"You Can't Burn History" Getting Right with the Klan in Noblesville, Indiana

Allen Safianow

In the summer of 1995 Noblesville, Indiana, site of the sensational 1925 homicide trial of Ku Klux Klan leader D. C. Stephenson, again drew national attention after the discovery of Klan records dating back to the 1920s. In March, Don Roberts, a local building contractor, chanced upon a trunk in the barn of a property he had recently acquired. The trunk contained over one thousand membership cards and dues receipts revealing the names of Hamilton County "citizens" of klavern #42 of the Indiana realm of the Invisible Empire of the Ku Klux Klan. Hoods, sashes, and an eighteen-inch electric cross were also among the contents. After rejecting an offer from a private collector, Roberts decided to donate all the Klan material to the Hamilton County Historical Society.1 While recognizing that exposure of the members' names might pain descendents, Noblesville Daily Ledger columnist Gregg Montgomery called for access to the records, a view endorsed shortly after by an editorial in the same newspaper arguing that the Klan records were "a part of the Hoosier state's social quilt."2 At its regular bimonthly meeting in July, the historical society's board of directors voted unanimously to accept Roberts's donation. At the same time it established the policy that the Klan records would not be placed on public display, with access limited to genealogical or scholarly purposes. Curious individuals could inquire whether specific relatives' names appeared in the records, but names could not be published without consent of both the society and the individual's descendents.3	1
Klan Hood on Display at the Hamilton County Historical Society Courtesy of the author
The discovery of the Klan records, and the issue of what would be done with them, precipitated a wave of media attention that astounded residents of this county seat located ten miles northeast of Indianapolis. The story was featured on Indiana television news broadcasts and was circulated across the country by the Associated Press. Feature stories in the nation's leading newspapers included local residents' comments on the town's prior record of discrimination. The revelation of these Klan records, wrote Dirk Johnson of the New York Times, "has forced this up-scale city of 20,000 people ... to confront its racist past." Judy Pasternak of the Los Angeles Times, in an article entitled "Trunk Opens Up Indiana Town's Secret Klan Past," cited Don Roberts's comment that the local Klan's ranks included "pillars of the community." The articles by Pasternak and Johnson provided platforms for critics of the decision not to publicize names. Stephenson biographer William Lutholtz, historian Nancy McLean, and John W. Jarrett of the NAACP in nearby Anderson, Indiana, argued the historical and social benefits of full disclosure. Sam H. Jones, president of the Urban League of Indianapolis, argued against the decision to limit access to scholars: "History is very important to me. It helps me to understand the past and to chart future directions. The Klan is very much alive in Indiana, so it would be important to know more about its roots." David Heighway, then director of the county historical society, defended the board's decision. He explained, "If it had been 10 more years, there wouldn't have been any problem at all.... The local community is really important to us. We don't want to offend them."4	. . .