by George Lincoln Rockwell


As I walked around the silent and empty house, my footsteps echoing in emphasis of the utter loneliness, I was tempted to assure myself that this was certainly as low as we could get in life. The sight of a little baby dress left behind, a one-armed doll in the kids' room, my wife's last half-consumed cup of coffee – these reminders of my loss very nearly overcame my self-control, and pushed me to the brink of sobbing, out of self-pity.

In my innermost being, however, I knew there were yet more agonies before I could safely imagine the worst to be over. One does not win a whole new world with ordinary sorrows and agonies, but only after enduring and surmounting the utmost of tragedies and agonies of truly olympian dimensions.

I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas alone and ostracized by the 'die-hards' and most of the 'conservatives' who called to explain that they would have liked to invite me to dinner, etc., but that I would 'understand' that it was 'too dangerous'. The utility companies grew discouraged about not being paid and the phone and lights were cut off. I was in court day after day, without an attorney, fighting desperately to keep the 'home' which Arrowsmith had guaranteed' us.

In spite of my notoriety and the fear inspired by my name, I was able to get some odd jobs here and there. Little by little, I paid enough on the bills to put the lights back on and even got my phone back. I boned up on the law fiercely, until I was one day able to face Arrowsmith's highly-paid attorney before the circuit court judge – and win an agreement to settle. The day I won the agreement should have made me happy. Victory in such an uneven and bitter battle should have been sweet. But when I went 'home' to that cold and empty house which had been so filled with noisy children and a warm, loving wife, my 'victory' seemed almost worse than defeat. For the first time I discovered the brutal joke of fate in granting happiness which cannot be shared with somebody you love. Since then, I have won goal after goal, and have earned and received the applause of thousands of fine people all over the earth, but all their praise, all the victories – even walking into the White House – can never equal in human satisfaction the tender, blessed smile of my wife at even the smallest advance we shared together.

I, the supposed master of 'hate' in the world, since the demise of Adolf Hitler, am blessed or cursed with a soft, loving and love-craving nature. Since I have been without my wife, I have learned the full, horrible and indescribable bitterness of victory unshared, of triumph unloved. Sunday afternoons, this past summer, after I have come back from major successes against the howling mobs of Jews and won over the crowds with two hours of sustained oratory, which left me drenched and exhausted, but victorious – I have tasted the unutterable bitterness of coming back to the congratulations of my Party comrades, admiring women and friends – and my empty room. No physical blows I have received or will receive, no jails, no courts, no insane asylums and no smears can hurt me inside as much as the enforced lack of my beloved wife and family to share the successes I am increasingly able to wring from a brutal world. But seen objectively, my political battle was far from lost.

Behind me I had almost five years of rough, tough apprenticeship, during which I had made my mistakes and learned my lessons. I would not repeat these errors, and thus was approaching that state of technical virtuosity in the art of manipulating people and events which is the mark of the professional revolutionary. I had progressed from artistry with paints, paper and words to achieve at least the minimum professional ability in the highest form of art: politics. In all the other arts, one manipulates a limited number of materials and ideas to achieve a very limited aim. In politics alone does the art encompass the whole earth and all that is in it. In the battle of real politics, not the disgusting sham 'Politics' of 'Democrats' and 'Republicans' – which are nothing more than struggles to shove the next hog from his place at the slop-trough – in constructive and therefore revolutionary politics, one's canvas is humanity itself, one's paints are the whole range of ideas, words, graphic arts, bluff and the minutest facets of human existence – while one's brushes are not only vocal chords, pamphlets, television and all the rest of the media of public expression, but one's fists, one's very life itself! It is not by accident that many of the world's great revolutionaries and politicians have been artists.

Unlike the millions of my 'fellow right-wingers', I had become a hardened and determined revolutionary, destined either to achieve the objectives about which they only talked, or die. As I sat alone in that empty house or lay alone in that even emptier bed in the silent, empty darkness, the full realization of what I was about bore in upon me with fearful urgency. I realized there was no turning back. As long as I lived, I was marked with the stigma of anti-Jewishness.

