Konvicted How Dan Moody, ’14, Destroyed the Klan in Texas  by Ken Anderson, BS ’73, JD ’76  Imagine 170,000 hate-filled Texans organized into a secret, very powerful society. A society that openly preached white supremacy and hatred for blacks, Jews, Catholics and immigrants. A society so powerful that its members and friends controlled local and county politics, dominated the Texas Legislature,  and elected a U.S. senator. A society that kidnapped and beat those who disagreed with them and, because they controlled local law enforcement, did so without fear of prosecution. That nightmare was reality in Texas in 1922. The Ku Klux Klan controlled politics, committed vigilante violence with impunity, and was poised to take over state government from the governor’s office on down in the 1924 election. Now imagine Governor Pat Neff just appointed you district attorney of Travis and Williamson counties. Your predecessor resigned mid-term in frustration over his inability to obtain an indictment against Klansmen who had openly committed a murder in downtown Austin. Oh, and the Travis County sheriff and Austin police commissioner, both known Klansmen, had been held in contempt of court for impeding that murder investigation. That is precisely the situation that confronted Dan Moody in 1922. Here is the story of a remarkable career that saw Moody take on the Klan, first in the courtroom, then at the ballot box, and then fight public corruption to rise from an obscure county attorney to Texas’ youngest governor.  Daniel J. Moody was born on June 1, 1893, to Daniel James Moody and Nancy Elizabeth Robertson Moody in the then-fast-growing railroad town of Taylor, where he would spend his childhood. He attended The University of Texas from 1910-14, where he was a member of the Hildebrand Law Society and later vice president of the Cofer Law Society. Without completing his law degree, he left school, passed the bar exam, and formed a law partnership with Harris Melasky, a childhood friend, in Taylor. Moody developed a good reputation as a lawyer. During World War I, he recruited a company of soldiers. They were training in Arkansas when the Armistice was declared. Moody returned to his practice. The year 1920 marked two important events in Moody’s career. He began his political career when, at age 27, he became the youngest person ever to serve as WilliamsonCounty attorney. It also was the year the Ku Klux Klan entered Texas. The original Ku Klux Klan was a relatively short-lived loose confederation of terrorist groups that sprang up in the South as a response to Reconstruction. It originated in Tennessee in 1866 and had ceased to function as an organization by 1870. Atrocities committed during its reign of terror, mainly directed against freedmen but occasionally against white sympathizers, included the murder of 300 blacks in the area outside New Orleans and the murders of 163 blacks in one Florida county. During the 35 years after the Klan ceased to exist, a myth developed in the South that the KKK was a group of noble heroes who had stopped Reconstruction.          Thomas Dixon’s racist novel, The Clansman, perpetuated this myth when it was published in 1905. The modestly successful novel was adapted into D.W. Griffith’s wildly successful 1915 movie, Birth of a Nation. Suddenly, the myth of the noble Ku Klux Klan jumped the Mason-Dixon line and spread to all of America. Also in 1915, Colonel William Simmons, a failed Atlanta preacher and businessman, decided that his key to financial success would be to capitalize on the growing fraternal movement by beginning his own “Ku Klux Klan.” This new Klan began with a cross-burning on Stone Mountain. Simmons’ business plan was simple. He charged a $10 klektoken (membership fee), $6.50 for a cheap white robe and hood, and even offered Klan-sponsored life insurance. The lion’s share of these fees went, of course, to Simmons. The new initiate was now a “citizen” of the Invisible Empire who could practice klankraft, attend konklaves at the local klavern, engage in klonversations, sing the kloxology, read the kloran, and compete for positions on the klokann such as klaliff, kligrapp, klabee, and kludd. Only the klavern president, the exalted cyclops, was exempt from the “kl” designation. The apparent silliness of Simmons’ reincarnation of the KKK was matched by its lack of success. Despite valiant efforts by Simmons, after five years, the Klan had attracted at most a few thousand members confined to Georgia and Alabama. In 1920, a frustrated Simmons hooked up with an advertising agency in Atlanta. The agency reworked Simmons’ concept into a multi-level marketing plan with the sales staff keeping most of the fees and giving the