The White Patriot Party Proudly Presents...
...by F.Glenn Miller
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I held a press conference in downtown Raleigh on March 15, 1985 and announced that I had changed the name of the organization to the White Patriot Party.
The reason for the name change was I felt it would attract more members and supporters. The name "Ku Klux Klan turned too many people off, and I was tired of apologizing for everything the media found wrong with it. Since the media insisted on lumping all 100 or so different Klan groups together and blaming every single member of every single group for the actions of a few individuals, then I would reduce the media's adverse effects upon us by changing our name.
Predictably, the media and Morris Dees accused me of trickery. They speculated that I was trying to maneuver around the prohibitions imposed upon the Carolina Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, by the Dees agreement and the federal court order. But, actually I hadn't even thought of that idea until they brought it up. The fact was, a name change couldn't change anything since the court order specified: "and any subsequent organization." Therefore, their accusation was mute. It had no basis in logic. But, some of our members believed the accusation, and concluded Glenn Miller was a brilliant tactician to have thought of such a slick move.
Other members and supporters, and there were many, quit the organization because they felt I had betrayed them and "the Klan." Anticipating the dissenters, I encouraged them to join Joe Grady's Klan group, and I called Grady and informed him of the change; that there were no hard feelings about my members joining with him; and that we should continue supporting each other. Grady, delighted at his good fortune, was in total agreement.
I felt it was important to stay on good terms with Grady, if for no other reason than to spite Klanwatch and the anti-Klan Network who always whined to the press about North Carolina Klan groups sticking together and supporting each other. Plus, I didn't want my car squashed.
I further informed our members at meetings and via my newspaper that I preferred them going with Grady if they preferred the name Ku Klux Klan, because I didn't want dissenters. Discontented members are worse than non-members, I felt, because they spread their discontent among good members. So, I told them to leave with my blessing.
And, many did. Except for two men, Richard Vanderfort and Sterling Hinson, our entire Siler City Den quite en masse, and joined Grady's group. Only one week prior to their quitting, I chose them as "CKKKK Den of the Year" for 1984, and I awarded them a Certificate of Merit, and a 1O-x-7 foot Confederate battle flag. Vanderfort and Hinson, incidentally were two of our most dedicated and reliable members and they stuck with me to the end.
Many others quit, but except for two or three, none had the courtesy of informing me. I just never saw or heard from them again.
In a short time the quitters were replaced by new White Patriot Party members, so there was not a reduction in the number of participants at our marches and rallies. And the membership quality improved as a result of the name change as I expected.
Nothing else about the organization changed except for minor administrative changes and our uniform patch which read
"CKKKK." Steve ordered hundreds of new patches from his Fayetteville source, reading "White Patriot," and we passed them out at our frequent gatherings. Some members began to wear both patches to show they'd also been in "the Klan." Those patches were worn over the pockets of camouflage shirts, and positioned parallel to the ground. Confederate flag patches were worn on the left shoulder.
Den members could also wear military rank insignia in the form of pin on Army stripes, which were pinned to each collar, upside down from that worn by U.S. Army enlisted personnel. Den leaders were made Staff Sergeants; assistant Den leaders were Sergeants; and Den security leaders were Sergeants, etc. And, Den leaders had the authority to promote members beginning at Private First Class, as an incentive for hard work and good attendance records. My own rank was First Sergeant. Steve's was Master Sergeant. Our Security leader was a Sergeant First Class, and so on and so forth down the line.
Morris Dees, of course, pointed to that obvious military trapping as court evidence that we were a paramilitary organization. But, I contended that even the Boy Scouts wore rank on their uniforms and for the same reasons we wore them; to show hard work and good attendance.
I never considered my group to be either military or paramilitary, whatever paramilitary means, for the reason that neither I nor anyone else had the authority to order anyone to do anything. In fact, no member ever did, to my knowledge.
Just like our uniforms, the flags, the patches, the Certificates of Merit, and my selections of Klansmen-of-the-Month, etc., the rank insignias were just another tangible incentive, and something to promote pride, unity, and purpose among members.
I felt the government had no constitutional right to tell us what we could or couldn't wear, or what we could or couldn't wear on the clothes of our choice. And, when we got together to teach our friends, wives, girlfriends and children how to shoot guns properly, or how to read a map, or how to physically defend themselves against attackers, I felt it was none of the government's business, or the business of Morris Dees, Klanwatch, the Anti-Klan Network or the Little Old Ladies Sewing Circle, or anybody else.
The final activity of the CKKKK was to stage a march and demonstration in downtown Raleigh on February 24, 1985, to protest the forced racial integration of school children. About 350 of us participated, and in the usual fashion with flags, martial music and uniforms, etc. An unusually large crowd of spectators for a Raleigh demonstration showed up, but about half of that crowd of 300 or so were hecklers, including about two dozen really loud ones, who yelled anti-Klan slogans while myself and others tried to speak.
