continued THE KU KLUX KLAN is moving boldly into the open in a last-ditch fight against integration. `WE GOT NOTHING TO HIDE' By HAROLD H. MARTIN and KENNETH FAIRLY Photographs by Lynn Pelham 0 Ile starlit evening not long ago, in a tobacco patch near the little town of Hemingway, S.C., 29 robed and hooded men and women gathered in a circle around a 50-foot black-gum cross that had been wrapped in burlap and soaked in crankcase oil. Solemnly they set the towering shaft ablaze and marched around it singing, as a record player hitched up to a loudspeaker boomed into the darkness the opening strains of 'The Old Rugged Cross.' Suddenly the needle stuck, and over the dark woods surrounding the little field, the speaker repeated over and over the phrase that ends the first line of the song: ". . . and shame"—"and shame"—"and shame." If the Klansmen who set the cross aflame felt any shame at this use of the symbol of Christian brotherhood to publicize an organization which thrives on racial hatred, they gave no sign of it. There was nothing clandestine about the meeting. On the afternoon of the meeting, in the Masonic Hall in Hemingway, ladies of the Klan sold barbecue, slaw, cake and soda pop, and passed out literature extolling the noble purposes of the order. At the rally itself, on a flatbed truck In rural South Carolina, the harangue goes on as the fire dwindles. Men in colors are Klan officials.
1965_01_30--026_SP We Got Nothing to Hide
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