kleagles (salesmen) defined geographic territories. Simmons agreed to the plan. The ad agency went into action bringing hundreds of top salesmen to Atlanta to become trained kleagles. Within a few years, they took the Klan message of “100 percent white Americanism” with plenty of hate for blacks, Jews, immigrants, Catholics, bootleggers, gamblers, and moral transgressors, across the country. By the time Klan membership peaked in the mid-1920s, they had collected klektokens from between 1 to 5 million Klansmen. The Klan arrived in Texas in September 1920 in the person of Kleagle Z.R. Upchurch. In a week’s time, Upchurch recruited more than 500 members. Sam Houston Klan No. 1 was chartered with a cross-burning ceremony in Bellaire. From then on the kluxing of Texas went rapidly. Within six months, the Klan claimed tens of thousands of members statewide. Beaumont became chapter No. 7, San Antonio 31, Waco 33, Galveston 36, Dallas 66, Austin 81, and El Paso 100. As the Klan organized rapidly, there was little energy left for other matters. But by February 1921, their hate-talk boiled over into violence. The first victim, Houston criminal defense lawyer B.I. Hobbs, was whipped, tarred, and feathered for the “crime” of representing too many “bad” people, primarily bootleggers and gamblers. Alex Johnson, a black bellhop at the Adolphus Hotel in Dallas, was the next victim. A group of Klansmen grabbed him in the lobby, dragged him into the street, and used acid to brand the letters “KKK” into his forehead. By summer’s end, there were 52 such known acts of Klan violence. This Klan reign of terror would continue unabated through 1923. In 1922, the Klan entered Texas politics with a vengeance. The Klan slate won all but one race in DallasCounty, completely swept JeffersonCounty, and won victories in every major county, including Harris and Tarrant. The Klan also obtained a majority in the Texas Legislature. But most dramatic was their election of Earl Mayfield, a former state senator, to the U. S. Senate. Historian Charles C. Alexander summed it up: “The election of Mayfield amounted to a striking victory for the Klan, one of the best known and most spectacular of its numerous conquests in the ’20s.” Although the Klan steamroller of membership gains, election victories, and vigilante violence continued to gain momentum, there was opposition. Most of the state’s newspapers took anti-Klan positions. Vocal opponents, such as former attorney general Martin Crane, denounced them. State Representative Wright Patman introduced an unsuccessful resolution condemning the Klan. But many Klan opponents who held elective office found that Klan opposition was political suicide. JeffersonCounty district judge W.S. Davidson was trounced at the polls 2-1 by a Klan candidate. Dallas district attorney Maury Hughes, who had launched an investigation into Klan violence, was decisively beaten by Shelby Cox. The anti-Klan mayor of Dallas, Sawnie Aldredge, lost his race by a 3-1 margin. The 1921 murder of Peeler Clayton in the streets of Austin just blocks from the Capitol showed the Klan’s power. A group of anti-Klan activists were writing down the names of Klansmen as they entered their meeting place in downtown Austin. The Klansmen, upset by this challenge to their secrecy, came out of the building brandishing pistol and instructed the anti-Klan group to leave, which they wisely did. Minutes later, a 23-year-old rancher, Peeler Clayton, drove his car down the alley behind the Klan hall. Although it is unknown if he was part of the anti-Klan group, the Klansmen thought he was and opened fire on his car. Clayton was killed in a hail of bullets. The Clayton case dominated the front page of The Austin American for the next four months. The Travis-WilliamsonCounty district attorney, Ben Robertson, launched a grand jury investigation. Both the TravisCounty sheriff and Austin police commissioner were Klansmen who refused to cooperate with Robertson. District Judge James Hamilton held both of them in contempt of court, although they avoided jail by appealing his decision until the grand jury term expired. In April, when the grand jury was unable to determine which Klansmen were responsible for the Clayton murder, Robertson finally conceded that the Klan had gotten away with murder. He resigned his office shortly thereafter. Despite this Klan success in thwarting justice, it was Robertson’s resignation that ironically sparked the career of the Klan’s future nemesis. Governor Pat Neff appointed Williamson County attorney Dan Moody to the vacant district attorney’s spot. Although Moody had not solicited the appointment, Neff had heard the young county attorney make a speech and was quite impressed by