I accused them of being Communists, and said I must be doing a good job to have the Communists against me. And, I led our side in loud shouts of White Power to drown them out.
Eyeing several whom I decided were Jews, I lambasted the Jews in my speech. And, I referred to the Black hecklers as bubble-lipped, blue-gummed niggers, and I said they should open their ears instead of their mouths so they'd learn something. I also told them to jump anytime they felt froggy.
Charlie Reck, during his speech told them that if they wanted another Greensboro, we'd give them one there in Raleigh.
Finally, I got tired of their loud interference and told the police officer in charge that I wanted them removed from the scene because they were interfering with our exercise of freedom of speech. The police escorted a few of them away, and the rest quieted down substantially. We completed our speeches, and there were no further difficulties.
During a march through Whiteville, N.C. a few months later, we were greeted by thousands of protesting Blacks.
By then, we had a large Den near Whiteville led by a former Klan leader by the name of Jeff Cartret, who had his own Klan organization of about one hundred members. He joined the White Patriot Party and brought his entire group with him. So, to show my gratitude and to recruit even more people from that area, I scheduled a May march through downtown Whiteville, and a rally just outside Whiteville.
Cartret being an intelligent and reliable man of about 35 years old, I asked him to coordinate the march route and other arrangements with the Whiteville Police Department. He called me a few days later saying the city council had disapproved his request for a parade permit, so I drove down, and in the company of about 40 local uniformed WPP members, I attended the subsequent city council meeting, where I informed them that we were determined to stage a march in protest of Black violence against White school students; that we wanted a peaceful demonstration; but that we were going to march through Whiteville, with or without their permit or permission. The council voted again on the issue, and it passed in our favor, unanimously. When they announced their decision, WPP members applauded them for their wisdom, and I shook their hands and gave each an envelope containing literature.
That was another example of elected officials trying to discourage our organization from operating within their geographical areas or responsibility and power. So, just as I'd done in Florence, SC and in other areas, I called the local newspapers and rubbed the offending politicians' noses in their own thwarted conspiracy, by forcing them to recant and to suffer the embarrassing criticisms of their constituents.
Three hundred fifty Party members and supporters, almost all in camouflage uniform and carrying Confederate flags formed up for the Whiteville march at one end of Main Street, which I observed was the White end, because no Blacks were in sight.
I formed them up four-abreast, and I placed four sharply uniformed, Tarzan-looking Marines in the front rank. The marching music began, and I yelled out the command, over my bullhorn, "White Patriots... ah... ten... hut! Forward, march!" And as always, I yelled for marchers to get in step and to stay directly behind the person in front of them to insure a better marching appearance.
"Hup... two... three... four," I bellowed, as we marched along.
"White Patriots," I hollered, "Let 'em know why we're down here... White Power!" The marchers yelled "White Power!" back in response. And, we repeated that yell frequently throughout the march, three or four times in succession.
For the first two blocks, I didn't see a single Black person, which swelled my head with courage and optimism which prompted me to yell to the large crowds of White spectators, "We thought yaw'll had some niggers down here. Where're they at?..... hup... two... three... four."
And, then I saw where they were at. Beginning on the third block, crowds of Blacks as many as eight deep lined both sides of the street, and I didn't ask "where the niggers were at" again. The biggest number of spectators that had ever turned out for one of our marches filled the sidewalks, about equally divided between Whites and Blacks. Viewing the video of the march later, I estimated over 10,000 all tolled, and Whiteville was a relatively small town.
The Blacks jumped up and down and jeered us with shouts of Black Power, and many of the White spectators yelled White Power and gave us the White Power salute as we marched past. White youths carried small Confederate flags, and others wore camouflage shirts or caps to show their support of us. The video showed crowds of Whites jumping up and down and cheering us, while standing among crowds of Blacks, which was a highly unusual sight. Four elderly White women actually left the sidewalk and came out into the street to shout White Power and to raise their arms in White Power salutes.
We marched eight blocks down Main Street and hung a right. Jeff Cartret had previously settled on a parade route agreeable with the Police Chief, and he had described the route to me in terms of number of blocks that would bring us back to our original starting location.
After hanging a right and going down one block, I gave the command to hang another right, and that's when I realized that we were headed straight through the edge of an all Black neighborhood. And, hundreds of them were lined up beside the street, several deep and waiting for us to march past. Several hundred more Blacks from Main Street had cut across ahead of us and were also waiting.
My bodyguard, a large bear of a half-Indian fellow by the name of Jerry Hatcher, who had been with me for years, including during the Greensboro shootout, was marching directly behind me to protect my rear.
Seeing all those Blacks up ahead, I felt certain they would attack us, so I told Jerry, "If those niggers attack, I'm going to shoot the sons-of-bitches."
I had my.38 caliber revolver in my right front pocket, and Jerry knew it, so he replied, somewhat nervously," Oh, hell no, Glenn, don't do that. We'll just fight them with our fists."
