Black Klansman: Race, Hate, and the Undercover Investigation of a Lifetime

by Ron Stallworth

A black cop infiltrating the Klan? This is nuts. Won’t they know that you’re black?” “That’s why we’re going to be on the exact same page. I’ll be listening to everything you and he say through the mic. And you’ll be aware of everything I say to him on the phone. I’m the voice, you’re the face.” “This is just about the craziest thing I’ve heard. I’m in,” said Chuck through his wide smile.

After dousing the crosses with a flammable solution, a fuse consisting of a lit cigarette placed on a pack of matches was timed to ignite within three minutes, allowing for their getaway. “I saw that cigarette fuse in a James Bond movie,” Ken said proudly. “Smart,” said Chuck. I smiled at Jimmy when I heard this. Couple of 007s we had on our hands.

The phone call ended, and we all started laughing. First they got their ideas about how to light a cross from a James Bond movie, and now they were bragging about secret handshakes. It was as if Dennis the Menace were running a hate group.

I was to guard Duke not in my uniform but as a plainclothes officer. It would appear to any outside observer that a black man was hanging out with the Klan. Again, I raised objectives to the chief at the ridiculousness of this order, but I loaded my gun with five bullets to kill five assholes if need be and set out for the day.

Success often lies not in what happens but in what you prevent from happening.