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 remotely resembling a successful White racist organization, though judging from statements he made following his election, that organization will be far less racist and less anti-Semitic than groups existing now or in the past.
I found Duke to be a highly intelligent, articulate, and dedicated man. He is also young, handsome, and presents himself and his views extremely well before the mass media.
The one thing that stands out in my mind about David Duke is his stated agreement with me in 1981 that America must bring about a total separation of the Races, if the White race is to survive.
I am fairly certain, however, that Duke has never changed his mind about working legally within the system as opposed to armed revolution. He's legal and peaceful to the bone. He just wants to work for the advancement of the White Race in his own chosen way, by getting elected to office and by his speaking and writing activities with the NAAWP.
Duke and I also shared something else in common; a beautiful blonde blue-eyed lady by the name of Elaine Jackson. Elaine and Duke dated in the late 1970's after she began working as a volunteer for his organization. In 1980, she attended a Harold Covington Nazi meeting in Raleigh along with several other White activists from Louisiana. And I met her at that meeting. That was, incidentally, after my separation and divorce from Marge, so I was perfectly free and available at the time. She had broken off with Duke, and she and I hit it off so well, she moved in with me several months later, after moving her belongings from New Orleans to my house in Angler.
Elaine was what I called a Valkyrie. I reserved that term for the 10% of the White population whose light complexion, blue eyes, and blonde hair places them in my category of being the very best racial stock. And she was absolutely breathtakingly beautiful in a bikini, to boot. What she saw in me, I didn't know and didn't care as long as I had her all to myself. I proposed, she accepted, in spite of being 10 years my junior, and everything was dandy until after several months when she returned to New Orleans for the purpose of making some money at her old job as a union stage hand for the many New Orleans theaters, for which she was paid a handsome salary.
She said she'd return as soon as she'd accumulated a nice little financial nest egg, and I believed her. But, whether the nest egg just never got big enough or whether the adage out-of-sight, out-of-mind proved correct in her case, I'll never know, but her love for me faltered, and she broke off the engagement.
Elaine called me from New Orleans three or four months after her arrival there and informed me that she'd suffered a miscarriage of my child. I had known she was pregnant and that the child was mine, because her cycle and faithfulness proved that to be the case before she left Angier.
She was one in a million; bright, beautiful, educated, modern, and almost as big a racist and anti-Semite as I was. But, things worked out for the best. Elaine was really a single person in heart and lifestyle anyway, and I got my true love Marge and my children back a year or so later.
The rest of 1985 found the White Patriot Party staging a march and rally every month, and increasingly accelerating our other activities. In fact, our Dens and individual members were conducting so many Party activities, I found that the mention of all of them in our newspaper was taking up too much space, so I began to omit the less significant ones, to allow space for essential propaganda articles and other more important items.
Quarreling among members was one of my biggest problems in running the organization, and the bigger we got, the bigger the problem became. Of course, I knew all along that there was bound to be personality and personal conflicts among people who got together frequently, but at times some got completely out of hand.
For example, a married male member got involved with another woman following our Columbia rally and was late getting home. One of his own Den members told his wife, which not only caused a fight, but also gunshots into one's home and subsequent court battles and a choosing of sides by other Party members in that area of the state. At one point, things got so heated, one called me up terrified, and demanded that I bring armed members to protect him and his family. I refused, and luckily no one was ever seriously hurt, but the incident resulted in about half the area members quitting the Party.
Quarreling, or course, resulted in the shooting death of Den leader David Wallace by James Holder, as I described earlier in the book.
Members constantly phoned or called me aside at meetings to complain about this or that other member.
Jealousy was a problem. Members flirted with the wives or girlfriends of other members. Den leaders and individuals became jealous of other Den leaders and individuals because of promotions or “atta-boy” write-ups in the newspaper. Some members didn't meet the character standards of other members and demands were made to kick people out of the Party, and in some cases ultimatums were issued to me. Some members hated alcohol. Others demanded the right to drink beer after meetings, etc., etc., etc.
Consequent to the quarreling problem, I had to issue policy statements in order to keep members happy, dedicated, and in the Party. I knew I couldn't solve the problem, but at least I could try to reduce the adverse effects upon the Party. So, I went to great lengths and spent much time in convincing Dens to split up and form smaller Dens which would contain members more compatible to each other and to pacify members. I explained as an example that beer-drinking marines couldn't possibly get along within a Den with bible-toting Baptists, so they should split up for the good of the Party. If a Den member couldn't get along, he or she should try another Den, and to try and leave without ill feelings, or start their own Den by recruiting four other members.
Regarding alcohol, I allowed Dens to make their own rules for Den meetings, but as for Party-wide activities, I allowed beer, but only after the official Party activity had been completed. Foul language in front of women and children was strictly forbidden, and I was highly vocal and forceful in my frequent reiteration of that prohibition and my prohibition of drugs of any kind.
I tried to word my policies as inoffensive as possible, but reduce the quarreling problem at the same time. Neither I nor Den leaders could order anyone to do anything. We could only try to reason with them, and set reasonable behavioral policies that would benefit the continuing growth of the Party.
Though my policies did not stop the quarreling problem altogether, they did reduce them to an acceptable level that permitted the Party to grow in number and to operate efficiently.
I remember an accusation made once by a young redneck following a Den meeting and following my long speech about what I expected of members. The fellow called me aside and complained, "Glenn, you're just trying to use us."
My somewhat loud angry reply was, "Hell yeah, I'm trying to use you, and I want another million like you so I can use them to. I don't give a damn about you. I care about your children and their future and the future of you Race and your country. Your little personal problems don't interest me in the least, and I don't even want to hear about them."