The cops were present, but scarce and stationed wide apart. I counted no more than a dozen all together, so I knew they could not prevent a violent confrontation if the Blacks attacked and that we'd be on our own. Of our 350 marchers, about 250 were men, but we were still far numbered. And, I never counted on outside help from other Whites.
We marched through the crowds of jeering Blacks, and after I had gotten past, I gave the bullhorn to Jerry and ran back to see if those in the rear of our formation were getting past safely. If our rear was attacked, I'd have to stop those in front, and bring them back to where the fight was. But, our luck held and thanks to the years of media sensationalism and distortions about our violent potentials, the Blacks were afraid to attack and contented themselves with shouting and shaking their fists to save face.
I finally got the marchers stationary at the starting point, and gave them "at ease," while I got my breath. Jerry had counted cadence during my trip to the rear, but I'd caught back up to him.
I hadn't taken more than a few relaxing breaths, when Jack Jackson came running up to me and exclaimed, "Glenn, about four or five hundred niggers are crowded up together back there in the middle of the street, and they're heading this way."
Neither of us could see, because they were on the next street over and shielded by a block of buildings between us. But I looked down the street we were on, and saw five or six uniformed policemen going toward where Jack had pointed. After a minute or so, it was obvious the Blacks had changed their minds, or had them changed by the police, so I went on with my usual end-of-march speech, and in between tirades of racist rhetoric, I orchestrated loud shouts of White Power, which could be heard all over Whiteville.
After my ten minutes or so speech, we all got into vehicles and drove slowly in a convoy down Main Street and out of town to our rally site some five miles away.
More than 2,000 people attended our rally that night, making it the biggest we ever had, and 88 new members signed up. About 50 uniformed members provided security, carrying rifles or shotguns, several of whom patrolled the highway next to the rally field or directed traffic. And, following seven or eight speeches, we staged a cross lighting ceremony, featuring a 40-foot cross, and by over 100 torch-carrying members who slowly circled the cross as "The Old Rugged Cross" played softly over the loud speaker. Our video cameraman captured the march and rally on film, and as always, upon my return home following a march or rally, I sat before my TV screen 'til the wee hours of the morning watching it over and over again, while dreaming my dreams for my beloved Southland, and her 60 million Aryan folk.
While it was true that we sometimes "stirred up" the Blacks, such as in the case at Whiteville, that was never my desire or intent. I wanted to stir White people into joining our group, not stir Blacks into committing acts of violence. Actually, I feared attacks by Blacks. I felt that if we should ever get into a violent confrontation with them in the streets, that our members would quit by the hundreds, and we'd all be judged guilty of "stirring up the Blacks," thereby damaging our image even further. White racist activists could seldom win in court, I felt. I remembered what happened in Greensboro in 1979. We got the blame even though the Blacks and Communists had clearly started the fight. Racial confrontation to me, was a no-win situation, so I preached against it. I reminded members constantly not to resort to violence or other illegalities, saying it was counterproductive to my goal of uniting, organizing, and educating the White masses. I did not want to force Blacks to behave themselves. On the contrary, I wanted them to continue their violent ways, so more Whites would join us. The White masses, and most of our members always thought that Glenn Miller was out to punish Blacks or to intimidate them into acting more like Whites. They thought that because of the name Ku Klux Klan, and because the media constantly drilled it into their minds. And, no matter how much Steve and I, and other leaders preached otherwise, we never got through to the majority of them.
Even when I explained my nonviolent position to millions via TV and radio, hardly anyone believed me.
I spoke as a guest over many radio talk shows, sometimes for two or three hours at a time, and I was a caller-in hundreds of times to talk shows like the nightly program by WPTF in Raleigh, and others similar to it.
Incidentally, Bart Ritter of WPTF once hung up on me 17 nights in a row, but that was before I became a leading spokesman for the White Movement.
After that, I was usually (but not always) allowed to speak.
Radio talk shows from all over the country invited me to be a guest speaker, and I was able to speak from my home phone to callers-in for hours at a time while sitting in my favorite easy chair. Those shows advertised in advance that they were having a Klan leader on the program, which greatly increased their listener-ship, and thus their financial revenue from advertisers. They made money on me, but I didn't mind as long as I was able to spread my views.
During some months, I spoke as a guest over five or six different radio talk show around the country, and for one, two or three hours at a time. And, in addition to spreading my views, I was always allowed to state my address and phone number along with a recruiting message to White listeners to call or write for a free copy of our newspaper. As a result, incidentally, from hundreds of thousands of radio listeners, I'd usually receive only about a dozen letters per talk show containing requests for a free newspaper and maybe $10 or $15 total in donations. That was about the dismal average.
I also appeared as a guest on several national TV programs, such as The Sally Jesse Raphael Show, West 57th, and the Good Morning America Show, and others.
