by George Lincoln Rockwell


Mary MacPherson was the healthiest and prettiest young peasant girl in Pugwash, Nova Scotia. She had helped her Scottish immigrant family fight the Indians for their land. She had been brought up in the rude and rugged life of a pioneer, shearing the small herd of family sheep, carding and spinning the wool, weaving it and then making clothes for all the family from it. There was no nonsense about life in Pugwash and no nonsense about young Mary MacPherson as she set off to visit relatives in Providence, Rhode Island, some time in the early spring of 1884.

While in Providence, she met John Rockwell, a mature and dignified Civil War veteran of Scotch-English descent who had opened a real estate office and had already married and raised a small family, before he lost his wife. Mary MacPherson married John Rockwell and they bought a house, with a large mortgage, on Pemberton Street in the Mount Pleasant, section of Providence.

In this house, in 1889, was born a very unusual man: my father. Out of these most staid circumstances came a human mutation, a genius, who was to help set America laughing as it had never laughed before and who was to produce a gm who would find America in tears and lead the battle to change those tears once again to healthy laughter – but not with jokes.

George Lovejoy Rockwell was nothing like his stern and dignified father or his sturdy, no-nonsense mother. From what I can gather, he was more like a composite of Peck's Bad Boy and a mischievous, impudent monkey. He played endless painful tricks on his sweet little sisters, but always managed to appear the angel when these innocents appealed tearfully to their mother. He investigated everything and everybody, poked into everything, became an expert young magician, invented a thousand diabolical little devices for an equal number of diabolical purposes, learned to play the penny tin-whistle better than anyone before him, became an artist, cartoonist and sign painter, liberally plastering the cellar walls with signs for various soaps, etc., which still remain.

I have not heard of any scholastic honors awarded him, but I understand he did manage to frolic his way through part of high school, carefully placing hornets in the school master's lunch box and performing other psychological experiments. But he could not long repress his spirits in a school room.

Starting as a magician, he entered the exuberant new world of vaudeville. But his patter, delivered with the legerdemain, soon proved more successful than the magic act and he teamed up in a comedy bit with various partners, including men named Al Wood and Al Fox.

For years he starved. Once, he and his partner had only a single pair of pants between them, when one of them ripped the only pair he had and they were out of work and money. They had managed to keep a room, even with the rent overdue, so one stayed in bed in the room while the other searched for some kind of work or income. My father was clever at writing parodies – humorous and irreverent words to well-known songs – and his partner managed to get a few other vaudevillian customers for his services in this line. The partner would bring the customer to the room, excuse himself at the door, run inside, give the pants to my father, jump in bed and then pretend to sleep while my father wrote the parody on the spot and in the pants.

But poverty was no damper for my old man's irrepressible spirits. Next door to this room, behind paper-thin walls, was a sister act and sounds were clearly heard from one room to the next. In those days and in the place, every bed had a not, very handsome, but utilitarian piece of china beneath it. My father conceived the idea of filling the huge water pitcher kept on the bureau and giving the young ladies in the next room something to think about. He stood on a chair, making sure they were in next door, then carefully and slowly, he poured a thin stream of water from the pitcher into the chamber pot. This occupied about ten minutes or so and his diabolical genius was rewarded a few minutes later when the pranksters innocently stepped out of their room and, sneaking a look behind them, discovered two pretty heads peeking out, with mouths hanging wide open.

There is material for a delightful book in my father's endless and absorbing tales of his antics on and off stage in vaudeville and I have urged him repeatedly to do the job, himself, without success.

There was the time he bet the rest of the bill in some town in Illinois that he could go out on the street and calmly hit a policeman, without being arrested. He put on dark glasses, filled his hat with pencils and went about 'feeling' vigorously with the cane, striking this way and that, until he fetched a cop a good belt on the shins. The cop winced, but helped the poor 'blind man' and my Pop won. Or the time in Chicago when he got the baby ducks and the whole cast watched them swim in the hotel tub, until my old man got the idea of seeing if they could swim in 'rapids'. The ducks were tested in the water closet and it was discovered with great glee that they could swim so desperately that they could beat the flush!

While Mary MacPherson was growing up as a pioneer in Nova Scotia, a young German youth named Augustus Schade was emigrating to America to make his fortune and wound up working in a Bloomington, Illinois theater, finally becoming manager. He married, of all things, a fiery French girl, Corrine Boudreau, his opposite in every possible way and the two had a miniature World War I, Germans versus French, going from 1914 on.