He responded with words to the effect, "Hell, I ain't never thought about it like that before," and strolled away with his nose pointed to the ground. But, I was pleased to note years later that he had not only stayed a member, but became an increasingly dedicated one as well.
Security at meetings, rallies, and marches was another concern to me. I never lost my fear of eventually being attacked, and possibly with firearms or maybe even with explosives. There was little I could do to prevent it except to try to present the appearance that we were well prepared. I believed our military type uniforms and our heavily armed security guards presented the correct appearance to discourage most would-be attackers, but not the more determined ones such as members of the Jewish Defense League, the FBI, or the Israeli secret police organization known as the Mossad, or others vehemently opposed to organized White racism and anti-Semitism. I never felt much fear of Black groups. I felt Blacks were somewhat apt to attack us during public marches, but not in a premeditated, planned, and organized manner. Theirs would be strictly spontaneous, whereas others would be planned and therefore, much more effectively executed.
But I was determined that no threat or perceived possibilities for attacks, would adversely affect my activities, so I went about my business and left most of the worrying to my body guards, our security leader, and to law enforcement officials. I did, however, maintain a sizable stockpile of firearms and ammunition within my home, and I usually carried a pistol and a shotgun in my vehicle wherever I went. I also familiarized Marge with a 12-gauge pump action shotgun, which I kept leaning against the wall beside our bed. The barrel was sawed off to further enhance the probability of successful firings. I explained to her that all she had to do was push the safety forward, point, pull the trigger, and then continue pumping and pulling the trigger. I also insisted on her periodically firing the shotgun so she wouldn't forget how.
After the November 1984 shooting into our home, Marge became more determined than ever not to allow threats to prevent us from exercising our rights, and like me, she came to accept them as part of our everyday lifestyle, as did the children.
Strangely, except for one minor incident, the children were never harassed at school, even though everybody there, including the principal, teachers, and Black students knew who and what their father was. If anything, they were little celebrities because of it.
A Black male teenager much older and larger than either of my three sons, threatened them on the school bus one day in the summer of 1985. I went to the Coats, N.C. school the next day and explained the incident to the principal, who investigated the matter and then suspended the Black from school. En route to the principal's office, I had to walk down a long hallway and thereby passed a half dozen open-doored classrooms. The students recognized me, and later it was reported in the newspaper that Glenn Miller had been roaming up and down school hallways for the sole purpose of frightening Black students, which was, of course, ridiculous. But, it was believed by many, especially by local Black parents.
Six months after that, I rented the auditorium, cafeteria, and grounds of that school and held a "Glenn Miller for U.S. Senate" campaign rally, which was participated in by over 500 people, mostly in camouflage uniforms. Even though I paid the school around $700 rental, and we injected additional money into the town's economy over the two-day rally, some town residents and all the Black ones, screamed their protests to the school board and to the media. However, it was a bona fide political rally, and since other candidates used public school facilities all the time and all over the state for the same purpose, there wasn't anything they could do about it except complain. I couldn't have cared less about their complaining, so I didn't worry much about it. I was, however, disappointed that so few Coats residents attended the rally. Coats was only six miles from my farm, and I knew many of the Whites there personally. Fear and apathy, I concluded kept them away, just as was the case just about everywhere else.
Coats, like Angier eight miles away, was a small town and both were mostly White. My family and I lived in that general area for around 12 years and I was a well known White racist leader for over six of those years. But, except for a very few hostile looks, my family and I were always treated politely and friendly by all local Whites. And, many of the rednecks, both male and female were overtly and extra friendly to us at food marts, on the streets, at the bank, or wherever else we met them. On a few occasions there, as well as in other places around the state where I was recognized, people actually asked me for my autograph, to which I gratefully and graciously complied. Many openly bragged to me that my presence in the Harnett and Johnston County community greatly reduced Black crime, violence, and intimidation directed toward Whites. And I am convinced that was the case. The Blacks didn't know which rednecks were or weren't members of the White Patriot Party, and probably thought most were, which added to their fears and perceived threats even more. Harnett and Johnston County Blacks, just like Blacks all over the state, were convinced by the constant barrage of media distortions that Glenn Miller had an army of half-crazed racist bigots just waiting for an excuse to slaughter Black people. And, when they called my telephone messages and listened to me rant and rave about "niggers" this, and "niggers" that, they were doubly convinced that I was a complete homicidal racist maniac and the leader of thousands more, all armed to the teeth with everything from law rockets and claymore mines to hand grenades and machine guns, which was, in fact, the highly publicized allegation of Morris Dees and the Southern Poverty Law Center, as well as federal prosecutors.
When I found myself in the close presence of Blacks in food mart or convenience store checkout lines, I could literally sense their terror of me.
A busload of uniformed members stopped at a Raleigh Hardee's restaurant en route to one of our 1985 Raleigh demonstrations, and dozens of Blacks immediately vacated the restaurant and parking lot.
Jesse Radford, after the Party bus had broken down on the way to the Rockingham, N.C. Raceway where he and several others were headed in uniform to pass out 15,000 newspapers in 1985, went into a Black country church for mechanical assistance, and the Blacks in the church ducked behind the pews when he ducked into the front door of their church. Finally, one elderly Black lady raised up and informed Radford that while she'd sure help him out if she could, she was not a mechanic and neither was anybody else in the church. They'd all seen the bus through church windows, though they didn't know it was broken down until Radford came and inquired about a mechanic. The Black churchgoers thought the bus which was flying two large Confederate flags and its White camouflage uniformed occupants had stopped to do harm to them or to their church.