It was not an empty boast when ADL Chairman Meier Steinbrink, a New York State Supreme Court justice, snarled to his fellow Anti-Defamation League members: "We must never forgive them! [patriots] We must drive them into the sewers. We must fill our jails and lunatic asylums with 'anti-semitic' gangsters!" I could never again hope to earn a 'normal' living. The Jews could not survive unless they made an example of me the rest of my life, otherwise too many others might be tempted to follow my example. My 'Rubicon' had been crossed and it was fight and win – or die.

With these thoughts in mind, I went to the post office one morning and found a big carton waiting for me. It was from James K. Warner, one of our first supporters. Inside I found, carefully and lovingly folded, a huge Nazi flag, eighteen feet long. It was one of the strokes of destiny I have come to expect.

There was no doubt in my mind. I went home, drew the livingroom blinds closed and hung the beautiful banner completely across the wall. In the center I mounted a plaque of Adolf Hitler. Then I placed a small bookcase under it and set three lighted candles in front. I stood before my holy altar to Adolf Hitler, alone in the silent house, without a single soul knowing what I was doing – or caring. Then, for the first time since I had lost my Christian religion, I experienced the soul-thrilling upsurge of emotion which is denied our modern, sterile, atheist 'intellectuals', but nevertheless remains the force which has moved the human race for countless centuries: religious experience. As I looked at the stern face of the greatest mind in twenty centuries, I felt the unbelievable flood of 'religious' power pouring into me which would be easily understood by any savage Indian standing on a mountain top at sunrise and communing with the Great Spirit before battle. the very power which the so-called intellectuals have denied themselves because of their conceit that they can 'know' everything.

I recalled the words of the Leader: "When human hearts break and human souls despair, the great vanquishers of distress and care, of shame and misery, of intellectual unfreedom and physical duress look down upon them from the twilight of the past, and hold out their eternal hands to faint-hearted mortals. Woe to the people that is ashamed to grasp them!"

I was moved beyond the power of words to describe. Goose-pimples rose all over me, my hair stood on end, my eyes filled with tears of love and gratitude for this greatest of all conquerors of human misery and shame, and my breath came in little gasps. If I had not known that the Leader would have scorned such adulation, I might have fallen to my knees in unashamed worship, but instead, I drew myself to attention, raised my arm in the eternal salute of the ancient Roman legions and repeated the holy words, "Heil Hitler!" – meaning every syllable with all my heart, mind and soul.

No longer was Adolf Hitler only a great mind to me. Now I realized the inscrutable power of the human soul. Now I knew why the power of that human soul for ten thousand years, again and again, has conquered the mightiest aggregates of physical force and tyranny, regardless of odds or possibilities! I had run the full circle from savage and childish animal instinct – the primitive stage of most of humanity – to conceited and sterile intellectualism – the stage of our convinced Marxists and 'liberals' – and finally, I had, with the help of the Great Leader, found my way back to the natural understanding of the world given free to every dog and worm, every ape and man, of which the intellect is only a sort of recent development or 'trick'. I had found my way to that unconscious understanding of eternal riddles which can only be called "wisdom" – the same perception of the essence of things which has, in different guises, formed the basis of the teachings of all great leaders in all times.

As the emotional storm subsided within me, it left me filled with the holy sense of mission which is the fundamental weapon and armor of a revolutionary leader. Where before I had wanted to fight the forces of tyranny and regression, now I had to fight them. But even more, I felt within me the power to prevail – strength beyond my own strength – the ability to do the right thing, even when I was personally overwhelmed by events. And that strength has not failed me, nor will it fail. It is the power beyond the atom, the force called "religious" by the non-intellectual, "psychological self-hypnotism" by the 'brains' of today, and the "unknowable" by those who have learned true wisdom. I knew with calm certainty exactly what to do and I knew, in a hard-to-explain sense, what was ahead. It was something like looking at a road from the air, after seeing only the curve ahead from the ground.

The world was obviously building up to an unheard of, unprecedented clash between the dark forces of massed ignorance, greed, envy, hatred and stupidity – mustered and led by the scheming Jew – versus the waning forces of Nature's elite – the White Man. The Jew, with his Marxist-Democratic idea of the supremacy of mere numbers threatens to overwhelm the White Man throughout the world by the sheer mass of the teeming colored, inferior races which outnumber the White builders of civilization by more than seven to one.