In late 1985, I flew to St. Louis, Missouri and appeared along with Klan leader Don Black of Alabama, on the Sally Jesse Raphael Show, a 30-minute national program. TV producers of course paid all our expenses, including the price of luxurious hotel rooms, but we did not receive money from them. Later, I referred to Sally Raphael as a "super bitch" because she was so proficient at interrupting me, and she reduced my actual speaking time to less than three minutes of the 30-minute program. She also planted a huge "aunt Jemima" looking Black woman in the front row of the audience, who screamed illiterate outrages at Don and I to the loud applause of the predominantly White audience. That scene was really amazing. The Black woman was making statements such as, "Don't you axe me nuttin. I didn't interrupt you when you was talking, and you ain't gonna interrupt me when I'm talking." That kindergarten statement brought a thunderous round of cheers and applause, as did her other similar ravings, equally kindergarten-ish.
But, when Don and I made calm, reasonable and articulate statements, the audience would "ooooh, aaaah, or boooo" in phony, self-righteous condemnation and disapproval, while frowning and shaking their heads in the negative. And if Don and I had a sympathizer in the audience of 300 or so, he or she succeeded in keeping it a secret.
However, in between the orchestrated boo's and Raphael's interruptions, Don and I were able to make a few uninterrupted comments, and per the agreement before the show, both our names and addresses were flashed on the screen. As a result I received almost 300 letters from around the country. The letters contained, in addition to hundreds of requests for literature, several hundred dollars in donations, as well. And at least 90% of the letters were favorable. I also picked up several dozen new members, supporters, or paid subscribers to our newspaper, so all things considered, I chalked up the trip to St. Louis as a success.
The return trip, however, was a disaster because I got arrested at the Raleigh-Durham airport for carrying a concealed weapon, a loaded pistol.
Knowing that Raphael had advertised my visit to St. Louis, I felt I needed some protection from anti-Klan fanatics, so I carried my.38 caliber revolver in my suitcase, which was transported through the baggage department, and therefore not required to go through the metal detection machine. I got outside the Raleigh-Durham airport okay, but Marge was late in picking me up, so thinking she had forgotten, I went back into the airport to phone her. And, I completely forgot about the pistol in my suitcase. In order to get to a phone, I had to go back through the metal-detection machine, and I placed my suitcase on the counter for processing through the machine. The lights started flashing and my memory of the gun did too. Immediately searched and then arrested, I was taken to the Raleigh Police Department in handcuffs, and required to post bond.
Months later, I pleaded guilty in court to the misdemeanor and paid the $100 or so fine. The adverse media attention paid to the affair further damaged my image in the eyes of everyone except my redneck rooters, whose view of me as an armed and violent revolutionary was even further heightened.
But in spite of the hostile media, and thanks to The Order, the White Patriot Party began a continuing momentum which increased with time and accelerated until my July 1986 conviction and exile.
Throughout 1985 and half of 1986, new members, supporters, and paid subscribers from virtually all over the country, were added to my mailing list in steadily increasing numbers.
However, because of the great distances separating the vast majority of members and supporters from myself and our marches and rallies, only a fraction of them ever physically participated in them. They simply wouldn't make the long and costly trip, but that was understandable, though regrettable to me. Even when we reached the 5,000 mark, no more than 500 or so showed up for any one march, and we only averaged 300 or 400. But, even that was more than all other White groups combined could muster for any single public march or demonstration. So, I was not overly discouraged.
In April of 1985, we left the state and marched through downtown Canton, Georgia, and held a recruiting rally on private property that night. Bill Roland, a young former marine, and our main Den leader in Georgia did an admirable job for us in that state, but because of incredible police repression and harassment of members and those attempting to attend our gatherings in that state, we never managed more than two or three dozen uniformed Georgia members. However, Bill and others got together for frequent recruiting activities such as pig-pickins and meetings and they invited the White public to attend. And, they also conducted public road blocks to pass out newspapers and to solicit donations. And they staged a few public demonstrations. Bill was an energetic go-getter and intelligent as well. And, on several occasions, he brought a dozen or more of his members in uniform to North Carolina and they marched and rallied with us.
In June 1985, I decided to try marching through three cities in one day and stage a rally the same night, in an effort to step up our recruiting success even more. That being no small coordinating and planning endeavor, I went to great effort and expense in setting the thing up. But, since we had several well-led Dens in the West-central part of North Carolina, and I had decided on Gastonia, Shelby, and Forest City, I was confident of maintaining our long-standing record of proficiency and success.
We advertised those events well in advance by passing out thirty-five or forty thousand Confederate Leaders; by way of our local telephone message machines, and I purchased space in local newspapers, and time on two radio stations, in attempts to entice the White masses to join with us.
Jerry Hatcher and I loaded 250 or more Confederate flags attached to flag poles into his pick-up truck, and he drove us to Shelby, the site of our first march, some 200 miles from my home in Angier.
Steve Miller and several of his men, as usual, brought the loud speaker system and other essential equipment.
