Chapter One
Rascal
The resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan in 1920s was a phenomenonnobody has fully explained. Suddenly Midwestern towns found themselvesin the grip of this secret order, which aimed to eliminate Negroesand Jews from society. For towns like Broken Bow, Nebraska, which onlyhad two Negro families and one Jew, the targets were the Catholics.Klansmen whispered that the pope was preparing a takeover of America,the church basements were arsenals, and priests and nuns had orgiesafter mass. Now that World War I was over and the Huns had beendefeated, there was a new focus for men who needed somebody to hate.The astonishing thing was the number of such people.
In Broken Bow and Custer County, scores were lured by the mystiqueof the secret, masculine society that appealed to the "Us vs. Them" urgethat seems universal among men. Two of the people who held out againstthem were the local bankers: John Ri
Chapter One
Rascal
The resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan in 1920s was a phenomenonnobody has fully explained. Suddenly Midwestern towns found themselvesin the grip of this secret order, which aimed to eliminate Negroesand Jews from society. For towns like Broken Bow, Nebraska, which onlyhad two Negro families and one Jew, the targets were the Catholics.Klansmen whispered that the pope was preparing a takeover of America,the church basements were arsenals, and priests and nuns had orgiesafter mass. Now that World War I was over and the Huns had beendefeated, there was a new focus for men who needed somebody to hate.The astonishing thing was the number of such people.
In Broken Bow and Custer County, scores were lured by the mystiqueof the secret, masculine society that appealed to the "Us vs. Them" urgethat seems universal among men. Two of the people who held out againstthem were the local bankers: John Richardson and my father, Y. B. Huffman.When a Klan phone call warned them to boycott the Catholics, theydefied it. Inasmuch as both banks resisted, that Klan effort was frustrated,but my mother, Martha, paid for it when the school board election camearound. She was decisively defeated by slanderous gossip that she wascarrying on an affair with the leading druggist.
Came the time for the annual parade of the Ku Klux Klan around thetown square. They always chose a summer Saturday when the town wascrowded with ranchers and farmers. Clad in white robes and conical capsand masks with eyeholes, they strode forth to remind the citizenry oftheir dignity and their power, led by the powerful but anonymous figureof the grand kleagle. The curb was lined with people speculating aboutthe marchers and whispering about their mysterious powers.
Then there came bounding out of an alley a small white dog with blackspots. Now, just as the folks in Broken Bow knew everybody in town, theyalso knew the dogs, at least the prominent ones. Our German shepherd,Hidda, and Art Melville's retriever were famous personages.
The spotted dog ran joyously up to the grand kleagle and jumped up onhim, clamoring for a pat on the head from that beloved hand. "Rascal,"the word started around. "That's Doc Jensen's dog, Rascal." Meanwhile,the majestic grand kleagle was thrashing his long legs through the robetrying to kick away what was obviously his own dog. "Home, Rascal,home!"
Now the word was running along the curb ahead of the procession.People weren't whispering, they were talking out loud to show howknowledgeable they were. Elbows nudged fellow watchers, snickersmoved along the lines like rustling leaves before an errant gust of wind.Then Doc Jensen's boy appeared and called off the dog. "Here Rascal!Here Rascal!"
That broke the tension. Somebody took up the cry, "Here Rascal!"That was when the snickers turned into guffaws, and a great gale of laughterswept around the town square. Doc Jensen stopped kicking his dogand resumed his stately march, but the spectators were having none ofthat. "Here Rascal! Here Rascal!"
So that was the last of the Ku Klux Klan in Broken Bow. Doc Jensenwas a fair-to-middling large-animal vet and kept a good practice amongthe ranchers and the farmers. Maybe they enjoyed calling him for theconversational value with their neighbors, but few teased him. Once in awhile some smart-ass kid would see Doc Jensen driving by and holler,"Here Rascal!"
And the small white dog with black spots was kept close to home afterthat.
YALE HUFFMAN
Denver, Colorado
Continues...
Excerpted from I Thought My Father Was Godby Paul Auster Copyright © 2001 by Paul Auster. Excerpted by permission.
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