[Peace-discuss] why i quit the klan

[Ricky Baldwin]

[If you've never read this, I highly recommend it.  It
is of course, only one story, but I think a compelling
and particularly valuable one.  (And there's more on
this guy if you're willing to dig.  Fascinating
story.)  It opened my eyes to a lot of possibilities
once upon a time.  See what you think...     -Ricky]

“Why I Quit the Klan” — An Interview with C.P. Ellis
by Studs Terkel

C.P. Ellis was born in 1927 and was 53-years-old at
the time of this interview with Studs Terkel. For
Terkel, America's foremost oral historian, this
remains the most memorable and moving of all the
interviews he's done in a career spanning more than
seven decades, for C.P. Ellis had once been the
Exalted Cyclops of the Ku Klux Klan in Durham, N.C.
During the interview, Terkel learned that Ellis had
been born extremely poor in Durham, North Carolina;
had struggled all his life to feed his family; had
felt shut out of American society and had joined the
Klan to feel like somebody. But later he got involved
in a local school issue and reluctantly, gradually,
began to work on a committee with a black activist
named Ann Atwater, whom he despised at the time.
Eventually, after many small epiphanies, he realized
that they shared a common concern for their children,
common goals as human beings. More surprising still,
Ellis became a union organizer for a janitor's union—a
long way from his personal philosophical roots. The
Ellis-Atwater story is best documented in The Best of
Enemies, a book by Osha Gray Davidson that tells of
the unlikely friendship that developed between Ann and
C.P. Ellis, when they first met in the 1960's.
Apparently, their commonalities as oppressed human
beings proved far stronger than the racial hatred that
initially divided them.

 All my life, I had work, never a day without work,
worked all the overtime I could get and still could
not survive financially. I began to see there's
something wrong with this country. I worked my butt
off and just never seemed to break even. I had some
real great ideas about this nation. They say to abide
by the law, go to church, do right and live for the
Lord, and everything'll work out. But it didn't work
out. It just kept getting worse and worse...

Tryin' to come out of that hole, I just couldn't do
it. I really began to get bitter. I didn't know who to
blame. I tried to find somebody. Hating America is
hard to do because you can't see it to hate it. You
gotta have somethin' to look at to hate. The natural
person for me to hate would be Black people, because
my father before me was a member of the Klan...

So I began to admire the Klan... To be part of
somethin'. ... The first night I went with the fellas
. . . I was led into a large meeting room, and this
was the time of my life! It was thrilling. Here's a
guy who's worked all his life and struggled all his
life to be something, and here's the moment to be
something. I will never forget it. Four robed Klansmen
led me into the hall. The lights were dim and the only
thing you could see was an illuminated cross... After
I had taken my oath, there was loud applause goin'
throughout the buildin', musta been at least 400
people. For this one little ol person. It was a
thrilling moment for C. P. Ellis...

The majority of [the Klansmen] are low-income Whites,
people who really don't have a part in something. They
have been shut out as well as Blacks. Some are not
very well educated either. Just like myself. We had a
lot of support from doctors and lawyers and police
officers.
Maybe they've had bitter experiences in this life and
they had to hate somebody. So the natural person to
hate would be the Black person. He's beginnin to come
up, he's beginnin' to . . . start votin' and run for
political office. Here are White people who are
supposed to be superior to them, and we're shut out...
Shut out. Deep down inside, we want to be part of this
great society. Nobody listens, so we join these
groups...

We would go to the city council meetings and the
Blacks would be there and we'd be there. It was a
confrontation every time... We began to make some
inroads with the city councilmen and county
commissioners. They began to call us friend. Call us
at night on the telephone: "C. P., glad you came to
that meeting last night." They didn't want integration
either, but they did it secretively, in order to get
elected. They couldn't stand up openly and say it, but
they were glad somebody was sayin it. We visited some
of the city leaders in their homes and talked to em
privately. It wasn't long before councilmen would call
me up: “The Blacks are comin up tonight and makin
outrageous demands. How about some of you people
showin up and have a little balance?”

We'd load up our cars and we'd fill up half the
council chambers, and the Blacks the other half.
During these times, I carried weapons to the meetings,
outside my belt. We'd go there armed. We would wind up
just hollerin' and fussin' at each other. What
happened? As a result of our fightin' one another, the
city council still had their way. They didn't want to
give up control to the Blacks nor the Klan. They were
usin' us.
I began to realize this later down the road. One day I
was walkin' downtown and a certain city council member
saw me comin. I expected him to shake my hand because
he was talkin' to me at night on the telephone. I had
been in his home and visited with him. He crossed the
street [to avoid me]... I began to think, somethin's
wrong here. Most of 'em are merchants or maybe an
attorney, an insurance agent, people like that. As
long as they kept low-income Whites and low-income
Blacks fightin', they're gonna maintain control. I
began to get that feelin' after I was ignored in
public. I thought: . . . you're not gonna use me any
more. That's when I began to do some real serious
thinkin'.
The same thing is happening in this country today.
People are being used by those in control, those who
have all the wealth. I'm not espousing communism. We
got the greatest system of government in the world.
But those who have it simply don't want those who
don't have it to have any part of it. Black and White.
When it comes to money, the green, the other colors
make no difference.

