A little-known chapter of Stanley-area history came to light as local historian Betty Plombon presented Sunday Oct. 4 on the activities of the Ku Klux Klan in the local area during the 1920s, covering its origins, rise, and decline.
The presentation at the Stanley Area Historical Society explored the Klan’s arrival in the area around 1924, its recruitment efforts and the role local residents, particularly women, played in challenging the organization.
One difficulty in researching the subject, Plombon explained, is the absence of surviving local membership records and photographs. Although the Klan maintained membership books to prevent outsiders from attending its meetings, no firsthand local records are known to exist today. One possibility is that records may have been destroyed because of the shame associated with membership.
Much of the surviving history comes from newspaper accounts and interviews with area residents who remembered Klan activities at the time.
The Klan’s resurgence during the early 20th century followed the release of D.W. Griffith’s 1915 film The Birth of a Nation, a movie which portrayed the Reconstruction-era organization as a patriotic force restoring law and order in the South.
The revived organization expanded beyond its original Southern base, using sophisticated recruitment and marketing techniques to attract members. While the earlier Klan had primarily targeted African Americans and their allies, the organization of the 1920s broadened its targets to include Catholics, Jews, immigrants and other groups.
In Wisconsin, anti-Catholic sentiment became particularly prominent. The Klan spread fears of a supposed Catholic conspiracy to establish political control through the Vatican while presenting itself as a defender of Protestant Christianity and American patriotism.
Last presented in 2023, Plombon had received requests to give the talk again.
“I had a lot of requests to give it again,” Plombon said of the presentation. Membership in the Klan meanwhile was not cheap. Prospective members underwent an initiation for which they paid an initiation fee equivalent to $115 today, with annual membership dues and an additional “imperial tax.” Members were required to obtain robes and were encouraged to purchase merchandise, including swords and Bibles bearing the organization’s insignia.
The initiation process was designed to give members a sense of importance and belonging while maintaining the secrecy surrounding the organization.
According to an account Plombon obtained from a now-deceased Edson resident, the Klan’s arrival in the Stanley area was connected to Indiana, where the organization had established a substantial presence.
Indiana residents who had relocated to Worden Township received visits from acquaintances back home who promoted the organization. Eventually, recruitment agents known as Kleagles traveled north to establish a local chapter.
By 1924, the Klan had gained enough support to organize activities in the region, although Plombon indicated that its reception was far from universally enthusiastic.
The organization held rallies at the Stanley auditorium, Soo Line Park and farms in Worden Township. Larger gatherings in Augusta and Cornell reportedly attracted thousands of participants.
Klan representatives also visited Protestant congregations in Stanley in late 1924, framing the movement in terms that sought to place it within the American mainstream. This included financial gifts to pastors and congregations at the Brethren, Methodist, Presbyterian, and Lutheran churches. The visit to the Lutheran church in January 1925 ended in disaster for the Klan after several women stood up in the congregation and denounced them, including by name.
The Klansmen entered hooded but were apparently known to many present.
Ragna Larson, who led the opposition of the women, addressed the leader by his putative legal name, declaring, “We know who you are.”
Another woman pulled the hood from one of the men, recognized him and instructed him to return home, where they would discuss his involvement later. A third woman directly challenged the group’s presence.
“This is a church,” she declared. “Shame, shame on you.”
The Klansmen reportedly retreated as members of the congregation cheered. The incident became a memorable example of local resistance, with the women taking the lead while the men of the congregation were remembered as remaining largely silent. No official records exist as to who was a Klan member in Stanley, but the memory of those who closed it down is legend.
“It was definitely the women who closed down the Klan in this area,” Plombon said.
Opposition was not limited to Stanley.
At Cornell, a Catholic priest named Father Peter Minwegen reportedly recorded the license plate numbers of automobiles attending a Klan cross-burning ceremony. After obtaining the owners’ identities, he contacted their employers, exposing the participation of individuals who had expected to remain anonymous. Minwegen’s memoirs on the UW-Extension contain more information, with the property where the cross burning occurred was subsequently purchased by members of the community the Klan had targeted. Holy Cross Catholic Church now occupies the site.
Another confrontation occurred in Jump River Township, where Klan activities included a cross burning at Mount Nebo Cemetery.
The Klan became involved in a dispute with township officials as it sought to break township laws, eventually sending masked members to the home of the town board chairman while he was away.
Finding only his wife at home, the men delivered a threatening message intended for her husband. Rather than submit to their intimidation, she reportedly went inside, returned with a rifle and warned the men that she would shoot.
“Git, or I’ll shoot,” she said, the men scattering to their cars. As it turned out, she had never fired a gun. When her husband returned, he dismissed the threats of the Klan, stating that none of the participants would admit to having visited the property.
Despite such resistance, the Klan’s activities created divisions that reportedly took years to heal.
The organization also attempted to influence local politics, identifying preferred candidates in Chippewa County and seeking support from religious leaders.
By 1926, however, its influence was declining.
Wisconsin Gov. John Blaine publicly characterized the organization as a menace, while scandals involving national Klan leadership undermined its claims of moral authority.
Local opposition also increasingly relied on exposing members’ identities and publicly challenging the organization’s secrecy. Plombon suggested that wives may have pressured some members to resign as the Klan’s reputation deteriorated.
Although Klan activity continued elsewhere in Wisconsin and attempts were made to revive the organization, its local influence diminished considerably.
Plombon emphasized that the history of the Klan in Stanley was not simply a story of prejudice gaining a foothold. It was also a story of residents who refused to accept the organization’s message, even when that meant confronting neighbors and acquaintances.
One account she shared recalled a local mother correcting her children whenever they made derogatory remarks about others.
“Jesus didn’t say that, and neither do we,” the mother reportedly told them.
Plombon concluded that the community’s willingness to challenge the organization ultimately proved stronger than its efforts to divide residents along religious and social lines.
“They saw through it,” she said.