Radford then left and hitchhiked to the nearest phone to call for a wrecker and an elderly Black man picked him up thinking, from the looks of his uniform, he was in the U.S. Army. The man asked Radford what Army outfit he was in, and Radford told him the Ku Klux Klan, which of course, scared the fellow. He was so nice however, that he insisted on waiting for Radford to make the phone call so he could drive him back to the bus some four or five miles back. Getting back to the bus, Radford said it was surrounded by highway patrol men and flashing blue lights, so not wanting to get arrested for carrying a pistol, he asked the Black man if it was okay to leave his.357 long barreled magnum pistol on his car dash while he went and talked to the highway patrolmen, to which the Black fellow happily agreed. Radford then pulled the pistol out of his uniform pocket, laid it on the car dash and left to go talk to the cops. Radford said the Black gentleman waited alone, patiently and quietly, for over an hour in his car, and afterward said he was glad to help Radford out, before speeding away at breakneck speed, and probably thanking God for sparing his life.
Driving through a Black Angier neighborhood, also in 1985, Joe Cobb sat behind the wheel of our Party bus, wearing his Klan robe and tall pointed Klan hat, smoking a big cigar, and dozens of Black children saw him and ran screaming into their houses.
Cobb was in a Klan group back in the 60's, and told me stories about how they used to throw live 'coons, possums, porcupines, or ganders into Black houses at night in attempts to run them out of Johnston and Harnett County. Cobb said that late one night, he and three or four other local rednecks snuck up on the house of one Black family, peered through the window and saw a huge Black woman sitting in front of a TV watching Gunsmoke, with a gang of children all around her.
The window was open and Cobb threw a live possum in her lap. Cobb said she squalled about the loudest and longest he'd ever heard, and jumped about four feet up in the air. Cobb then ran and jumped into a nearby ditch to observe what would happen next, and it wasn't long before they saw the Black woman bust out of the back door and run across a cotton field with a trail of children behind. Cobb said she was as wide as three rows of cotton, but fast and agile. She outran all the young'uns.
The very next day, according to Cobb, the Black man of the family walked into a nearby country store carrying the possum in a gunny sack, and demanded to know which of the 10 or 12 White men sitting around in the store, owned the possum. But none of them could even recognize the possum, even after looking down at it sitting at the bottom of the sack, nor did they know who might own the animal. But, they all agreed and sympathized with the Black fellow that it was a sorry and low-down stunt somebody had pulled on him and his family the night before.
Cobb said that on another night, he and company threw a large black gander through the window of another Black family's house, and the loud squawks of the gander scared them so bad, they left and refused to go back without the protection of armed deputy sheriffs, to whom they swore they'd seen a devil or monster of some sort that had wings, because the thing had flown right through their window.
A riled up gander does make a terrific amount of loud noise, especially when thrown into the darkness among human strangers, and Cobb said it was still squawking when a deputy poked it out with a broom from under one of the beds where it had sought safety, and as it went hopping and flopping out the front door and into the nearby woods.
Joe Cobb was quite a redneck character. Once he and I were riding around Johnston County, in his brand new 1984 Ford pick-up truck, passing out newspapers and stopping at country stores trying to sign up new members. Cobb always kept his truck clean as a whistle and spic-and-span shiny.
Driving slowly through the countryside, we approached a Black fellow in his mid thirties, riding a bicycle and carrying a shotgun across the handle bars. Cobb passed him, but had to stop within a short distance for a stop sign. The black fellow, obviously a little intoxicated didn't react quickly enough and plowed into the rear end of Cobb's new truck. Cobb immediately shifted his gear into park, got out and walked back to the Black fellow, cussing him and his mother for every vile name he could think of. And, he hit the Black fellow upside his head with his fist, knocking him to the ground, and then threw the shotgun 60 or 70 feet out across a field planted with soy beans. Still rednecked and cussing, Cobb then got back into the truck and drove off, mad as a wet settin' hen about the few scratches on his truck. I was afraid the Black fellow had made a mental note of the license plate number, but I was confident he didn't get a good look at me because I stayed in the truck. However, we never heard anything else about the incident. I chastised Cobb for the assault, knowing it wouldn't do any good because Cobb not only outweighed me by 50 pounds, he was totally independent minded anyhow. I had about as much control over Cobb as I did over the Federal Reserve Bank or the New York Times.
Once, I had to pull a shotgun on him because he was intoxicated and refused to leave my house, even after I'd politely and impolitely asked him to, several times. The shotgun in his face didn't faze him. But, when I called the Johnston County Sheriff's department and asked them to come and get Joe Cobb out of my house, that did faze him, and he left. He stayed away for several months, but came back one day and we became good friends again. Cobb joked with his friends that Glenn Miller had fired him from the Klan, and knowing how he was, they all thought it was highly hilarious.
Cobb was by no means a fanatic about attending meetings. If he was in the mood to come, he did. And, if he wasn't, he didn't. That's just the way he was. But, he was a talented man and a big help to me over the years, barbecuing pigs, acting as my bodyguard, and signing up members, etc. And, I thought the world of him. He was tough, racist, humorous, fiercely independent, and as Southern redneck as they come. So, I naturally liked him.
