Imagine with me here, it’s 1895, middle of the summer, you’re walking down the street, and you hear a small child crying out. You look around, and quickly spot a house ablaze, with a young boy, who couldn’t be more than 5 or 6, tears running down his cheeks, in the upstairs bedroom window. “Please help me, I don’t want to die!” he manages to choke out between crying and fighting for air. There is a ladder leaning up against the nextdoor shed, more than tall enough to reach the second story window, and rescue the boy. Now imagine if you could know that this boy was Adolf Hitler, and…