Adolf Hitler had shown the way to survival. It would be my task on this earth to, carry his ideas and his living example to total, world-wide victory. I knew I would not live to see the victory which I would make possible, but I would not die before I had made that victory certain. I had not long to wait before Destiny drew the curtain on the first act in my new role.

There was a knock on the door one evening as I sat, lonely and wondering, by the fire. I opened it and found a man named Eugene Collton standing there with two other men I had never seen before. Gene was a 27 year-old right-winger I had met only recently. He introduced one of the men, a bluff and very husky construction worker type, as J.V. Morgan and the other as Louis Yalacki – a deceptively good-looking little guy who was almost 'pretty', but who was tough as nails underneath.

Collton was not too surprised by my big Nazi banner and the candles, but the other two staggered back in disbelief and horror. They had not been prepared for anything like this! They were indignant at what appeared to them to be treason, as both of them were service veterans, 100% loyal to America – and were with Collton mostly because they hated niggers. Collton had told them he would take them to see a man who was really fighting the situation, but had not told them I was a Nazi or anything about his own Hitlerism. Morgan and Yalacki were undecided whether to fight or leave, or stay and listen, but finally Collton persuaded them to hear the story.

So they came in and, in the fire and candle light, I gave them an intense, fundamental little talk in earthy terms which they could understand. I explained that the Negro was too unambitious, unintelligent and good-natured to be causing all the 'nigger trouble' by himself, and that common, ordinary, plain old 'niggers' were often pretty good fellows when they didn't push. The two agreed. It was only when they were agitated, irritated and organized by other than Black people that the good-natured, laughing, easy-going 'niggers' became the aggressive, nasty, repulsive 'colored people' typified by the NAACP. Again they agreed. Then I drove in hard the evidence that both the NAACP and CORE are financed and led, not by Negroes, but by communistic Jews. This was a novel idea for them, but when I showed them the pictures of ugly Arthur Springarn, head of the NAACP and Marvin Rich, head of CORE, they began to understand the idea. Then I went into the rest of the Jewish picture and saw their minds following me stumblingly, reluctantly – but inevitably. The facts are simply too damning not to believe, once they are presented, even to uneducated Americans.

Then I told them how the Jews, using especially their money and domination of the news and entertainment media, were organizing the vast hordes of the earth's colored people, mostly with the help of Marxism, against the outnumbered and weak White Man, against whom they were using the weapon of 'democracy' in which there would be seven colored votes for every White vote. I told them that we could not survive by talk, but must fight for survival as did our forebears – and that the only way to fight legally and thus successfully, was as Nazis – tough, all-out White Men!

The result was that in the space of three or four hours, I had four Nazis, instead of just me. Morgan and Yalacki were all for total battle immediately, but Collton felt it had to be done more carefully and slowly. They began to come to little gatherings every evening, and I slowly educated the two new men as to the appalling facts of our historical situation, always using the earthy terms they understood.

Then I decided it was time to stand forth and make our fight, and that the way to do it was to open the doors and big windows to the heavily-traveled boulevard so that the public could see our Nazi flag and altar, our candles, red searchlights, etc. I even got an infrared light for the banner itself, for the psychological effect of the heat it threw out, in addition to the eerie, red glow it cast. We have made it safely now, of course, but at that time, such conduct seemed mad and suicidal. Gene Collton sincerely felt that such a course would be wrong until we had at least ten men, and detached himself from the effort, but Louis and J.V. were, by this time, hard to hold back. They wanted to fight as much as possible and right away, anything and anybody, to defend the White Man.

We got ourselves brown shirts, armbands and leather belts. J.V. brought his rifles, revolvers and holsters. Consciously and purposefully we swaggered around the house in the most dramatic and provocative fashion, knowing that this would be too much for the Jews to stomach.

At first it was just kids who came to stare and hoot and throw rocks, but we were not discouraged and knew that, sooner or later, the Jews would be unable to ignore this challenge.

