Tommy Howell first read the secretive bylaws of the Society of Germanic Americans on his sixteenth birthday. Only one copy remained in the family’s possession. It was the copy that belonged to Tommy’s grandfather, Avery Howell, founder of the Society. Tommy was now the third generation of Howell’s to inherit the family constitution of hatred and bigotry. He could recite each dictum of the bylaws by memory, and governed the new version of the Society according to the same rules as his grandfather.
Just as in the past, the Society offered no mirage of democratic governance. There was a leader and a handful of close advisors who carefully scripted the agenda for each meeting. There were also a carefully selected group of men recruited to serve as Tommy’s private security team. They were a menacing group, capable of violence and fiercely loyal to the cause. Rank and file members were allowed to voice their opinions, so long as they were in lockstep with the message of the leadership. On occasion, an overly enthusiastic member would call for a more radical approach. The leadership appreciated such zealousness. But anyone who strayed from Tommy’s methodology was urged by his henchman to reconsider their objections. Their threatening presence was quite convincing, and often elicited an expedited apology.
It had been two weeks since the last Society meeting at Howell’s Social Club. On this night, a large attendance was expected. Rhetoric for the upcoming elections was heating up, and Tommy’s adherents were inspired by the onslaught of anti-Semitic incidents spreading across the country. Flyers accusing Jews of every crime imaginable blanketed suburban Jewish communities in New Jersey. A group of religious Jews were brutally attacked in the nation’s capital. Neo Nazis hung banners on highway overpasses in Los Angeles. And still, the Society of Germanic Americans sat silently. The patience of the members was growing thin. Tommy Howell knew it. That is why he’d promised at the last meeting two weeks before that big news was coming. As the clock drew nearer to 8 p.m., Howell’s Social Club brimmed with members. It appeared that attendance would reach into the hundreds, a number not seen since the glory days of the mid-1930s.
By the time Tommy ascended the stage adjacent to the bar, the bartender worried whether he had enough beer to last for the night. The crowd was well lubed and eager with anticipation. When the bar manager saw Tommy ascending the stage, he reached towards the stereo system and slowly turned down the volume of the music. The song “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses was playing. The manager, a member of Tommy’s inner circle, thought to himself how fitting that song would be once this crowd heard what Tommy had to say.
When the music ceased, everyone’s gaze focused intently on Tommy. He was an imposing figure. Six feet tall and slender. A blond crew cut that matched the style of his father, and his father before him. He wore black jeans and a black T-shirt, and rarely smiled. As he got ready to speak, no one uttered a sound.
“Gentleman, my grandfather founded this society for one reason. Almost a hundred years ago, when everyone around here was worried about the Negro problem, my grandfather knew the real problem was more than a matter of skin color. He did not fear the Negro. He knew there was enough hatred of them by white Christians to last a millennium. My grandfather had one fear. It was the fear of a race that controlled all the other inferior races. It was the fear of a race that sought to exploit the subhuman minorities to overthrow our kind. He knew that they had done it in Europe for years. He knew that Germany was in a struggle for its life against these manipulative bottom-feeding financiers and subversives. And he knew that the same thing could happen here. And you know what, he was right!”
As Tommy continued, the crowd became more and more focused on his every move. His henchman lined the walls, insuring that no interruption would disturb his rhythm. Each member stood at attention, waiting eagerly for an order to be issued.
“America was forced into World War II to save Europe’s Jews. And what did we get out of that? Our best and brightest slaughtered around the globe. And why? Because we allowed our government to become beholden to Jewish bankers and businessmen. We let our newspapers become overrun over by Jewish communists, and we still haven’t learned our lesson. How much longer are we going to let our country be dictated by their desires? How much longer will we watch them get rich and take power in our country? This time there will be no world war to stop us. The time has come to put an end to Jewish power. I know what you are seeing across the country. I am not surprised that others feel the way we do. I am glad they are getting the message out there. But we will now take things to the next level. If the Jews don’t want to leave our country, we will have to offer them more encouragement.”
Howell stopped speaking for a moment, and many in the crowd wondered if it was now permissible to cheer. Those who looked towards the henchman saw that the time for that was not yet ripe. Their stern expressions indicated that Howell was not finished and would not tolerate interruptions. For several more minutes, he railed against America’s Jewish community, making sure to hit on every age-old stereotype he could muster. He knew he could not reveal the details of his final plan. He told the crowd that. But as he drew to a close, he made them one promise.
“Gentleman, plans are in place to advance our agenda. This I can promise you. Very soon you will see the Israelites among us suffer a blow the likes of which they have never seen in this country. And when you see it, you will know that the Society of Germanic Americans has spoken.”
With that promise, not even Howell’s henchman could restrain the jubilation of the crowd. Cheers filled the hall, beers were held high, and the bar manager once again started up the music. The same song blared one more time. Welcome to the Jungle….