Chapter Fifteen

Dr. Locke and his Imperial Kouncil unanimously endorsed Devin’s plan. Although August 23 was still three weeks away, the Kouncil members were bragging among themselves that the cross burning would be Colorado’s most-talkedabout event of 1925. They predicted The Denver Post and Rocky Mountain News headlines would read, “Largest KKK Rally in State’s History.”

Klaverns from the entire western territory, including Wyoming, Nebraska, Utah, and Kansas, would convene on top of Ruby Hill in South Denver.

The Kolorado KKK Ladies Auxiliary also wanted the occasion to be a success. It would help draw attention to their efforts to shut down bootleggers and speakeasies, and perhaps gain them hundreds—hopefully, thousands—of new members.

The initial write-up on December 8, 1924, Page C3 of The Denver Post had been very helpful. Since then the auxiliary was the subject of various feature articles. The directors of the organization were Meta L. Gremmels, Dr. Ester B. Hunt, and Laurena H. Setzer, all of Denver.

Objectives of the organization include the procurement and enforcement of just and equitable laws, upholding the Constitution of the United States and state of Colorado, teaching respect for laws and law-enforcing authorities, furtherance of American principles, ideals, and institutions, and relief work to alleviate suffering and distress.

Only white women of American birth, 18 years old or older, were eligible for membership.

At Devin’s insistence, Margaret reluctantly accepted a leadership role in the auxiliary. With both of them wielding influence in the Klan, Devin reasoned his overall power in the organization would be solidified.

This afternoon’s auxiliary luncheon was being held in the basement of one of Denver’s most prominent Protestant churches. Other than the women in attendance wearing their Klan regalia, there was little to set them apart from a gathering of the Christian Women’s Benevolent Society.

The festive air in the hall was due in part to the women’s eager anticipation of the special presentation. Many were trying to outguess each other about what the program would entail, but the only clues centered on the church’s basement stage that now featured a ten-foot painted backdrop of a burning cross and a foot-pedal ax sharpener sitting downstage right.

Each table for the luncheon seated four, and was covered with a white linen tablecloth, and adorned with a slender, cut-glass vase with two yellow roses.

Extra tables were set up to accommodate the overflow caused by the guests of guests, while the girls’ auxiliary served those already seated. Margaret’s homemade angel food cake on crystal dessert plates and strawberry ice cream in matching crystal bowls were placed at each seating, along with crystal goblets filled with the pastor’s wife’s famous sassafras iced tea.

Backstage, Margaret was listening for just the right moment to make her entrance. She wanted the audience to be completely caught off-guard.

She waited until the women’s chatter reached a peak, and then ordered the hall’s lights turned off.

Just as she expected, with the sudden darkness came the clinking of forks and spoons being set down on plates, and a nervous murmuring throughout the audience.

Then a spotlight beamed onto the ax sharpener, which brought a sudden hush.

The mood in the hall shifted sharply from gaiety to wonderment. A few of the women even felt a rush of panic before Margaret finally emerged from backstage. She was gowned in a floor-length red satin Klan robe and carried a long-handled ax. She strode into the circle of light and held the ax high over her head for all to see.

The finely sharpened blade of the ax glinted in the light. The women were awed.

“Sisters,” Margaret called out to them. “I say, sisters, the time has come!”

She received only scattered applause.

As her eyes began to adjust to looking out into the darkened hall, she began to distinguish the various faces.

She turned toward a table of women who seemed eager to hear her message, and continued. “The enemy, the dark and evil scourge, lurks within … within our neighborhoods, within families, indeed, within some of our very own cupboards. Still, we must not surrender.”

This time, the entire audience clapped, albeit timidly and politely. She went on, determined to win their minds, and hopefully, their hearts. “We can, we will, we must, and we will fight back.”

Someone, from the rear of the hall, stood and echoed Margaret’s plea. “Yes! We can, we will, we must, and we will fight back.”

