Itâ€™s a rumor that will not die; an urban myth in a country town, but the reality appears to have more to do with school spirit than racial politics.
The myth is that Dallas, Oregon, is â€” or at least was â€” a command center for the Ku Klux Klan.
Letâ€™s be clear from the outset: The Klan did have a chapter (Klansmen call their chapters â€œKlavernsâ€) in Dallas in the 1920s, but it did nothing to earn mention in history books or even local newspaper accounts beyond a few rallies and a parade down Main Street. The Klavern died out in the late â€˜20s and never returned.
But the myth claims the Dallas Klavern lives on.
The myth got started about a half century after the real Klavern died, and since then has been embellished with so many details that it seems almost plausible.
The Dallas High School mascot, the Dragons, was selected because of its relationship to Klan lore. (The leader of the national Klan is referred to as the Grand Dragon.)
Dallas Mayor Jim Fairchild said heâ€™s heard the rumors for years, but believes theyâ€™ve started to die out.
â€œBack 10 or 20 years ago it hurt us,â€ Fairchild said. â€œIt gave us a reputation as a racially biased city. But thatâ€™s certainly not true today.â€
Arlie Holt, historian for the Polk County Museum, thinks the myth of the Dallas Klan sprang from an innocent decision made back in the 1930s when local high schools were giving themselves nicknames.
Dallas High teams were originally called the Orangemen because of their orange and black school colors. But opposing teams often called them the Prunepickers because of the Dallas areaâ€™s many prune orchards.
Hoping to shed that name, the school flirted briefly with the Dolphins, but quickly decided that a better name was needed.
â€œThe kids didnâ€™t think Dolphins was â€˜kickassâ€™ enough,â€ Holt said.
â€œThey wanted something that sounded tougher, but also something that started with a D so it would be alliterative.â€
And so, in 1938, the Dallas High Dragons were born.
â€œIâ€™ve spoken with a lot of people who went to Dallas High at that time, and not one of them knew anything about the Klan back then,â€ Holt said. â€œThey just picked Dragons because it sounded better than Dolphins or Prunepickers.â€
Holt said years later people began to associate the schoolâ€™s nickname with the Klan.
â€œI think thatâ€™s how the myth got started, and itâ€™s taken on a life of its own,â€ he said. â€œThereâ€™s never been any truth to it, and nobody whoâ€™s ever taken the trouble to investigate it has ever found anything to substantiate it.â€
School officials say theyâ€™ve been vexed by the rumor for years. Dallas High School principal Keith Ussery said several students researched the supposed link for an article in the school newspaper several years ago.
They concluded, as everyone else has, that the Dallas Klan died out in the â€˜20s.
Holt spoke to a Dallas High class a few years ago and learned firsthand that the myth was still alive.
â€œThe kids in class had all heard it, and most of them believed it,â€ he said. â€œOne girl insisted that the Dallas Klan was the largest, most powerful Klan west of the Mississippi.â€
Ussery and others say they have mixed feelings about how to combat the rumor.
â€œI can see both sides,â€ he said. â€œIt might be better to simply not talk about the rumor and hope it goes away. But then again, it seems as if the truth is the best way to kill an ugly rumor.â€
Dallas High students donâ€™t take the rumor too seriously these days.
â€œIâ€™d say a majority of the kids have heard about the Klan, but to most of us itâ€™s just a joke,â€ said Dustin Lytle, 14, a freshman.
Dustinâ€™s sister Megan, 16, said the rumor is discussed in an 11th grade history class.
â€œItâ€™s a piece of history, thatâ€™s all,â€ she said.
But school officials bristle at the notion that a hate group has anything to do with Dallas High.
â€œWe have awesome kids here,â€ said Rebecca Penna, who teaches art at the school and is the advisor to the student government and the yearbook. â€œItâ€™s certainly not fair to even suggest that they have or ever had anything to do with the Ku Klux Klan. I wish this rumor would die a miserable death.â€
Becca Cudmore, a 17-year-old junior, recalled that last year a student was suspended for walking through the lunchroom dressed in an old KKK costume
â€œWe donâ€™t really like it when that rumor gets revived,â€ she said. â€œItâ€™s nothing weâ€™re proud of.â€
How did the myth get started?
Holt has a theory of sorts, but he stresses that it is only a theory. It goes like this:
Back in the 1980s, a new fad was gaining popularity in the education of future teachers at Western Oregon State College (now Western Oregon University) in Monmouth.
It was thought that teachers could better relate to their students if they were versed in the history and traditions of the local community.
â€œNothing wrong with that,â€ Holt said, â€œbut somehow I think some teachers at Western got it in their heads that the Dallas High nickname came from the Ku Klux Klan. Thatâ€™s how I think the myth got started. I think it just grew from there.â€
Thereâ€™s no doubt that there was a Klan in Dallas, back in the â€˜20s, but that was hardly unusual in Oregon. Historian Eckard Toy Jr. noted that by December 1923, Oregon had 58 chartered Klans and â€œnearly every community with a population of 1,000 or more, especially in the Willamette Valley, had an active Klan organization.â€
America was a roiling stew of political and social philosophies in the years following World War I, and the Pacific Northwest was home to some of the most radical social experiments. Labor unions, including the International Workers of the World, grew in power. The womenâ€™s suffrage movement gained momentum. Prohibition turned many otherwise law-abiding citizens into criminals because they wouldnâ€™t give up their favorite alcoholic beverages. The freewheeling â€œJazz Ageâ€ was seen by many as a threat to the nationâ€™s young people.
