History is an inherently collaborative yet often solitary enterprise, and during this endeavor from manuscript to book, many people, knowing and unknowing, enriched my scholarship with their kind thoughts, words, and actions. During the years of reading Klan print culture, I have been fortunate enough to discuss my tentative hypotheses, wild speculations, and historiography with people who supported my project yet had no desire to have Klan voices echoing in their heads as they do in mine. The many discussions, arguments, and conversations have made this work deeper and more nuanced than it might have been on its own.
Since this project is rooted in textual communities and print culture, I have come to appreciate the impact of reading, text, and words on my historical actors, as well as on myself as a scholar. Reading is never just a one-way transmission of knowledge but, rather, can open up the worldview of another. Reading conveyed the hopes and trepidations of my historical subjects, and I wish that my writing conveyed their printed experiences in terms that they might have recognized. Some might find that desire distasteful because of the subject matter, but my commitment, throughout this process, has been to read with my sources and to let their voices, if you will, guide my research. Not surprisingly, the Klan and I did not agree, but reading, hearing, and engaging their words are as important as engaging the words and thoughts of those we admire. Reading Klansmen’s speeches, letters, and news magazines does not make me supportive of their cause but, rather, allows me to see how they are human in spite of their intolerance. This project has altered my vision of the world in which we live now, and I appreciate the support and candor of friends, relatives, and colleagues throughout various stages of my project.
Archivists and librarians plunged deep into Klan materials to help me uncover pages upon pages of printed sources. I owe many thanks to Sharon Sumpter, Kevin Cawley, and Elizabeth Hogan at the University of Notre Dame Archives, especially Sharon, who kept finding more and more materials that she thought were essential. She was right. I also appreciate the skill and expertise of Christa Hosmer, Florida State Archives; Susan Sutton and Eric Mundell, Indiana Historical Society; and Mary Linneman and Mary Ellen Brooks, the University of Georgia Archives. I cannot express enough gratitude for Bethany Fiechter and John Straw at Ball State University Archives, who not only rounded up archival materials but also gave me permission to use most of the stunning images of Klansmen and Klanswomen in this book. Additionally, I am not sure who is responsible, but the forward-thinking library staff at Florida State University purchased the microfilm of the Imperial Night-Hawk, The Kourier, and The Dawn. What started as a small project became a much larger one because of the microfilmed print.
Through grants from Florida State University and the Cushwa Center for the Study of American Catholicism at Notre Dame, I was able to spend more time in the archives. The staff in Graduate Studies at Florida State University and Tim Matovina and Paula Brach at Cushwa all provided financial and bureaucratic help.
The work of Michael Barkun, Kathleen Blee, and David Chidester deeply influenced this book from its earliest moments, and though I have not discussed this work with them personally, I find their scholarship influential in my approach to unloved groups. Without their respective works on Christian identity and the conspiratorial mind, the Klan, and Jonestown, this work would not be as sensitive to the ethics of historical and ethnographic practice, the importance of empathy, and the problem of studying those we find bizarre or unsettling.
At conferences and seminars, particularly the Southeast Commission for the Study of Religion (SECSOR), the American Academy of Religion, and the American Studies Association, others commented on my work or gave it direction, including David Morgan, Edward Ingebretsen, Kathy Peiss, and Tim Matovina. At Winterthur’s Material Culture Symposium for Emerging Scholars (2005), the feedback of participants and respondents enhanced my approach to Klan artifacts. I am particularly thankful to Kathy Cummings and the Cushwa Center for the Study of American Catholicism. In 2009, Cushwa sponsored me in the American Catholic Studies seminar. The discussions from the seminar participants were quite helpful as I revised. In addition to the seminar, Mark Noll and Scott Appleby assigned a working copy of my manuscript to their graduate seminar. Mark, Scott, and their students helped me rethink not only why the Klan-Notre Dame Riot of 1924 was so important but also what is at stake in the official portrait of the Klan.
My work on Gospel According to the Klan spanned four institutions: Florida State University, the University of New Mexico, Central New Mexico Community College, and the University of Tennessee. Faculty and students at each institution improved my thinking and my work. The Department of Religion at Florida State University provided a warm, encouraging environment for my studies, especially David Kangas, Bryan Cuevas, John Kelsay, and Martin Kavka, who monitored the research and progress of this wayward Americanist. The colloquium in American Religious History provided a venue to present, discuss, and critique my project in its earliest stages. Amanda Porterfield, Amy Koehlinger, Robin Simon, and Neil Jumonville have all made this project possible with their thoughtful reflections. Amanda once asked me what American religious history would “look” like from the Klan’s perspective, and I hope this book answers her question. In particular, Amy challenged me to think about what it really means to apply ethnographic methods to historical case studies. My book would not be the same without her continual insistence that I think about my position as a scholar to my sources/conversants. John Corrigan poked, prodded, and occasionally pushed me to explore larger themes and tackle historiographical themes that I would have rather avoided. His mentoring has made this book bolder than it might have been otherwise.
