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My Secret Life in the Klan

Continued from page 2

Published on September 27, 2007

The oddness of the situation was compounded by having to answer to a name that wasn't mine. He thought I was serious about fighting for white supremacy. He'd even suggested that the two of us should found a Klavern — essentially a local gang with Robb's blessing. I immediately regretted ordering the nacho platter.

Turk was short and fat, and the black hat he wore was stitched with a skull and bones. The visible sides of his head had been shaved, but when he turned, I could see the end of a limp mohawk. He giggled when he said "nigger" or "Jew," like a little kid with a pornographic picture, not quite understanding what he sees but sure it's something naughty. His face swelled up like a bullfrog whenever this happened. He ordered a glass of beer.

"Independence used to be real Klan-friendly," he told me. "People would just pick up the phone book and randomly call people, asking them about joining the Klan or telling them about us. And they wouldn't hang up. I go down to the Apple Market there once a month or so and put up some literature on the community bulletin board. Most times when I go back, it's still there. Maybe people don't notice it."

"So how'd you decide to join up?" I asked.

"I used to live in San Antonio until five years ago, and we just had all these wetbacks moving in. And I couldn't get a parking spot on my own street, they'd bring so many of them to live with them," he said. "Then one day, I saw chickens in one of their yards. I think there was even a fucking goose. That was it for me."

"Wow, a goose?" I marveled that someone would join a hate group based on a lack of parking.

"A fucking goose. I couldn't take it anymore. So I joined up. My wife wasn't too happy about it. I'm divorced now. But then she'd tell me to take my Knights diploma down because I kept that up on the bedroom wall. And I have a bloodstained Confederate flag wallpaper on my computer, and she'd get nervous her parents would see that when they came to visit."

Turk worked occasionally as a substitute teacher. He planned to get a teaching degree and work in education full time. But his day job was in customer service at a drug company in downtown Kansas City.

"You mention starting a Klavern, and people think you're driving around in a costume with a rope hanging out the back of your truck," he said. "It's such hypocrisy. Why can't I celebrate my racial heritage?"

As enthusiastic as Turk was about putting a Klavern together, he'd never managed to recruit the three other guys needed. It seemed that most Klan activity was taking place online among people who had never met.

Later that week, Turk started a group on Yahoo.com for local Klansmen, and he named me moderator. I started getting e-mails from people with screen identities such as "kneegrowslayer" and "pure_race_ blood_warrior." They pleaded to me for membership so they could help "save our white race." When one sent me a particularly sinister request, I sent a message back, half-hopeful, half-petrified, fishing for details of unsolved hate crimes to forward to the police. None responded. The few members who bothered to post mostly linked to news stories about migrant workers and wrote warnings of an impending Hispanic takeover of the economy. After the initial ghoulish fascination, I generally ignored the site.

Turk and I talked for almost two hours before I excused myself. At the end of the meal, he picked up the check. In April, another flier appeared in the Pitch, again in Olathe. This one was for the National Socialist Movement, and it listed a post-office box at the end. Using my Klan ID, I sent a letter the day after it appeared. A week later, I got a reply.

Racial Greetings from the NSMKC,

The NSM works with many different Klan groups. The "knights party" happens to be one of the more prominent ones. You were wise to choose them, they are some of the best, one of the biggest, and one of the oldest surviving Klan factions that can legitimately trace their roots back to the original KKK. I particularly work with them a lot. I can tell you much more that might surprise you so give me a call and I look forward to working with you. 88!

In Christian Bonds,

KC Unit Leader — Adrian Trentadue

There was a phone number at the bottom of the letter with a 913 area code. I called that night.

"This is Bobby from the KKK," I said. "I just got your letter."

"Hey, good to hear from you! Give me one second. I'm just taking care of my kids." I heard some fumbling in the background and Trentadue's voice, firm but not exasperated. Then he was back. "So how'd you find me, anyway?"

I explained that I'd seen his flier in the Pitch.

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