Michener, James A. (161 page)

Adolf Lakarz had never played in the games which met regularly in a hidden spot, but he had heard several times from men who had, and for some arcane reason of his own—'I'll throw it at them in some election'—he had kept a diary of dates, participants and amounts wagered. When the local judge saw his evidence, and

listened to the testimony of four or five of the players summoned to his chambers, a bench warrant was issued, the players had never liked Wilbarger, who pouted when he lost and gloated when he won. 'Besides,' as one man told the judge, 'he was so damned sanctimonious. Never allowed us to drink while we were playin'. Claimed it was against the law of God.'

Now the whole crusade fell apart. Reverend Teeder, outraged that the criminal element should have attacked a member of his Council, was more determined than ever to expel Cobb, but he further insisted that Adolf Lakarz be thrown out too, so on a hot August day in a large tent usually reserved for revivals, the good farmers from the area south of Waxahachie convened to try the two men in the same spirit that had animated such trials in southern France in 1188, Spain in 1488, England in 1688.

Three members of the Council recited the charges against Cobb, and two others outlined the misdeeds of Lakarz; Wilbarger himself was unable to lead the attack, for he was still in jail. Cobb refused to speak in his own defense, for he judged accurately that the affair had become so ridiculous that he would be acquitted, but Lakarz, having joined a defense of moral freedom, could not remain silent. Great issues were at stake, and he knew it; in Central Europe his forefathers had fought these battles for centuries:

'Dear Brothers in God of Jordan Baptist. The dearest thing in my life is my wife, brought here under vast difficulties from Moravia. Second dearest is my membership in this church, which I love as a bastion of freedom and God's love.

'It is wrong to condemn young girls for dancing. Our greatest musicians have composed gigues and gavottes and waltzes so that the younger ones can dance.

'It is equally wrong to condemn Laurel Cobb for teaching his girls the joy of life, the joy of Christ's message. I am not wise enough to tell you how to live, and you are not wise enough to pass this kind of foolishness . . .'

Here he waved the proposed new laws, and with biting scorn read out the interdictions against Shakespeare and Mendelssohn and Sarah Bernhardt. When he was through, no one spoke.

But now came the vote, and white with anger, Reverend Teeder called for those who loved God and righteousness and an orderly church to stand up and show that they wanted Cobb and Lakarz expelled. The voting process was somewhat demoralized, because only twenty-six out of that entire multitude stood up, and when they saw how few they were, they tried to sit down. But at this

VOICC:

moment of victory, Adolf Lakarz shouted in a powerful 'Keep 'em standin'. I want the name and look of every man who voted against me.'

And with pencil and note pad he moved through the crowd, chin thrust out, blue eyes flashing as he stood before each man! taking his name and address. For the remainder of his life in Waxahachie he would never again speak to one of those twenty-six.

The scandal in Waxahachie over the dancing Sunday School girls was an amusing diversion which might have happened in any Texas town of this period and which could be forgiven as misguided religiosity. But the much more serious madness that gripped Larkin at about the same time was an aberration which could not be laughed away, for it came closer to threatening the stability of the entire state.

Precisely when it started no one could recall. One man said: 'It was patriotism, nothing more. I saw them boys come marchin' home from the war and I asked myself: "What can I do to preserve our freedoms?" That's how it started, best motives in the world.'

Others argued that it had been triggered by that rip-roaring revival staged in Larkin by the ranting Fort Worth evangelist J. Frank Norris, a type much different from the spiritual Elder Fry. Norris was an aggressive man who thundered sulphurous diatribes against saloon keepers, race-track addicts, liberal professors, and women who wore bobbed hair or skirts above the ankle. He was especially opposed to dancing, which, he claimed, 'scarlet women use to tempt men.'

His anathema, however, was the Roman Catholic church, which he lambasted in wild and colorful accusation: 'It's the darkest, bloodiest ecclesiastical machine that has ever been known in the annals of time. It's the enemy of home, of marriage and of every decent human emotion. The Pope has a plan for capturing Texas, and I have a plan for defeating him.'

