ONE OF the scariest moments in my life was attending a Klan cross burning in 1968. The memory was rekindled by the recent controversy over the Klan's request to participate in the "Adopt-a-Road" cleanup program in Anne Arundel County.

My college roommate found out that the Klan was going to hold a rally at a farm in Northeast in Cecil County. We should go, he said, because it would be "a hoot."

I was repelled by the Ku Klux Klan's doctrine of hate and violence, but he convinced me that we shouldn't pass up this opportunity to see some extremists up-close.

As I remember, the speeches were under way when we arrived. Most of the men in the crowd of about 80 people were wearing white robes, but they had not put on their hoods.

Many of them looked like the hard-working people who lived on my block in Baltimore's Remington.

The only difference was the younger Klan members had close-cropped hair, and many of my neighbors were beginning to grow their hair to their collars. It was the '60s, remember.

Bilious hate

Three decades later, I can't remember the speeches exactly, but I still get the "willies" thinking about the bilious hate that poured from the mouths of the speakers.

After hearing an hour and a half's harangue against blacks, Catholics and Jews, the Klan members donned their hoods and circled a 10-foot wooden cross wrapped with burlap soaked in gasoline.

They lighted the cross.

I snapped a photograph and told my roommate with some urgency we had better leave. The next thing on the group's agenda, I figured, was to beat up these two obviously out-of-place college kids.

The diminished Klan isn't burning so many crosses these days. It has toned down the hate in its rhetoric.

Members such as David Duke in Louisiana try to insinuate themselves in mainstream politics to advance their views on white supremacy.

Do-good masquerade

In another effort to masquerade as civic-minded, the Klan nationally is volunteering to participate in state and local road clean-up programs.

In exchange for picking up litter four times a year, the Klan would be entitled to have its name on a sign acknowledging its participation in the program.

This issue has arisen in Anne Arundel County, where the Klan, with the assistance of the American Civil Liberties Union, is insisting -- correctly -- that government cannot shut it out of its Adopt-A-Road program solely because of its political viewpoint.

The roadside clean-up program is considered a public forum, like town squares. Numerous court cases have ruled that these public forums must be open to all.

Anne Arundel County Executive Janet S. Owens, who has absolutely no sympathy for the Klan, faces a tough decision.

Owens' dilemma

She must include the Klan if she wants to continue Adopt-A-Road. Shutting the program is her only other alternative.

Although she has yet to make a final decision, Ms. Owens indicated last week she is prepared to end the Adopt-A-Road program rather than allow the Klan to exploit it.

Political considerations are driving Ms. Owens. She does not want the good name of Anne Arundel County to be associated with the likes of the Klan.

Her position is perfectly understandable, but by threatening to close the program, Ms. Owens empowers the Klan.

This despicable organization has a handful of members and can't even organize a well-attended march. Yet it would have the power to end a popular program. Other groups with more noble purposes won't be able to get their little bit of recognition by picking up litter.

NAACP position

That is probably why Herbert Lindsay, president of the Maryland chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, urged Ms. Owens to keep the program running even it means allowing the Klan in. Once closed, his organization won't have the opportunity to put up its own sign.

The most effective way to deal with these hate groups is to overpower them.

In other states where the Klan has participated in the Adopt-A-Road program, their signs have been vandalized. Motorists take special care to dump litter on the Klan's section of road. As a result, the Klan withdrew from the program.

Fear and violence have been integral to the Klan's political strategy historically. It is why many people are so opposed even to a road sign.

The organization might not be as intimidating as it was on that northeastern Maryland field 30 years ago, but its poisonous legacy is one Klansmen cannot escape.

Brian Sullam is The Sun's editorial writer in Anne Arundel County.

Pub Date: 3/14/99