Selected Den leaders and their members carried out the tasks of preparing the large cross, the torches, a suitable stage for speeches, and obtaining a large field on private property for our night rally, along with all the other preparations, tangible and otherwise.
The day was hot, but clear and about 400 marchers showed up in high spirits and festive, happy moods. And, we began the Shelby march on schedule and in good coordination with city policemen. The loud speaker blared out martial music, including Scottish bagpipe, and Nazi music, and the songs " Dixie " and "Onward Christian Soldiers." As always, I led the marchers using my bullhorn and leading thunderous shouts of White Power, as we marched along the 12 or 14 blocks throughout downtown Shelby, before smiling White crowds and frowning Black ones totaling thousands, who lined the sidewalks.
Although the White masses refused to join with us or vote for us, I always felt that deep down they liked what we were doing, and in fact, wanted us to do more. I felt they sympathized with us, but for various reasons, stemming mainly from fear, they kept their sympathy to themselves or among families and friends. When they saw us marching down the street, many would pretend to ignore us so as not to reveal their true feelings to others who might be watching. A minority, mostly the White youth, would openly show their support and admiration by cheering, smiling, or waving and shouting White Power. Not once, during all our marches and public demonstrations, can I remember seeing one single White teenager showing any sign of hostility or even displeasure toward us whatsoever.
The adult White masses, I felt, had lost all hope of ever seeing a segregated society or a society without rampant Black crime and violence, and Black activist groups marching and demonstrating for their "civil rights." The White masses had, I felt come to accept all those things, and had become totally convinced by decades of media propaganda, that White groups were little more than feeble efforts in futility, and had no chance of changing anything. Whites had become hopeless, and contented in their hopelessness. I would change their hopelessness to hope, by showing them that White people could get together and organize, and in ever-increasing numbers. One thousand uniformed men in the streets standing shoulder to shoulder and carrying Confederate battle flags, and demanding White rights, I felt would be the key to unlocking their hopelessness and the trigger that would unleash and free the White masses from their hopelessness and despair so they would join us.
It seemed to me that most Whites had become virtual zombies as far as resistance to wrongs done to them, was concerned. They accepted anything and everything said, written or done against their Race, history, or their Southern culture, without uttering a mumbling public word in protest. The mass media filled their ears and eyes with what I referred to as "guilt trip propaganda," designed to make them feel ashamed, and therefore unwilling and incapable of waging any type of resistance to whatever the liberal social planners threw at them, be it immigration, abortion, interracial marriages, forced school integration, affirmative action programs for minorities, or other planned and orchestrated social phenomena, so despised by the vast majority of White Southerners.
The Shelby march ended without difficulties, and thousands of people, mostly White, had come out to view our parade or cheer us on.
Getting more than a hundred vehicles from one city to the next and at the correct location, was no simple maneuver, but it was accomplished, and all three marches were large, loud, and colorful. I figured that we'd lose a few marchers in between cities due to exhaustion or from getting lost, but actually we seemed to gain a few in number as we continued.
The Forest City police gave a few members a hard time, and even arrested a couple on misdemeanor firearms violations, but we had them out of jail in a short time. In retaliation, we held a second march through Forest City the very next month, and I lambasted the police through press statements and letters to the editor, saying among other things, that since the police in Gastonia and Shelby had been so cooperative and courteous to us, we wouldn't march through their cities again that year, and would instead, devote all our attention and activities to Forest City. I likened the Forest City police to the Gestapo and accused them of having little respect for or understanding of the U.S. Constitution or of our rights as citizens and tax payers, etc., etc., etc.
The rally that night went off without a hitch, and although the crowd was only about 450, we signed up a dozen or so new members and supporters, and our local members were happy and inspired by the day's activities. All in all, I was pleased as punch and fired up emotionally to drive on even harder.
By the time Jerry and I arrived back home, I was too exhausted to even watch the video of the marches and rally, and I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow. But, I spent most of the next day watching it while relaxing and sipping on Natural Light beer. I watched the marching men and women, the flags, the pageantry, and the cross lighting ceremony and heard the shouts of White Power and the inspiring speeches and dreamed my dreams and plotted my next moves.
Our public marches had the opposite effect of "stirring up the Blacks," at least to the point where they resorted to violence. With the single exception of Whiteville, Blacks were less arrogant and hostile toward Whites in the towns and cities we marched through. My conclusion was based on talks afterward with police officers, members, local Whites and my own good eyesight.
Blacks feared us. Of course, that fear was overwhelmingly due to media distortions, but it was fear, nonetheless.
Whiteville was an exception because we made the mistake of marching through the edge of an all Black neighborhood. But, even the Blacks there became less hostile toward Whites during the weeks and months following our march.
Black civil rights marches historically had the effect of suppressing the spirits of Whites and raising the spirits of Blacks. Our marches, though to a much lesser degree, had the opposite effect. Our marches raised the spirits of White people, especially the young, and suppressed the spirits of Blacks.