him. Moody took the oath of office May 1, 1922. He excelled in his new position. Although he had refused to join the Klan and spoke out against them, Moody’s reputation was such that the Klan was unable to find any lawyer to run against him. The Austin Klan continued to operate without fear of legal consequences because of the protection of the Austin Police Department and the Travis County sheriff. The situation in Williamson County was quite different. Not only did they have to contend with Moody, but Sheriff Lee Allen was no friend of the Klan either. Consequently, the Georgetown and Taylor Klans practiced a non-violent approach. Their non-violent ways came to an end on Easter Sunday, 1923. The Georgetown klavern had earlier warned a young traveling salesman, Robert Burleson, to leave town because of a supposed “adulterous” relationship with a widow who ran a boarding house. Burleson, a World War I veteran, responded defiantly by announcing to everyone who he came into contact with that he was not going to be bullied by the Klan and, in fact, would “kill the first 21 Ku Klux” that tried to make him leave. Faced with this impudence, the Klan acted. Ten unmasked Klansmen, in two cars, found Burleson out for a Sunday drive just east of Georgetown. He was with Fannie Campbell, the widow, and a married couple who were in the back seat. The Klansmen ran him off the side of the road. They pulled Burleson out of the driver’s window and pistol whipped him. They then covered his head with a sack, drove him to a remote site, and tied him to a barbed wire fence. The 10 Klansmen took turns flogging and taunting Burleson. They then took him to the Taylor City Hall, chained him to a tree and poured hot tar on him. Such a “tar party” was a regular occurrence all over the United States in the ’20s. What happened next was not. Constable Louis Lowe and Sheriff Lee Allen began an investigation. Burleson, who survived the attack, was ready and willing to testify. So was Fannie Campbell. The couple in the back seat didn’t get a good look at the assailants, but they would help, too. Allen and Lowe knew who the Klansmen in town were and, most importantly, knew who to question right away. By May, Moody, Allen, and Lowe had enough to begin a grand jury investigation. Moody called 100 witnesses before the panel at the Williamson County Courthouse. Many of the witnesses were Klansmen; some simply lied, while others took the Fifth Amendment. Moody targeted four of the Klansmen and had Judge Hamilton grant them immunity. When they still refused to testify, they were jailed for contempt of court. A month-long legal battle ensued, but the Klansmen each spent that time in jail before their releases. The grand jury returned with prohibited weapon assault indictments against Klansmen Murray Jackson, Olen Gossett, and Dewey Ball. Moody picked his strongest case, the one against Murray Jackson, to try first. Judge Hamilton set a September trial date. The Klan raised money to hire a top-notch trial team to defend Jackson. Noted Temple defense lawyer W.W. Hair and Williamson County’s state senator, A.E. Wood, headed the six-member defense team. Moody countered by putting together his own team, which included former county judge Richard Critz and former county attorney Harry Graves. The trial began on Monday, September 17. Moody won a series of early victories: Judge Hamilton rejected the defense request to quash the indictment for alleged grand jury irregularities. Then, after hearing 50 defense witnesses, he rejected the defense’s change-of-venue motion. But Moody’s most critical victory came on Tuesday when Judge Hamilton ruled Moody could ask potential jurors about Klan membership. Moody knew that he had to keep both Klansmen and their sympathizers off the jury. Between the seven prosecutors and the law enforcement officers, they knew the sympathies of nearly every eligible juror in the county. Moody could use this information in selecting the jury. However, he wanted to look each potential juror in the eye and hear them state under oath that they were not Klan members. By Wednesday afternoon, the preliminaries were over, the jury was seated, and the actual trial began. The courtroom was packed with spectators filling every seat, including the balcony. The overflow stood in the courthouse rotunda or on the lawn. A few even climbed trees to look in through the open windows. Newspaper reporters descended on Georgetown to cover the trial. Moody’s first witness, Robert Burleson, gave emotional testimony of the Klan attack on him and positively identified Murray Jackson as one of his assailants. Fannie Campbell testified later. She also positively identified Jackson as one of the men. Moody