One night, a big, expensive car stopped out front to allow its occupants to appreciate our dramatic display of banners, searchlights and storm troopers. We could see somebody taking notes inside. A few nights later, we found out who it had probably been, when Drew Pearson let go at us with a smashing national broadside about the dreadfulness of it all: Nazis only a few minutes from the Lincoln Memorial, etc. This reaction was right in line with my reasoning that a calm, calculating Jew is dangerous, but a wildly angry and fearful Jew, raving and frothing about 'Nazis', is raw meat for our teeth. And it worked!

Instead of the intelligent and obvious countermeasures they could have used, via their controlled press, they panicked. If they had smeared us then, all over the front pages, with plenty of pictures and incited the mobs sufficiently, we would have been quickly finished off before I could have gained strength, but they could not bring themselves to 'give publicity' to a man they knew was openly announcing that he would force them to give it, so they put a tight blanket of silence about us in the papers. Night after night there were riots around our headquarters, with shooting through the windows, but the press was silent about it all. The whole area was alive with talk about us, but the press pretended we did not exist! I put out thousands of leaflets, door-to-door, pointing out to the citizens the power of the Jews to suppress such news, right before their eyes, and the effect was devastating. Even the soft-headed 'liberals' could see that if a minority could enforce censorship on the press on one issue, they could do it on another, on an issue about which the 'liberals' might not approve censorship!

Meanwhile, we had begun to gather recruits, exactly as I had foreseen, because of our fight. Best of all, these were not 'talking patriots', but tough workers, truck-drivers, etc. – fighting men who had enough 'niggers' and Jew minority tyranny. Hundreds and hundreds of people came to our headquarters every day to talk to me and to see for themselves what kind of 'creature' I was.

Once again, the Jew lies caused their own downfall, for I convinced more than three out of five of the simpering, supercilious visitors that I was not a monster, nor a liar, nor a fake – as the Jews insisted – but a most sincere and truthful White American patriot, fighting the only possible way to save us from catastrophe.

We began to win most of the high school kids to our side and we became the major topic of discussion in all the schools for miles around. The Jews forced the teachers to spread the wildest lies about myself, our headquarters and ideas – including the vicious story that my wife had left me, that I had tried to drown my kids, that I was insane and that we were a gang of criminals and traitors.

Our windows were all smashed out by large rocks thrown from speeding cars. Pies, catsup, paint and stinkbombs were regularly heaved in our direction, day and night, but our armed storm troopers stood guard out front and nobody dared attack us personally.

One day, several hundred people gathered down the street in a parking lot, and we knew we were going to have to face a pretty deadly mob. We were armed, but it would have been the end of the party to shoot or kill anybody. I had to figure out some way of stopping the mob, short of shooting. I decided to use psychology as our weapon.

I got my camera ready with an enormous electronic flashgun and, when the mob approached, I ran at them with the camera and started taking flash photos of the leaders. They got scared and turned their backs! That was all I needed. I jeered at them, letting everyone know just what cowards I thought they were. The mob dispersed and straggled away. The attack had been repulsed!

My personal life, meanwhile, was almost unbearable. I suffered an agonizing loneliness and heartache for my wife and children, and she suffered the same deprivation in Iceland. I got tear-stained letters and heart-breaking tapes from my wife, who was catching the very devil from her folks for having anything to do with me. Her sufferings were worse than mine, for I, at least, had an absorbing mission to keep my mind occupied. She had nothing but four squabbling little children to look after, no husband, nor social life and no money, except that which her father gave her, and for which she had to account for, penny by penny. But at least she was safe from the happenings in Arlington, and she would not starve, as I was doing. I was living on small parcels of food brought by faithful troopers and friends – stale bread, dented cans, etc.

Floyd Fleming, the man who had stood so staunchly behind John Kasper, came over to see what was going on. He was at first repelled by the Nazi flag, but little by little, I was able to make him see that it was the only way to force our way through the Jewish press blockade and to attract the young fighting men we so desperately needed.

Daily the number of visitors grew. Many of them were beginning to come from colleges and universities, and I won their minds and hearts, too. Most of them came out of curiosity, but there was a good percentage who came determined to wreck the place, once and for all. One such 'wrecking crew' was comprised of seventeen large fraternity men from the University of Maryland.

