Subjected to the light of day, Sarah Palin doesn't look like a maverick at all.
Exposing a construction-site scam only a San Francisco cop could love.
Ronald Taylor is one of perhaps hundreds of innocent people Harris County has put in prison.
Sloppy U.S. government paperwork is putting the lives of asylum seekers at risk.
"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.
"The whole paper's run by gays," he said.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I love screwing with them," he said. "Hey, I got to run. I've got my kids here, and my wife works third shift. Is this a number I can call you at?"
I told him it was.
"All right, man. Maybe we can get together sometime," he said. I was surprised by how friendly he was, considering that he hadn't asked anything about me.
"I think I can tell you a lot of stuff that's going to surprise you," he said. "It was good talking to you. I'll call you soon. White power!"
I was at a loss about what to say in response. I thought about my lunch with Turk at Chili's. I wondered what the hostess thought when I kept asking to be moved away from the minorities. Before I'd even met my first Klan member, I'd begun noticing race more than I ever had. Would I get used to reciting Klan slogans in an effort to convince them that I was one of them? I wanted to keep some things taboo, at least in my own mind. But I needed to say something back.
Finally, I blurted, "Yeah, high towers!" Another month of phone calls passed: small talk with Trentadue and muttered noncommittal statements whenever he talked about the Hispanics overrunning Kansas. Eventually, he agreed to meet me at a Buffalo Wild Wings in Olathe.