They had two daughters, Claire and Arline. Claire was dainty, feminine and took after her French mother. Arline was hefty, overbearing and took after her German father. When the little girls were still very small, they were trained as dancers and actresses for the booming vaudeville business and the whole family hit the road as "The Four Schades". Little Claire was adored by audiences as a sort of Shirley Temple of her day and performed as a toe-dancer. She continued in the theatrical business until about 1915, when she met and married my father.

Unable to approach even marriage with proper decorum, my irrepressible father, I am told, was planning to tell his new father-in-law, who by that time was owner and manager of a large Bloomington theater, that he was part colored. He was barely dissuaded by my mother and her mother who insisted that my very unhumorous German grandfather would have 'promptly shot him to death'. This prediction was later confirmed by Augustus himself, who was only prevented with the greatest effort from carrying out the execution when he heard about the plan for the 'joke'.

About this time, my father had cast off his partners, with their banjos and props and opened as a monologist. He took the pseudo title of "Dr." Rockwell – quack, quack, quack! – and posed as a great chiropractor. His only prop was a banana stalk which he demonstrated as the human spine. He did something no monologist had previously dared do: he sat down in an arm chair in the middle of the stage and just talked.

But he did it so successfully that I can remember being in the audience as a very, very small boy and laughing most of all at the fat men and women all around me literally falling out of their seats and suffocating and gasping in ecstasies of laughter. My old man was a master of timing and would blow a police whistle to try to extinguish the laughter so he could continue, but this only drove the howling audience to new paroxysms of uncontrollable mirth.

They laughed, I am sure, until they ached and hurt all over. At the height of this success, in the middle of the depression, my father was paid $ 3,500 per week – a fabulous salary for the time and he was worth every cent of it. On and off stage, he kept America, almost literally in stitches.

While all this laughing was going on in the politically innocent, carefree, super-corny United States, the laughter had been extinguished in the more mature part of Western Civilization, Europe. In Germany and Russia, the most gigantic political monster ever to appear on earth was struggling to its scaled feet. The apostate Jew, Karl Marx, had codified the doctrine organizing the biologically inferior millions of the earth, led by Jewish Communist leaders, into a ruthless war of extermination against the elite, the biologically best human material which alone could give civilization and leadership to the masses. At the same time, Theodore Herzl, a Zionist Jew, had perfected plans for gaining Palestine for the Jews from the Arabs who had held it for two thousand years as residents. Simultaneously, in the United States, the Warburgs, Kuhn Loeb & Company and other multi-millionaire Jews in New York City were using their economic power to destroy our republic. In 1913, these forces set up the Anti-Defamation League or 'Gestapo' of B'nai B'rith, got rid of the Constitutional safeguard against demagoguery by getting Senators elected directly, instead of by the State Legislatures, set up the illegal Federal Reserve System to gain mastery over our money and banking, established the monstrous left-wing Rockefeller Foundation and – worst of all – established the Income Tax in order to bankrupt America.

In the next three years, these same forces achieved the final wrecking of our strong republic by diabolically and purposefully getting us into the European War on the side of Britain, because Britain unscrupulously offered the Jews Palestine in return for the Jews' promise to get America into the war on the side of England. The result was that everybody lost the war, except the Jews, who got Palestine out of the Balfour Declaration, for their Zionism, and Russia for their Communism.

The first Communist government of Russia was overwhelmingly Jewish, as witnessed by Winston Churchill in an article, "Communism versus Zionism – A Struggle for the Soul of the Jewish People", in the London Illustrated Sunday Herald of February 8, 1920, reproduced in part on the next page. [Below]



The National Russian Jews, in spite of the disabilities under which they have suffered, have managed to play an honourable and useful part in the national life even of Russia. As bankers and industrialists they have strenuously promoted the development of Russia's economic resources, and they were foremost in the creation of those remarkable organisations, the Russian Co-operative Societies. In politics their support has been given, for the most part, to liberal and progressive movements, and they have been among the staunchest upholders of friendship with France and Great Britain.

International Jews

In violent opposition to all this sphere of Jewish effort rise the schemes of the International Jews. [Rockwell's emphasis] The adherents of this sinister confederacy are mostly men reared up among the unhappy populations of countries where Jews are persecuted on account of their race. Most, if not all, of them have forsaken the faith of their forefathers, and divorced from their minds all spiritual hopes of the next world. This movement among the Jews is not new. From the days of Spartacus-Weishaupt to those of Karl Marx, and down to Trotsky (Russia), Bela Kun (Hungary), Rosa Luxembourg (Germany), and Emma Goldman (United States), this world-wide conspiracy for the overthrow of civilisation and for the reconstitution of society on the basis of arrested development, of envious malevolence, and impossible equality, has been steadily growing. It played, as modern writer, Mrs. Webster, has so ably shown, a definitely recognisable part in the tragedy of the French Revolution. It has been the mainspring of every subversive movement during the Nineteenth Century; and now at last this band of extraordinary personalities from the underworld of the great cities of Europe and America have gripped the Russian people by the hair of their heads and have become practically the undisputed masters of that enormous empire.

