The Fastest GrowingClub inAmerica—Chapt. 9 (excerpt) * T h e 1920s was the first great decade of American advertising, and the Klan relied on its persuasive techniques. Klan parades, night initiation ceremonies, street brawls and cross burnings were hot copy. “We have been given fifty million dollars worth of free advertising by the newspapers,” smiled an Imperial Wizard. . . . For Klansmen, “Aliens” meant anyone outside their trusted circle. Subversive influences were at work when women smoked in public, wore their hair short, or danced to jazz music. Alien ideas encouraged teen-agers to disobey their fathers, not attend church, and pet in parked cars. Hundreds, sometimes thousands of men knelt before flaming crosses during awesome night meetings. They were told “ the rich, red blood of American patriots and martyrs runs through your veins.” In remote fields, as huge crosses crackled in the night air, they solemnly promised their lives to the KKK. They began the ceremony as store clerks, high school drop-outs, accountants, policemen or mechanics. But in that eerie light and the strange shadows cast by a burning cross, these vulnerable, sometimes misfit men were transformed. They became guardians of The F la g and “ th e s a c r e d n e s s o f chastity” . . . . In Portland, Oregon, two Klansmen branded a woman on her chest. Now, announced one, she won’t wear any more low- necked dresses.” Waving whip and fire, the Klan made itself the moral police force of the nation. The Invisible Empire The Ku Klux Klan Impact on History—Updated 1987, by William Loren Katz. ®1986 Ethrac Publications, Inc. Open Hand Publishing Inc., 600 East Pine, Suite 565, Seattle, WA 98122 THEGODDESS LETTERS The Demeter-Persephone Myth Retold ByCarol Orlock (excerpt—Chapter III) D r a w myself out little by little. Draw myself back bit by bit. As I always do. As goddesses and women do everywhere. I became a sea wave, a wall of Poseidon’s surf. I crashed against the sand, and my froth still tumbles. I’m a confused spraying mist and soak into air and stone and sand. I seep into each thing I approach. Then the drawing back. The wave curls and then tumbles and spatters. Then it gathers its spent self, separates from sand, from stone, from air. Its tide turns and it pulls back out to sea. I must divide up this whirl—these past three days, my present, my future. I must gather myself now. I'll take back the gift I gave, gave gladly in the crash and tumble beneath Poseidon’s thighs and return to myself now. He’s left and it begins. I come back slowly. I have only loneliness to take back. I’ ll reclaim myself gradually this time. First a memory. Fire. My torches. I wanted to set the hillside on fire. I thought of how Zeus torments humans to amuse himself, and thought perhaps fire and k i l lin g could appease me fo r Persephone’s loss. And perhaps they would have. I watched that woman and her man, and knew they’d stand and stare as long as I sat on the hill, so I put my torches out and left, sneaking off in the dark. Sorrow returned, heavier after a moment’s .rest. As, bit by bit, I return now. My self, my memory, my future-knowing. I thought of Sisyphus’ story. All through e te rn ity he lays his huge shoulder against the more huge stone, pushing it up the hill only to watch it roll from his hands and down again. I thought of his strength and I managed to rise like a bird over the countryside of Arcadia. I knew what I had to do. I’d put it off too long. I went to Olympus. My b e l ly spasm s . I laugh , and Poseidon’s froth, still hot as my womb kept it, leaks and trickles down my thigh. I won’t wipe it off. Let it cool and bead, I want it to dry slowly. Then I can laugh and remember. What words are right for Olympus? Slippery, sliding sounds? Salacious? Succulent? I arrived on the dark side of the mountain, near the doorway of Dusk, that old sneak. Dusk hold himself aloof to appear mysterious. He is so shadowy he’d like to hide even from the moonlight of Hekate, but she moon-roams over him. Yet try keeping a secret from him and see if the shadows won’t creep in and discover it. To the left of Dusk’s doorway, I heard his breathing and followed the sound around a rock wall. I saw the shadows folded on his back where he’d crouched to peep between two clouds, and tiptoed nearer to have a better look. On the bright side, beyond the shadows, I saw why Dusk was panting. Pan stood there, stuffing himself into Eros’ small parts. I laugh, remembering. Th ink ing he was a lone, Dusk had crouched down on his knees to draw his huge hands in and fondle himself. I waited. When his stroke sped and his sweat began to sparkle, I spoke. “ How dark it is,” I said softly, “ but small.” He turned and looked, then looked back down at himself, then at me again. I didn’t want to anger him, so pretended I meant Pan and Eros, and nodded toward Pan. Pan’s small pipe chucked under Eros’ cheeks now. “You see so much,” I told Dusk. The Goddess Letters, ®1987 Carol Orlock, St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010 BIRTHING ByMaryTallmountain ^ ) n the dark side I slip like silk through night and chaos wind splinters my hair peacocks stalking wild and sensuous as jewels I see earth through their eyes past bursting patterns milestones flashing at utmost speed O I hear the light Florilegia: A Retrospective of Calyx, 1976-86, ® 1987 Calyx, PO Box B,. Corvallis, OR 97339 BIRTHOFA COOPERATIVE ByHal Hartzell, Jr. (excerpt—Chapter 14) Party at the Falls H o e d a d s decided to have a little party out near the units at the Alsea Falls campground. A stream and a spectacular waterfall ran along its back edge. Thirty small camps were dotted through fir and alder groves, each with its own gravelled parking place, fire pit and picnic table. Several outhouses, running water and pavement made it seem like a Hilton to the Hoedads. Buses, house trucks, camper-vans, cars, tents and lesser plastic wonders cropped up like mushrooms after a spring rain. A constant drizzle fell. It was the first gathering of the crews since late November and many Hoedads had .never met each other. There they were, a brand new coop, ready to party. Laura Rheinwald had not yet joined Mudsharks, but came out from Eugene for the fun of it. It was an incredible party. We had a band out in the middle of the rain. We decided that we were going to keep the clouds parted. It didn't really rain on us that much, or maybe it rained on us a lot and we weren’t aware of it. But every time we would look up—we would chant, dance, scream, h o l le r . . .and there would be this thing of blue sky in the middle of the solid gray mass, shining on the righteous. We were clean. It wasn’t the party that brought Hoedads together. No, it was the sense of belonging that made the party what it was. Everybody was feeling all the w h i l e , ‘ L o o k a t w h a t w e ’ re doing. . .W e ’re together. ’ The Hoedads were massing individuals, directing them to one goal. They were making money, living out in the open and nobody defaulted. When you bring that whole sense of cohesiveness to a party—it was j ust intense. We really wanted to have a good time and we all felt good. So we had a great time. B irth of a Cooperative, ®1987 Hal Hartzell, Jr., Hulogos’ i Communications Inc., Box 1188, Eugene, OR 97440. WHEREEISEQW Wf GETA SEEK LIKEA NJRHU PERSON COMET " " / / / / / / I " ' TAVERN 922 E.PIKE As Fresh As It Gets. Enjoy the abundance of organically-grown, Northwest produce. CENTRAL CO- O P G r o c e r y 12th&Denny on Capitol Hill From the fields of Northwest farms to your own kitchen, our fresh, unsprayed fruits and vegetables are, frankly, the best there are. Available At Steamin’ years on Eastlake thanks to the best customers anywhere! 2305 Eastlake E. 324-1442 24 Clinton St. Quarterly—Winter, 1987
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