Cool Zone media. As the sun began to set on a cool fall evening in late September nineteen ninety one, TV reporter Harold Spiegel was waiting nervously at the edge of the woods outside of a small town about an hour south of the nation's capital. The reporter was waiting for more information about their destination. That evening. He'd received a tip about an event and managed to secure a meeting with some of the men who would be attending.
They wouldn't tell him exactly where they were going, but after a short discussion in a parking lot, they allowed him to follow along. He drove deeper and deeper into the countryside for half an hour before the men parked at the edge of the forest and got out. More men arrived. Some were wearing white robes and pointed hoods, the traditional garb of members of the ku Klux. Others wore motorcycle jackets with SS patches on them and unfrilled
flags and banners with swastivas. And then he followed them into the woods. The reporter, alone in the woods with a few dozen Nazis and clansmen, knew what these men were capable of. A nearby town was in the throes of a week long pogrom, with gangs of young Neo Nazis laying siege to apartment buildings that were home to Vietnamese and Mozambique immigrants. In a clearing, the men surrounded
a large wooden cross as it burned. A man in a leather jacket adorned with SS ruins stood in the center of the circle and shouted, seeghaile I come to you from America. The cross was burning an hour south of the nation's capital, but the capitol in question was Berlin, Missouri. Clansmen Dennis Mahon was at the height of his career
as a professional racist. He had formed his own clan group, the White Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, and he was Tom Metzker's right hand man in the White Aryan Resistance. His trip to Germany promised to strengthen international ties between hate groups in Europe and the United States. From the time he joined the Klan in nineteen eighty, his life story is inextricably intertwined with the history of the white power movement. He made summer time visits to the Aryan
Nation's compound in Idaho. He ran paramilitary training drills on a compound in Missouri. He was hauled into court to testifying grand jury proceedings about the Oklahoma City bombing after a former girlfriend accused him of helping plan the attack, and by the time the FBI hired an exotic dancer to seduce him into confessing to mailing a pipe bomb to a public library in Scottsdale, Arizona, he was an old man that the movement had mostly forgotten. I'm Molly Conger.
This it's weird, little guys. Last week, I said, I wasn't sure if Dennis Mahon ever did try his hand at producing his own public access television program. He was just a brief side character and a larger story about Tom Metzger, a klansman and the founder of the white
supremacist group White Arean Resistance. Metzger had received a generous gift in nineteen eighty four three hundred thousand dollars in cash from the members of the Order proceeds from their armored car robbery earlier that year, and almost immediately after Metzger got this massive cash and fusion, he set to work producing a virulin racist television show called Race and Reason. His goal was to get his racist propaganda into the home of every working class white man in America by
way of public access TV. Across the country, Metzger supporters dutifully ordered VHS tapes of the show and applied to broadcast it on their own local channels. Others took up the cause and produced their own original versions based on Metzger's idea. One of the men who did both was a klansman in Missouri named Dennis Mahon. I didn't set out to write about Dennis this week. I had something else in mind, but I asked myself a question last week.
Did Dennis ever actually produce a show called Clansis City Cable. We didn't have time last week for another tangent to find out about this. I was following Tom Metzger and the Stolen money, but I just can't leave an itch like that unscratched. And it turns out he did and I found it. A single fifteen minute episode of Klansas City Cable aired in Kansas City, Missouri, on April third, nineteen ninety.
We're going to discuss Klansas City Cable, which took two and a half years, a sweat blood persecution, getting five more jobs, getting harassed by fence, bomb shot at, assaulted death threats constantly. Well we've succeeded.
Just a quick note on pronunciation. Dennis's last name, maho n can be pronounced a variety of ways. It's a common enough name, and I'm sure a lot of people say it a lot different ways. I've chosen the pronunciation used by his attorney in a twenty fifteen oral argument before the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals. Good morning, mister Chief Judge Thomas, and may it plays the court.
I'm Daniel Cablan.
I represent the appellant, Dennis Mayhon. Identical twin brothers, Daniel and Dennis Mayhon were born in Illinois in nineteen fifty. After high school, they both found their way into military service. Daniel served in the US Navy and the Coast Guard from nineteen seventy to nineteen seventy nine, and Dennis was definitely in the Florida National Guard in the early eighties.