At the University of New Mexico, I am especially grateful to Richard Wood, Sharon Nepstad, Lisa Gerber, and Nancy Rice in the Department of Religion. At Central New Mexico, my colleagues Haava Houshmand, Jerry Sherman, and Zac Shank offered support. I have found a more permanent home at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville, and our faculty from many different disciplines welcomed my research, teaching, and writing. Rosalind Hackett is a wonderful department head and resource; Karen Windham is an office manager extraordinaire; and our faculty, Ayman Shabana, Gilya Schmiedt, Rachelle Scott, Tina Shepardson, Robert Goodding, Randal Hepner, John Hodges, and Mark Hulsether critiqued and bettered my work in our department seminar. Mark deserves special thanks for helping me with historiographies of religion and politics, the Religious Right, and American conservatism. My students at all of these institutions graciously read early drafts of chapters, and I am especially thankful to students in my Religious Intolerance classes (Spring 2009 and Spring 2010) at both the University of New Mexico and the University of Tennessee, especially Sarah Nezzer, Lisa Wham, David Williams, Katie Shires, Greg Zinneman, Victoria Coates, and Liz Cantrell.
Paul Harvey shares the distinction with Amy Koehlinger of making me a better historian. His comments on my manuscript made my book stronger historiographically, and he encouraged me to practice what I preach in methods. His insights make this a better book, and I am forever grateful. Sylvester Johnson also deserves accolade because he made me think more clearly about what is at stake in my work. He pushed me to be bolder in my analysis, and this book is bolder and more meaningful because of him. Lynn Neal, Katie Lofton, and Phil Sinitiere have all commented on pieces of my manuscript, and they have helped me make it better. In addition, the readers and contributors of the Religion in the U.S. blog tolerated and supported my interest in the Klan.
My anonymous reviewers at Kansas also made me consider how best to present my argument and strengthen my claims. Thank you. Working with the University Press of Kansas has been better than I could have imagined. My initial editor, Kalyanni Fernado, believed in this project when I did not, and for that I am forever grateful. My new editor, Ranjit Arab, has continued the enthusiastic support, as have the CultureAmerica series editors, Phil Deloria and Erika Doss, and the editorial board. In addition, the tireless efforts of Susan Schott, Jennifer Dropkin, and Kelly Chrisman Jacques produced a much better book.
Mike Pasquier, Howell Williams, Michael Gueno, Art Remillard, and Joseph Williams are excellent friends as well as thoughtful critics. Mike deserves special accolade as my go-to conversation partner, and our conversations improved this project from its inception to its publication. I thank them for their conversations, humor, and concern. Other friends, including Kristen Pasquier, Hope Nelson, Mike Pope, Heidi Thornquist, Denis Rizdal, Bryan and Susan Adams, Kate and Tom Evans, Peg Doherty, Bill Phelan, Gail Dixon, Beth Golding, and Kay Casey, monitored my progress and offered kind words. Finally, my family supported me from the beginning, including Dot Taylor, the Harrisons, the Smiths, the Taylors, Marie Raines, many other Raines families, and the Basfords. Eddie Taylor and Robert Raines, both loving grandfathers, did not get to see the finished book, but their love made all of this possible. The Baker, Gerzina, and Williams families tolerated my dinner table discussions of research, which makes for lively conversation. Frank and Lynn Baker are excellent in-laws. In particular, Debbie Cook, Cary Barfield, Ashley Raines, and Stephanie and Jerry Basford have all endured my research with good grace and helpful encouragement. Ashley and Stephanie are enduring sisters who listen, support, and provide much-needed humor and balance. Hannah, Belle, and Zan, my furry distractions, provided comfort, solace, and occasional breaks. Writing would not be the same without all three at my feet or draped on my lap. My daughter, Kara, born during the transition from manuscript to book, has not proved particularly helpful to the writing, but I find myself more grounded in my approaches because of her. Her “distractions” are precious and useful, and I cannot wait for her to understand that she makes me not only a better person but also a better scholar.
My partner and favorite critic, Chris Baker, has shouldered this all. His humor, his copyediting, our discussions, and his unfailing belief in my ability assisted me in becoming a better scholar. Without him, this project would lack not only depth, finesse, and polish but also humor. He refuses to allow me to take my work or myself too seriously, and he continually prods with questions about why I research what I do and how that is significant. Our partnership sustained and improved this book because of his love, kindness, and wit. Chris, I thank you for never allowing me to doubt myself or quit.
My parents, Steve and Dottie Raines, encouraged me to pursue my dreams, but I do not think they ever imagined a published book. But their commitment stands. My father’s pride is palpable and genuine, and my mother molded my approach to scholarship more than she might imagine. Because of her, I am satisfied not with just writing history but with re-creating the world and visions of others with empathy and compassion. Her ceaseless drive to make me a better person has made me a better scholar. To understand another—her most important lesson—has become possibly the most important way I understand myself as a person and a scholar. Mom, I can never say thank you enough.
I dedicate this book to my mom because without her support, it would not have been possible. Any faults remaining are all my own.