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Lacey licks David’s face from behind the chicken wire fence. His voice tenderly explains, “You need a bath, girl. We’ll get ya cleaned up tomorrow.” All at once, she jumps up with excitement and catches the doggy treat he tossed to her.

Turning to me he says, “Grandpa never admits it, but I got a feelin’ he was a member some time ago. I always tease him about it, but he just smiles though. He must have been a member, why else would he just smile at me?”

Turning off one dirt road onto another, we roll toward Petal, Mississippi—at a speed too fast for the bumpy road—to attend the graveside memorial service for Jimmie Maxey.

David begins telling stories about Mr. Maxey. He only knew him for four years, but his attachment to the Imperial Wizard was tremendous.

“I went to answer the door at Jimmie’s old place one afternoon and saw a Negro standing on his porch. Hadn’t he seen the hand-made KKK signs nailed to Jimmie’s doublewide trailer? What did he think about the sign at the front of Jimmie’s driveway?

Two years later David pulls up to Mr. Maxey’s graveside, steps out of his car, and pulls his hood over his face.  With the rest of South Mississippi’s White Knights’, David pays tribute one last time to Jimmie Maxey, the long-time Klan member and leader.

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