Cellmates

I was born as a good Southern boy.

The night I come into this world, My mama looked out the window

And she could see a cross burnin' on the hills yonder,

A big, bright cross burnin' on the rolling hills of Texas.

And my papa helped raise that cross.

He was part of a certain American institution, If you know what I mean.

Yes, sir, the Klan was big back in those days.

And when I was old enough to stand on my own two feet, I joined, too.

I rose to prominence early on in the Klan.

They took to calling me Leroy “The White Knight” Lowe back then.

I ran for political office in Beaumont, Texas in 1952 With the backing of the Klan.

I lost by 28 votes.

But I never let none of that dampen my spirits, no, sir.

I traveled the south in the heyday of the Klan, vowing to rid the land

of Communism, Socialism, and any other “isms”.

I married a good Klan woman.

And upon the death of the Texas Grand Dragon Carl Winchcombe,

I was elected Grand Dragon of the Texas Knights of the Ku Klux Klan.

But by the time I made Grand Dragon, The liberal elements turned their reformist eye to the Klan

And it wasn't long before they sought to take me down.

In the winter of 1976, I found myself a reluctant guest

of Low Lee Tuna prison work farm in Tuna, Texas.

I shared my predicament with Bubba McCarthy,

Proud card-carryin' Klan member.

You ever notice how everything good out there is white?

You got Whitey Ford...

You got white bread...

You got Snow White...

Well, well, well... Welcome to to Low Lee Tuna state prison, folks.

Merve Merville, one rabid dog of a Warden. Well...

What have we got here?

Bubba McCarthy... Two counts of fraud, one count of federal fraud,

Sentenced to one year and four months.

Well, that's a slap on the wrist, if you ask me.

Leroy Lowe, Grand Dragon of the East Texas chapter of the Ku Klux Klan,

Sentenced to three years for conspiracy against the United States government,

Three counts of misapplying funds, tax evasion.

I'm Warden Merville, and I'm the law here at Low Lee.

Out there, you follow the Lord's ten commandments. In here, you follow mine,

and I only got one-- Work like a dog

so you can produce the best dad-gummed potatoes on God's green earth!

Now, some folks call me the Potato King of the Southern United States.

That's 'cause our prison fields produce the finest award-winning potatoes in the entire south.

We got packin' potatoes, peelin' potatoes, pickin' potatoes.

And if you think potato pickin' is a walk in the park In 99% humidity and 100°F weather,

You got another thing comin', son.

Meet East Texas dirt, gentlemen. Eighty-Three percent clay,

high alkaline content, And hard as a son of a bitch.

Now, that dirt needs to be softened up If them potatoes are gonna grow.

Somebody's gotta loosen that dirt. You ruffle my feathers,

and I will introduce you To a world of pain Texas-Style.

You Klan folks ain't nothin' But a hate-mongerin' bunch of trouble makers.

Maybe your mama didn't love you enough, Or maybe she love you too much.

Whatever the cause for your disease, I can tell you this, I'm the cure!

And that's when I heard it-- A low moan somewhere in the distance,

The grumble of portentous things to come...

The wail of the ragin' wind of destiny headin' my way.

Yes, sir, things was gonna change In unimaginable ways,

And there was nothin' I could do to avoid what was comin'.

Hey, Leroy, did you ever hear that business About George Wallace and George McGovern? What about George Wallace and George McGovern?

Said in the June issue of the White Tuna weekly That they're illegitimate brothers.

George Wallace, the governor of Alabama?

The two of 'em got the same bushy eyebrows, Same runty teeth, same bags under their eyes.

- How they figured? - Everyone knows McGovern's old man was a Minister.

- A philanderin' and womanizin' one, too. - Sure was! It's pretty clear what happened. - How you mean?

- In 1918, Mrs. Wallace got a job as an assistant to McGovern senior.

How that turn out, huh?

Well, story goes that when Mrs. Wallace moved back to Alabama, August 25th, 1919,

She gave birth to a son, George Wallace, Jr. Now every time he flashes a runty grin, Folks wonder why he looks a darn lot like George McGovern.

- They even got the same name! - You couldn't give birth to two more different men, if you tried.

- It's a mystery of nature how that can happen. - Governor Wallace is a hero.

- Must be something in the water up north. - Well, they come out with their heads screwed on sideways up there. - Amen!

Yes, sir, me and Bubba Was just like June and Ward Cleaver,

Two birds of a same-colored feather.

As anybody ever saw sharin' a prison cell.

- Hey, Leroy. - Hmm? - Tell me that story about you drivin' to Baton Rouge a few years back.

Well, I was drivin' east for a Klan rally. It was late night

and I was sailin' down I-10, When this little bitty Mexican Run right out in front of my brand-new Ford Fairlane.

When I stop, he come 'round my window and he said, “Excuse me, Señor, how about let me have a ride? I'm going back to Mexico.”

you must've been dreamin'! Ain't no Mexican ever wanna go back to Mexico on his own free will!

So I say, “Sure thing, amigo, hop right in! Ain't nothin' I like better than takin' a Mexican back to Mexico!”

So I ask him, I say, “How come you're goin' back to Mexico? Don't you like it out here in America?”

- What'd he say? - He said, “oh, si­, Señor, I like it very much.”

- “That's why I'm going back to Mexico To get my wife and six children And bring 'em back to your country.” - I'd be damned.

And that's about the time I open my car door And kick that son of a bitch right out of the car!

- You must've been doin' 50! - Sixty-Five.

- I don't want no one thinkin' the Klan ain't got no sense of humor now! - That's a Hell of a story, Leroy, A Hell of a story.

I got a lot of 'em, Bubba, a lot of stories.

I've been in the Klan 45 years... 45 consecutive years.

I've been harassed for the Klan,

persecuted, shot at, beaten.

