Consumed by Hate, Redeemed by Love

by Thomas A. Tarrants

  Through reading books and papers, attending meetings, listening to recordings, and talking with others, my beliefs became ever more extreme, fueling anger toward perceived enemies of America and white Christian civilization. In my mind, America’s enemies were evil, and it did not take long for my anger to grow into hatred, not just for specific individuals but for entire groups and races—Communists, Jews, and blacks. This stereotyping and demonizing made it possible to indiscriminately hate the “enemy.” The combination of extreme political beliefs undergirded by a religious justification created the sense of a “holy cause.” God was on our side. Therefore, he could not possibly be on the other side. Any means necessary were justified to achieve God’s purposes. If it cost our lives, that would not be loss but gain, since we would go on to God’s reward for our heroic service.

  I had become what American philosopher Eric Hoffer called a “true believer.”3 Ironically, the intensity of my commitment is captured in the words of a young Communist:

  There is one thing about which I am completely in earnest—the Communist cause. It is my life, my business, my religion, my hobby, my sweetheart, my wife, my mistress, my meat and drink. I work at it by day and dream of it by night. Its control over me grows greater with the passage of time. Therefore I cannot have a friend, a lover or even a conversation without relating them to this power that animates and controls my life. I measure people, books, ideas and deeds according to the way they affect the Communist cause and by their attitude to it. I have already been in jail for my ideas, and if need be, I am ready to face death.4

  This man’s all-consuming dedication to Communism, which I hated, mirrored my own all-consuming devotion to the Far Right. I had begun with a kind of grassroots conservatism, then left it behind as I moved steadily toward the farthest point to the right on the political spectrum. That point was a small, racist, neo-Nazi world, rejected by classic conservatives, who called it “the lunatic fringe.” We, in turn, rejected them as blind or as compromisers. My intense sense of grievance had led to a major change in my worldview, and I had become radicalized.

  The far-right world I now occupied was far removed from the political conservatism I encountered when I first took an interest in politics. People were more open to use violence to achieve their goals. Perhaps their most prominent ideological distinctive was a vicious anti-Semitism. The Far Right held that Communism and most of the other ills affecting society were products of an international conspiracy among certain powerful and wealthy Jews, usually international Jewish bankers, such as the Rothschilds. Everything was interpreted through this filter: Communism was a Jewish plot to take over the world; America’s social problems were Jewish-inspired schemes to weaken society; racial integration was a Jewish scheme to destroy the white race through intermarriage with nonwhites. A Communist-Jewish takeover was just ahead, and we needed to get prepared and fight it.

  As I absorbed more and more of this thinking, I developed a deepening hatred that consumed me. I hated blacks, but I loathed the Jews, who were the supposed masterminds of the civil rights movement. In school I began picking on some of the Jewish students. At first, I used racial slurs, calling them “kikes” and “Jewish dogs” in the presence of their friends. Then I began to threaten them with violence. On one occasion, I picked on a Jewish student, and he reacted with a hostile remark. Although he had never done anything to me, I roughed him up pretty bad on the spot, and I threatened to kill him. Apparently, he didn’t tell anyone, because I didn’t get in any trouble for it. I eventually began punching some of the guys when I had the chance. One Jewish boy, whose family owned a local jewelry store, was about my age and took the brunt of my anger. He was a mild-mannered young man and never fought back. He had never done anything to me. But my anti-Semitic hatred had blinded me to common decency and respect for anyone Jewish. I even engaged in verbal harassment and insults toward Jewish girls.

  Bad ideas have bad consequences. My transition from normal thinking to ideological thinking was surprisingly quick, a result at least in part of my poorly developed critical thinking skills. In addition, I had a limited base of knowledge with which to evaluate what I was hearing (which is key to overcoming the “illusion of truth” effect of propaganda). I also had little, if any, willingness to talk with my family or utilize other rational influences to help me process these twisted beliefs. Rather, I only listened to voices reinforcing them. I soon became impervious to anything or anyone outside of my ideological bubble. And this ideology, with its strong call to patriotism, became all the more potent by the addition of a religious dimension, giving it divine sanction and removing any fear of death. The potentially disastrous consequences of this way of thinking was not evident to me. I was looking in another direction. My fight would be the noblest of all: the Cause of God and country, which my newfound friends were urging.

  * * *

  From September 1963 through early 1964, while keeping my parents in the dark, I studied these themes intensely and met regularly with local “patriots,” as they called themselves. Through these meetings, I gradually made contact with other extremists in the area.

  One night at the local headquarters, the leader of the Mobile chapter of the NSRP introduced me to two highly committed radicals. They were friends of his who had recently moved to Mobile from Miami. One had been a pilot, and the other had been in business. They were part of a group in Miami that, under pressure from law enforcement, had left to form an underground network in the Southeast. The actual specifics of their problems with the law in Miami were never mentioned. I knew better than to ask, so I never learned. These two were cautious, so our relationship developed more slowly than with others I knew from the NSRP. They met with me numerous times to discuss ideology and to gain a sense of how committed I was. Over the course of several months they came to trust me.

