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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Timothy Egan
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May 3 - May 18, 2025
At the time, she was too traumatized to go to the police and report a felony committed by one of the most powerful men in the state. And besides, what good would it do? The Kokomo cops were Klansmen. But later, she told investigators her story. “He tried to have intercourse with me,” she said. “He was a beast when he was drunk.”
Catholics had put up with years of abuse; they’d been called un-American and told they didn’t belong in this country, and certainly not in the state of Indiana. They’d been shunned as dupes of a Roman plot, and slaves of the pope. Now they had their tormentors surrounded, hiding and fearful.
News accounts of the riot would give rise to a story that still lives, that the “Fighting Irish” nickname was forever set by the clash of Notre Dame against the Ku Klux Klan on May 17, 1924.
The Klansman won the primary in a rout. There was no subterfuge, no hidden message; it was all out in the open—a straight choice, “for or against the Klan,” as the Indianapolis Times wrote. “It seems the people want Klan rule,” said Shank, the defeated Republican. “So we’ll give it to them.”
Left behind in Poland were 3.5 million Jews who would be targeted with mass execution in little more than a decade. Also among those denied entry because of restrictions on Jews was the family of Anne Frank.
Though the mills of the gods grind slowly, yet they grind.
Democrats at their annual state meeting vowed to root out every Klansman from their party. Let the Republicans be the standard-bearers of the hooded order.