a ânight-ridingâ organization, the Klan certainly emphasized 100 percent white supremacy. Then, when America became embroiled in the First World War in 1917, yet another role was assumed by the white brotherhood â that of maintaining law and order.
The nation was gripped by fear; it had to be defended against alien enemies, Roman Catholic subversion, and those who were politically motivated against the government â union leaders, strikers and draft dodgers. The Klan, therefore, felt it had a crucial part to play. Reveling in its role as a pseudo-secret-service organization, the Klan began not only keeping files on political activists, but also spreading its net to include bootlegging, corrupt business dealings, extra-marital affairs, anything, in fact, that it considered to be un-American. The strategy worked. By 1919 membership had reached several thousand but, even so, Simmons knew only too well that they had hardly begun to realize the Klanâs full potential. He decided to employ a couple of key disciples to publicize the cause and drum up further membership. Edward Young Clarke and Mrs. Elizabeth Tyler, who formed the Southern Publicity Association, were the chosen two.
By 1921 the Invisible Empire (as it had become known) had grown in support to boast well over 100,000 members. There seemed to be no end to the number of white Protestant males who wanted to belong to this secretive, fraternal organization with its strange rituals and even stranger costumes.
Two years later the Klan managed to win a place in the United States Senate when one of its members, Earl B. Mayfield, was elected. Towards the end of that year a new Imperial Wizard, Hiram Evans, took over the reins of power from William J. Simmons and succeeded in recruiting even more Klan members. But with the swelling of the ranks came a rapid escalation in Klan violence. Even with the publication of a series of articles exposing the Klanâs less than spotless record, membership was unaffected and the violent episodes increased. A newspaper exposé only added to the Klanâs popularity, appealing in the main to the lower middle-class, religious fundamentalists who felt that mainstream politics had not just passed them by, but had dragged the entire country away from the kind of small-town Protestant values by which they set so much store. In contrast, the Klan allowed its members a vicarious power. Leonard Cline, a reporter for the Baltimore Sun, wrote:
It must have provided a real thrill to go scooting through the shadowy roads in somebody elseâs flivver, to meet in lonely dingles in the pine woods and flog other men, to bounce down the fifteen-foot declivity where the ridge ends and swoop at twenty-five miles an hour through the flatlands around Mer Rouge, through phantasmal Lafourche swamp with its banshee live oaks, waving their snaky tresses in the moonlight. It was perpetual Halloween. And even if one didnât care much for church, and took oneâs shot of white lightning when one could get it, and would pay a dollar any day for five minutes in a trollopâs arms, it was reassuring to know that religion approved and sanctified oneâs pranks. It made one bolder. 3
There are many examples of floggings and lynchings from this period. The state of Texas was notorious for its tar-and-feather parties, and during the spring of 1922 the southern state was credited with having flogged as many as sixty-eight people in what became known as a special Klan âwhipping meadowâ by the banks of the Trinity River. But perhaps one of the best-known Klan incidents took place in Louisiana. Two young black men, Watt Daniel and Tom Richards, were targeted for punishment by the Klanâs Mer Rouge (in Morehouse Parish) outfit, at that time led by a Dr. B. M. McKoin. Daniel and Richards had been caught spying on Klan meetings and generally badmouthing the organization, so it was decided that the the two boys would be
The nation was gripped by fear; it had to be defended against alien enemies, Roman Catholic subversion, and those who were politically motivated against the government â union leaders, strikers and draft dodgers. The Klan, therefore, felt it had a crucial part to play. Reveling in its role as a pseudo-secret-service organization, the Klan began not only keeping files on political activists, but also spreading its net to include bootlegging, corrupt business dealings, extra-marital affairs, anything, in fact, that it considered to be un-American. The strategy worked. By 1919 membership had reached several thousand but, even so, Simmons knew only too well that they had hardly begun to realize the Klanâs full potential. He decided to employ a couple of key disciples to publicize the cause and drum up further membership. Edward Young Clarke and Mrs. Elizabeth Tyler, who formed the Southern Publicity Association, were the chosen two.
By 1921 the Invisible Empire (as it had become known) had grown in support to boast well over 100,000 members. There seemed to be no end to the number of white Protestant males who wanted to belong to this secretive, fraternal organization with its strange rituals and even stranger costumes.
Two years later the Klan managed to win a place in the United States Senate when one of its members, Earl B. Mayfield, was elected. Towards the end of that year a new Imperial Wizard, Hiram Evans, took over the reins of power from William J. Simmons and succeeded in recruiting even more Klan members. But with the swelling of the ranks came a rapid escalation in Klan violence. Even with the publication of a series of articles exposing the Klanâs less than spotless record, membership was unaffected and the violent episodes increased. A newspaper exposé only added to the Klanâs popularity, appealing in the main to the lower middle-class, religious fundamentalists who felt that mainstream politics had not just passed them by, but had dragged the entire country away from the kind of small-town Protestant values by which they set so much store. In contrast, the Klan allowed its members a vicarious power. Leonard Cline, a reporter for the Baltimore Sun, wrote:
It must have provided a real thrill to go scooting through the shadowy roads in somebody elseâs flivver, to meet in lonely dingles in the pine woods and flog other men, to bounce down the fifteen-foot declivity where the ridge ends and swoop at twenty-five miles an hour through the flatlands around Mer Rouge, through phantasmal Lafourche swamp with its banshee live oaks, waving their snaky tresses in the moonlight. It was perpetual Halloween. And even if one didnât care much for church, and took oneâs shot of white lightning when one could get it, and would pay a dollar any day for five minutes in a trollopâs arms, it was reassuring to know that religion approved and sanctified oneâs pranks. It made one bolder. 3
There are many examples of floggings and lynchings from this period. The state of Texas was notorious for its tar-and-feather parties, and during the spring of 1922 the southern state was credited with having flogged as many as sixty-eight people in what became known as a special Klan âwhipping meadowâ by the banks of the Trinity River. But perhaps one of the best-known Klan incidents took place in Louisiana. Two young black men, Watt Daniel and Tom Richards, were targeted for punishment by the Klanâs Mer Rouge (in Morehouse Parish) outfit, at that time led by a Dr. B. M. McKoin. Daniel and Richards had been caught spying on Klan meetings and generally badmouthing the organization, so it was decided that the the two boys would be
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