A brush with the Klan

ROBERT GARDNER

* EDITOR’S NOTE: The Daily Pilot has agreed to republish The Verdict,

the ever-popular column written for many years by retired Corona Del

Mar jurist and historian Robert Gardner, in exchange for donations to

the Surfrider Foundation. This column was originally published Feb.

26, 1994.

We are all aware of the birth, during the post-Civil War

Reconstruction era, of the Ku Klux Klan, a secret terrorist

organization with its goal of white supremacy coupled with its hatred

of blacks. We are also aware of its reemergence during the 1960s and

its resistance to the civil rights movement.

Not as well remembered is another resurgence of the organization,

this one during the 1920s. This was in some ways an even more

dangerous phase of the history of this organization. This time it

moved out of the South and became a nationwide movement, boasting a

membership of more than 1.5 million and becoming a serious political

threat in such Northern states as Indiana, Michigan, Oregon and even,

to a lesser extent, California.

This time it spread its wings of hate to include Jews and

Catholics in addition to blacks.

I had a brief exposure to the Klan during its 1920s era. I think I

was about 11 or 12 and living with my parents in Maywood, a

blue-collar town. We had no blacks and no Jews, but we did have

Catholics.

My best friend was Costin Bowman, who turned out to be Catholic,

although at the time I didn’t have the slightest idea of his

religious affiliation, nor did I care in the slightest.

All I knew was that all of a sudden a bunch of the bigger kids

began to pick on Costin because they said he was a “mackerel

snapper,” and on me because I was his friend. They began to push us

around on the school ground and even chased us down the street,

pelting us with rocks and clods of dirt.

I must admit I was pretty unhappy about what was happening. I was

equally baffled about the reason for all this peculiar behavior by a

bunch of big kids who had ignored us before.

Then one night a bunch of men came to our house. My parents and I

were in the front room following our usual evening practice -- they

were reading, and I was studying. We heard the sound of men in our

frontyard and went to the screen door.

My father turned on the porch light, peered out and said to my

mother, “The Klan.” My mother nodded. I just stood there, not having

the foggiest idea of what was going on. All I knew was that about 15

or 20 men were standing on our front lawn.

Then someone in the crowd yelled, “Frank Gardner, come out.”

My father opened the screen door and stepped out. “What do you

want?” he asked.

A man standing in the front row of the crowd said, “We’re here to

tell you to keep that son of yours from running around with that

Catholic Bowman kid anymore.”

My father paused a moment, then said, “Excuse me,” and came back

into the house.

He walked past my mother and I and went to his bedroom.

When he came back he was carrying a pistol, an old, long-barreled

.44 caliber, single action, black powder Colt revolver that he had

worn when he was a cowboy long before I was born. I guess he kept it

as a kind of keepsake.

When he came to the door my mother said, “Frank,” which meant,

“Don’t do anything rash.”

He said, “Kate,” which meant, “Don’t interfere,” and walked out on

the porch.

He lifted the gun so the barrel was pointing up toward the sky. I

saw his thumb pull the hammer back to cock the gun. It made a click

that was one of the loudest noises I have ever heard. The crowd

became very quiet.

Then my father said, very quietly: “I am going to count to three.

When I get to three, I am going to kill any son of a bitch standing

on my property.” He paused a second, then said, again, very quietly,

“One.”

He never even got to two. Those men took off like a pack of

scalded dogs. My father uncocked the gun, walked back to his bedroom,

came out without the gun and he and my mother resumed their reading

while I continued my studying.

Nothing was ever said, in my presence at least, about the

incident. However, the big kids stopped picking on Costin and me.

I don’t know how powerful a political influence the Klan had

become in Maywood but I guess not much because a couple of years

later, my father was elected mayor of the town.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a resident of Corona del Mar and a longtime

observer of life in Newport Beach.