by Karen Wolff
The man with the gold pin walked up to him, reached out, and shook his hand. “How’s the family, Chester?” he said.
“Uh, fine, Mr. Berman.”
“That’s good to hear. Very good. Chester, I want you to let these two friends of mine and their boy leave,” he said in a low, whispery voice. “They’re just visitors from out of town. They’re of no interest to the preacher.”
Chester looked uncertain, but I saw the bill sticking out of the policeman’s hand as he opened the door for us to leave, and I knew how it got there.
We hurried back to the truck and collapsed inside.
When he could get his breath, Granddad said, “Well if that don’t beat all. Your first trip to Sioux City, Harry, and you get mixed up in one of Preacher Simms’s raids.”
I didn’t like to admit to him how scared I’d been. How scared I still was. I said, “That was something to see, all right, but I’m sure glad it’s over.”
Granddad said when Davy Berman heard the police come in, he just pulled on some kind of bell cord so everybody upstairs knew to leave by the fire escape. Davy had a big poker game going on, and he never stopped playing for one instant. But when he heard everyone go clomping upstairs, he decided it was time to get us out of there.
“Now, Lyle. Davy said to go down to the Sudan ‘til we come to Blanche’s Bower and turn into the alley. There’s supposed to be a guy named Jerry there. He’ll show us where to get our beer.”
“You sure don’t mean to do that, do you Alfie? I think we should just get on home,” said Uncle Lyle.
“Not on your life, Lyle. I paid for that beer and I mean to get it.”
Blanche’s Bower was a fancy house with a wide side porch where several pretty women and some men were playing music on a Victrola. It was a hot day, and the women had their skirts pulled up to their knees. While I gawked, Granddad went to the door and rang the bell. A plumpish woman with long blonde hair answered. “Hello there, Pops,” she said, smiling and pulling her silky robe around her. She held a cigarette in a long holder. They talked a minute, and then she hollered back to someone inside. “Send Jerry out here, will ya?” Her robe fell open when she turned, and I got an eyeful of her lacey underwear. She wrapped up again, leaving me in a daze. Pretty soon a runty fellow showed up. He took us to an old barn where we loaded six barrels into the truck as fast as we could and covered them with a tarp.
It was a long trip back because the truck wouldn’t go over twenty miles an hour with its heavy load, so I had plenty of time to think. It began to trickle into my senses what the Sudan and all those gaudy places might be about. This was brand new to me, all those beautiful women, laughing and having fun with the men standing around, not a bit shamed by the skimpy clothes they wore. I wondered what went on inside those houses.
We got home after dark, got the beer unloaded, and I dropped into bed. I replayed the whole day in my head before I went to sleep and made up my mind to find out more about that Sudan place.
THE NEXT DAY Wes and Billy and the other fellows rode by on their bicycles. “You want to go bike riding with us, Harry?”
“Yeah, I do,” I said. I wanted to tell them about the Sudan in Sioux City. Maybe I’d get answers to the questions that were plaguing my mind.
“Okay, fellas. I’ll see you as soon as I eat dinner.”
I caught up with them mid-afternoon. We decided it was too hot to ride, so we sat out back of Billy’s barn where it was cool and shady, and I told them about my trip.
“You mean you actually saw a mobster?” Billy’s mouth hung open, his eyes bright with excitement. “Did he have a gun?”
“I didn’t see one, but maybe he did.” They were impressed, I could tell. I went on to tell them about all the sights, the women’s silky clothes, how they pulled their skirts up over their knees, how they smiled and winked at me. I may have exaggerated a little bit, and the boys were really interested.
“What were they doing?” Don said.
“Just sitting around on the porch, eating sandwiches and drinking beer, laughing and talking like it was a party. Then every once in a while a couple of them would go indoors.” It excited me to tell them about it. “I couldn’t see what went on inside, but it seemed like they were having a good time.”