They all came in and I made them sit down in front of me, as was my practice, while I kept a loaded .45 on the table at my hand. I had two armed storm troopers standing in both corners of the room at all times, and another, at the front door. Several times as I talked, one of them got up and went over near the big Nazi banner on the wall. He was courteously, but firmly sent back to his seat by one of my men. We later learned that these men were armed and that they had planned to give us a good 'lesson', beat me up, tear down the flag, bum the place and put an end to the Party.' Instead, they went back to the university and for two days, flew a Nazi flag from their fraternity house, until the university took a hand in the matter.

I began to learn the science of argument as I never had before. I particularly practiced my growing abilities on the hundreds of foul-mouthed Jews who called on the phone. I learned their standard 'arguments', their canned and unreasonable slogans and catchwords: "You can't condemn a whole group because of a few individuals," etc. and, within a few weeks, all of us became masters of such Jewish sophisms. Many at the time criticized me for 'wasting my time' with these hateful Jews on the phone, but I used them as jousting-posts and taught my men to parry their feeble thrusts and then drive home our facts and arguments in the way which always sends the Jews scurrying for their poisoned pens and their hired hoods.

Many of the characters who were attracted to us were pretty sorry specimens of humanity. One man arrived late at night with a caged bird and some kind of "sacred book". He wanted to join the Party because "the bolsheviks were ruining his sex life" and were always keeping him from having a girlfriend. He claimed that he wanted to "fight them" – he and the bird, that is.

A lady arrived in a cab. She was festooned in ostentatious fur pieces and a crazy hat with a berry at the end of a stalk, and she insisted on telling me about the "Jewish underground". I told her I knew about it and that we were fighting it.

"Yes," she said, "but we have got to dig them out! They're down there now, grinding up the bones and the flesh!" She explained to me that the Jews had underground passages running from their "sin-agogs" which honeycombed the earth. In these wicked resorts, she explained desperately and passionately, the devils were mashing up people they plucked from society into a poisonous slime which they then secretly put into the food of the rest of us, to ruin our minds!

This woman was the wife of a one-time U.S. ambassador, believe it or not. I sent her away with as much sympathy as I could muster.

The nights were difficult for me, not only because of the crushing loneliness, but because of the attacks. At that time, nobody was living with me, and the troops all had to leave at ten or eleven. Sometimes, especially on Friday or Saturday nights, carloads of hoods would appear at twelve or one A.M., and I would have to hold them off alone until I could get to the phone to call the cops.

Morgan and Yalacki did yeoman work cooling down the worst of the hot-heads. They would sit in their high-powered cars with the lights off and, when a carload would go by hurling missiles, they would light out after them like hornets – even when the odds were five or six to one against them. I did not go on any of these wild, careening chases and cannot vouch personally for what happened, but I do know that the attacks slowed down and finally, almost stopped. We have gained such respect and mastery now, of course, that our present headquarters had only one broken window, and attacks are extremely rare. We have won most of the youth in our local area by our daring and dedication.

And, as we had planned, we put the Jews on the horns of an impossible dilemma: If they did nothing and continued the news blackout, they not only proved to the public that they were censoring the press, as we were preaching, but we continued to grow and gain thousands of young minds. On the other hand, if they pounced on us illegally and brutally, they would 'martyrize' us and give us the publicity we needed, the publicity which they were determined to deny us.

For awhile they compromised by attacking our employment. Yalacki worked at Capital Airlines and he had won a large circle of the workmen who were coming to the headquarters regularly and contributing. The Jews struck there first. Drew Pearson 'exposed' our progress at Capital, so Yalacki and the other men of the airline were told they would have to quit the Party or be fired. All but Yalacki quit. Louis, full of fight as a banty rooster, believed me when I told him it was necessary to prove that we could hold the jobs of our men, so he refused to quit the Party. He became more Nazi than ever, "Sieg Heiling" in the hangars and openly flaunting his Nazi beliefs. We were legal, honest, patriotic and for America, not against it. We were not totalitarians. There was no reason why we should be fired because of Jew pressure, and we wrote the airline management a letter to that effect and made it clear that if they fired Louis, we would give them all the legal trouble we could invent, from pickets to lawsuits.