Terrorist Jews.

There is no need to exaggerate the part played in the creation of Bolshevism and in the actual bringing about of the Russian Revolution by these international and for the most part atheistic Jews. It is certainly a very great one; it probably outweighs all others. With the notable exception of Lenin, the majority of the leading figures are Jews. Moreover, the principal inspiration and driving power comes from the Jewish leaders. Thus Tchitcherin, a pure Russian, is eclipsed by his nominal subordinate Litvinoff, and the influence of Russians like Bukharin or Lunacharski cannot be compared with the power of Trotsky, of Zinovieff, the Dictator of the red Citadel (Petrograd), or of Krassin or Rade – all Jews. In the Soviet institutions the predominance of Jews is even more astonishing. And the prominent, if not indeed the principal, part in the system of terrorism applied by the Extraordinary Commissions for Combating Counter-Revolution has been taken by Jews, and in some notable cases by Jewesses. The same evil prominence was obtained by Jews in the brief period of terror during which Bela Kun ruled in Hungary. The same phenomenon has been presented in Germany (especially in Bavaria), so far as this madness has been allowed to prey upon the temporary prostration of the German people. Although in all these countries there are many non-Jews every whit as bad as the worst of the Jewish revolutionaries, the part played by the latter in proportion to their numbers in the population is astonishing.

"Protector of the Jews."

Needless to say, the most intense passions of revenge have been excited in the breasts of the Russian people. Wherever General Denikin's authority could reach, protection was always accorded to the Jewish population, and strenuous efforts were made by his officers to prevent reprisals and to punish those guilty of them. So much was this the case that the Petlurist propaganda against General Denikin denounced him as the Protector of the Jews... [end of excerpt]

This is only an infinitesimally tiny bit of the huge mass of evidence that the 'Russian' revolution was not Russian at all, but Jewish. The documents include the Overman Report to the U.S. Senate, 1919, Senate Document 88, which shows that of the 388 members of the first Soviet Government, sitting in the Old Smolny Institute in Petrograd, 371 were Jews and 265 of these Jews were from the lower East Side of New York City!

In March 1918, both Russia and Germany were in the advanced throes of Bolshevik revolution. Lenin was on his way in a sealed train to Russia, with over 417 exiled Jewish Marxists, to set up the first Bolshevik government in the world. The Jewish revolutionaries were at work in all the other chaos-ridden European countries, with Bela Kun (Cohen) seizing Hungary for the Jew-Communists and Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht, both Jews, leading the Bolshevik uprising in Germany.

Meanwhile, an unknown German corporal lay in hospital in Pasewalk, outside of Berlin, his eyes all but burned out by a gas attack. He writes movingly in Mein Kampf of the hot tears which poured down his face when a gang of deserters from the Navy rushed in proclaiming the Red revolution, which forced Germany to sue for an armistice. He writes even more movingly of his disgust and helpless rage when he learned that the deserters were not combat fighters from the front lines, where he himself had won his Iron Cross of valor, but were Jews from the rear echelons!

Five thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean, in Bloomington, Illinois, Claire Schade Rockwell entered the Kelso Hospital at this same time to give birth to her first child, on the night of March 9, 1918. The greatest marathon race of human history was launched.

Marx had started the monumental race in 1848. Lenin had seized the baton from his failing hands and carried it in 1918 to victory in the first lap. But at the same moment, the Red team launched the reaction which would eventually destroy it. Adolf Hitler started the year I was born, the year that Marxism took Russia. He made a miraculous sprint into history, almost overtook the Reds, but exhausted himself in the agony of his superhuman exertion. His baton seemed to fall, to be crushed into the earth by the ferocity of the other side. It has lain buried now for fifteen years. All over the world, it appears to be crucified. But now, at last, it has been seized up by new hands! It will be carried to triumph as inevitably as the laws of Nature decree the eventual victory of the strongest and best. The dead mass of the world's inferiors, led by even the most brilliant tactics of the Jew Communists and Zionists, cannot avoid eventually returning to their natural place of submission to the natural-born lord of life on this planet, the White Man.

I have made it my mission in life, above all things, to carry that baton to victory! No matter how long it takes, how painful it may be, or how an eternally blind world scorns and hates it, Adolf Hitler's noble vision of racial idealism will yet master today's chaos and bring order, decency and the innocent fun and laughter of my father's day back to suffering, stumbling humanity – perhaps even to the unhappy, paranoiac Jews.