Wes jumped up and yelled. “I know what they were doing in there.” He bent over and brought his voice down to an excited whisper. “My brother Clete told me about it. When he was in the war in France, they went to these places where women would let the men get in bed with them, and, you know, do stuff. I’ll bet that’s what was going on in the Sudan.”
We sat wide-eyed and silent at the thought. The image of Lettie flashed through my mind, and I felt the familiar heat rise in my body. This had been happening to me plenty since my trip. I liked it, but it made me feel bothered, stirred up.
“Did you see anything like that, Harry?” Mike asked.
They all were looking at me, and I wanted to be able to tell them that I had seen it. I wished I had seen it, but all I said was, “I couldn’t do anything like that with my granddad around.”
“Oh,” Billy moaned. “I’d have given anything to have been there.”
“Me too,” Mike said. “You’re so lucky, Harry.”
WHEN GRAM HEARD the account of our trip to Sioux City, she was madder than a wet hen.
“Ye gods, Alfie. You could have gotten this boy into serious trouble. It’s one thing for you to take a big risk, but you shouldn’t have gotten Harry involved.” She paused for breath. “I’ll bet Lyle was fit to be tied.”
“I took care of Lyle, Bess. Don’t worry about him.”
“Don’t worry about me either, Gram,” I said. “I came through just fine, and I had a great time.”
I told her about the streetcars and the fancy clothes in Pelletier’s window. I didn’t mention Lettie or the sights in the Sudan, even though those things were taking up quite a bit of space in my mind. I wondered if these were unclean thoughts. I was pretty sure they were. Preacher Simms’s eyes boring into mine stayed with me too.
I thought I might feel better about everything if I went to church on Sunday and cleansed my mind of the wickedness I had seen and thought about. It also bothered me that I helped Granddad do something illegal. An hour or two in church, neat and sitting up straight, might put things right.
We arrived at the church, and my old Sunday school teacher, Ory Gabel, gave me a wide smile when I walked in. Reverend Sayles showed a little more life than usual. His sermon was about being our brother’s keeper.
At the end he said, “I hope you’ll come back to the church tonight and hear our guest speaker. You’ll learn more about how we can protect ourselves and our children from unnatural outside influences.”
I wondered what that was about, but was so grateful his sermon was short that I forgot about it. We prayed a while and sang another hymn, and I felt a lot better. I went up to Carol Ann with a clear conscience, happy to see her, and told her about my trip, but nothing that would shock her. After we talked that over, she said, “Are you coming to the convocation tonight?”
“Convocation? What’s that?”
“That’s what Reverend Sayles was talking about. The Men’s Club from the church has invited this minister from Grand Forks to talk about a group he’s starting. My parents think it will do wonderful things for our town. We’re going, and I think you should come too.”
“Maybe I will.”
I walked home with Gram who was all corseted up in her good navy blue dress with the lace collar, her black straw hat from Sears and Roebuck squarely on her head, and immaculate white gloves even on this warm day.
“Are you going to the convocation tonight?” I asked.
“I think maybe I will,” she said. “Lida says he is a fire-breathing speaker. He’s a Prohibitionist, so I know Granddad won’t go. You want to go?”
I nodded. If Carol Ann was going, I was going to be there too.
GRAM AND I went back to the church
that night at 7:00. We were a few minutes early and were lucky to get a seat about halfway toward the front. In no time every pew was filled, and a few people even stood in the back. I spotted Carol Ann in the first row and was sorry we hadn’t gotten there earlier so I could sit with her.
Our minister, Reverend Sayles, usually so stiff and sober, stood up and gave us a bigger smile than was normal. He shouted in a hearty voice, “Welcome, Americans! We’ll begin tonight by singing ‘Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean.’ It’s on page 272 in the hymnal. Don’t be bashful. Let’s stand and sing out. Show our guest how we feel about the U.S.A.”
He waited while everyone got up and the rustling stopped. He looked at the pianist and said, “All right, Olive.”
She swung into a powerful introduction, and we all sang. Our fervent voices filled the church. By the smile on our guest’s face, we must have made it clear we loved our country.
