danger of learning Creationism alongside evolution. Sex education is relegated to abstinence-only instruction, and contemporary history is a right-wing romp praising the likes of Joe McCarthy and Phyllis Schlafly herself.
Everything in the textbook controversies points to one conclusion: Mother’s personal battles ended with her passing, but the textbook wars never die.
Chapter Five
Hard Right
The John Birch Society embodied a militant anti-Communist fervor. Members pledged that the battle against Communism would continue until the last American patriot had died with a sword in hand
.
—D ONALD T. C RITCHLOW 1
In the summer of 1958, the Conner family left our crowded, second-floor apartment for a new home in the desirable Edgebrook neighborhood in the northwest tip of Chicago. The first time I saw our house, a brown English Tudor–style cottage on tree-lined Sioux Avenue—three whole blocks from the closest “busy” street—I knew we’d arrived. My dad had achieved his American dream: a house in the suburbs, well, almost the suburbs; five kids; a beautiful, smart wife; and a successful business. Life was good.
For me, life would be perfect if my mother and dad gave up their politics and embraced the suburban life of bridge clubs and cocktail parties. I fell asleep that first night in my new pink room dreaming about my new, improved parents.
A few days later, my pipe dream burst when Mother announced she had no more time for unpacking. “I have pressing work that must be done,” she said. “I’ll be in the dining room. Don’t disturb me until lunch.” Mother arranged her papers on the table, seated herself on a straight-back chair, and lit a Viceroy. In no time, she was absorbed.
Mother maintained a strict daily regimen. She read her correspondence, looked over the latest newspapers and magazines, and determined what material she would keep. Important articles were clipped and stuffed into manila folders. After she’d finished her reading, she started writing. Almost every day, she churned out a stack of letters to newspapers, senators, and congressmen. Sometimes, she critiqued textbooks for school administrators, principals, and pastors.
One day, two fellows arrived with new filing cabinets that landed in the corner of the breakfast room. Before long, those gray-metal contraptions bulged with Mother’s precious documentation. In no time, the dining roomand breakfast room were littered with boxes of filmstrips and reel-to-reel tapes. Textbooks from school districts around the country sat in stacks on the floor. Books, magazines, and newspapers crowded the top of the credenza. Mother didn’t seem to notice the jumble, nor did Dad. Their focus was squarely on the dangers threatening the country, dangers they’d become more and more aware of over the last few years. They did everything they could as individuals to stop some of the damage, but they were convinced that only concerted group action would give real Americans a fighting chance.
According to my father, the existing anti-Communist groups scattered around the country were useless. “Debating societies,” he called them. He longed for a national movement headed by a serious, wise leader, a man who would rouse Americans before it was too late. A man like Robert Welch.
I realize that the name Robert Welch means nothing to most people today. But in the 1960s, he built the largest, most effective, and most controversial right-wing organization in the country. 2 He was able to gather an impressive array of successful business leaders and retired military officers to join him, including my own father. Welch planned to build (and control) a million-man (and -woman) army to find and destroy the enemies of our country. The stakes were high. According to Welch, the United States was a few short years from being absorbed into the Soviet Union or into a one-world government under another name.
In
The Blue Book of the John Birch Society
, Welch wrote a
Everything in the textbook controversies points to one conclusion: Mother’s personal battles ended with her passing, but the textbook wars never die.
Chapter Five
Hard Right
The John Birch Society embodied a militant anti-Communist fervor. Members pledged that the battle against Communism would continue until the last American patriot had died with a sword in hand
.
—D ONALD T. C RITCHLOW 1
In the summer of 1958, the Conner family left our crowded, second-floor apartment for a new home in the desirable Edgebrook neighborhood in the northwest tip of Chicago. The first time I saw our house, a brown English Tudor–style cottage on tree-lined Sioux Avenue—three whole blocks from the closest “busy” street—I knew we’d arrived. My dad had achieved his American dream: a house in the suburbs, well, almost the suburbs; five kids; a beautiful, smart wife; and a successful business. Life was good.
For me, life would be perfect if my mother and dad gave up their politics and embraced the suburban life of bridge clubs and cocktail parties. I fell asleep that first night in my new pink room dreaming about my new, improved parents.
A few days later, my pipe dream burst when Mother announced she had no more time for unpacking. “I have pressing work that must be done,” she said. “I’ll be in the dining room. Don’t disturb me until lunch.” Mother arranged her papers on the table, seated herself on a straight-back chair, and lit a Viceroy. In no time, she was absorbed.
Mother maintained a strict daily regimen. She read her correspondence, looked over the latest newspapers and magazines, and determined what material she would keep. Important articles were clipped and stuffed into manila folders. After she’d finished her reading, she started writing. Almost every day, she churned out a stack of letters to newspapers, senators, and congressmen. Sometimes, she critiqued textbooks for school administrators, principals, and pastors.
One day, two fellows arrived with new filing cabinets that landed in the corner of the breakfast room. Before long, those gray-metal contraptions bulged with Mother’s precious documentation. In no time, the dining roomand breakfast room were littered with boxes of filmstrips and reel-to-reel tapes. Textbooks from school districts around the country sat in stacks on the floor. Books, magazines, and newspapers crowded the top of the credenza. Mother didn’t seem to notice the jumble, nor did Dad. Their focus was squarely on the dangers threatening the country, dangers they’d become more and more aware of over the last few years. They did everything they could as individuals to stop some of the damage, but they were convinced that only concerted group action would give real Americans a fighting chance.
According to my father, the existing anti-Communist groups scattered around the country were useless. “Debating societies,” he called them. He longed for a national movement headed by a serious, wise leader, a man who would rouse Americans before it was too late. A man like Robert Welch.
I realize that the name Robert Welch means nothing to most people today. But in the 1960s, he built the largest, most effective, and most controversial right-wing organization in the country. 2 He was able to gather an impressive array of successful business leaders and retired military officers to join him, including my own father. Welch planned to build (and control) a million-man (and -woman) army to find and destroy the enemies of our country. The stakes were high. According to Welch, the United States was a few short years from being absorbed into the Soviet Union or into a one-world government under another name.
In
The Blue Book of the John Birch Society
, Welch wrote a
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