He was most effective when he moved nervously from one side of the pulpit to the other, extending his hands and crying: 'I speak for all you humble, God-fearing folks from the forks of the creek. You know what's right and wrong, better than any professors at Baylor or SMU. It's on you that God relies for the salvation of our state.'

One man, not especially religious, testified: 'When ). Frank

;Norris shouted "I need the help of you little folks from the forks

>f the creek," I knowed he was speakin' direct to me, and that's

when I got all fired up. I saw myself as the right arm of God holdin' a sword ready to strike.'

A University of Texas historian later published documents proving that in Larkin, at least, it had originated not with Norris but with the arrival of three quite different outsiders who had not known one another but who did later act in concert. The earliest newcomer was a man from Georgia who told exciting yarns of what his group had accomplished. The next was a man from Mississippi who assured the Larkin people that his state was taking things in hand. But the greatest influence seemed to have been the third man, a salesman of farm machinery who drifted in from Indiana with startling news: 'Up there our boys are pretty well takin' over the state.'

From such evidence it would be difficult to assess the role played by religion, for while very few ministers actually participated, almost every man who did become involved was a devout member of one Protestant church or another, and the movement strenuously supported religion, with the popular symbols of Christianity featured in the group's rituals.

Whatever the cause, by early December 1919 men began appearing throughout Larkin County dressed in long white robes, masks and, sometimes, tall conical hats. The Ku Klux Klan, born after the Civil War, had begun its tempestuous resurrection.

In Larkin it was not a general reign of terror, and nobody ever claimed it was. The local Klan conducted no hangings, no burnings at the stake and only a few necessary floggings. It was best understood as a group of unquestioned patriots, all of them believing Christians, who yearned to see the historic virtues of 1836 and 1861 restored. It was a movement of men who resented industrial change, shifting moral values and disturbed allegiances; they were determined to preserve and restore what they identified as the best features of American life, and in their meetings and their publications they reassured one another that these were their only aims.

Nor was the Larkin Klan simply a rebellion against blacks, for after the first few days there were no blacks left in town. At the beginning there had been two families, offspring of those black cavalrymen who had stayed behind when the 10th Cavalry rode out of Fort Garner for the last time. At first these two men had kept an Indian woman between them, but later on they had acquired a wandering white woman, so that the present generation was pretty well mixed.

They were one of the first problems addressed by the Ku Kluxers after the organization was securely launched. A committee of four, in full regalia, moved through the town one December night and

met with the black families. There was no violence, simply the statement: 'We don't cotton to havin' your type m this town.' It was suggested that the blacks move on to Fort Griffin, where anybody was accepted, and a purse of twenty-six dollars was given them to help with the expense of moving.

One family left town the next morning; the other, named Jaxifer, decided to stay, but when a midnight cross blazed at the front door, the Jaxifers lit out for Fort Griffin, and there was no more of that kind of trouble in Larkin. The Klan did, however, commission four big well-lettered signs, which were posted at the entrances to the town:

nigger! do not let the setting sun-find you in this town.

WARNING!

Thereafter it was the boast of Larkin that 'no goddamned nigger ever slept overnight in this town.'

Nor did the Klan stress its opposition to Jews. Banker Weatherby, an old man now who had been among the first to join the Klan, simply informed three Jewish storekeepers in town that 'our loan committee no longer wishes to finance your business, and we all think it would be better if you moved along.' They did.

The strong opposition to Catholicism presented more complex problems, because the county did contain a rather substantial scattering of this proscribed sect, and whereas some of the more vocal Klansmen wanted to 'throw ever' goddamned mackerel snatcher out of Texas,' others pointed out that even in as well-organized a town as Larkin, more had drifted in than they thought. They had not been welcomed and their mysterious behavior was carefully watched, but at least they weren't black, or Indian, or Jewish, so they were partially acceptable.

The Larkin Klan never made a public announcement that Cath-Dlics would be allowed to stay, and at even the slightest infraction Df the Klan's self-formulated rules, anyone with an Irish-sounding name was visited, and warned he would be beaten up if he persisted in any un-Christian deportment.