I spent a lot of sleepless nights. I still didn't like
Blacks. I didn't want to associate with them. Blacks,
Jews, or Catholics. My father said: "Don't have
anything to do with 'em." I didn't until I met a Black
person and talked with him, eyeball to eyeball, and
met a Jewish person and talked to him, eyeball to
eyeball. I found they're people just like me. They
cried, they cussed, they prayed, they had desires.
Just like myself. Thank God, I got to the point where
I can look past labels. But at that time, my mind was
closed.
I remember one Monday night Klan meeting. I said
something was wrong. Our city fathers were using us.
And I didn't like to be used. The reactions of the
others was not too pleasant: "Let's just keep fightin'
them niggers."

I'd go home at night and I'd have to wrestle with
myself. I'd look at a Black person walkin' down the
street, and the guy'd have ragged shoes or his clothes
would be worn. That began to do something to me
inside. I went through this for about six months. I
felt I just had to get out of the Klan. But I wouldn't
get out...
[Ellis was invited, as a Klansman, to join a committee
of people from all walks of life
to make recommendations on how to solve racial
problems in the school system. He very reluctantly
accepted. After a few stormy meetings, he was elected
co-chair of the committee, along with Ann Atwater, a
combative Black woman who for years had been leading
local efforts for civil rights.]

A Klansman and a militant Black woman, co-chairmen of
the school committee. It was impossible. How could I
work with her? But it was in our hands. We had to make
it a success. This gave me another sense of belongin',
a sense of pride. This helped the inferiority feeling
I had. A man who has stood up publicly and said he
despised Black people, all of a sudden he was willin'
to work with 'em. Here's a chance for a low-income
White man to be somethin. In spite of all my hatred
for Blacks and Jews and liberals, I accepted the job.
Her and I began to reluctantly work together. She had
as many problems workin with me as I had workin with
her.
One night, I called her: "Ann, you and I should have a
lot of differences and we got 'em now. But there's
somethin' laid out here before us, and if it's gonna
be a success, you and I are gonna have to make it one.
Can we lay aside some of these eelins? She said: "I'm
willing if you are." I said: "Let's do it."

My old friends would call me at night: "C. P., what
the hell is wrong with you? You're sellin' out the
White race." This begin' to make me have guilt
feelings. Am I doin' right? Am I doin' wrong? Here I
am all of a sudden makin' an about-face and tryin' to
deal with my feelings, my heart. My mind was beginnin'
to open up. I was beginnin' to see what was right and
what was wrong. I don't want the kids to fight
forever...

One day, Ann and I went back to the school and we sat
down. We began to talk and just reflect... I begin to
see, here we are, two people from the far ends of the
fence, havin' identical problems, except hers bein'
Black and me bein' White... The amazing thing about
it, her and I, up to that point, has cussed each
other, bawled each other, we hated each other. Up to
that point, we didn't know each other. We didn't know
we had things in common...

The whole world was openin' up, and I was learning new
truths that I had never learned before. I was
beginning to look at a Black person, shake hands with
him, and see him as a human bein'. I hadn't got rid of
all this stuff. I've still got a little bit of it. But
somethin' was happenin to me... I come to work one
morning and some guys says: "We need a union." At this
time I wasn't pro-union. My daddy was antilabor too.
We're not gettin' paid much, we're havin' to work
seven days in a row. We're all starvin' to death... I
didn't know nothin' about organizin' unions, but I
knew how to organize people, stir people up. That's
how I got to be business agent for the union.

When I began to organize, I began to see far deeper. I
begin to see people again bein' used. Blacks against
Whites... There are two things management wants to
keep: all the money and all the say-so. They don't
want none of these poor workin' folks to have none of
that. I begin to see management fightin' me with
everythin' they had. Hire antiunion law firms,
badmouth unions. The people were makin $1.95 an hour,
barely able to get through weekends...

It makes you feel good to go into a plant and ... see
Black people and White people join hands and defeat
the racist issues [union-busters] use against
people... I tell people there's a tremendous
possibility in this country to stop wars, the battles,
the struggles, the fights between people. People say:
"That's an impossible dream. You sound like Martin
Luther King." An ex-Klansman who sounds like Martin
Luther King. I don't think it's an impossible dream.
It's happened in my life. It's happened in other
people's lives in America...

When the news came over the radio that Martin Luther
King was assassinated, I got on the telephone and
begin to call other Klansmen... We just had a real
party... Really rejoicin' 'cause the son of a bitch
was dead. Our troubles are over with. They say the
older you get, the harder it is for you to change.
That's not necessarily true. Since I changed, I've set
down and listened to tapes of Martin Luther King. I
listen to it and tears come to my eyes cause I know
what he's sayin now. I know what's happenin'.

Copyright © 1980 by Studs Terkel. Reprinted with
permission from Studs Terkel, American Dreams: Lost
and Found (New York: Pantheon Books, Random House,
Inc., 1980). Cyrano receives no pecuniary benefit from
this link to Amazon.com. It is provided as a
convenience to our readers, and to help the sale of
this title.



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