called eight more witnesses to corroborate different details of his case. Gus Reno, a friend of Jackson’s, provided damaging testimony that Jackson had borrowed a pistol from him on Easter Sunday morning and returned it later that evening. Arthur Lyons testified he saw Jackson Easter Sunday evening with a black spot on his shirt that could have been tar. Moody rested his case Thursday. The defense team began its presentation. Twelve character witnesses testified in Jackson’s behalf along with a string of alibi witnesses to establish his whereabouts on Easter Sunday. The most important witnesses were the Prewitt brothers, Porter and Cecil, who testified that they talked with and saw Jackson at a drug store in Granger at precisely 6 o’clock — a time and place that would make it impossible for Jackson to have committed the crime. The defense case rested Saturday afternoon. Moody presented his rebuttal evidence on Monday. His main witnesses were Newell Cook and Ethel Pipkin, who testified they were with Porter Prewitt all afternoon and evening on Easter and that he never talked with or saw Murray Jackson. It was clear that Moody had presented a solid, overwhelming case of guilt; he had thoroughly destroyed the alibi defense. In any normal case, the verdict wouldn’t be in doubt. This was not any normal case. The real question was not Jackson’s guilt, but whether any 12 jurors would have the courage to convict a Klansman. It was amazing that Moody, Allen, and Lowe had been brave enough to bring the case this far, but could they really expect 12 jurors to risk the wrath of the Klan by convicting? And even if they did convict, the jury was setting punishment. They could still let the Klansman off with a small fine or a few days in jail. Klansmen had been fined elsewhere. A light sentence would be almost as big a victory for the Klan as a “not guilty” verdict. No, Moody needed not only a conviction but a prison sentence. Judge Hamilton told the jury they needed to decide if Murray Jackson was guilty of assault with a prohibited weapon. If its verdict was guilty, jurors could set punishment anywhere between a $1 fine to five years in prison. Jury arguments took all day Tuesday. Moody concluded the last argument at 9:30 p.m. The jury retired to deliberate the case. Trial observers expected a long, difficult jury deliberation. They were wrong. Barely 20 minutes into jury deliberation, there was a knock on the jury room door. They had a verdict. There was a mad scramble of spectators, lawyers, reporters, and law enforcement officers to find their places in the courtroom. Moments later, the jammed courtroom was absolutely quiet as hundreds of pairs of eyes were trained on Judge Hamilton. With the defendant and his attorneys standing, Hamilton read the verdict: “Georgetown, Texas, September 25, 1923. We, the jury, find the defendant, Murray Jackson, guilty as charged in the indictment and assess his penalty at confinement in the state penitentiary for a term of five years. Signed: T.J. Caswell, Foreman.” Guilty. Maximum punishment. Twelve jurors had returned the country’s first conviction and prison sentence against the 1920s Klan. Twelve jurors had the courage to stand up to the hate and violence. The Klan responded defiantly. Later that week a news article in The Austin American told of a planned mass initiation of 500 new Klansmen. A month later, at Ku Klux Klan Day at the State Fair  in Dallas, 75,000 Klansmen and sympathizers turned out. Moody, emboldened by his victory, chose not to rest on his laurels. He set out to destroy the Klan.  Several of the Klansmen who had initially lied to the grand jury were now ready to tell the truth. Moody took their testimony to the grand jury, where he obtained an indictment against a young Klan preacher who had instigated the incident against Burleson. The perjury charge against the Reverend A.A. Davis alleged he lied when he had denied to the grand jury that he delivered the Klan warning to Burleson.  Next up was the trial of the second Klansman, Olen Gossett, for the Burleson flogging. His defense attorneys knew Moody had put together a strong case against Gossett. They were hoping for a suspended sentence. Moody was insisting on prison time. Finally, on the day jury selection was to begin, they reached an agreement. On January 17, 1924, he pled guilty; Judge Hamilton sentenced him to one year in prison. Now it was the Reverend A.A. Davis’ turn. Headlines like “Klan Preacher on Trial” again focused state and national attention on Williamson County. With two convictions and prison sentences, Moody had proven that Klan invincibility was a myth. Now he was out to destroy their secrecy. Moody called a total of seven Klansmen at the