I know that, and a lot of sources indicate that he spent time in the Army in the seventies, including a tour in Vietnam, but I can't find that actually sourced to anything in particular It's just repeated a lot, often by Dennis himself. Both brothers trained as and became aircraft mechanics classified ads in Miami in nineteen seventy two showed that brothers were making a little money on the
side teaching flying lessons. By his own account, Dennis Mahon was already a klansman by nineteen eighty, which is the year he joined National Alliance. William Luther Pierce's novel The Turner Diaries was published in nineteen seventy eight, and it was often sold at gun shows, which is probably where Dennis picked up a copy in nineteen eighty. The book was eye opening, but what he claims really radicalized him
that year was the Maurial boat Lift. For six months in nineteen eighty, there was a mass exodus from Cuba. By October, an estimated one hundred and twenty five thousand Cubans and twenty five thousand Haitians arrived in South Florida. In May of nineteen eighty alone, eighty six thousand Cuban emigrants reached Florida during that chaotic month. Dennis Mahon was one of the Florida National Guardsmen assigned to assist in
transporting the asylum seekers to processing centers. In an interview with Matthew Kennard for his book Irregular Army, Maihon refers to that time period as quote the Haitian invasion, though in all likelihood the vast majority of the people he interacted with that month were Cuban. Regardless, he was repulsed by these people that he had been deployed to help.
An older interview, one from nineteen eighty eight, attributes this shift in attitude to just being in Miami at all, saying, quote, all the brown skinned, Spanish speaking people made him feel like a stranger in his own land. He was already a klansman by then, so you can't really call this the origin story of his racism. But in his mind, this is where things changed. Something had to be done about this, and then he goes dark. There is not a single trace of Dennis Mayhon in the early to
mid eighties. I was tearing my hair out trying to find any evidence that he even existed after his thirtieth birthday. I tried all my usual tricks, and I came up empty handed. He was driving refugees to detention centers in Miami in May of nineteen eighty and then nothing. He's a ghost until he turns up in Kansas City in nineteen eighty seven, suddenly emerging as a clan leader of
some influence. In a nineteen ninety one interview with a reporter from the Oklahoma and Mayhan says I was underground from eighty t eighty seven. He'd spent those years doing things he can't talk about, things he can't do anymore now that he's a leader in the movement, telling the reporter, I don't regret doing them, but I realize I can't do those kinds of things now. And this wasn't a
one off comment. It wasn't bluster and bravado for a newspaper reporter, because I have a matching statement that he made eighteen years later. And he didn't know he had an audience that time. In two thousand and nine, on a line he didn't know was tapped, Dennis Mayhon was
arguing with a friend, Charles Denman. Kunz, a member of the Kuhn's family that founded the first National Bank of Omaha, is described by an ATF agent in court documents as quote a white supremacist and a friend of Dennis Mayhon, and he had been providing financial assistance to the Mayhon brothers for some time. In two thousand and nine, he was concerned that a woman Dennis had grown close to
maybe lying to him. Koons was right, of course, that woman that he was worried about worked for the FBI, but Dennis didn't want to believe that. In a rage on that recorded line, he said, you don't know how
many pipe bombs I've lit off. You don't know how many transformers I've destroyed and put people out of power in the eighties until I got outed in other recorded conversations with that FBI informant that Kons had grown so wary of Dennis Mayhon claims that he bombed an abortion clinic, a Jewish community center, and various government offices during that time period, but no concrete allegations have been made about
his involvement in any particular incident. What is consistent is the time period from nineteen eighty to nineteen eighty seven. He's a ghost, a ghost in a white robe. In nineteen eighty seven, he appears again in the public record, and with quite a splash. He's not just a clansman.
He's a very important clansman. Maybe whatever he did during those years underground gave him the credibility he needed in the movement to emerge fully formed as a public face, a man of some authority and influence, because by the time he resurfaces, he's the King Klegal for the Missouri Nights of the Ku Klux Klan. Now, if you remember your clan vocabulary from the Very Black episodes, a klegal is a local clan recruitment officer, but a King klegal
is kind of like a clan regional manager. So he's overseeing the recruitment f by other legals in Missouri, and he's managing the clan's affairs in the state. In nineteen eighty eight, the Kansas City Stars Star magazine ran a lengthy feature story profiling j Allan Moran and exalted Cyclocks
with the Missouri Knights of the Ku Klux Klan. Between full page photos of a glowering clansman in his full regalia, Veteran reporter Bill Norton wove the tale of a Platte County cop who radicalized quickly losing his job and getting recruited into the Klan by Dennis Mayhon In nineteen eighty seven.