Many white Protestants in the U.S. were opposed to the â€œmelting potâ€ and saw interbreeding as weakening their race. Chinese were still being referred to as heathens.
Anti-Semitism had flared with the Red Scare in 1919, and Jews were seen as having been prominent in the Bolshevik revolution and in labor struggles in the United States. Black Army veterans, returning from a more racially tolerant France, were seeking better treatment at home. African-American workers on the home front had earned respectable wages and expected the same after the war.
It was into this period of social uncertainty that the Ku Klux Klan, dormant since the decades following the Civil War, experienced a rebirth.
The appeal of the new Klan spread to the north and west, and at its peak in the mid-1920s achieved a total membership of four million or more.
Members served in state legislatures and Congress, and were elected to the governorship in several states.
Oregon had one of the strongest state Klan organizations in the nation in the â€˜20s. The Oregon Blue Book, the stateâ€™s official fact book, attributed its strength to â€œwartime stress, emphasis on patriotism, distrust of German-Americans and anti-Catholic bigotry â€¦ in a period of social flux and uncertainty.â€
But the Dallas Klan did little more than hold picnics, harass German-American Mennonites, march in parades and burn a few crosses.
â€œFor the most part Klansmen in Oregon were very ordinary people,â€ said Toy, the retired history professor. â€œThey were a lot more verbal than physical.â€
The Dallas Klavern â€” identified in some publications as No. 19 and in others as No. 40 â€” had its start in 1922, by one newspaper account, while another put the year as 1924.
Whenever it got started, it had petered out, like virtually all other Oregon chapters of the â€˜20s, by the end of the decade.
Still, the rumors of its power and presence in Dallas persist. Those who believe in the myth note that itâ€™s impossible to prove a negative â€” to prove that the Dallas Klan doesnâ€™t exist.
But Randy Blazak, an associate professor of sociology at Portland State University and chair of the Oregon Coalition Against Hate Crimes, says the very lack of Klan activity or publicity in Dallas proves that the myth is baloney.
â€œThe Ku Klux Klan is a terrorist organization,â€ he says, â€œand you canâ€™t terrorize anyone if they donâ€™t know you exist.â€
The Klan in Oregon
Ku Klux Klan influence in Oregon peaked in 1922 when the secret society helped pass a bill designed to eliminate Catholic schools and helped elect a governor who vowed to support the bill.
The Compulsory Education Bill of 1922 was one of the major agenda items adopted by the Oregon Klan. The bill required all Oregon children to attend public schools, and while it would have outlawed all private schools for children, it was primarily aimed at Catholic schools.
When the bill was first proposed in early 1922, Governor Benjamin W. Olcott was the stateâ€™s chief executive. He had already earned the hatred of local Klansmen when he condemned three assaults perpetrated by members of the Medford Klavern in Southern Oregon.
He urged local law enforcement agencies to crack down on â€œmasked maraudersâ€ engaging in unlawful acts.
And when Olcott refused to endorse the Compulsory School Bill, the Klan turned the full force of its membership against him.
Olcott managed to survive the Republican primary â€” which in those days was tantamount to re-election â€” but the Klan didnâ€™t give up. It shifted its allegiance to the Democratic Party and helped Walter M. Pierce defeat Olcott in the general election.
Pierce openly courted the Klan endorsement, and his victory â€” coupled with passage of the Compulsory Education Bill, drew national attention to Oregon.
Newspapers and other publications including the New York World, the Detroit Free Press, the Literary Digest, the Brooklyn Eagle, the Milwaukee Journal, the Buffalo Commercial, the Los Angeles Times and the Fresno Republican denounced the Klanâ€™s success in Oregon.
â€œIf the (KKK) movement were to become permanent, it would be the greatest sort of peril to the nation,â€ the Brooklyn Eagle stated in an editorial.
The Los Angeles Times reminded its readers: â€œA mob is a mob; it doesnâ€™t matter what secret pins or regalia it wears.â€
Historians today note that the Klan of the 1920s â€” particularly in Oregon â€” was not as ferocious as its reputation would suggest. In fact, Klan members were not much different in their racial and religious prejudices than most of their neighbors.
Eckard Toy, a retired history professor and one of the leading experts on the KKK in Oregon, noted that the Compulsory Education Bill was sponsored by the Scottish Rite Masons and that the Masons, the Elks and other fraternal organizations also discriminated against blacks, Jews and immigrants.
The Education Bill was struck down by the Oregon Supreme Court and later declared unconstitutional by the United States Supreme Court. It never went into effect.
The Klanâ€™s honeymoon with Governor Pierce ended a few months after he took office in 1923 when Pierce refused to give enough patronage jobs to Klan members. The group launched an unsuccessful recall campaign against Pierce and saw its influence and its membership dwindle for the rest of the decade.
Salem Speaks Out
Racial and religious intolerance were common in America in the 1920s, but a Salem newspaper editor of that period led a lonely battle to defeat the Ku Klux Klan â€” and the people of Salem backed him up.
George Putnam had purchased the Capital Journal in 1919 and served as its editor and publisher until he sold the paper in 1953.
In 1922, as the Oregon Klan leaders launched a campaign to take control of both city and state politics, Putnam stepped forward to stop them.
His editorials were relentless.