"At least I won," Boyce Barlow said when it was over. He was back at his usual table at Buckhorn's.
"But you lost your house, Boyce," Luke pointed out glumly.
"Dogwood is racially pure, though, ain't it?"
"Always was. Elmer lived in Arab, remember?"
"We're not stopping with Dogwood anymore," Boyce said, staring into the dark Coors bottle like a man gazing into a crystal ball. "We're going to expand." Expanding was not easy. The White Purity League of Alabama picked up a few new members who thought it was a crying shame that Boyce lost his house that way, which brought the ranks to exactly six. Because all six were temporarily out of work, dues were a problem.
"How can we expand without any money?" Boyce complained one night at Buckham's.
"We could all go out and get jobs," Bud suggested. He was ignored.
The bartender, who had long ago grown tired of the White Purity League of Alabama holding meetings in his establishment and forgetting to pay its tab, made a fateful suggestion.
"Go on cable TV," he said. "They let any group on the air now. It's called local access or something like that. It's free."
"We don't have cable TV in Dogwood," Boyce said reasonably.
"They do in Huntsville," the bartender countered. And so the White Purity League Hour was born. Within three months its message, "Take Back America," was reaching viewers in twenty-nine states and the District of Columbia. Membership rose from the founding six members to nearly three thousand nationwide. Boyce Barlow bought himself a nice white frame house in suburban Huntsville, a short drive from the national headquarters of the renamed White Purity League of America and Alabama, a former Boy Scout campground Barlow had purchased and converted into Fortress Purity, a barbed-wire compound off Route 431.
Barely a year after the groundbreaking of Fortress Purity, a man showed up at the electrified fence. The man was in a wheelchair.
"I want to join your worthy group," the man said. He was old, too old. And he had no legs.
"Go 'way," said Luke Bariow from the gate. "We got standards."
"Ilsa!" the old man called.
A blond girl stepped out of a bronze van.
"Hi," she said breathily. Then she smiled sunnily.
"Hi!" Luke said, staring at her chest.
"Can we come in? Please?"
"Sure," said Luke, who realized that recruitment among single women was distressingly low.
After he had unlocked the gate, he said. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Luke. I'm vice-corporal in charge of security."
"I've never heard of such a rank," said the old man in the wheelchair.
"I made it up," said Luke proudly. "It was either that or admiral of the gate. I liked that one best, but the other was longer."
The old man smiled. His smile was hideous. It was the smile of a rot-toothed corpse. "Of course."
When the old man was brought to Boyce Barlow, Boyce was three thousand dollars in the hole to his poker partners and welcomed the interruption.
"I'm calling the game. We split the pot," he announced suddenly, scooping up two handfuls of money. "What can I do for you folks?"
"You are Boyce Barlow. I have watched your program. We are kindred spirits, you and I."
"You and me is kin?"
"In spirit. I, too, believe as you do. America for Americans."
"Who're you?"
"This is Herr Konrad Blutsturz," said Ilsa proudly. "He is an Aryan. He is like you."
"The hell he is. I got both rny legs," said Boyce Barlow. "No offense," he added.
"I have a gift for you," said Konrad Blutsturz, tossing a book onto the poker table.
Boyce Barlow picked up the book and read the title. Main Kampf," he said aloud.
"The first word is pronounced 'mine,' as in 'yours or mine,' " Konrad Blutsturz corrected. "Not 'main.' "
"Main's how they say it at the China Dragon. You know, chow mein."
"A different language altogether. The words mean 'My Battle.' A great man wrote it."
"Adolf Hitler," Boyce read aloud. "Wasn't he a bad guy."
"The losers are always called that. Had Hitler won the war, there would now be no Jews, no blacks, no inferior peoples living in America, taking American jobs from true Americans and draining the vitality out of this once-strong nation."
"Is that so?"
"His ideas are your ideas," said Konrad Blutsturz. "He was espousing them before you were born. You, Boyce Barlow, have reinvented the wheel. Read this book and see for vourself. When you are done, call me at the number I have written on the flyleaf and we will talk."
Boyce Barlow had read the book. The old man without legs had been right. Boyce Barlow found that the old man was right about many things.
Konrad Blutsturz told them he could triple the membership of the White Purity League of America and Alabama. Overnight.
"You have only to do three things."
"What are those?" Boyce had asked suspiciously. "Starting today, fly this flag from your highest building."
Boyce Barlow took the flag. It was red. In the center was a twisted black crass in a white circle. Boyce recognized the flag; he had seen it in World War Two films. He showed the flag to Luke and Bud.
"What do you guys think?"
"It would look better if it were green," said Luke.
"I like red," said Bud, thinking of the Confederate flag.
"Me too," said Boyce. "Done."
"Excellent. Second, change the name of your organization to the Aryan League of America."
"What's an Aryan?"
"We are Aryans," said Konrad Blutstrarz. "Aryans are the master race, descendants of the racially pure warrior- Vikings. Like Ilsa, here."
They all looked at Ilsa. Ilsa looked back. She smiled sweetly.
"We're all Aryans, ain't we, boys?" Boyce said. "Especially me. How about we call it the White Aryan League of America, though? So the dumb ones don't get confused. "
"I will agree to that," said Konrad Blutsturz.
"And the third thing?"
"Appoint me your second-in-command."
Boyce Barlow had done this too, and, true to the old man's promise, the membership rolls swelled. That they swelled with people who had German last names was at first troublesome to the ruling triad of the newly renamed White Aryan League of America and Alabama. Boyce had insisted on retaining the "Alabama" part, in his words, "to remind folks this great movement began in the heart of Dixie."
One night, while counting up the month's dues, Boyee asked the old man, "Isn't our slogan supposed to be 'America for Americans'?"
"That is our slogan," admitted Konrad Blutsturz.
"Then what are those damn furriners doin' here?"
"They are not foreigners. America is a melting pot. The best of all white nations have come to these shores. German-Americans are as American as any. More so. It is the blacks, the Jews, the Smiths who are to be eradicated."
"The smiths?" asked Boyce. "Aren't they white too? I mean mostly?"
"They are the worst of all. They look white. Their skins appear to be white. But their souls are black, and evil. We will rid America of the blacks and the Jews and other inferior peoples. But first we must crush the Smiths."
Boyce Barlow didn't quite follow Konrad Blutsturz on that last point, but the dues kept coming in and so he did everything that Konrad Blutsturz suggested.
Konrad Blutsturz had showed how to get the White Aryan League of America publicity. Instead of just preaching the word over cable TV, or on street corners where they were hooted and booed, he showed that marching down the streets of American towns, shouting racial epithets, usually brought media coverage. Free media coverage. And when you shouted racial slogans, the races you insulted always shouted back. Sometimes they threw rotten fruit and bottles.
"Do this and we will get sympathy. Provoke the blacks and Jews and Orientals to attack us. We will look good and they will look bad because the networks can not spend more than three minutes of footage on any news event. They will omit our slogans and show our enemies attacking our peaceful march."