trial. They told of the initial Georgetown meeting where Davis was spewing his anti-Catholic hate, how the issue of Burleson’s supposed adultery was raised, and how Davis delivered the warning to Burleson. Dr. John Martin, cyclops of Klan No. 178, was the first to testify. Then, in turn, the other six Klansmen took the stand. They admitted lying to the grand jury; they exposed the inner secrets of the Klan; and they built a solid, believable case that the Reverend Davis instigated the Burleson attack and lied to the grand jury. As the spectators watched, with the state and nation following it in the newspapers, the Klansmen violated their Klan oath and told the truth. Faced with prison time, the Klansmen, from the cyclops down, turn on each other to save their own skin. Davis’ defense conceded guilt and concentrated on minimizing punishment. They called alibi witnesses to establish that Davis was not one of the 10 Klansmen that flogged Burleson. They also called character witnesses to argue for mercy in the form of a suspended sentence. Moody was insisting on prison time. The jury returned their verdict: guilty, two years in state prison. Moody now had three convictions and three prison sentences. Dewey Ball tried to avoid trial by faking an illness. Judge Hamilton sent doctors to his house to examine him. Faced with the inevitability of trial and Moody’s refusal to agree to a suspended sentence, he pled guilty and received a one-year prison sentence. The Burleson flogging prosecution was now over. Moody had won four convictions and four prison sentences. In his own estimation, he had “broken the back” of the Klan in Texas. In reality, Moody had dealt the Klan a blow, but whether or not it was now “broken” would depend on how Texans responded at the polls. Historian Charles Alexander summarized the situation: “At the beginning of 1924, Lone Star Klansmen could boast of the fact that Texas was the No. 1 Klan state politically and could look forward to even greater conquests that year.” In short, the Klan had already elected a U.S. senator, had taken over most county courthouses, and had a working majority of the Legislature. Now it was ready to take over the rest of state government by electing Klansmen as governor, lieutenant governor, and attorney general. There was a statewide chorus of newspapers and influential people urging Moody to run for attorney general. Moody knew the election was critical to truly defeating the Klan. He officially entered the race in March. The Klan strategy for 1924 was simple. They planned to hold an elimination primary, basically a convention where all Klansmen pledged to vote for the winner, for each of the statewide elected positions. This way their total voting strength would guarantee the Klan candidate made the Democratic runoff. The Klan candidates that emerged from their elimination primary were Felix Robertson of Dallas for governor, Will Edwards of Denton for lieutenant governor, and Edward Ward of Corpus Christi for attorney general. All three races had crowded fields. It was unlikely anyone would win without a runoff. The primary election was held July 26th. Moody was the leading statewide vote getter. He fell just 10,000 votes short of the needed 50 percent, but he was far ahead of the second place candidate, Ed Ward, who had 30 percent. Despite Moody’s vote total, the Klan strategy had worked. Ward made the runoff, where he was joined by the other two Klan candidates, Robertson for governor and Edwards for lieutenant governor. Both the attorney general’s and lieutenant governor’s races gave the voter a clear-cut choice on the Klan issue. Moody versus Klan candidate Ward; vocal Klan critic Barry Miller versus Klan candidate Edwards for lieutenant governor. The governor’s race was more complicated. Two solid anti-Klan candidates, T.W. Davidson and Lynch Davidson, had split the anti-Klan vote and allowed Miriam “Ma” Ferguson to edge into the runoff with Klan candidate Robertson finishing first. Ferguson was a stand-in candidate for her husband, Jim, who had been governor a few years earlier and whose financial shenanigans resulted in his impeachment and removal from office. Since he was barred from holding office again, he announced Ma’s candidacy without consulting her. Thus, in the governor’s race, the choice was between a Klansmen and the surrogate of a thief. The runoff campaign was a spirited, hotly contested matter that drew nationwide attention. “Would the Klan take over Texas?” was debated not just south of the Red River but in New York, Washington, Chicago, Cleveland, and elsewhere. A record number of Texans, greater even than the initial primary, flocked to the polls for the August 23 runoff. Moody and Miller