Cobb could be charming or aggravating, whichever suited him at the time. His idea of a successful parade was one in which he was at the front, leading the marchers in his Klan robe with a big cigar in his mouth. I jokingly told him once that I wanted him to lead one of our marches in just that manner, and he took me seriously. It was months later during our march through downtown Fuquay-Varina. I had just gotten our 300 or so marchers in formation at the edge of town in preparation for the march to begin, and using my bullhorn I was giving them last minute instructions. I had conducted a quick uniform inspection, and had selected four sharply camouflage-uniformed clean-cut Marines for the front rank, when Joe Cobb and three of his cronies, late and dressed in Klan robes, came strolling up to me. Cobb was swaying, and I could tell he was drunk because of that, and by his tall pointed Klan hat sitting crooked on his head. And, he had a large unlit cigar in his mouth, which he was chewing on and rolling around in his mouth.
Getting up to me, with a big optimistic grin on his face, he whispered, "Glenn, I'm ready to lead this thing, where you want me at?"
Several TV and newspaper reporters stood watching just a few feet away, and one or two video cameras were filming the whole scene.
Thinking quickly, I said, "Joe, I'm glad you're here. I need some tough men to bring up the rear because I think there's a good chance we'll get attacked today. So, how about taking your men back to the rear?"
Cobb's grinning optimism of leading the parade turned to frowning growls and grunts, but seeing I wasn't going to change my mind, he walked on back toward the rear, with his cronies, who were about equally disappointed, trailing along behind him, and with Cobb explaining in his own alibi, why they weren't going to lead the parade after all.
Cobb repaid that rejection however, but I didn't find out how until that night when I viewed the march video. I saw that he and his cronies had left a gap between them and the other marchers of about 100 feet.
They had trailed along behind, giggling and elbowing each other in the ribs, while strolling down the main street of Fuquay-Varina all by themselves.
I was angry at Cobb for that obvious display of spite, but I quickly got over it because I knew how he was, and after a while I found a little amusement in the whole affair. I had slighted him, and he was bound and determined to slight me back. That's just the way he was.
The beginning of 1986 found me busy as a one-armed paperhanger in a wind storm, and highly optimistic about the continuing growth of the Party.
Over 500 of us marched through downtown Raleigh in January in our annual anti-Martin Luther King holiday parade. Included in that parade, in addition to hundreds of camouflage uniformed members carrying Confederate flags, was our renovated school bus, which was painted camouflage, and had two huge Confederate flags mounted on it, and bearing, in large letters on both sides, "GLENN MILLER FOR U.S. SENATE." Leading the parade was six stout young Party members wearing complete Confederate Army uniforms, which I'd rented from a Raleigh costume store for $165.00. I felt the sight of them leading the parade to the tune of "Dixie" would add much pride and inspiration. Again, we highly advertised the parade, and again only a couple hundred Raleigh spectators showed up to support us. However, no hecklers showed up at all. In my speech, I informed everyone and especially media reporters, that as leader of the White Patriot Party, I did thereby proclaim the Martin Luther King holiday null and void, and I replaced it with a holiday honoring Robert E. Lee. Therefore, I continued, White folks could go right ahead and take the day off from work each year to celebrate Lee's birthday, and not have to feel guilty or ashamed about taking that day off. Lee and King's birthdays are only a few days apart, so my proclamation was timely reasonable as well as appropriate, I surmised. I went on to state that King was a Communist whose Communist record compiled by the FBI, was so bad that the government locked it up for 50 years so nobody, including U.S. Senators and Congressmen, could read it.
Steve Miller, our Party Chaplain, marched at the front of the formation on the right flank, as he always did, carrying his large Bible in his left hand, tucked under his arm. And, as always, he presented a fairly long speech, highlighted with Bible quotes. His speeches were so long, I used to half jokingly tell him I was going to build a trap door behind the podium with a 10-minute timer as a means to shorten his speeches.
Steve was, like many of our more dedicated members, a subscriber to the religious doctrine called "Christian Identity," which claimed, among other things, that White people are the true chosen people of God, and not the Jews. Though I shared that particular belief, I didn't agree with others. For example, Steve thought that the traditional Christmas celebration was blasphemous because it was too commercial, and that Santa Claus was a lie and therefore blasphemous as well. He and I once got into a small argument about Santa Claus. There I was trying to get the redneck Christians to join our group, and Steve was blessing them out about taking their children to see Santa Claus and putting up Christmas trees, which Steve said were terribly sinful things to do. Steve agreed not to bless out Santa Claus during speeches again, but vowed he'd bless him out as much as he pleased in private conversations with members and others.
Steve also maintained a strict diet and preached that eating pork and certain other foods was strictly forbidden by God and the Bible. I always tried to pacify Steve and his beliefs as much as I could for the sake of Party solidarity, but I'd been a fool about country ham and gravy all my life, and I couldn't muster the faith to quit eating it. Steve detested that, as well as a few of my other habits, such as beer drinking, but he too was conscious of Party solidarity, so he overlooked them, at least in public. But he continued to preach to me privately, in hopes of eventually changing my sinful habits of eating ham, drinking beer, and telling my children that Santa Claus was real.
Oh, how I used to dread seeing him pull into my driveway around Christmas time.
Steve was liked and respected by just about everybody in the Party, though most, like me, refused to give up Santa Claus or their country ham. Steve was a quiet, easy-going, and personable man whom everyone found charismatic and likeable. And they found him to be of high moral standards as well as fanatical in his religious beliefs.
January 1986 also found Steve and I filing for public office. I held a press conference in Raleigh and announced my candidacy for the U.S. Senate and Steve filed in Fayetteville for the state legislature. The White Patriot Party also fielded four other political candidates for that primary election.
Jesse Radford of Wake County, and Cecil Cox of Jacksonville filed for seats in the legislature, and two other members filed for County Sheriff; one in North Eastern North Carolina, and the other in Shelby.