Of course, Blacks living within the towns we marched through, did get stirred up because of our marches, but they didn't direct their hostilities toward White citizens. They confined their hostilities to verbal complaints and directed them at local authorities, the media, and to their own Black leaders.
Our marches and raffles tended to give Whites a little courage and inspiration that resulted in them sticking together even more against Blacks, especially in public schools. Black marches and demonstrations had for the past several decades, had that same effect on Blacks. I referred to all that at the time, as "mob psychology."
That "mob psychology," I felt, had been used for decades by the mass media and minority groups to keep Whites in a constant state of racial suppression while at the same time succeeded in keeping Blacks in a constant state of organized hostility toward Whites.
Blacks were instilled with racial pride, awareness, and solidarity, while Whites were instilled with racial shame and therefore disunity.
Our marches tended to remove some of the White racial shame and disunity, and consequently the media and the Blacks hated us, and did everything they could to stop our activities.
White elected officials only wanted peace, harmony and a continuing of the status quo. And, since we represented a threat to peace, harmony and the status quo, then they felt compelled to attack us by trying to prevent our marches. Elected officials were also terrified of massive Black retaliations if we were allowed to continue. They were mindful of the Black riots and insurrections of the 1960's and 1970's and were afraid it would happen again, triggered by Glenn Miller, and the White Patriot Party, Even though some White elected officials were racists, their fear of Blacks was stronger than their racism, so they acted on their fear and against their weaker feelings of racism.
The government, in general, consequently wanted to shut me up and stop our activities. Since the government had not succeeded then in stopping me in a legal way, I was convinced they'd stop me in an illegal way, by assassination, or through frame-ups and trumped up charges in court.
Both the White and Black masses also wanted to see an end to Glenn Miller and the White Patriot Party, though the White racist minority secretly cheered us on. The masses wanted peace at any cost, which is the inherent desire of all economically tranquil masses. The White masses lacked the ability, I felt, to develop an interest in anything that didn't involve them directly as individuals. Immigration, abortion, interracial marriages, and other issues which I felt were destructive to Whites, did not move the White masses, and in fact the mere mention of those issues by me infuriated most of them because they resented being forced to think about doom and gloom issues which were depressing to them, and which they felt they couldn't change, anyway.
The White masses reminded me of the Roman masses of the later days of the Roman Empire. When the Roman messengers came running into the city of Rome and other cities with news of the atrocities being committed throughout the empire by hordes of uncivilized barbarians, the Roman city masses became infuriated at hearing the frequent depressing news, and started hanging the messengers. Just as the American White masses hated the carriers of depressing news, so too did the Roman masses.
Glenn Miller was the same as the Roman messengers, and like the Roman messengers, the masses wanted me to shut up, and for the same reason. I not only brought bad news, but I also angered those who caused the bad news, and that made the White and Black masses hate me even more.
Now, if those ancient Roman messengers had large armies of Roman fighters at their disposal, capable of defeating the rioting hordes, the masses would not have hanged them, and instead would have cheered them on into battle against the hordes. Of course, the Roman masses would not have gotten involved with the fight personally, but they were perfectly willing to allow the messenger and his armies to do the fighting for them. And should the messenger have won the battle, the masses would have eagerly allowed him to become Emperor of Rome. That, is an example of the psychology of the masses, or as I would have preferred to call it, "mob psychology." Consistent with that "mob psychology," I felt that if I could show the White masses large numbers of uniformed White Patriots, and if I could convince them that we had a good chance of becoming able to change the "bad news" to "good news," then they would cheer us on and eventually vote us into political power.
That may seem to some as a gross oversimplification, but it was basically what I had in mind during those years. I felt that though it may not have been much of a plan, at least it was a plan. And, I didn't see anyone else with any plan at all.
Whatever else one might have said about me, they could not say I didn't have vision. My vision may have been clouded by the impossible, but it was vision nonetheless.
I was ever mindful of Hitler's success, and the success of others in the past. Hitler started with only seven members and broke, but with the power of his strong will and determinations and his brilliance, he won the hearts, minds, and bodies of the German masses, and conquered the entire continent of Europe. His visions, like mine, seemed cloudy with the impossible at the beginning.
I never ego-tripped with illusions of brilliance, however, because I was well aware of, and openly admitted my own limitations, but I did have a strong will and determination. And, I was convinced that my demonstrated successes exceeded those of any other White leaders. Therefore, I represented the best hope of uniting, organizing, and educating the White masses, at least in my own mind. That view was obviously shared by my opponents. Mabs Segrest of NCARRV (North Carolinians Against Racist and Religious Violence) stated via a news conference in January 1988 that Glenn Miller was "the most effective (White racist) leader in the country." Danny Welch of Klanwatch, at the same news conference said, "In 1985 and 1986, the White Patriot Party was phenomenal in its growth and it's activities." Welch went on to explain to reporters that while during that same period other White groups were dropping in number and in activities, Miller's group was growing phenomenally, and that our newspaper, The Confederate Leader was one of the best White racist newspapers in the country. He also paid me another compliment by saying, "What it (Miller's success) boils down to was Glenn Miller was not lazy. Where some of the old leaders would sit back and depend on others, Glenn Miller would do things himself."