I marched, I boycotted.

Hell, I even gave up my freedom for the cause.

Lights out!

You're a great man, Leroy, A Hell of a great man.

Every Tuesday, we spent one hour with the Warden For the benefit of our rehabilitation.

Cultivating potatoes teach a man all he kneed to know About living a moral life.

He who sows righteousness reaps a sure reward. Proverbs.

Not all potatoes are the same, mind you. Yellow potatoes, for instance are good for boilin'.

Yukon gold... White potatoes, au gratin, oh...

Russet potatoes, fingerlings, hash browns...

Let my teachings fall like rain. You wanna make the perfect potato stew?

- I feel... Rehabilitated. - You do now? - That's right.

If I get an early release from prison, I'm fixin' to return to my life as a door-To-Door vacuum salesman.

- A vacuum salesman? - That's brill vacuum cleaners, mind you,

- Unquestionably the finest value on the market! - Well,

that sound like a Hell of an honest job, Leroy.

But, uh... what about the Klan?

Hmm. Well, the Klan's gonna have to get along without me,

- As I'm gonna be gainfully employed and all. - I heard they're already gettin' along without you just fine..

- What have you heard? - That they've elected a new grand dragon in your absence.

So there's plenty of time for you to sell vacuums when you get out... In 19 months.

I want this place shinin' like a pair of new boots! You hear me?

Ever heard the story of the woman who walks into a man's life And don't make one bit of difference?

Neither have I.

I think the time's come for me to give the good ol' Warden here

A display of my influence in this neck of the woods.

- I'm gonna stir up a Hell of a fuss! - You are? - Uh-Huh.

I'm gonna write the “White Tuna” and I'm gonna call on every Klansmen east of the Mississippi,

to support my cause!

- Right. - Hundreds of folks are gonna rally at the doorsteps of this institution

To demand that I be set free!

- Be a mighty spectacle. - Pure Jesus. Pure Jesus. Amen.

- You think you might make it Saturday instead? - What? Why?

Well, I'd rather not cause a hullabaloo on Friday. It's sweet potato day.

You should try the potatoes today, Leroy. Pretty darn good for prison fare.

I don't see nothin' in here about my stirrin' letter,

my call to action! Don't even see my name mentioned in here. Oh,

- Wait. Here's somethin'. - What?

“The New Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan, Ratt Sloan,

Had this to say about his predecessor, Leroy “The White Knight” Lowe--”

“I know he tried to join the Louisiana order on at least two occasions

When he felt attendance to his Klan was slippin'...”

- Well, that's a Goddamn Jew lie! - You went to Bogalusa once.

- I ain't never been to Bogalusa! I wouldn't be caught dead in Bogalusa! - What else it says?

“Furthermore, Grand Dragon Ratt Sloan has learned from unassailable sources “That Leroy Lowe's mother is a...

half-breed Jewess by the name of Finkelstein.”

Oh, Hell no! Oh!

Oh, when I get out of here, I'm gonna find this son of a bitch!

Bubba! Bubba, Bubba, Bubba,

oh, come on now. Come on, boy, get up!

Guard! Guard!

That piece of baked potato That got stuck in Bubba's throat Cut off the oxygen flow to his brain Longer than any piece of potato has the right to.

Bubba survived, but he was never quite the same after that.

He was transferred to Low Lee Tuna psychiatric ward,

Where he spent the remainder of his sentence in imbecilic hebetude.

I know Bubba wasn't much to look at, But he sure was good people.

It's a shame about Bubba, a real shame.

He was a hard-Working member of this establishment,

A man who packed potatoes swiftly and efficiently.

He will be woefully missed.

But we must press on.

I reckon it ain't right for a man To spend all his time alone

with nobody to talk to, No matter what his crime is.

Besides, space is a scarce and valuable commodity here at Low Lee,

And we need to fill that empty bunk in your cell.

So I'm fixin' to pair you up with a new cell mate.

Somethin' was in the air That balmy summer day at Low Lee.

I could sense it as clear as a man feels

Somethin' big was headed my way.

Who the Hell are you?

- My name is Emilio Ortiz. - What?

- Emilio Ortiz. - Guard! Guard, get back here! You left a Mexican in my cell!

Guard!

Well, well, well... Leroy Lowe don't like Jews,

He don't like negroes, and he don't like mexicans neither.

I don't have a problem with nobody, Warden. I ain't anti-Colored, I'm Pro-American.

Pro-American? You think you're the only one who's Pro-American around here?

Don't you think that I would like to tar and feather me A colored folk from time to time?

Of course I do! But it don't work that way no more.

Them civil rights laws make it very hard To discriminate and segregate these days.

Of course, that's on the outside. In here, the time-honored tradition Of indentured servitude

Is alive and well And doin' just fine.

This country was built on the backs of minorities Workin' for nothin',

And I'm here to make sure that it stays that way.

- Do you think that these award-Winning potatoes pick themselves? - No, sir.

Of course they don't.

Before he was arrested, That Mexican sharing that cell with you

- Was working in the fields, he was getting paid for it, and you know what he'd do? - What?

He says he ain't gettin' paid enough! He and his fellow workers organized a strike!

Well, the Tuna County Sheriff's Office Marched right down there,

Clamped handcuffs on them radicals, And they turned 'em over to me.

Now they're workin' my potato fields, And they don't get paid a single penny for doin' it.

And that's how I take care of the minority problem, legally.

I appreciate your position, Warden. I really do.

But if there's any way you could transfer This particular radical to any other cell--

No way, no how! I got me radicals fillin' every cell in this institution!

You know what happens when you put two radicals in the same cell? You got a revolution!

But I figured that a few months In tight quarters with you

is gonna break this radical's spirit.

Just make sure you don't break nothin' else Because a broken body cannot meet quota.