I wanted as many members to run for office that year as possible to show Party progress and credibility, so I begged, enticed, cajoled and succeeded in getting 6 of us on the ballot.
Previous to filing, I flipped a nickel before reporters in front of the court house one day, to decide whether I'd run as a Republican or Democrat, saying there wasn't a nickel's worth of difference between those two parties, anyway. The Democrats won me, though hardly any of them considered me a win, judging from the April vote tally.
We staged several White voter registration and campaign marches, and held several outdoor rallies, marching through downtown Fuquay-Varina, Erwin and other towns. And, of course, we engaged in the usual campaign activities, as Steve and I had done during our 1984 campaigns. I won't bore the reader with repeat descriptions. So let it suffice to say I gave a lot of speeches before special interest groups, and I graciously granted interviews to dozens of TV, radio, and newspaper reporters. I also ran campaign adds for all our candidates in the monthly Confederate Leader newspaper, and used our telephone message machines to urge Whites to register and to vote for our candidates.
Jesse Jackson's North Carolina supporters held various public activities in support of more Black voter registration, so I used Jackson to chide more Whites into registering also. Later, a spokesman for Jackson was quoted in the newspapers as saying that the best way to register more Whites in North Carolina was to hold Black voter registration drives, because far more Whites registered that year than did Blacks. Of course, I demanded that the media give me and the White Patriot Party our due credit for all those new White voters. But, I'm sure now that for every White who registered on my account, at least 100 registered on Jesse Jackson's account. In fact, if the truth was known, I managed to register far more Black voters than White ones. I believe thousands of Blacks registered and voted just to spite me. And, the Blacks hated me a lot more than Whites hated Jackson. It would have benefited Jackson greatly to pay me to hold White voter registration drives all over the country as a grand way to register more Blacks, because that would have worked better than anything he or his supporters ever schemed, devised, or tried.
Texas Klan leader Louis Beam, later tried and acquitted of Sedition, came to North Carolina and spent about a week with Steve to train him, and several other members, in the operation of a computer bulletin board. Beam who allegedly received $200,000 from The Order was implementing his idea of installing computer bulletin boards all over the country, as a means for White racist groups and individuals to communicate and advertise by way of the computers. The computers provided information such as dates and locations of meetings, lengthy propaganda articles, status of court trials, the names and addresses of anti-Klan groups, and other information deemed of interest to White racists and anti-Semites. Steve's job was to input his computer with local information so others around the country could keep up to date on the happenings in North Carolina and within the White Patriot Party.
Steve became somewhat of a fanatic about his computer and would spend hours at a time reading computer items or typing his own into his computer. I paid Bean $2,000 for a new computer, and $1,000 to cover his week-long expenses and travel costs.
Those computers generated national news coverage, and reporters speculated they were being used to promote the murders of anti-Klan activists or bombings of anti-Klan organizations. And those allegations seemed to have merit because some computer items included not only the names, addresses, and locations of anti-Klan groups and leaders, but also contained thinly veiled threats against them.
Frankly, I didn't like the computer bulletin board idea anyway, because it was too costly, time consuming, and didn't result in new members or supporters for the White Patriot Party. Also, it provoked even more interest from law enforcement agencies and the hostile media, and provided them with more evidence that we were violent racist revolutionaries.
I looked upon the whole computer scheme as little more than a Louis Bean hobby, designed to give the impression he was engaging in a grand project to further the American White Racist Movement, when all he was really doing was fooling everybody. There I was busting my butt and risking my life out in the open trying to unite, organize, and educate the masses, and there Beam was traveling around in high style anonymity, installing computers, and video taping motel room conversations with me and others. And, he was making a profit in the process by charging cash for his computers and for his training service.
Further, of all the leaders who presumably received money from The Order, I felt none were using it nearly as effectively as I was, to further the Cause. And, I felt that many were keeping most of the money for themselves, because except for a few computers and videos, I could see little or no tangible results, especially in the form of new members or supporters, which I considered was the only real gauge of success and progress.
In fairness to Beam and others however, the videos were shown probably to millions of people all tolled, around the country by way of Public Cable Television, during subsequent years.
By 1986, my Order money had dwindled substantially, even though I had taken Jack Jackson and Doug Sheets oft the payroll around April or May of 1985. However, I continued paying Steve $800 per month in salary plus other monies for expenses and special projects.
Jack moved to Georgia for a while and assisted Den leader Bill Roland in White Patriot Party activities there, but soon followed Doug, who had moved back to Oklahoma, where his parents lived. I hated to lose them because they were both talented and dedicated men, but they had become too much of a financial burden. And besides, by then I had plenty of members working hard for the Party who would offset their loss, and at no cost to the Party.
Morris Dees laid a bombshell on us in April 1986, on the eve of the primary elections, by filing criminal charges against me, the Party, and against Steve Miller, for violation of our agreement of January 1985 and of the federal Court Order. The agreement I signed with Dees had come back to haunt me.
The legal term for the charges was "Contempt of Court." We allegedly violated the court order, and therefore, we were in “contempt of court." And, though contempt of court is a criminal offense, in our case it was only a misdemeanor and not a felony. Further, it was judged that the maximum punishment Steve and I could receive was 1-year in prison, if convicted on all counts.
In other words, Morris Dees and the federal and state governments, spent three years investigating Glenn Miller, Steve Miller, and the White Patriot Party, including the interrogations of 75 or 80 members, and Dees had spent an estimated one million dollars, and after all that, they decided to charge us with a mere misdemeanor which had a maximum penalty of 1-year imprisonment.