Margaret felt encouraged, and repeated the call to action, “We can, we will, we must, and we will fight back. We can, we will, we must, fight back.”

This time a few others joined in. As they chanted, she paced the length of the stage back and forth, all the while holding the ax high for all to see. Again, she chanted, “We can, we will, we must, and we will fight back. We can, we will, we must, and we will fight back. We can, we will …”

A woman at a table near the front of the stage stood and waving her linen napkin joined in, “We must fight back.” One by one, others stood too, each adding her voice to the slogan, “We can, we will, and we must fight back.” Before long, all of the audience was standing and joined in shouting, “We can, we will, and we must fight back.”

Margaret lowered her arms, bringing the ax waist-high and continued to pace as the women continued to chant. After several minutes two of the oldest girls from the girls auxiliary entered from each side of the stage and bid the women to sit again.

Margaret waited for the audience members to regain their composure and sat down at the ax sharpener.

One woman leaped to her feet again and cried out, “Yes! Yes!” as Margaret placed the blade of the ax against the sharpener’s flint wheel.

At first the sharpener’s pedal resisted the pressure she applied with her feet, but little by little the pedal did begin to move; up a few inches and down a few inches, moving the belt positioned around the wheel of the sharpener a few inches.

Then Margaret applied all of her might to the pedal and it began to move rapidly and completely up and down. She could feel the women’s admiration for her increasing.

All at once, she thrust the ax so firmly against the fast spinning flint wheel that sparks flew from the ax as it was sharpened.

Some women seated near the stage squealed in alarm, but Margaret only worked the wheel more. It took several minutes, but the panicked women eventually saw they weren’t in danger. Everyone was fascinated to see what would happen next.

In measured succession, three more spotlights beamed down across the stage and revealed a family kitchen, a saloon bar and stools, and a cemetery headstone.

Margaret continued sharpening the ax, and sparks continued to fly.

A woman in an apron entered from backstage right and started setting the table in the kitchen scene, while the lights over the other two sets and Margaret, dimmed.

Moments later, a girl dressed as a seven-year-old boy, holding a toy truck, and a girl looking a year or so younger, carrying a baby doll, ran into the scene to the woman’s side.

“Mama, mama,” they almost sang, “Daddy’s home.”

A tall, blond, strong-jawed man in a suit entered right behind them.

The most astute members of the audience giggled, realizing that the man was really a woman in the guise of a man.

“Good evening, dearest,” the male character offered in an unlikely tenor voice and kissed the mother on her cheek. “Something smells awfully delicious.”

“Dinner will be ready any minute,” she said on her way to the stove. “It’s your favorite, beef stew.”

“Great,” the husband said, “I’ll just have a shot of bourbon and relax until then.”

The man went to the cupboard, took down a crystal decanter and a small glass, and sat down at the table.

The children sat down on the floor in front of him and played with their toys.

He filled the glass and belted the drink back and immediately poured another glass full of the whiskey, quickly downing it too. In a short while, the bottle was nearly empty. He started to pour another drink, but instead drank straight from the bottle. He hiccupped and spilled the rest of the whiskey down the front of himself.

After tilting the bottle to determine that it was truly empty, he got up, stepped clumsily over the children, and went to the cupboard for another bottle of whiskey … this one hidden in a sugar canister.

“Children, supper,” the mother called as she placed a bowl of stew at each of the four place settings.

The children and mother took their seats at the table, waiting as their father stumbled back to his chair.

He slammed the new bottle down on the dinner table, causing the children to be scared.

“Will you say grace, dear?” the mother asked.

Father’s head bobbed up and down, up and down again, then settled at an angle. “Why sure,” he slurred.

They clasped hands and bowed their heads, and the son and mother tried reaching for the father’s hands, but to no avail.

Father’s head was bobbing again as mother and the children waited for the prayer to begin. Mother and the children, peeked up at him just as his face plopped down in his bowl of stew, splattering the table with juice. Then he was out cold.

