He stood red-faced and fuming in the courtroom at the verdict that had just been handed down. His defense had called the trial “a witch hunt,” and he would publicly denounce his conviction as a miscarriage of justice.
A jury of his peers, however, had done what almost no one thought possible 100 years ago: they pronounced D.C. Stephenson a convicted felon.
Author Timothy Egan illuminates Stephenson’s psyche in Fever in the Heartland: The Ku Klux Klan’s Plot to Take Over America, and the Woman Who Stopped Them.
Steve Cothran
Egan writes a historical account of a Grand Dragon’s grift and blatant lust for power, money and domination that corrupted politicians across the country but collapsed spectacularly in 1925. His description of the main character is revealing: “Forceful flimflam had never failed him … he was a spellbinder, people packed into auditoriums … because he was, by trade, a salesman, selling himself.”
The con artist extraordinaire, rapist and now convicted felon had wanted to testify in his own defense, but his attorneys never would allow it. They knew he would have most certainly perjured himself, and cross examination would’ve exposed his lies and the hypocrisy of his multiple marriages and affairs while his backers were all publicly extolling “traditional family values.”
His crimes were legion, and he had assaulted many women and then coerced them again, both financially and through threats and shame, to remain quiet. But Madge Oberholtzer refused.
An advocate for public education, she rejected outright Stephenson’s attempt to control her life, and in the face of public humiliation and threats of violence she persevered.
She knew standing up for herself — and the other victims of his cruelty — in “a man’s world” would invite unpleasant scrutiny and victim blaming. Stephenson had even threatened her, claiming: “I AM THE LAW.”
“He was lawless, and if someone didn’t stand up to this man, others would get hurt.”
But Madge also knew that if anything, Stephenson was the opposite.
He was lawless, and if someone didn’t stand up to this man, others would get hurt. Lots of others. And Madge wouldn’t allow that to happen, no matter how untouchable he claimed to be.
No matter how intimidating he was, no matter how overwhelming the odds were stacked against her, she would not compromise her principles and she would not bow to a man who took pleasure in hurting others.
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Like Goliath looming over the Israelites, taunting them and daring them to stand against him, he acted with impunity day after day because he wielded power and threatened retaliation to anyone who opposed him.
Sycophants swam in his orbit like remoras on a shark, snapping up whatever morsels they could scavenge from his bloated jaws that were gobbling up politicians like so much chum.
And while David felled his Goliath with a slingshot and five smooth stones, Madge brought down her own egomaniacal conman with something considerably more lethal: truth and tenacity.
She was just one woman. But her insistence on standing for the truth when men all around her cowered in the presence of her cowardly assailant was like a crack in the base of a dam. And Stephenson’s conviction finally began to erode the foundation of the Klan’s Invisible Empire.
During Lent, we’re called to remember Jesus resisting the ultimate temptation — unlimited political power — in the wilderness.
But it’s so alluring, and we too easily forget. So some new Goliath will always stride onto the scene and dare us to respond.
We need Madge to remind us it’s possible.
Steve Cothran is a native of Greenville, S.C., and holds degrees from Furman University, Southern Baptist Theological Seminary and Campbell Divinity School. He has served churches in Florida, North Carolina and Georgia, as well as six years in Kentucky where he and his wife, Nancy, were on the same staff together. He has written curriculum for Smyth & Helwys, CBF and d365, enjoys writing regular columns for the Newnan Times-Herald, and dreams of being the oldest cast member on Saturday Night Live.