Goodness and Gracious

by Billy Roper

21 September 2004

The White Heritage Days Festival in Scottsboro, Alabama, which evolved into a memorial event for Pastor Butler when he passed away the week before, was a bittersweet experience. There were a lot of children present, as this had been advertised as a family-friendly event, and their shrieks of glee and laughter as they played football in the grassy field, took pony-rides, and competed in the raucous pig-chasing contest reminded me of how much Pastor Butler loved children. I kept looking around at all the people who I had last seen when we were all together with Pastor Butler at the Aryan Nations Congress just a few months ago. Many of them had known Pastor Butler longer than I had, but I was lucky enough to have been with him in Montgomery, when he stood outside the S.P.L.C. offices and proclaimed to Morris Dees that he had not been defeated. I was lucky enough to march behind him as he rode through the streets of Coeur D'Alene, showing the anti-White haters that they had not driven him out of town, as they had claimed they had. And, I was lucky enough to have a few serious and substantial conversations with him, just the two of us, when we had stood together in Arizona, Tennessee, and Kansas. Here we were, gathered once again in camaraderie, and amidst the pro-White vendors, the arts and crafts displays of soaps and herbal remedies and woodworking and crochet, the grills barbecuing free food for everyone, I kept looking around for Pastor Butler. I kept expecting to see him seated in the shade with a White child or two playing at his feet. I kept looking, but he was not there. It was only through the perfect, cloudless warm Hitler weather we enjoyed in the wake of the passing hurricane, that his presence was really felt the most. During the speeches later in the evening, the headcount of those present was between ninety and one hundred. Klan groups from Georgia, Alabama, Florida, Mississippi, and Tennessee were present, as were skinheads and independent Identity folk, and of course Aryan Nations and White Revolution members from all over the country. A lot of good contacts were made, new members were signed up, literature was passed out, business cards and e-mail addresses were exchanged, just like always. But somehow, when the dozens of assembled Klansmen fired up the three massive crosses in the clear Alabama night sky, and the Swastika blazed in their wake, it felt different, like a Viking funeral.

From Huntsville east on I-72 through Alabama, families of lemmings clogged the median and the shoulder of the road, their made-in-China U.S. flags ready to flap spastically. They had heard that King George II might pass through with his royal motorcade on the way down to the gulf for a photo op where he could make sympathetic clucking noises at hurricane victims. Most of them, like most people everywhere, had never seen a Great Man before, except on t.v. or in the movies, portrayed by their favorite actor. They were excited at this opportunity of a lifetime, for them. I couldn't help but think how fortunate I have been in my lifetime, to have met several Great Men.

Of course, Great isn't a superlative of Good. A lot of Great men aren't very Good, and a lot of Good people never achieve Greatness. Pastor Richard Butler was a rare type, a man who embodied both Goodness and Greatness. He was Great because he eschewed luxury, he sacrificed wealth and fame from his inventions and aeronautical patents, to serve his people. He was Great because for decades he stood firm against the enemies of our race, and no matter what they did to him, or what they took from him, he never wavered or surrendered. But he was Good because throughout thirty years of movement intrigues and slander and infighting, he never took the low road, he was never divisive or spiteful, and he almost never had anything bad to say about anyone who was White. He was a Greater and a Better man than me, and than almost anyone else I can think of, too.

In fact, if he had any fault, it may have been that he was too generous, too open-hearted, too sympathetic to any White person who asked for his help. What a thing to say, that this was a man's worst fault. Kindness to his own kind, self-sacrifice and generosity. Too much love for his race. Too open-hearted. We should all have such faults.

When I got home I found out that another friend of mine, Bill Stidham from Tennessee, had passed away that weekend. Bill and I stomped a lot of ground together, from the Israeli and German Embassies in D.C. to anti-immigration demonstrations in Georgia, Tennessee, Arkansas, and beyond. He was a former member of the National Alliance, and a current member of White Revolution. Bill left behind a wife and sons and grandchildren, and he will be sorely missed by all who knew him. I had spoken to him a week ago on the phone, and he was really looking forward to the White Heritage Days festival, to getting together again. I had wondered why he didn't make it. Now I knew. Bill Stidham and Richard Butler's struggles are over. Their work for our race is done. They've done their part. How about you? If you're not dead, what's your excuse?

Until next time, this is Billy Roper reminding you, that White Revolution is the only solution.



Mr. Roper is chairman of White Revolution.

Back to VNN Main Page