were swept into office in an overwhelming landslide, besting their Klan opponents by better than 2-1. Moody garnered 70 percent of the vote, swamping Ward by 251,000 votes. Ferguson won by a smaller 98,000-vote margin. The voters had so thoroughly rejected the Klan, they were willing to put Jim Ferguson back in power rather than elect a Klansman. With the principle exception of Dallas County, the Klan was trounced in local elections, also. The Houston Chronicle declared, “The open season for the Ku Klux Klan as a political force in Texas ended on August 23, 1924.” The New York Times stated, “The smashing defeat suffered by the Klan in Texas ought to be a signal to start warfare against it all over the country.” What Moody had begun with his aggressive prosecution of the Klan was now complete. In less than a year, he had destroyed the myth of the invincible Klan, dismantled their secrecy, and now destroyed their political power. Though the Klan continued to grow elsewhere, and remained a national force for at least two more years, Klan membership in Texas went into a tailspin. The January 20, 1925, inaugural of Miriam “Ma” Ferguson, the first elected female governor in the United States, was a joyous, wonderful celebration. Immediately afterward, Jim Ferguson strode into the governor’s office, picked up an open Bible left by Governor Neff, and tossed it aside with the comment, “Sunday School is dismissed. The Governor’s Office is now open for business.” Indeed, it was open for “business.” State jobs for sale, bribes for prison pardons, kickbacks on state textbook contracts, and inflated contracts to friends to pave state roads were part of this “business.” As attorney general, Moody had no criminal jurisdiction, but as the state’s lawyer, he could do something about the padded paving contracts. He went to court and proved that $32 million worth of such contracts had been awarded to Ferguson friends at three times their actual value. The judge canceled the contracts. Moody dispatched Assistant Attorney General George Christian (father of the current Ex-Students’ Association chairman, George Christian) to Kansas City and Dallas to try to recover some of the stolen money. When he came back, he had recovered $1 million in cash and securities that had already been paid on the fraudulent contracts. Moody was the logical candidate to run against Ma Ferguson in the 1926 governor’s race. In one of the nastiest campaigns ever, Jim Ferguson took the stump denouncing Moody as having a big head and attacked his new wife, Mildred Paxton, as a “lipstick” who would chase Moody around the Governor’s Mansion with a rolling pin. Moody kept the heat on about the Fergusons’ corruption. Moody trounced Ferguson at the polls. In a crowded field, he fell just 1,700 votes short of winning the primary outright and then buried her with a 225,000-vote margin in the runoff. In a final vindictive act, the lame-duck governor granted a pardon to Murray Jackson, declaring that he was “innocent.” Moody was powerless to stop the pardon, and Jackson was released from prison. In all, Ferguson shamefully issued 2,147 pardons in exchange for unknown thousands of dollars in bribes. Moody served two terms as governor. His reforms included ending the liberal parole policies of the Fergusons, reorganizing the state highway department, and beginning a program of regular audits of state accounts. His major accomplishment, however, was simply to restore honesty and integrity to the Governor’s Office. He left office in 1931 absolutely penniless. Moody’s financial condition improved dramatically when he resumed his private legal career. For the next 30 years, he was an extremely successful lawyer in Austin. His practice included several cases before the United States Supreme Court. Moody remained active in politics, but he never again held public office. In 1942, he made a hasty last-minute decision to enter the race for U.S. Senate but finished third. In 1959, he was honored by the University of Texas law school, which dedicated Law Day to him. He had been instrumental in working with Dean Page Keeton in establishing the Law School Foundation during the early 1950s. Moody died May 22, 1966, in Austin after a long illness. All nine Texas Supreme Court justices attended his funeral. He is buried in the state cemetery in Austin just 30 feet from Stephen F. Austin’s grave. Texas Monthly recently named Moody “Crusader of the Century.” And the citizens of Williamson County celebrate his courage by presenting the play, You Can’t Do That, Dan Moody! (based on the author’s book of the same name), which is performed annually in September in the very courtroom where he took on the Klan and, indeed, “broke its back.