The contempt of court charge alleged that we had operated a paramilitary organization and broken two state laws. And in doing so, we had engaged in a series of intimidating acts throughout North Carolina with the purpose of preventing Black citizens, from freely exercising their rights.
The reader should ponder the obvious question that since Dees and the government felt we had committed all the crimes listed in the contempt of court charge, why in hell didn't they charge us with the crimes themselves instead of contempt of court? The federal crime of intimidating Blacks and preventing them from exercising their rights is a felony and carries a maximum penalty of life imprisonment. And, violation of the two state laws also constituted a felony offense, with much more punishment than one-year imprisonment. Why didn't the state charge us with violating those two laws, or with any of the other dozens of pertinent laws related to "the Klan" or related to the protection of Black North Carolina citizens from White racists?
I'll tell you why. Dees knew I had not broken those laws, because if I had, he'd have demanded that the state charge me with them. And, if my organization had really been an illegal paramilitary organization, he'd have demanded that the state charge me with that also. If, according to his so-called evidence, I was guilty of breaking those laws, all he had to do was present his evidence to state authorities and to the media, and they would have been forced to try me for several felonies, the penalties for which amounted to a sentence of over 20 years in prison.
Morris Dees wanted only one thing. He wanted to shut Glenn Miller up. It was as simple as that. Since he couldn't find solid or competent evidence that I'd broken any state laws, he could only charge me with federal "contempt of court." So he did just that. And, he was confident that with the help of his two lying jail-house witnesses, he would succeed in legally putting a stop to my White racist and anti-Semitic activities. That's all he wanted anyway. He used the federal court, to shut Glenn Miller up.
Now Title 18 of the U.S. Civil Rights Code says, among other things, that "it is a felony to conspire to interfere in anyway in any citizen's exercise of any right guaranteed by the United States Constitution," and the maximum penalty for that conspiracy is life imprisonment.
Why didn't Dees charge me with that? It's broad, vague, and ambiguous enough to include the activities of just about any activist leader of any sort, in the country, especially those of White racist leaders.
The fact is, Dees and his crowd of so-called civil rights lawyers, were guilty themselves of violating that very federal Civil Rights law against me and against the members of my organization for three long years. If Dees didn't conspire to interfere with my constitutional rights of Freedom of Speech, Freedom of the Press, and my Freedom of Assembly, then there isn't a cow in Texas, or a faggot in San Fran-sissy-ko. He not only conspired to violate my rights, he did, in fact, violate the hell out of just about all of them. And, not only did he conspire and violate, he succeeded in having the court order me to completely dissociate myself from all members, supporters, and associates of the White Patriot Party, and those of 28 other similar groups around the country, thereby preventing me from exercising my rights then or during the following 3' years of the court ordered probation and imprisonment.
What is even more incredible, is the fact that those same constitutional violations were committed against Steve Miller, who never signed a thing including the agreement with Dees. Steve, was bound to the agreement even though he not only didn't sign it, he wasn't even in favor of my signing it. He was charged with the same criminal charges I was charged with, simply because he was a member of the White Patriot Party and because Dees selected him. By that very same judicial reasoning, the other 5,000 White Patriots could just as easily have been charged and convicted as Steve was.
In other words, Glenn Miller signed a piece of paper and agreed to it becoming a court order, and presto, 5,000 people who had absolutely nothing to do with it, and who did not even give me permission to sign on their behalf, became legally liable for what was on the piece of paper. And, further they became subject to a fine and imprisonment, just like Steve. I signed the thing thinking I was speaking for myself alone, but the court ruled I was speaking for 5,000 people. I was not only taking on the legal responsibility for the behavior of 5,000 other people, most of whom I'd never even see, but those 5,000 people took on the legal responsibility for my behavior and all with a stroke of my pen.
Incredible as that may sound, that is exactly what three federal courts dictated; the federal court in Raleigh, the 4th Circuit of Appeals in Richmond, and the U.S. Supreme Court.
Dees filed the charges two days before the primary election. His timing was blatantly intended to have a strong adverse effect on my candidacy for the U.S. Senate, and on our other Party candidates, which proved to me even more, that Dees considered me a highly effective White racist leader. He thought I was going to get a lot of votes and he wanted to reduce the number.
The allegations stated in the charges, of course, were publicized in detail in the following day's newspapers all over the state, and through radio and TV news broadcasts. And, reporters included the allegations of my association with The Order, the $200,000 donation, my having obtained illegal weapons, and of my so-called paramilitary organization which Dees claimed I planned to use to start a Race war.
Dees intention, when filing the charges two days before the election, was to frighten White voters who may have been entertaining thoughts about voting for me. Whether or not, or to what degree his plan worked, was anybody's guess.
My public response to the charges was, of course, to deny everything, and I accused Dees of carrying out a continuing conspiracy to interfere with my free exercise of Constitutional rights. And, I pointed to Dees timing and the fact of the filing of the charges, as proof.
To try and nullify some of the adverse media effects on the election, I announced to the media that if I failed to get at least 10,000 votes, I was leaving the state. When reporters asked where I would move, I told them Georgia, because I'd always "liked and admired those Georgia Crackers," and would get along just fine with them. I made the threat of moving, as a way to put pressure on White racists to vote for me. I was giving them an ultimatum. They could either vote for me that election, or they wouldn't have another chance in the future, because I would take my racist services to Georgia where I'd be more appreciated. At the time, I thought that threat was a brilliant stroke of my genius, and that it would cause my redneck rooters to flock to the polls.