Federal prosecutor Michael L. Williams was quoted in the Raleigh News & Observer of January 3, 1988 as saying, "This guy (Glenn Miller) was a hero to all those White supremacists and Klan members nationwide. They idolized Glenn Miller. They had pictures of him on the walls of White supremacist members all over the country."
Those comments plus the comment made by U.S. Attorney Samuel Currin, "They (the White Patriots) are gaining momentum and prominence," should suffice to show how my opponents felt about me and my organization. It should also provide a little understanding of why I felt so paranoid about either being assassinated or framed. If the reader will agree that government officials have resorted to assassination and frame-ups in the past, then it must be conceded that as leader of the most "effective" White racist group in the country, I had some justification for my paranoia, and not only from the government, but from my other opponents, as well.
But, in the face of those justifiable fears, added to my fears generated by almost daily phone threats on my life and the lives of my wife and children, I didn't quit. On the contrary, I continually accelerated my activities and the growth of my organization, until I was forcibly exiled from it by a federal judge. And I didn't quit even then. I went underground.
I'm not writing these seemingly vain statements out of self adulation, but rather to show why I felt I was more capable than anyone else in the Movement, of organizing the White masses, and why I later went underground and declared war on the government.
My analysis of my own capabilities was often revealed to members when I said: "Hell, I might not be much, but I'm the best you've got available." And, that was about the way I felt about myself and the so-called "National White racist Movement."
That analysis was a reflection of the incredible weakness of the White Racist Movement, and did not elevate me in my own eyes in the slightest.
Comparing the White Movement to the Black Movement, the Jewish Movement, the American Indian Movement, or even to the Homosexual Movement was to me about like comparing a gnat to great blue whales, because of the numbers of people actively involved in them.
The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People for example, just one single Black Power organization, had over 40,000 members in North Carolina alone, and 400,000 nationwide. That one Black group, and there were hundreds more, had more members in one state than all White groups in the entire country had combined.
Financially, Jewish groups had at least 10,000 times more money with which to advance the interests of Jews, than White groups had to advance the interests of White people. And, many Jewish groups actively and openly used much of it to suppress White groups.
For me to have been swell-headed with vanity at being the leader of 5,000 lower income rednecks, would have required the absolute height in blind gullibility and ignorance of third-grade arithmetic.
In late 1985, a WPTF TV producer invited me to appear as a guest on a 30-minute program entitled, "Race Relations 1985." Black attorney Floyd McKissick was also invited. McKissick had been commissioned in the 60's by President Nixon to build a Black city in Warren County, North Carolina, which McKissick promptly named "Soul City." And he was a well-known national civil rights leader, as well.
I showed up at the WPTF studios in downtown Raleigh in my green beret and camouflage uniform along with about ten uniformed body guards. I almost always took along body guards when making public appearances to discourage would-be attackers or to fight off determined ones. In this case, I wanted them as a psychological prop so I wouldn't feel intimidated by Black cameramen, Black janitors, or other Blacks at WPTF, and I could therefore run my mouth as radically as I saw fit, free from the fear of being hit up side my head in mid-sentence.
The program consisted of questions presented by a panel of three local reporters and by the Black moderator, and of McKissick and I answering the questions.
The moderator, Richard Spaulding, a Black conducted the program in a fair and unbiased manner, providing me plenty of time in which to express my views, free from interruptions or other distractions. Consequently, it was my best TV appearance ever, and I addressed many of the racial issues I'd always felt were so important.
I won the debate convincingly, at least in my opinion and in the opinion of hundreds of people who called or wrote me subsequent to the broadcastings of the taped program. It was broadcasted on at least two dates; once about two weeks after the taping, and again a few months later.
I obtained a copy of the tape, reproduced it using two VCR's, and offered copies for sale in my newspaper. I eventually filled five two-hour tapes with TV appearances, marches, rallies, speeches and other items of racial interest, and sold copies for $25 each, which along with the sale of flags, T-shirts, patches, Confederate license plates and books, was a fairly lucrative enterprise for the Party.
I also, purchased racist books, magazines, and newspapers published by other groups and frequently handed them out free-of-charge to members as part of my program of maintaining a continuing education for them. My favorites were the monthly magazines, Instauration by Wilmot Robertson and National Vanguard by William Pierce. Those two writers were the absolute best in the movement, in my opinion.
I also purchased seven or eight hundred copies of Pierce's book, entitled Turner Diaries, and passed them out free or sold copies through my newspaper. Turner Diaries was a fiction account of a future America in which Black crime was out of control; the government instituted "thought control police," to combat White racists and to confiscate privately owned firearms; and the book further described other anti-White government actions and programs. In response, a secret underground White racist organization called The Order, rose up and after much killing, bombing, and other violent actions, succeeded in gaining world power.