“That was very fine indeed,” Reverend Sayles said. “I am pleased to see so many of you here tonight because we are going to hear from a brilliant speaker who has come all the way from Grand Forks to be with us.”
He introduced Reverend Halsey Brooks. Reverend Brooks was a big man, one whom Gram would call portly. I’d call him just plain fat. His black suit was so tight, I figured he must have bought it before he got so portly. His heavy jowls rolled over the starched collar of his white shirt and made his face red.
He began, “I am appreciative of this opportunity tonight to present several matters of interest to all good Americans.” He looked at the ceiling prayerfully as if he were having a private word with God. Then he stared straight out at us.
“Let us remember the sublime principles instituted by Christ for the guidance of man in all his endeavors…”
Oh no, I thought. Two sermons in one day was one too many for me, and my mind wandered away. I hadn’t known what we’d hear, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t be “churchy.” I wondered what Carol Ann thought. Even Gram seemed to nod.
Reverend Brooks gave the congregation another stern look. “There can be no laxity of devotion…” He went on. “Today our American unity is threatened by hordes of people, a polyglot mob of more than eight million, who have burst upon our shores from foreign lands. People of every color and persuasion—Hebrews, Moors, Papists…”
“Polyglot” was a new word for me. I had a fleeting thought of my sister Polly. I would call her “polyglot” next time I saw her just to get her riled up.
He went on. “Why? You may ask. Why do they come here? Well, I’ll tell you. They come because they want to reap the rewards of what our ancestors sowed for us. They want to take our inheritance. Folks, take a minute to think about it. Was it THEIR forefathers who built this country? No. It was ours. Was it their intelligence that created a great democracy? No. It was ours. It was the superior brain power of our founders who formed our government, and now these foreigners want to change it, take away what is our birthright.”
I didn’t know any foreigners. I yawned. I’d hoped for more excitement.
“Right now, as we sit here, there are Jews in New York City who are trying to create a worker’s union to usurp the rights of good business owners. Men whose know-how built the factories and plants all over this land. What right, I ask you? What right do these interlopers have to grab wealth that is unearned?
“Right now in this state, your Treasurer is a member of the Roman Catholic Church. A Roman Catholic handles your tax money. Can you believe that? What do you suppose is his priority? Where does his loyalty lie? Is it to you, the citizens of the state? Or could it be to the Pope?”
My dad hated Catholics. I thought he was a little off, but maybe he knew something I didn’t. I thought of the Catholics I knew. Don Beaubien, Sally McVay, Vince, and even Polly. They seemed all right to me, but maybe there was something wrong with them. I wanted to hear what it was.
“You know, folks, back in Ireland, the Church of Rome exacted a tax on every household, and it went straight to the Vatican. That hasn’t happened here. Not yet. But God help us, we need to protect ourselves by making sure that these people do not succeed as politicians. We cannot trust that their priests and bishops won’t have their hands in the politicians’ pockets.”
Then he lowered his voice and spoke as if he were confiding a secret to us. “Have you thought about your own sheriff here in Union County? What is his religion?”
He looked around expectantly. I saw Miranda Phelps who was sitting in front of us look at her husband with raised eyebrows. Others stole quick peeks at each other.
“I’ll tell you if you don’t know. He is a Catholic, and even if he is unknowing, he is a part of the worldwide plan to take over this country. Ask yourselves. Does he take power unto himself that is not his? Do you know what he does with the fines he collects when someone gets crossways with him? Have you considered that?”
A shock went through me as I listened. People squirmed and turned around to look at each other. Our sheriff was Bernie Beaubien, Don’s father. Mostly he was a farmer, but once in while there was a ruckus, somebody missing a stray cow or losing a pocketbook, and Mr. Beaubien handled it. What did this preacher know about him that we didn’t? What had he done? Nobody had to tell me to pay attention now. This was right here at home.