Jay Alan Moran's first encounter with Dennis Mayhon, at a Christian identity church in Missouri in the spring of nineteen eighty seven is the first place I find him again after the underground years, and he's just arrived in Missouri to take on the role of King Kleagel after some time organizing new clan chapters in Oklahoma and Michigan. J Allen Moran was still an officer of the law when he showed up at that church, which made a lot
of people uneasy. It was Dennis Mayhon's responsibility to feel him out. Was this newcomer a true believer or a threat? But the two men became close friends, bonding over their shared love of the white race. Early in their friendship, Mayhon told Miran that he'd been a suspect in bombings in at least three different cities, though if he told Miran which ones, Moran didn't repeat that to the reporter.
And it appears that agents from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms the kind of agents who might investigate a serial bomber. We're keeping an eye on Mayhon because about six months into their friendship, j Alan Moran was called into his boss's office. Flat City Police Chief Charles Masoner, a man apparently known as Chuggy to his friends, according to his obituary, was sitting in his office with an
agent from the ATF. The agent had seen Moran passing out Clan flyers with Dennis Mayhon, and they had an ultimatum for him. If he wanted to keep his job as a cop, he needed to play ball. They wanted information about his new friend. The ATF disputes Moran's claim that they tried to force him to plant a bomb in Mayhan's trailer. An agent told the Kansas City Star, quote, we never encourage anyone to commit a violation. That just did not occur. Now would the ATF pressure someone to
commit a crime. I'm not saying it's out of the question, but I don't think the ATF needed to plant a bomb in Mayhon's trailer. There were bombs in Mayhan's trailer. But Moran's story gets even stranger from there. He claims the agents told him that the gun used to murder Missouri State Trooper Jimmy Linegar in nineteen eighty five had been registered to Dennis Mayhon, which is a wild thing
to say. Jimmy Linegar initiated what he thought was a routine traffic stop a little south of Branson, Missouri, on April fifteenth, nineteen eighty five. He didn't know he was pulling over David Tate, a member of that Nazi bank robbery gang, the Order. And David Tate was a fugitive. A Grand Juri in Seattle had just indicted him and twenty three others for conspiracy and racketeering related to the Order's robberies. Who's also wanted in Washington State on an
older weapons charge. He felt cornered, so he opened fire on the two state troopers with a mac ten, killing Linegar and wounding Alan Hines before fleeing on foot. Tate was missing in the Ozarks for a week before officers spotted him drinking from a creek, hungry and confused. David Tate is serving a life sentence in Missouri for first degree murder. And this is the only time I've ever
seen Dennis Mayhon's name dragged into that story. Because the thing is according to an opinion issued by the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals, the guns David Tate left behind in that van weren't registered to Dennis Mayhon because they weren't registered to anybody at all. I mean, that was part of the problem. He had a van full of unregistered guns. But what an odd claim to make, and where would Moran even get an ideal like that? Had
Mayhon been telling him stories about the Order. Mayhon's on record as having been a big fan of their work. But I can't find a claim anywhere else that he ever had his hands on any guns or money connected to the Order. Did the ATF agent just make that up? That seems unnecessary. I guess we'll never know, But regardless, the claim does make for a neat little narrative device. In that magazine article, you know in nineteen eighty seven, the ATF is appealing to Moran's honor and loyalty to
a fellow cop. Surely you'll help us send Mayhon to jail. He was involved in the murder of a state trooper, but Moran declined the offer. He refused to assist the agents in any way, and he soon lost his job a Platte City police officer. And then a year later he's a rising star in the Ku Klux Klan and he's telling this Kansas City Star magazine writer that men like David Tate, the man who murdered that state trooper,
were heroes to him. He told the reporter that he dreamed of a perfect aryan nation where white men and women lived under God's law alone, a place where non whites could only visit on work fiesus, and anyone who stepped out of line could be executed. In his vision of this white utopia, there would be statues lining a wide boulevard in the capitol, statues of men who had killed in service of the Ethno State, men like David Tate.
