann's story as to how he came by the Lindbergh ransom money was that Fisch left it with him, told him it was "old letters." When Fisch died, Hauptmann said he discovered the cash, appropriated it to satisfy an unpaid $7,500 loan.

GOING, GOING, GONE is the garage where Bruno Hauptmann stored his car and where police first found $13,750 of the Lindbergh ransom money. By demolishing the building stick-by-stick and then burrowing into the ground below, police last week found another $840 in "hot" cash. Pauline Rauch, the Hauptmanns' landlady, rented them the top floor of her house, but Hauptmann paid for most of the material and built the nearby garage himself.

A SAD SISTER is Mrs. Emma Gloeckner, of Hollywood, Calif . The last time he saw Brother Bruno was in 1931, when he and his wife made a swing around the U. S. in their automobile, touched Death Valley, Yellowstone Park, stopped a while with the Gloeckners.

BABY MANNFRIED, square-faced and broad-beamed, was born ten months ago. He is the only one in the Hauptmann family who takes no interest in his father's plight. Chubby Mannfried smiled happily while his mother, in tears, sang a German lullaby for a newsreel.

"THINK WHAT A WEEK CAN DO," moans Anna Hauptmann, exonerated of any connection with her husband's case. "A week ago we were as happy as children, and now see the trouble we have." Squinting into the police camera is Bruno Richard Hauptmann as of September 1934, Prisoner 128221 of the City of New York, indicted by the People of the State of New York for extortion, soon to be indicted by the People of the State of New Jersey for murder.

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