The minister’s voice rose, and his jowls shook as he continued. “It is time to take action. We must counteract these wicked influences—idol worshippers, bootleggers, gamblers, violators of the Sabbath.”
And just when everybody was sitting up and ready to hear what we should do, Reverend Brooks made us wait. He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead, his face, his mouth. He took his time refolding it and returning it to a pocket. Then he went on in a calmer voice.
“I want to share with you the thoughts of a great American, Colonel William Joseph Simmons, founder and first Imperial Wizard of the revival of the Ku Klux Klan.”
Mention of the KKK made a little shiver go through my body, and the hair on my arms stood up a bit.
“Colonel Simmons has planned a new Klan, a Klan of great works. He intends to establish universities and a trust to aid failing farmers. He wants to provide homes for families and jobs for everyone. He will build medical centers and a chain of hospitals. Doesn’t that sound grand?”
Yes, I liked this very much. Especially the idea of a house for every family. For such a long time I had ached for a house where our family could live together. Maybe Dad would’ve recovered from his shell shock if we’d had one. Even now, maybe the KKK could find a job for him. I was thrilled and uplifted by these words. I didn’t know such possibilities existed.
“Colonel Simmons’s Klan has given money to those in need—widows whose fatherless children were hungry, breadwinners who could not afford a doctor. It has built parks and playgrounds. Its members are men who care for their families and their fellow citizens, men who work hard and swear to forego spirits, gambling, and unclean living. His Klan is an organization with allegiance to no foreign power, to no Pope in Rome, but only to God and country.”
This did not sound like the Ku Klux Klan that burned crosses and wore white sheets and pointed hats, the one that Don Beaubien was so scared of. These were fine things that the Klan meant to do. I could hear people around me murmuring their approval.
Reverend Brooks paused again, and his voice dropped in pitch. “Folks, I know many of you had husbands, sons, and fathers who served in the recent war in Europe…and when they were in those distant lands, they longed for America and loved her more than ever…” His lips trembled as his voice rose higher and louder.
“When at last they laid down their arms, bound up their wounds, and headed for home, they wanted to find the same country they remembered. They wanted their country to be worth the sacrifice of broken men and bodies. As they reached these shores, they were so overcome with emotion and gratitude, they fell to the ground and kissed the sweet earth of their beloved homeland.”
Then, right in front
of us, Reverend Brooks dropped down on his hands and knees, his butt in the air, looking as if it might split the seam of his pants, and he kissed the floor of the church, I heard some people suck in their breath at this drama. When he rose up, tears were running down his cheeks. He continued to preach, his soft, pink palms outstretched like Jesus on the cross.
“We must honor these men…” He choked on his tears. “We must honor these men by assuring that the country they fought for is as strong and unified and God-fearing as it was when they went abroad.”
A surge of patriotism rose in me as I thought of the men he described. Men who fought for America. Men like my dad. His words lit a fire in me, and I wanted to help keep our country safe and strong just like Reverend Brooks said. I wanted the Klan to do all those grand things he talked about.
The air in the church was thick and hot. People were leaning forward hypnotized by his words, nodding to each other, some blinking back tears as he reminded them of those who were wounded or died. A few “Amens” could be heard. By now everyone was wound up in his cause, and I was ready to join up too. In a powerful voice he said, “Hear me now! What I propose tonight is the establishment of a KKK Klavern right here in Richmond, a Klavern to join with those a few miles away in Beresford and in Canton as a means of assuring that our great United States remains a unified, God-fearing country.”
When at last he finished speaking, his voice hoarse from the effort, there was a moment of silence, and then everyone stood up and clapped. We’d never heard anything like this in our little town before. Reverend Brooks gave a bow, wiped his face, and sat down. People talked excitedly, fired up by the minister’s words. Reverend Sayles invited men to sign up on the spot at a table near the door. As Gram and I turned to make our way out, I was astonished to see my father in the back of the church. Before I could reach him, he ducked outside and disappeared into the night.
“Did you see that?” I said to Gram. “Dad was here.”