Of course, I had no intention of moving, regardless of how many votes I got, but I was very confident I'd get over 10,000 votes out of the more than two million registered North Carolina democrats. By then my name was a house hold word, so surely, there being hundreds of thousands of White racists in the state, at least 10,000 of them would vote for me, especially after I threatened to move if they didn't. After all, I had conducted White voter registration drives all over the state, and the media coverage of those drives and of my candidacy had reached into just about every home. No one in the state could say they didn't have a White racist candidate to vote for. So, all things considered, I was confident of receiving far more than 10,000 votes.
Several North Carolina polls had predicted I'd receive less than 1% of the vote, but I alibied them away by saying White racists were too afraid to reveal their racism by telling pollsters they planned to vote for Glenn Miller, and that in my view, all polls were controlled entities designed to influence the outcome of elections, not just predict the outcome, but that White wouldn't listen to them on election day, and would vote for me and the other WPP candidates by the tens of thousands. I even predicted to reporters that I'd win, although of course, I didn't really expect to, by any stretch of my own gross and naive overestimations.
I received a little less than 9,000 votes in that primary election for the U.S. Senate, proving once again that the more voters who know you're a White racist, the fewer votes you get. All the election proved was that I was widely known in North Carolina.
Our other five candidates came out comparatively, about the same. Steve, running for the state legislature in his small two-county area wherein he was known, fared worse than he had in his statewide race for Lt. Governor in 1984, wherein he was known by a much lesser percentage of the voters. Though the overall percentage of the votes received by our candidates varied a little, all the outcomes convinced me that White racist candidates could only achieve a minute percentage of votes cast by White who knew they were openly White racists. The more who know you're a White racist, the fewer votes you get. Aside from all the other considerations and variables in voting trends among registered voters, that was the bottom line.
However, and it is a big however, the vast overwhelming majority of lower-income, under-educated Whites were not even registered to vote. I doubt if even 10% of them were. And, I couldn't even convince my own Party members in that class to get themselves registered, much less convince the other million or so. Lee County election results proved it. There, we had around 100 members and supporters, and I only received a total of 10 votes from that entire county. The proof of my assertion that poor Whites don't register, much less vote, was in the pudding of my White racist organization itself, wherein even poor Whites there refused to register. Though I did much better in my home county of Johnston, than I had in Lee County, the trend of White registered voters proved my bottom line assertion, and that poor Whites weren't even registered, and therefore, didn't vote.
I was still reasonably confident, however, that I could somehow inspire poor Whites to register. I felt that our Party's increasing growth and visibility would somehow eventually inspire the poor White masses to not only register, but to join our organization simultaneously.
The election results were naturally very depressing to me, but I tried to not let it show. I confidently mouthed my alibis to our members and to media reporters, and predicted it was only a matter of time before Whites came to their senses and elected us to political power. Meanwhile, I said, we'd continue on with our program of uniting, organizing, and educating the White masses.
Reporters held me to my promise to move out of the state, so I told them I was packing up and looking for a buyer for my house and farm so I could move to Georgia and continue to lead the Party from there. That news story went out all over the country, including to the state of Georgia. Amusingly, an agent of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation read the story, and phoned me to ask just where about in Georgia I intended to settle down. I told him it was none of his business, and asked if he called every new Georgia resident before they moved there. He tried to be nice about his inquiry, and I understood he was just trying to do his job by keeping tabs on a nationally known White racist leader who had publicly announced his intentions of moving into his area of law enforcement responsibility. But, still sulking from the elections, I was in a sour mood, so I blessed him out over the phone. And, I accused him of plotting to violate my rights which enabled me to operate a White racist organization, before I even got to his state. I felt, with some justification, owing to the FBI's harassing treatment of Bill Roland and other White Patriots already there, that the FBI agent was, in fact, planning actions to discourage and disrupt the establishment of Glenn Miller and the headquarters of the WPP within the state of Georgia. He wanted to nip us in the bud, so to speak, and it would have been easier to nip me in the bud, if he knew exactly where in Georgia, I intended to live. I ended the phone conversation with the FBI agent, by telling him I'd be sure and notify him of my whereabouts when I moved to Georgia.
After a few weeks had gone by after the election, I notified the media that I had received so many calls from grieving White North Carolina citizens who had practically begged me to stay in North Carolina, that I had reluctantly reconsidered my moving plans, and low and behold, had been so moved by the callers, that I had decided not to move, after all.
Newspaper editorials called me all kinds of a liar and a hypocrite, and N.C.'s anti-Klan groups called me worse, during their interviews with the media on the subject of my recantation about moving.
Morris Dees criminal charges got my attention much more so than did his previous civil suit, because of the real possibility of my going to prison. Consequently, I felt spurred to try a lot harder to find an attorney to represent me, Steve and the Party.
So, I got out the yellow pages and went down the list of Raleigh attorneys and started contacting possible lawyers to represent us. Over several weeks I either phoned or visited with at least 50. And, every single one of them refused to take our case, by making this or that excuse. But their bottom line, though cleverly veiled with ambiguous verbiage, was that they didn't want to touch us with a ten-foot pole, because representing White racists was highly detrimental to keeping their clientele, much less increasing them. It was simply bad for their business.
I made a list of lawyers whom I'd contacted and who had refused to represent me, and submitted it along with a motion to Judge Britt for a court-appointed attorney. He approved it and appointed William (Bill) Martin, who was then the assistant federal Public Defender for Eastern North Carolina.
Steve, stubborn as a mule and confident he would whip Dees in court on his own, decided to act as his own lawyer.