After becoming fast friends in nineteen eighty seven, j Allen Moran and Dennis Mahon got down to business clan business, and by January nineteen eighty eight, they were trying to get on TV. Tom Metzger's Race and Reason program had been on the air in cities all over the country for a few years by then, with city after city. But grudgingly taking their lawyer's advice, if the Klan wants to be on public Access TV, you have to let them, and it was Metzger's Race and Reason program that Moran
and Maehon were hoping to air in Kansas City. The city initially rebuffed them by making up new rules. When the men arrived at the studio with a VHS tape of Metzger's show, they were told that public access programming had to actually be produced in the studio by local residents. They couldn't broadcast pre recorded content, and if they wanted to use the studio to record a show, they'd have to receive training from station employees on how to properly
use all the equipment. And you know, we just don't actually have any openings for training right now, so they're stalling. No data is scheduled for this training, and they can't make the show until they get the training. You can make the show, but you have to get the training. And it's just not time. They're just kicking the can down the road, buying time. While the Kansas City City Council meets with lawyers to try to figure out how
to stop this. The conflict over what could be aired on TV in Kansas City caught the attention of Harry Jones, a journalism instructor at the University of Kansas. He thought it would be a valuable learning opportunity for his students to hear from Moran and Mayhon, saying it would be a lesson in challenging interviewing. Campus protests forced him to rescind the invitation to appear on campus. The class was rescheduled.
Twenty two journalism students were shuttled to an empty airplane hangar at a nearby regional airport for a class that looked more like a press conference. The two clansmen held court, expounding on their philosophies on race mixing and the evil influence exerted by Jewish people, and then they took questions
from the students afterward. One student said the men's views were quote unrealistic and laughable, and noted that they avoided answering certain questions, refusing to give any hard answers on the actual size of their organization or exactly how they intended to remove black and Jewish people from the land they would use for their ethno state. Another student said the men's remarks were gross and obscene and completely unprintable,
particularly on the subject of Jews. All in all, the instructor viewed the event as a success, telling the paper that about a third of the students engaged in the interview practice and were vigorous and polite but persistent. I'm sure the decision to hold the class in the end had nothing to do with the clan's threats against the
university after the invitation was originally withdrawn. Moran's threats to sue over a canceled class probably didn't have them shaking in their boots, but the promise of impending clan rallies on campus was unappealing, and it wasn't just the University of Kansas that he was threatening with lawsuits and clan marches. By the summer of nineteen eighty eight, Kansas City had voted to shut down their entire public access television station
rather than air the clan's TV show. The Clan's been responded by filing suit with the backing of the ACLU, and soon after that suit was filed, the debate about what belongs on TV reached Weekday afternoon's most watched TV show.
In Kansas City. Recently, a civic battle erupted when council members voted to eliminate the public access channel rather than to allow the Klan to broadcast. Dennis Mayan is a KKK official who wanted to be host of the Klansas City cable program, which would feature, among other things, footage from KKK rallies and cross burnings, and, in Dennis's own words, an occasional safari through the black parts of Kansas City.
Defending Gennis and other clan members. Writes to free and equal opportunity to public access cable stations is American Civil Liberties attorney John Powell.
The September first, nineteen eighty eight episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show featured Tom Metzker, Dennis Mayhon, and Dennis's ACLU attorney squaring off again, C. T. Vivian, a man that Martin Luther King Junior himself once called the greatest preacher to ever live, Reverend Emmanuel Cleaver, a Kansas City City councilman who was fighting to keep Mayhon off the air, and an Orthodox Rabbi. The show was a bit of a circus, but that's obviously what they were going for.
Members of the John Brown Anti Clan Committee had packed the audience and managed to get several comments in as Oprah roamed the studio soliciting questions.
John Brown Anti Clan committeem proud of it. I'd like to ask this question, where does free speech end and the freedoms organized for murder begin. Where do we draw the line. I draw the line with Tom Metzer and the klu Klux Klan because behind a man in the three piece six is another man in a paramilitary uniform, and those people are out there killing people.
That audience member was Tray more right than she could have known. Just six weeks after that episode aired, an Ethiopian college student nam Mulagetta Sarah was beaten to death in Portland, Oregon by three skinheads. With help from the Southern Poverty Law Center, Mullageda's family successfully sued Tom Metzger for twelve million dollars. Those murderers were exactly what the opera audience member predicted, a paramilitary force behind a man
in a three piece suit. They were members of White Arian resistance who had been incited to kill by Metzger's propaganda. Maihon made a whole week out of his trip to Chicago to appear on OPRAH. The episode was filmed on a Thursday, but he spent the whole week in the city. On Sunday, August twenty eighth, he was a headline speaker at a White Pride rally in Chicago's Marquette Park. Five
hundred people turned up to hear speeches from klansmen. The events organizers, a clan chapter in Illinois, claimed they'd had no idea there was another event in Marquette Park that day. Marquette Park is over three hundred acres, and clansmen aren't known for their courtesy or flawless event planning, so maybe they hadn't done it on purpose. But that Sunday afternoon they were sharing the park with several hundred people who
had marched over together from a nearby church. They were commemorating the August nineteen sixty six Marquette Park March, led by doctor Martin Luther King, Junior. And history may not repeat, but it often does rhyme. That march in nineteen sixty six was confronted by thousands of angry white people, some with Confederate flags and swastika banners, and they pelted the marchers with objects, hitting doctor King himself in the head
with a rock. And in nineteen eighty eight, the city of Chicago sent eight hundred police officers to keep these two events separate. Officers on horseback blocked a contingent of klansmen who broke off from the main event to try to antagonize the churchgoers. Officers had to form a human barricade to hold back the clansmen as the other rally dispersed.