When the town was finally cleaned up and inhabited by only -vhite members of the major Protestant religions, plus the well-behaved Catholics, it was conceded that Larkin was one of the inest towns in Texas. Its men had a commitment to economic Drosperity. Its women attended church faithfully. And its crime

rate was so low that it barely merited mention. There was some

truth to the next signs the Klansmen erected in 1920:

If the Klan avoided violence against blacks or Jews or Catholics, who were its targets? An event in the spring of 1921 best illustrates its preoccupations, for then it confronted a rather worthless man of fifty who had been working in the town's livery stable when Larkin still had horses. He now served as janitor and polishing man at the Chevrolet garage, but he had also been living for many years with a shiftless woman named Nora as his housekeeper; few titles in town were less deserved than hers, for she was totally incapable of keeping even a dog kennel, let alone a house. Jake and Nora lived in chaos and in sin, and the upright men of the Klan felt it was high time this ungodly conduct be stopped.

In orderly fashion, which marked all their actions, they appeared at Jake's cabin one Tuesday night carrying a lighted torch, which all could see, and in their clean white robes, their faces hidden by masks, they handed down the law: 'All this immoral sort of thing is gonna stop in Larkin. Marry this woman by Friday sundown or suffer the consequences.'

Jake and Nora had no need of marriage or any understanding of how to participate in one had they wanted to. By hit-and-miss they had worked out a pattern of living which suited them and which produced far fewer family brawls than some of the more traditional arrangements in town. The Klansmen were right that no one would want a lot of such establishments in a community, but Jake felt there ought to be leeway for the accommodation of one or two, especially if they worked well and produced neither scandal nor a horde of unruly children.

On Wednesday the Klansmen who had handed Jake and Nora their ultimatum watched to see what corrective steps the couple proposed taking, and when nothing seemed to have been done, two of the more responsible Klansmen decided to visit the couple again on Thursday night, and this they did in friendly fashion: 'Jake, you don't seem to understand. If you don't marry this woman . . .'

'Who are y'all? Behind them masks? What right . . .?'

'We're the conscience of this community. We're determined to wipe out immoral behavior.'

'Leave us alone. What about Mr. Henderson and his secretary?'

The boldness of this question stunned the two Klansmen, each of whom knew about Mr. Henderson and his secretary Rut it was not people like Henderson whom the Klan policed, and for someone like Jake to bring such a name into discussion was abhorrent. Now the tenor of the conversation grew more ominous: "Jake, Nora, you get married by tomorrow night or suffer the consequences.'

Jake was prepared to brazen the thing out, but Nora asked in real confusion: 'How could we get married?' and the two hooded visitors turned their attention to her: 'We'll take you to the justice of the peace tomorrow morning, or if you prefer a church wedding, Reverend Hislop has said he'd do it for us.'

'Get out of here!' Jake shouted, and the two men withdrew.

The next day passed, with Jake sweeping at the Chevrolet garage and showing no sign of remorse for his immoral persistence. Those Klansmen in the know watched his house—or was it Nora's house?—and saw that nothing was happening there, either, so at eight that Friday evening seven Ku Kluxers met with the salesman from Indiana, and after praying that they might act with justice, charity and restraint, marched with a burning cross to Jake's place. Planting the cross before the front door, they summoned the two miscreants.

As soon as Jake appeared he was grabbed, not hurtfully, and stripped of his shirt. Tar was applied liberally across his back, and then a Klansman with a bag of feathers slapped handfuls onto the tar. He was then hoisted onto a stout beam, which four other Klansmen carried, and there he was held, feet tied together beneath the beam, while the moral custodians tended to the slut Nora.

Around the world, in all times and in all places, whenever men go on an ethical rampage they feel that they must discipline women: 'Your dresses are too short.' 'You tempt men.' 'Your behavior is salacious.' 'You must be put in your proper place.' This stems, of course, from the inherent mystery of women, their capacity to survive, their ability to bear children, the universal suspicion that they possess some arcane knowledge not available to men. Women are dangerous, and men pass laws to keep them under restraint. All religions, which also deal in mysteries, know this, and that is why the Muslim, the Jewish, the Catholic and the Mormon faiths proscribed women so severely and why other churches ran into trouble when they tried belatedly to ordain women as ministers.