Faced with the snarling Jews on one side and adamant, open Nazis on the other, the management decided to be fair. Louis did not lose his job! It was a major victory for us, and we knew the Jews could not tolerate such a situation.

They fell back on their old terror tactics – threatening Louis' kids and his wife, making filthy phone calls and applying every form of rotten pressure imaginable. We absorbed it all and laughed at them.

Late one afternoon I was alone at headquarters, printing more programs down in the cellar. Suddenly, the door behind me burst open and five or six men rushed in. I recognized a deputy sheriff and some county officials. They shoved a paper at me and told me it was a raid. There were more officials to be let in upstairs at the front door, they said. I went upstairs and discovered the place surrounded by police cars with red lights flashing, a huge mob, reporters, cops, sheriffs, etc. I opened the front door and greeted Sheriff Taylor and another horde of officials. Behind them were the newspaper reporters, a whole pack of them. I ordered these out and bid the officials enter.

There were fourteen of them, including the Captain of Police, the County Prosecutor, top detectives, the County Sheriff and other dignitaries. They searched everywhere, confiscated everything Nazi or conceivably Nazi, "for evidence" and presented me with a summons on a criminal charge.

While all this was going on, as they were probing every closet, the cellar and the attic. I was taking flash photographs and had them developed and printed before the raiding party departed. One of these photos was on the Washington area TV less than 45 minutes after the raid – along with a Jewish newspaper story that I was so "hysterical" that I had run from "room to room" during the raid in fear and terror, screaming and shrieking! The Washington Evening Star paid me $10 for the print they used, and I photostated the check, expecting something like this Jewish lie.

A meeting had been scheduled for the Party that evening and, as soon as I saw all the cops, and before I learned that they were not going to seize me personally, I called the others on the phone and warned them not to come. A few minutes later, I heard shouting and yelling outside and then knocks on the door. It was my troopers, heroically coming to face whatever was to be faced with me – shouldering and fighting their way through the mob around the house! Morgan was asked for an interview by a particularly obnoxious little kike and roared at him: "Out of my way, you filthy Jew!" This tickled the crowd. As each man entered, he shouted "Sieg Heil!" at the top of his lungs, showing the caliber of our defiance of this latest Jewish pressure.

When the house was stripped, even of the magnetic tapes of music which I guess they suspected were secret codes of some kind, the raiders departed and I held a press conference with the reporters who had been straining at the leash outside.

Thus did we get a sudden flood of publicity, now that the Jews thought we were through. But we promptly got another Nazi flag, more lights, literature, etc., and opened for business again!

The Anti-Defamation League put out a whole article in their bulletin on us, however, and, with typical Jewish effrontery, analyzed and celebrated our 'demise'. They called this premature obituary "Fiasco for a Fuehrer"! How some of their contributors must want them to eat those words now!

Meanwhile, Negro groups throughout the country, and even in Africa, had been contacting us and thanking us for recognizing the sincerity and honesty of the vast majority of colored people. One leader of a group in Chicago, Mr S.A. Davis, wrote that his group felt that I was the fulfillment of Bible prophecy – that the Black Man would serve 200 years in another land and then would return to Africa with gifts and justice at last. Once, when I called him, his wife was so emotionally overwhelmed with gratitude and religious fervor that she fainted and had to be carried to a bed shouting, "Hallelujah!"

I discovered, as we had suspected, that millions of Negroes wanted to return to Africa – with fair treatment – but were being silenced and prevented from doing so by the same gang of Jews who wanted their cheap labor, the hockshop and instalment plan customers, rent-payers and voters which the Blacks were swindled into furnishing them. At the same time, the Jews were agitating viciously against both Blacks and Whites to mix and destroy our White America.

Most amazing of all, we discovered that four million Negroes, believe it or not, had signed a petition to go back to Africa, even without the decent program we propose, and this fact was suppressed and the leader of the movement, Marcus Garvey, thrown in jail!