Newspaper reports say there were no injuries, but they also report that a young black man who appeared to have no idea that either event was happening in the park that day had to be rescued by officers after klansmen surrounded him, pelting him with rocks. At least a dozen klansmen were arrested for disorderly conduct and one for punching a photographer. But Dennis Mayhon's trip to Chicago was a success. He gave a speech to a crowd of hundreds of supporters,
and he appeared on national television. Everybody saw him, everybody including his boss.
If I may lose my job for being on the show today, Oprah's.
Studio audience cheered when Mayhun said he may end up losing his job for appearing on the show. In the context of the show, he's trying to make a point about how he's suffering for his political views, how he's constantly being punished for exercising his right to free speech. He probably didn't actually think he was going to lose his job. His employer, trans World Airlines, said they'd known about his clan activities for some time. He's not a
subtle guy. He was fired shortly after appearing on the Oprah Winfrey Show, but it wasn't because they learned something new about their aircraft mechanic. It was because he kept missing work. His trip to Chicago in September was far from the only thing take him away from his job at the Kansas City International Airport that year. In February,
he took a week off to go to Arkansas. Klansmen and neo Nazis from around the country were demonstrating outside the federal courthouse in Fort Smith as the trial began for the fourteen white supremacist leaders accused of seditious conspiracy. The very first Aryan Fest, a kind of Nazi woodstock that Tom Metzger and his son John came up with,
was held that summer. A nineteen eighty eight issue of Metzger's White Arian Resistance newsletter says that over one hundred Nazis and skinheads from around the country spent three days in June on a farm in Oklahoma listening to white power music. He describes a band called the Tulsa Midtown boot Boys as quote one of the hottest white power bands this side of Screwdriver. A month later, in July, Mayhon took a trip out to Idaho to give a speech at the air In World Congress, and even when
he wasn't traveling, he was busy. In nineteen eighty eight, Mayhon had a falling out with Tom rob. Rob was the national director of the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan. He didn't like being called an imperial wizard. I guess he thought that sounded silly, but I can't imagine why. But he was the national director and Mayhon was a king Klegel in the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan.
But as the sedition trial got underway at Fort Smith, Tom Rob thought it would be prudent for the clan to publicly stand by only those defendants who he felt had a valid First Amendment defense. He didn't want to be seen in public defending out and out terrorism. That'd be bad for business. Dennis Mayhon, on the other hand, was offering his full throated support, not only for all of the defendants in the Fort Smith trial, but for
all of the members of the order. He publicly praised Robert Matthews, the gang's leader, who had died in an armed standoff with the FBI, calling him a martyr. And it was this disagreement about how much you can say out loud in public that you love terrorism that caused Dennis Mahon to split with the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, and in nineteen eighty eight he formed his own organization, calling it the White Knights of the Ku
Klux Klan. It doesn't look like Dennis Mayhon ever, got a new full time job after getting let go in the fall of nineteen eighty eight, but that just freed him up to spend more time organizing. In nineteen eighty nine, he ran for Aldermen in Ward I of the Kansas City suburb of Northmore. His candidate profile on the local newspaper says only he does automotive work on a contract basis.