The Party would have to go without a lawyer to represent it, because Judge Britt was forbidden by court rules from court appointing an attorney to represent any organization, and I couldn't find any lawyer who'd do it for money. Besides, our Order money had, by then, dwindled so much, I couldn't afford one anyhow.
That meant we went to court with only one attorney to fight against Morris Dees, two or three other attorneys from the Southern Poverty Law Center, U.S. Attorney Samuel Currin and his staff, and against attorneys from the U.S. Justice Department, all of whom contributed to the prosecution. And, to make matters even worse if that were possible, my own attorney Bill Martin was on the payroll of the U.S. Justice Department, as were all the rest including the judge, save Morris Dees and his crew of civil rights attorneys and paralegal assistants.
Anyone who failed to detect the one-sided, unfair, and biased trial circumstances against us, desperately needs lessons in real-world common sense, reasoning and logic. The trial was overwhelmingly stacked against us and no reasonable person could deny it. But just about everybody, including the media, did. The media portrayed a sort of equal tit-for-tat judicial battle, with of course, them the good guys and us the bad guys, but roughly equal in every other respect.
I even contacted the state's ACLU, in my desperate attempts to find help. The head of that group informed me that our's just wasn't the type of case they got involved with, and other vague, ambiguous gobbledygook, cleverly worded to convince me they were really interested in everybody's rights, including the rights of organized White racists, but that our case lacked this or that ingredient which would qualify us for ACLU representation or other assistance. I'd always considered the ACLU as Communists working for the rights of leftists and minorities, and who in about 1/10th of 1% of their cases represented a White racist or anti-Semite, as a sly and cunning way to convince the gullible masses that they worked to protect everybody's rights, regardless of political or social leaning or involvements.
That's how desperate I was to get Dees and the Justice Department off my back, and how weak I felt compared to them. I'd have accepted the help of Black or Jewish groups or maybe even Lucifer's, if I'd thought it would help our case.
No help was forthcoming, however. We went it alone, except for our single federally paid and financed public defender, whom I never trusted for a minute.
The period January to July 25, 1986, in terms of Party growth and activities was indeed phenomenal for the WPP. We literally doubled in number during that short 7-month period, going from around 2,500 in January to over 5,000 by July 25th. That growth was in spite of the Morris Dees attack and our poor showing in the elections.
Each day the mailman brought a stack of letters containing money and application forms from new members, supporters, or subscribers to our newspaper. In some cases, Den leaders or individual members signed up five to ten members at a time and sent all their application forms inside one letter. Whole families, including children as young as 10, which was the youngest I allowed, joined the Party. The administrative task of processing them required so much of mine and Marge's already busy time, we recruited my oldest son Frazier to laminate membership cards.
White Patriots were working harder than ever to build the Party. And, most poor Whites seemed to love us more than ever. During one Party march through a small town in Western North Carolina, about 200 young people came from the sidewalks and marched with us, to the loud cheers of everybody.
My phone rang day and night with calls from people all over the country wanting literature or to join. And, of course, the number of telephone death threats increased parallel to our growth.
It was during that period that U.S. Attorney Samuel Currin was quoted in one Raleigh newspaper as saying, "They are gaining in momentum and prominence," referring to the White Patriot Party, implying that the federal government should and must do something to stop us.
Samuel Currin viewed us the same as did Dees and virtually all politicians and government bureaucrats. Whether or not we'd broken the law was not the issue to them. The issue to them was the very fact of our existence and the fact we were "gaining momentum and prominence." We upset their status quo. We made them nervous. We embarrassed them. We said things which many of them felt, but were afraid to say themselves. We were a blot on the "New South" image. Because of us, new out-of-state industry and foreign investment might be scared away. We were a threat to the system. Our marches and other activities might provoke the Blacks to riot, etc., etc., etc. That is how the White Patriot Party and Glenn Miller was viewed by the state's system leaders, both elected and appointed.
We were simply a problem to them, which had to be solved in the interest of peace, tranquility, and the status quo. And, to hell with the U.S. Constitution.
The sight or news of 400 or 500 White patriots, marching through towns and cities all over the state, carrying Confederate battle flags and screaming "White Power," enraged system leaders. It was unacceptable. It simply had to be stopped. And, besides it wasn't happening anywhere else in the country.
The national media, the minorities, and all the nation's civil rights groups and anti-Klan groups were screaming outrage at North Carolina for allowing such blatant and overt White racism and anti-Semitism to flourish and to "gain momentum and prominence." The pressure and publicity generated by those groups and thrown constantly into the faces of North Carolinas system leaders was enormous. Consequently, they felt compelled to act; to shut Glenn Miller up, and to destroy the White Patriot Party. So, they all jumped on me.
Glenn Miller's constitutional rights of freedom of speech, freedom of the press, and freedom of assembly was just something the system leaders would have to somehow get around. Of course, they knew that neither the media, the ACLU nor other so-called bastions of civil rights protection, would put up much of a fuss about my rights being taken away, because they hated me and everything I stood for anyway. The media not only didn't utter a mumbling word in protest of that entire 3-year period of judicial tyranny against myself and The Party, they giddily applauded Morris Dees as being a great civil rights activist and humanitarian. And, Dees and everybody else associated with the prosecution became instant media heroes.
The media, in fact, tried and convicted me before the trial even began, with their almost daily barrage of distortions, half-truths, and innuendoes suggested to them as facts by Morris Dees and other anti-Klan spokespersons.
The trial itself was, from the beginning, nothing more than a foregone conclusion, and the system's formality of destroying the largest, fastest growing, and the most effective active White organization in the country.Previous Chapter | Index | Next Chapter
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