How a black cop joined the Klan
UnderKKKover hero’s tale now a Spike Lee flick
WHEN black Colorado Springs Police Officer Ron Stallworth was assigned to protect Ku Klux Klan Grand Wizard David Duke in 1979, he sought a subtle revenge against him for his racism. Asking to take a photo, he surprised Duke at the last second by placing his arm around him, ensuring the pair would look like friends.
Duke was steamed — but he had no idea just how much he had been tricked. For two months, Stallworth had been posing as a white supporter while investigating the Klan, speaking to Duke and others on the phone while getting them to reveal their plans and secrets.
He tells the story in the book “Black Klansman: Race, Hate, and the Undercover Investigation of a Lifetime” (Flatiron Books), out Tuesday. It has been adapted into a Spike Lee film, “BlacKkKlansman,” to be released on Aug. 10.
In October 1978, Stallworth, the first black officer in the Colorado Springs Police Department’s history, was a detective in the Intelligence Unit, tasked with investigating subversive activity. So when the Ku Klux Klan placed an ad in a local newspaper with a PO box address, Stallworth wrote in for more information.
He received a call two weeks later from a man named Ken O’Dell, who introduced himself as the organizer of the Colorado Springs chapter of the KKK.
O’Dell asked Stallworth why he wanted to join, and Stallworth launched into a rant about “n- - - -rs, Jews andd Mexi-Mexicans.” O’Dell then shared that the organiza-anization was planning four cross burnings.
“My pen paused over my notes as I heard this,” Stallworth writes. “Four burnings here inn Colorado Springs? Terrorism, plain and simple.”
O’Dell concluded the call by y saying he wanted to meet the following week and asked the officer how he’d recognize him. Stallworth wondered the same. “How would I, a black cop, go undercover with white supremacists?” he writes. “I immediately thought of Chuck, an undercover narcotics cop I work with who was about my height and build.”
He gave Chuck’s description to O’Dell and arranged their first meet.
After securing his supervisor’s approval and learning Chuck was enthusiastic about the job, it was decided that Stallworth would play himself on the phone, and Chuck would play him in person. Chuck would wear a wire in the field so Stallworth could listen in on his conversations, and Stallworth would debrief Chuck on all of his calls.
One day, Stallworth picked up a KKK pamphlet with an ad suggesting readers call a Palm Harbor, Fla., number to hear “The Voice of the Klan.”
Stallworth called the number and was greeted by a recorded message of hate. The message was cut off midthought by a human voice. “Hello?” “Hello,” Stallworth said. “Who is this?”
“This is David Duke, the actual voice of the Klan.”
They spoke for 15 minutes. Stallworth heaped praise on Duke and his organization, and Duke said he hoped they could meet.
SOON, Stallworth and Duke were speaking once or twice a week. Duke told him about rallies planned in cities including Kansas City and Los Angels, and Stallworth informed the police in those cities, causing several Klan rallies to be canceled due tto heavy police presence. In time, he learned the proposed locations of the Colorado Springs cross burnings, and those areas were flooded with police as well. Soon, he learned Duke himself wwas scheduled to visit Colo- rado Springs on Jan. 10, 1979, for a publicity blitz, hoping to attract recruits and generate new enthusiasm for the Klan’s message.
The morning of Duke’s visit, Stallworth was summoned by his chief, who informed him that, despite his ongoing investigation, Stallworth would be protecting Duke. Given that protecting dignitaries was one part of Stallworth’s regular duties, and that several other undercover officers, working with Stallworth, were already planted in the Klan, the chief had decided he was the only officer available for this protective duty.
Stallworth vehemently disagreed and begged to be reassigned, fearing someone might recognize him and say his name in front of Duke or O’Dell. But the chief could not be dissuaded.
So Stallworth met with Duke and his
fellow Klan members, including O’Dell and the undercover Chuck, at a local steakhouse, where they had planned a lunch meeting.
Stallworth introduced himself to the Klan leader as a police officer — taking care not to say his name — and explained he had been assigned to protect him.
“That’s fine,” Duke said. “I appreciate the police department’s efforts. Thank you.”
At some point during the lunch, Stallworth, who had a Polaroid camera with him, asked “Mr. Duke,” as he called him, for a favor.
“Mr. Duke, no one will ever believe me if I tell them I was your bodyguard. Would you mind taking a picture with me?”
Duke agreed, and Stallworth handed the camera to Chuck.
Stallworthh stoodd bbetween Dukek and another Klansman and placed his arms around their shoulders. At this, Duke recoiled.
“He stepped back while pushing my arm away from his shoulder and said, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t be seen in a picture with you like that,’ ” Stallworth writes.
“I replied, ‘I understand; excuse me for a moment.’ ”
He walked over to Chuck, pretended to show him something on the camera and whispered in his ear, “When you hear me say ‘three,’ snap the picture.”
He returned to his spot between the two Klansmen with his hands by his sides and counted to three. A split second before saying “three,” he raised his arms and placed them around the men’s shoulders just in time for Chuck to snap the picture.
Duke practically leapt at Chuck, but Stallworth was “a split second faster” and grabbed the photo. Duke was not pleased. “He reached toward me and I looked him in the eye with the coldest, most intimidating gaze I could collect,” Stallworth writes, “and told him, ‘If you touch me, I’ll arrest you for assault on a police officer. That’s worth about five years in prison. DON’T DO IT!’ ”
At this, glaring in anger, Duke stepped back. (Sadly, the photo has since been lost.)
TWO months later, at the end of March, Stallworth was blindsided by an order to shut down the investigation. No reason was given, but he has his suspicions. Over the course of the operation, three undercover officers — Chuck and two others — had been officially sworn into the Klan as part of the investigation.
Stallworth believed the chief feared a p.r. nightmare if word got out.
He argued with the chief, trying to save the investigation, but was unpersuasive. He did, however, save most of the files, which became the basis for the book.
Stallworth had a long career in law enforcement, serving in Phoenix, Wyoming and Utah before moving to El Paso, Texas, where, now retired, he lives with his wife.
While his investigation produced no arrests, it did prevent rallies, uncover valuable intelligence and dislodge Klan members from key national security positions.
Most importantly to Stallworth, though, was preventing the cross burnings in Colorado Springs.
“As a result of our combined effort, no parent of a black or other minority child had to explain why an 18-foot cross was seen burning,” he writes.
“No child in the city limits had to experience firsthand the fear brought on by this act of terror.”