He could not be reached for additional information. Fellow clansman Edward Eugene Stephens the Fourth was running for Aldermen and Northmore's third Ward Stephen's wife Cynthia, ran for collector and his father, Edward Eugene Stephens the third, was running unopposed to keep his seat as Northmore's municipal judge. Stephens's wife and father told the Kansas City Star that they were not members of the clan, although no one denied that
Edward Stephens fourth was deeply involved in the clan. Two years later, after Rodney King was beaten by LAPD officers, Stephens and Mayhon were responsible for mailing clan recruitment flyers to police departments all over Los Angeles in the midst of what appeared to have been a fairly lackluster campaign for Aldermen. In nineteen eighty nine, Dennis Mayhon was still fighting the Kansas City City Council over his public access
TV show. The city hoped to get his lawsuit dismissed, but after a federal judge denied their motion and set a trial date for September, they decided to just settle instead. That summer, the city council voted to reinstate the public access channel. They signed a settlement agreement with the Klansmen
for ninety seven thousand dollars. Maehon would go on to press his luck trying to get Tom Metzger's Race and Reason program on other public access channels in the region, threatening to bring in white supremacist leaders like Tom Metzker himself and Aran Nation's leader Richard Butler, to stage protests outside the studios if they didn't capitulate, and on April third, nineteen ninety, the first and only episode of his Very own show aired in Kansas City. The episode is not
quite fifteen minutes long. In the open, frames are garbled, there's colored bars sort of flickering over the clansmen, and the audio is choppy, but it opens on a klansman in a red robe with his face entirely covered by a red hood, and he greets the viewer with this message, city.
By city, we're going where we want, certain what we want. Nobody no water is born with Starflus.
Our country.
He was born out of bloodshed, and from that bloodshed was the birth of the Ku Klux Klan.
After his introduction, ending with a shout of white power punctuated by a Hitler salute, the klansmen in red sort of shuffles out of frame and Dennis Mahon walks in. He's wearing a bright teal Clan robe with a red kate but no hood. What follows is a rambling complaint about how unfair the process has been to get the show on the air, and then he lays out a
plan for what the show will be. Episodes will feature footage from clan rallies, and they'll have guests with differing perspectives, and he promises to feature what he calls quote racial comedians, because quote, we all like good racial jokes. I don't know who we is. Dennis. He hoped to have episodes featuring interviews with his friends, people like Tom Metzger and Arian Nation's leader Richard Butler, but he also wanted to feature people with other ideas, people like Lewis Ferricon. But
he never did book any guests. The only episode of Klansas City Cable was taped at the American Cablevision studio on Main Street in downtown Kansas City, few days before it aired. While Mahon was recording, his supporters waited outside standing guard. There was no demonstration, there was no protests. The public outcry was over it been going on for years. Nobody showed up. I doubt anyone had any particular idea
that the program was even being recorded. In an office building on a Thursday afternoon, but one of the two dozen clansmen standing on main Street waiting for Denis to come out, pulled a gun on a black pedestrian, prompting nine to one one calls. In the end, nineteen klansmen were taken into custody in the fifteen minutes it took Dennis to record the episode. Most of them were released
without charges. The incident prompted American Cable Vision to announce a plan to update their rules for using the studio. They were hoping to ban guns on the premises and require all visitors to sign in. There's no follow up I can find on whether they ended up implementing any changes to the rules. But it didn't matter. Dennis got what he wanted. He didn't actually want the responsibility of creating a weekly television program. He was a man of action,
not words. Now, Tom Metzker was a committed propagandist, but Dennis Mayhon just wanted to force everyone to submit to the Clan, and now that they had, he didn't have to make any more episodes. He proved his point. I had every intention of getting all the way through the early nineties in this first episode, but I have to confess that I got in a little too deep researching the latter half of the story when I should have
been writing the first half. And it's now very late at night, and I need to deliver this recording to
Rory before he wakes up. Dennis Mayhon has only just begun to cause problems at this point, so you'll have to come back next week to hear about the Klansman's attempt to frighten black children with a bad Mister Rogers impression, his efforts to start clan chapters in Germany in the time he got deported from Canada, the conspiracy theories linking him to the Oklahoma City bombing, and the exotic dancer who spent four years gaining his trust, secretly recording him
until he said enough to tie him to a mail bomb in Arizona. And there's also a very weird guy with a compound in the Ozarks. He hides his guns in the many natural caves around his property. Poo Little Guys as a production at Coolzone Media and iHeartRadio. It's research, written and recorded by me, Molly Conger. Our executive producers are Sophie Littterman, and Robert Evans. The show is edited by the wildly talented Rory Gagan. The theme music was
composed by Brad Dickert. You can email me at Weird Little Guys podcast at gmail dot com. Unless it is about how I pronounced the name of the city. I'll definitely read your email, but I poorly won't answer it. It's nothing personal. You can exchange conspiracy theories about the show with other listeners on the Weird Little Guys separate it. Just don't post anything that's going to make you one of my Weird Little Guys