  I also came to know a couple in their sixties from the Miami area who were among the extremists who had relocated to the Mobile area. I spent many hours in their home, discussing the “Communist-Jewish conspiracy” and listening to Wesley Swift tapes. In some ways this couple was an enigma. The husband was suspicious to the point of being paranoid. He talked a lot about hating the Jews but was never inclined to take action.

  From these ex-Miami radicals and the way they operated, I learned the practical aspects of conducting clandestine activities. Everything was done in strict security. We would meet at prearranged rendezvous points, observing painstaking procedures to assure that we were not followed. Because of possible bugging, important matters were discussed only in secure places, hardly ever in our homes, offices, or automobiles. To circumvent FBI wire taps, we never discussed anything on the phone. Meeting places and people were referred to in veiled terms or by use of code words.

  The many hours we spent together discussing ideology, strategy, and tactics deepened our relationships and trained me as an extremist. I felt an increased need to give myself to this vital cause. The more conversant I became with these ideas and doctrines, the more outspoken I was on the need for action, the more approval and recognition I gained. Indeed, I became quite articulate. The more skillful I was in planning and implementing ideas for action, small though they were at this point, the faster I gained the confidence of these men.

  Barely eighteen, I was becoming a trusted member of the radical group in Mobile. While my parents knew that my thinking had become more extreme, they had no idea I was associating with real extremists.

  By February 1964, I was obsessed with my new ideology. Disinterested in high school, lacking sufficient credits to graduate with my class, and eager for more direct action, I dropped out and went to Montgomery to meet with Admiral John G. Crommelin, a prominent anti-Semite and frequent candidate for public office. Admiral Crommelin was a good friend of my colleagues and was regarded as a great patriot. I had met him briefly when he was in Mobile a few months earlier making a televised political speech, and I was duly impressed. It was exciting to meet someone like him. A man of h
is stature was an iconic figure to the Cause and gave it credibility in my mind.

  Admiral Crommelin was a graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy and a decorated hero from World War II. He had served as executive officer of the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise, the most decorated ship of the war. A gruff old man in his sixties, the admiral lived in retirement in Montgomery, where he had a comfortable home as well as a large country estate.

  I arrived in Montgomery on a cold, gray winter day. The admiral’s wife, Lillian, was waiting at the bus station. She drove me out to their country home, named Harrogate Springs. The admiral was in conference with several men about political issues, but he took a moment to cordially greet me and show me to a guest room; then he returned to his visitors. Later that evening, and for several days, we talked at length about the “Communist-Jewish conspiracy.” He was highly knowledgeable and outspoken about his beliefs, a trait that had gotten him into trouble in the navy. Why he took time to talk with me is a mystery, but his beliefs and strength of conviction conferred credibility. Admiral Crommelin made a powerful impression on me and reinforced my own convictions as he repeated what I had heard and read a number of times already about the Communist-Jewish conspiracy.

  From Montgomery I traveled on to NSRP national headquarters in Birmingham to meet with Dr. Edward Fields, the executive director. However, it was not a particularly warm meeting, and I later learned that he regarded me as a loose cannon who might damage the NSRP’s work. After a brief visit, I returned to Mobile and gave myself more passionately to the work of the Cause.

  * * *

  From my point of view, the racial situation in the South seemed to be worsening. Freedom Summer began in June of that year, 1964, with more than a thousand people coming to Mississippi to help black people register to vote. This evoked widespread resentment among whites, who felt the state was being invaded by Northern liberals determined to impose their views on them. Tensions were rising dramatically.

  The White Knights of the Ku Klux Klan met this challenge first with threats and then with violence. A group of Klansmen abducted and murdered three young civil rights workers—James Earl Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner. This led to a nationwide outcry and a massive search by federal, state, and local authorities. The discovery of their bodies gave momentum to stalled efforts in Congress to pass the Civil Rights Act of 1964, in July. A few months later, eighteen members of the White Knights of the KKK, including Imperial Wizard Sam Bowers, were arrested and charged with conspiracy to deprive the three of their civil rights, which was a serious offense. Now the government would enforce more desegregation measures that would lead to race mixing and interracial marriage. In my mind, the country was continuing to spiral downward.

  The American South was in upheaval. Our values were being challenged in areas of race, sex, drugs, and more. The traditions we had known and accepted for decades were being destroyed before my eyes. What previously had seemed to be nailed down and stable was being torn from its moorings by Communist-leaning liberals and Jews from the North. As I saw it, the world I lived in was full of turmoil, and the norms of society were collapsing. And only a few people seemed to be doing anything to stop it.

  The KKK’s willingness to take action appealed to me. They were a group I wanted to make contact with at some point.

  Meanwhile, another major issue was emerging in the United States: the Vietnam War was escalating. There was great concern about the spread of Communism in Southeast Asia and fear of a domino effect if South Vietnam fell. I remember the graphic front-page photos in the Mobile newspaper of the bullet-riddled body of South Vietnam President Diem, who was assassinated in late 1963. The Communist threat in Asia got my attention and temporarily distracted me from threats in the United States. In 1964 I went to the U.S. Army recruiting office in Mobile to explore enlistment, with a preference for Ranger School.