The spotlight over the family darkened, and before the audience could fully react, the spotlight over the saloon scene came up. Downstage right, still in the dimmed light, Margaret reapplied the ax to the sharpener and created more sparks.

Two women outfitted in bustiers and bloomers with feather boas around their necks entered the saloon scene.

One woman, the grownup little girl from the first scene, went over to the Victrola, cranked up the volume, and put on a scratchy jazz record, while the other woman went behind the bar and brought out a liquor bottle and two highball glasses.

The woman at the Victrola put her hands on her hips and began gyrating to the music. The other woman poured a drink and handed it to the woman dancing and then poured herself a drink.

Another woman dressed as a man entered the saloon and took off an overcoat and hat and hung them on a brass tree.

“Evening, ladies. How’s tricks?”

The dancing woman slinked her way over to him and pulled her feather boa across his chest.

“Just fine, ducky, now that you’re here.”

The woman at the bar pushed up her bustier, then held out her glass to him, and asked, “What about me?”

“What about you?” he said, took the drink, swilled it down, and held the glass out for a refill. His attention was on the dancer. He went over to her, grabbed her arm, turned her toward himself, and then forced her up a flight of stairs. The music suddenly went silent as the light over the scene dimmed.

For a moment, all that was visible were the sparks flying from the ax Margaret continued to sharpen.

The last spotlight went up, highlighting a headstone and cemetery with snow-soap powder falling.

The mother and father, now old, and the boy, now grown, from the first scene, all shabbily dressed and shaking from the cold, entered the scene huddled together.

The mother fell across the headstone and cried out, “Oh my child, my baby, by precious little girl. It was the demon rum that did this to her.”

She brought out a whiskey bottle from under her shawl and took a long swallow from it before handing it to her husband, who also took a gulp from it, and then handed it to the young man.

“Here’s to ya, sis,” the young man said, holding the bottle up high before sprinkling a few drops from the bottle on the grave, then downing the rest of the alcohol himself.

The light over that scene darkened and the light brightened over Margaret.

Most everyone in the audience reached for their handkerchiefs, dabbing away tears. Sniffles and delicate sobs could be heard throughout the room.

When the middle spotlight went up again, the saloon scene had been cleared away, and in its place was a stack of large wooden barrels, three on the bottom, two in the middle, and one on top. Each barrel was clearly labeled “whiskey.”

Margaret rose from the sharpener, went to the spotlight and stood next to the barrels.

The women in the audience sucked in their collective breath as Margaret again raised the ax high over her head.

The actors from the scenes came from backstage and stood beside her. Altogether Margaret and the actors chanted, “We can, we will, and we must fight back.”

Alone, Margaret asked of the audience, “Sisters, are you with us?”

At first the audience sat stunned, mute, but finally, someone replied strongly, “Yes! Yes, sister, we’re with you, for we can, we will, we must, fight back.”

Table after table, all the others in the audience stood as well, saying, over and over, “Yes, sister! We’re with you, for we can, we will, we must, fight back. Yes, sister! We’re with

you, for we can, we will, and we must fight back.”

Within minutes, all of the women were standing, some even on their chairs, clapping and stomping. “Yes, sister, we’re with you, for we can, we will, we must, fight back.”

Margaret held the ax still higher, then waited for the others on the stage with her to back safely out of the way.

Once they were a few good feet away, she swung the ax down into the front of one of the middle barrels.

A stream of whiskey-colored liquid spouted from the gash in the barrel. Members of the audience began to urge her to do more damage to the barrel. She raised the ax again and asked yet again, “Sisters are you with me?”

The Klan sisters, replied in earnest “We must fight. We must fight. We must fight.”

Margaret brought the ax down into another of the barrels, but had to swing several more times before it too released a stream of the dark liquid.

The women were behaving like boxing fans cheering a knockout. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” they demanded.

The liquid from the two broken barrels flowed down to the lip of the stage and over. The auxiliary had declared war against bootleg liquor and prostitution. Every woman in the room had enlisted.