I liked the book because it provided a vivid and frightening, and in my view, an accurate prediction of future America as regards Black crime and an anti-White government. To me, the book was an eye opener. It forced the reader to see the future.
I did not necessarily envision a bloody revolution as did the book, but my vision of just about everything else was in agreement. I wanted to win White victory through legal means. The book portrayed White victory through illegal and violent means. I had no qualms with the book's ending because it ended in White victory. But I simply didn't believe it would be achieved in the way the book described that it would. I bought the book for one reason and one reason only; it was an eye opener. And, I wanted the eyes of White people opened so they'd join the White Patriot Party.
At my trial in July 1986, Morris Dees used the fact that I had purchased and passed out large quantities of the book as evidence that I was building a paramilitary organization to carry out the violent White racist revolution as described in the book. Dees even had an FBI agent certified by Judge Britt to be an expert witness on that one book, Turner Diaries. And the agent read parts of it to the jury. Further, Dees gave copies of the book to two prison inmates, Robert Jones and James Holder during his interviews with them in prison, so they'd make better witnesses in court. And, they both testified that "sure 'nuff" Glenn Miller was following the book's "blueprint" of building a White racist army of killers. Jones and Holder both were more familiar with the book than I was because I'd only read it once, and that was seven years earlier in 1979 while I was still in the U.S. Army. I learned more about the book during my trial than I'd remembered from reading it.
Morris Dees, being a highly convincing actor as well as a brilliant and experienced Jewish lawyer, and with the added eager assistance of two well rehearsed lying convicts, was able to convince the gullible jury that I was not only guilty of contempt of court as charged, but also guilty of plotting to overthrow the government through a violent revolution with the book as my blue print.
Jones was such an astute and well-rehearsed liar, I found myself believing some of what he was saying during the day and a half he was on the stand, even though I'd never even seen him before in my life, and knew he was lying.
Holder, serving 18 years for murder in a state prison, presented such a pitiful sight with his constant gazing at Dees for an approving nod, and his lapses into tears, that I actually felt sorry for him. He obviously had been promised a good word by Dees and government prosecutors for his parole board or other benefits, and he tried so hard to please them that he discredited much of his testimony in the process.
There had been for years a joke circulating among Party members describing American Blacks being shipped to Africa on leaking ships. Holder changed the joke to truth and added the air bombing of the leaking ships half way to Africa by Glenn Miller and the White Patriot Party. And with a solemn expression, he testified that was one of my official Party plans to get rid of Blacks. Incredibly, jury members took the story in without laughing and they even gave the facial expressions of believing it, as they frowned and shook their heads in sympathy for poor Blacks being drowned by the shiploads.
Holder went on to say that while a member of Glenn Miller's Klan he had been a racist and in agreement with my so-called revolutionary plans, but that while in prison, he had become "a born-again Christian," and that's why he was there to testify against me.
North Carolina prisons are predominantly Black, and Holder's Klan past was known by his fellow inmates. By testifying against me and the White Patriot Party, he would be treated much better by Black inmates. Also a written report of his testifying would be made a part of his parole records, which would no doubt please his parole board and in Holder's prediction, help free him from prison sooner than would otherwise be the case.
Holder and I and our families had once been close friends for over two years. I understood his predicament, and consequently, I couldn't find it in me to hate him for testifying or for lying at my trial. I could only find pity, and besides, he wasn't a good witness anyway.
Jones, on the other hand was an amazingly astute and convincing liar, plus I had never met, much less known him, so I loathed his every word.
David Duke, former Nazi, and former leader of the largest Klan organization in the country in the middle and late 1970's, was miraculously elected to the Louisiana legislature in 1989. I met Duke for the first time in 1981 when I took a contingent of the CKKKK in support of his speaking appearance at an auditorium in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. I had known him previous to that, but only by his good reputation as a Klan leader.
Duke stunned the nation and the world in 1989 by his election, especially in view of the fact that he was openly opposed by just about everybody in the national Republican Party, including President George Bush and Republican Chairman Lee Atwater. Duke's election made national news for several weeks, witnessed by me from my prison TV set and by prison library newspapers.
Following Duke's 1981 Winston-Salem speaking engagement, which only drew about 150 people incidentally, he invited me and several CKKKK members out to eat and he and I had a long chat at a nearby restaurant.
I also had the opportunity to speak with him during two national Klan rallies at Stone Mountain, Georgia. And, he and I spoke about various concerns related to the White Movement during infrequent phone conversations over the years, 1981 through 1986.
In 1979, he changed the name of his group to The National Association for the Advancement of White People, and I read in a 1989 newspaper that by then he had around 30,000 members or supporters on his national mailing list, which I though was quite extraordinary.
My analysis of David Duke concedes that he probably represents the best hope of organizing the White masses into anything.