I began to go to Negro hang-outs to learn at firsthand, on the Negroes' home ground, how they feel. I openly told them they were inferior biologically, that we were ready to fight to the death to stop all race-mixing, but that we owed them a fair shake. Indeed, I proved to them the sincerity of our desire to help them out of the mess of phony 'tolerance' and 'brotherhood' which was and is leading only to chaos and bloody violence between our races. Since this was written, we have established contact with Elijah Muhammad's Black Muslims, who will inevitably win American Negroes with their inspiring and much misrepresented movement.

With no funds for a lawyer, and no lawyer who would defend me if we did have the funds, I went to court, time after time, alone and fought the case against me inch by inch. I studied the law every spare minute and got invaluable training in the courtroom, facing the hot-tempered Irish prosecutor, William Hassan. I learned to disarm his impassioned oratory to the judge with humble, sincere and quiet statements. Observing the prosecutor's red-hot nature, which once led him to whack a lawyer in the teeth, right in the courtroom, I gently needled him with remarks which blew him into a puffing dragon. In particular, I continually apologized to the judge for the prosecutor's miserable case and arguments, and explained that I understood that he was forced into this sorry pass by all the "pressure" from a certain group. At the word "pressure", the prosecutor would leap up, bang the table, holler, turn red, bellow, roar and threaten to attack me. I would draw back in 'surprise' and 'terror' at this display, and the judge would hide his face behind his hand for a smile he couldn't restrain.

As I won point after point, I also won the respect of the court, the judges and the officials of the county. I learned this for sure when the sheriff, the same man my wife and I had fought at our door, and who had raided me, called me into his office to help me all he legally could before my trial. I had proved what I had felt sure of, and that will win the battle for us eventually. Human courage, pluck – yes, heroism – is irresistible. A gang of sneaks and creeps such as now grinds our people under their heels cannot prevail against open and heroic determination and win. Even with all their money, power, media-control and brainwashing subversion, the Jews will fall before the pure, white heat of our idealism and devotion, no matter how tiny the flame seems to be now.

As all this was going on, the period of occupancy in the house I had won from Arrowsmith was drawing to a close, and my lads could not believe he would throw us out into the streets after the victories we had won, and with the promising future we obviously had ahead of us. They tried again and again to get Arrowsmith to agree to some kind of deal, any kind of deal, to keep fighting, but our 'fat-cat' hated me so much for defying and overcoming his peevish spoiled little boy's wishes that he appeared determined to ruin and smash me if he could. On June 15, the agreement ran out – and the Jews were jubilant. Drew Pearson gloated from coast to coast that we would soon be "driven from the banks of the Potomac." It looked like the end of us, to be sure. I was still facing the criminal charges in court; we had no money; all the printing and other equipment was gone, and now we were faced with no place to stay. To top all these losses, I received another lesson in human psychology.

With the increasing, arrogant attacks by the Jews on their employment and the apparently hopeless situation in regard to maintaining the headquarters, all but three of my troopers quit. No amount of shaming or pleading could get them to stand by their oaths and promises to go through hell itself with us to victory. It was hard for me to believe, and very bitter medicine.

Morgan, Yalacki and a non-member named Cary Hansel were my only faithful helpers in those impossible days, during which I had to borrow a truck and move out. We were unable to find any place to move into except a tiny shack far out in the back-woods of Fairfax County, so we took that. It had no lights, water, toilet facilities or anything else, but it did accommodate our boxes and piles of stuff, and it did have a bed of sorts. I spent the months of June and July out there alone, broke, roasting alive in the heat, without seeing another human being for three or four days at a stretch. The Jews discovered the place by following one of my visitors, so I had the added humiliation of small airplanes which would glide silently over the tree-tops, their occupants leaning out the windows with press cameras, hoping to get undignified pictures of me.

Letters from my wife were coming to be less and less frequent, and less filled with the fanatical devotion I loved so much in her. I needed all the sustaining love I could get, and kept heckling her for more mail. Finally, I wrote a relatively sharp letter asking why she couldn't write more often.

I got back a magnetic tape, but couldn't play it because there was no electricity, so I lugged the tape recorder to a nearby church which was empty, sneaked into the basement, plugged in the machine and listened to my wife's voice. What I heard chilled my blood. For the first time in our lives, she sounded really distant and even a little nasty.