At first we thought the riot had been called off. It was a hot, Sunday afternoon, July third, 1960.

The week before, June 26th, the Director of the National Capital Parks of the Department of the Interior had called me and sent me, by special messenger, an official letter of urgent warning. He told us that the Department had so much information of violence and riots planned against us that he was “not sure” he could protect us with his police force. He suggested that we give up speaking or move out of town. When I firmly but respectfully refused, he asked me to withdraw the Troopers I had been keeping in the crowd to heckle the hecklers to keep the crowd from cohering into a riotous and dangerous mob.

We, too, had been receiving more than the usual amount of filthy telephoned threats that this time they would “beat the – out of us,” etc. I had therefore painted a huge sign for our speaking stand warning the crowd that “certain” groups were planning to riot in order to put an end to our speaking. I had complied with the police request that we pull our Troopers out of the crowd – as we always obey all reasonable police requests.

But there had been no riot on the twenty-sixth. We had twenty-five of our men on hand, all behind the roped enclosure, and were more than ready for them if they burst through the ropes at us, no matter how many they were, or how tough.

They came to this rally, all right! Let no one say that the Jews are a race of nothing but sickly moneylenders and feeble clerks. There were two or three hundred big, husky, mean-looking Jews who screamed curses and milled around. Some spat at us, but they did not attack. For almost two hours I managed to outshout their heckling and completed my speech by sheer force of will and power of voice.

This week of July third, we felt the worst danger was over. We had faced their mob of hoods and bullies the week before and had left the field victorious. It seemed doubtful they would try again so soon.

The rolling mall between the U.S. Capitol and the Washington Monument was warm and brilliantly green in the hot July sunshine as our convoy of cars and trucks drove up with our Troops and equipment. The police were there in force, with their mounted men hidden behind the building, as usual; the police dogs locked in their special little van and their squad cars and patrol wagons lined up beside the Smithsonian Museum. But only a few dozen people were in front of our roped-off speaking enclosure.

I sat down under a tree to one side and watched as my lads unloaded the heavy stand from the convoy, set it up and attached the bunting and banners. A few of our fans came over and talked with me or offered me cold drinks. Everything seemed peaceful. In fact, it was too peaceful. Major Morgan, my Deputy Commander, on whom I depended as an experienced and utterly capable Storm Leader, had asked for the day off and had even come down to the scene in civvies with his pregnant wife to enjoy, for once, the case of a spectator. Only eleven of our men had been able to show up at this rally, after the all-out effort of the week before.

But now, I could sense something different, something wrong. As the crowd began to gather, the police did a strange thing: they all but disappeared. They retreated over a hundred yards beyond the crowd and there were only one or two uniformed men anywhere within operating distance of the enclosure!

I mounted the platform when the boys were ready. Then I knew what was going on. Like a hoard of locusts, almost in military formation, over two hundred of last week’s burly Jew hoodlums and toughs swarmed around our stand and began an obviously organized chant of “Sick! Sick! Sick!” This was not too surprising, but what happened next was horrifying. The Jews began to push and hang over the ropes and swing at our men, and the police retreated even farther away with folded arms!

When I say it was horrifying, I do not mean that what the Jews were doing was horrifying. We expected them to try to kill us, if they thought they could and we were prepared to teach them the error of this method. But it must be remembered that to survive, we have to bend over backward to be legal. The minute the Jews can show that we have violated the law or even appear to have violated the law, they can bring more than enough pressure to have us stowed away and silenced. We must depend on the police to uphold the law, since we are forbidden to defend ourselves even fairly, by violence, much as we sometimes ache to do.

When the police suddenly “couldn’t see” the most gross attacks on us, we knew that an honest police department had finally succumbed to intolerable Jewish pressure, and we were in for whatever the Jews could work up their courage to do. For over an hour and a half, I managed to hold the howling, spitting mob by arrogance and psychologically calculated disdain for their overwhelming numbers. To say that we were not afraid would be untruthful, for we were only eleven and they were over two hundred and fifty, plus the fact that our whole future, all our struggles and sacrifices for over two years were lying in the balance. It was obvious that they were determined to have their riot this day and then claim that we had to be suppressed for “causing” such disorder.

Nevertheless, it took those Jews over an hour and a half to work up the courage to rush us and even then, they thinned our number first by having one big Trooper called out by falsely telling military police he was a Marine, thus reducing our number to ten.

In they rushed, like an avalanche of wild beasts, screaming and howling for my guts! The stand flew over as the Jews struck and I landed in a struggling mass of fighting men. Two yelling Jews grabbed me. One of my men, already down and fighting desperately, grabbed his feet and he went down. But the other Jew aimed a blow at my groin. I hit him in the head and, as he fell, another Trooper tackled him. How my boys pitched in! But the Jew still went for the same attack on me. This time, I replied in kind and gave that Jew a dose of his own medicine!