  It would have been the wisest possible decision for me.

  But at the last minute I decided against it. My disgust for President Lyndon Johnson was so intense that I could not put myself under his authority as commander in chief. Instead of going to battle abroad, I decided to continue my present course and redouble my efforts to fight the Communist-Jewish conspiracy at home.

  6

  OPENING SKIRMISHES

  By the fall of 1964, I was convinced that my country was in great danger, but most people were asleep. As a patriotic American, I was deeply frustrated by this. Something had to be done. I couldn’t do everything, but I could do something, and what I could do, I should do—even if it landed me in jail.

  My campaign against the “enemies of America” began with relatively minor acts of political harassment. Initially, this took the form of threatening phone calls to the rabbis of Mobile’s two synagogues and to the local head of the Jewish Anti-Defamation League. I had heard that the police could not trace phone calls if they lasted only a few seconds, so I made the calls from my grandmother’s house, unbeknownst to her. The messages were very short. I was nervous making the first call. “We know who you are, what you are up to, and how to find you,” was the essence of the message. Then the calls got easier. I called black civil rights leaders in the area as well, with the same message. Whether others were doing things like this, I didn’t know or care. I had at least done something. I had struck a blow against the enemy, however small. But my satisfaction from this activity was short-lived. Ultimately, it turned out to be just a cheap thrill. I wanted concrete action, not just words.

  My grandmother and my parents would have been horrified to know what I had done. I did not hide my increasingly radical beliefs, but I was careful to conceal my activities and the people with whom I was associating.

  I settled for continued harassment, but of a more concrete sort. Late one night, I nervously walked on back streets the few blocks to the synagogue near my grandmother’s house, where I was spending the weekend. After making certain that there was no one was around, I pulled out a can of red spray paint concealed under my shirt and painted a couple of swastikas on the back of the building. This caused a furor among the Jewish community. The police investigated but had no evidence or leads to follow, and nothing came of it. In the weeks that followed, I also made several calls to the synagogue during their services, threatening violence.

  Far from satisfying my hostility, this behavior only intensified it. Words might satisfy some, but for me they stirred up a desire for action. Some of my close friends and I began actively discussing even stronger acts of intimidation.

  The next step in the escalating pattern of violence was firing shots into the houses of those we had identified as enemies. During my first few months of nonviolent fighting for the Cause, I had purchased various legal firearms, which were readily available in gun shops to anyone with the money to pay. Illegal weapons, like submachine guns, were also available if one knew where to go and had the money. I also diligently practiced marksmanship, which was strongly encouraged as preparation for the coming Communist-Jewish takeover. So far I had been able to keep my parents in the dark about what I was doing. And because guns were such a common part of Southern culture, I suppose my parents didn’t think it was particularly unusual for me to buy a few.

  A fellow radical and I began by shooting into the houses of black civil rights leaders late at night to create fear and stir up unrest. Usually one of us would drive and the other would do the shooting. We struck when few people would be out to identify our car—but not so late that we would be conspicuous. On many occasions we struck while the police were changing shifts, sometimes using radios to monitor police calls. For months, we waged a campaign of terror against the black community. On one occasion, we even fired into the white mayor’s house, who in our opinion was soft on race mixing.

  Although part of our strategy included creating fear and terror in the black community, it was more important to produce racial polarization and retaliation. If our actions provoked a few of the more radical blacks in town to attack whit
es, we believed this would then swell the ranks of whites who would be willing to condone or employ violence as a viable response to the racial problem. From our perspective, this was a highly desirable, totally justified course of action, even though it might result in some white casualties. We feared that as long as peaceful race relations prevailed—and they generally did in Mobile—integration could proceed unhindered and eventually bring about interracial marriage. We got these ideas from an older radical who seemed to be very committed to the Cause and frequently came up with ideas for violence. It later became obvious that he was an agent provocateur.

  If the polarization and retaliation had occurred as we hoped, we planned to kill selected Jewish, white, and black leaders during the ensuing confusion. We also had a mobilization plan for responding to attack. If one of our friends or sympathizers was attacked by a black, or if a confrontation developed, he could call a central number distributed on a printed business card. From the central number, calls would go out to about a dozen people, each of whom would alert another dozen, and so on. Heavily armed, each would respond to the alert by proceeding to the scene for appropriate action. This network plan was called the Christian Military Defense League (“Christian” because we all considered ourselves Christians). However, with fewer than a dozen people who expressed interest, it went nowhere.

  I didn’t realize what was happening to me as I was descending into this abyss of hatred and violence. As C. S. Lewis observed, “Every time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you, the part of you that chooses, into something a little different from what it was before. And taking your life as a whole, with all your innumerable choices, all your life long you are slowly turning this central thing into a heavenly creature or into a hellish creature.”1 My choices were turning me into a hellish creature.