The fight lasted for only four or five minutes, after which the police rushed in from where they had been hiding and broke it up. Major Morgan was choked unconscious, was bleeding profusely and had his right knee permanently damaged by a number of kicks he received when he was under a pile of seven or eight Jews. Lieutenant Warner, National Secretary of the Party at the time, had the top of his left ear bitten almost off and all of us were cut and bruised. We later discovered that one of the large men who had recently joined us and loudly boasted how he would fight – Fred Hockett, by name – had run out of the ring in terror when the fight began, so that we had only nine men there to fight that murderous mob.

And we showed the Jews the caliber of those nine men when the police broke up the fight – for we immediately set up our stand and were prepared to speak. I mounted the platform again, broken and wrecked as it was, and would have spoken, but police called me down and I was arrested for “disorderly conduct.” For the first time in my life, I found myself dragged off to jail, and as I sat in a cell awaiting bail, it was impossible not to think back on the chain of circumstances which had placed me here in the ugly, urine-smelling cellblock of the First Precinct of Washington, D.C.

How does an American who fought the Nazis in World War II, who has a college education and is utterly dedicated to his country, wind up in jail after being attacked by a mob of Jews? How does a man who was looked upon for years as just a “good guy,” become a fanatical Nazi who stands up in public and advocates gas chambers for Jewish or any other kinds of traitors – and admits he estimates about 80% of adult Jews will be found guilty of treason and have to be gassed? Why me? How had events turned me into such a one, but few or none of my fellows? Was I indeed “nuts” and “sick” as the Jews so feverishly insist?

Only by forcing the Jews to spread our message with their facilities could we have any hope of success in counteracting their left-wing, race-mixing propaganda!

To do this, we would need two things: (1) A smashing, dramatic approach which could not be ignored, without exposing the most blatant press censorship, and (2) a super-tough, hard-core of young fighting men to enable such a dramatic presentation to the public, in-spite of the inevitable Jewish violence.

I examined the tactics of the Jews in dealing with all previous approaches to the problem, and found they had a sliding scale of increasingly vicious attacks on those who tried to expose and oppose them publicly.

The first and instinctive weapon of the Jew is economic. If you are an ‘anti-Semite,’ then you and your family must starve, if it is in the power of Jewry to accomplish this – which it almost always is, since they supply, control or patronize all businesses. The whole weight of Jewish business is brought to bear on anyone who dares to oppose these lovers of free speech. Usually this is enough to terrify and reduce any man, especially one with a family, to humiliating and disgusting submission to Jewry.

But if that doesn’t work, they go after his reputation and social life. He is smeared and blasted and lied about in the Jew-controlled media of entertainment and information. He is called a ‘bigot,’ a ‘hate-monger,’ a ‘failure’ and finally, when all else fails, he is damned as a ‘Nazi.’

If there is still life in the would-be exposer of Jewish treason, they then reverse the field, for fear of giving him publicity, and give him instead the ‘silent treatment.’ His meetings, speeches, distributions and resolutions are simply ignored, no matter what he does. This is a particularly frustrating experience and usually discourages even the toughest battlers, with the mere passage of time.

If the rising ‘anti-Semite’ survives all this, they next try their jail bit. The police are pressured until they crack and are willing to harass and persecute the ‘offender’ for all sorts of ‘violations.’ And if the Jew-fighter persists regardless of the fines and other penalties incurred for not having a properly licensed dog, for distributing literature in a disorderly manner, etc., they prepare a ‘frame’ for him, as they did to Emory Burke in Atlanta. The patriot is found with dope in his possession, or it is ‘discovered’ that he has been giving ‘kick-backs’ to his employees, or his tax returns are not in order, etc.

Failing this tactic, the Jews hit their man with their newest masterpiece: ‘mental health.’ The patriot must be ‘sick,’ so he is locked up ‘for his own good’ in the bughouse.

If this also should fail to stop such a ‘mad anti-Semite,’ then the Jews resort to the eternal weapon of all tyrants: naked violence. The would-be opponent of Jewish treason and tyranny is beaten up by hoods, his place is attacked by fire and missiles, and he discovers that his life is in danger, unless he stops doing whatever it is that offends the Jews.

During all their direct attacks against the staunch patriot, the Jewish ‘lovers of sweet reason’ employ two equally dirty indirect plays: They build up sincere, but harmless anti-communist outfits, like the John Birch Society, by showering them with publicity to draw off the growing hordes of maddened Americans from any real and therefore dangerous activity and, secondly, they open up a heavy media bombardment of lies about Hitler and National Socialism, in order to destroy by discrediting ‘Nazis’ like ourselves, without giving us any publicity.

There is no question that a man who has survived all these attacks will be killed, if possible, by the Jews or their agents. The Jews have no choice. They are too guilty to permit anybody to expose them and organize any effective resistance against them. Traitors cannot survive such an exposure. With such as the Jews, it is kill or be killed.