ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1995, Roanoke Times
DATE: Sunday, December 31, 1995 TAG: 9601020170
SECTION: NATIONAL/INTERNATIONAL PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
DATELINE: SPRINGFIELD, ILL.
SOURCE: MICHAEL PRECKER DALLAS MORNING NEWS
The Ku Klux Klan was coming, and Bill and Lindy Seltzer pondered what to do.
Turning up at the rally, they figured, would give the Klan just what it wanted: confrontation, maybe violence, probably more time on the TV news.
But doing nothing would let a racist message go unanswered, perhaps giving the impression that it was acceptable in the city where Abraham Lincoln practiced law for two decades before being elected president.
Instead, the Springfield couple organized a pledge drive that combined the emotion of a carnival dunk tank with the financing of a charity walkathon. For every minute the Klansmen prattled on, you donated a dime or a dollar to some of their unfavorite organizations.
``The idea was the longer the Klan rallied, the more they raised for the NAACP, the Anti-Defamation League and other groups that teach tolerance,'' says Bill Seltzer, unable to suppress a sly grin. ``It's taking something sour and making it sweet.''
It is simple and clever, endowed with upbeat irony and a catchy name - Project Lemonade. And it is catching on.
Nearly two years after the 45-minute rally in Springfield raised $10,500, the Seltzers have exported the idea to a half-dozen towns where the Klan has turned up. They have a growing network of admirers and a how-to kit ready if and when the white-hooded bunch heads your way.
``I'm amazed at how quickly this has taken off,'' says Amy Middleton of the Southern Poverty Law Center of Montgomery, Ala., which investigates white supremacists.
``People are unsure how to respond to these sorts of hate groups,'' she says. ``This is one of the most positive ways to take a stand against the Klan.''
Klanwatch, which is part of the Southern Poverty Law Center, recently included Project Lemonade in its pamphlet, ``10 Ways to Fight Hate in Your Community.'' The Chicago regional office of the Anti-Defamation League honored the Seltzers this month with a community leadership award.
``This has just been a fascinating demonstration of good citizenship,'' says Richard Hirschhaut, Anti-Defamation League regional director in Chicago.
``It's a novel and fresh approach to fighting bigotry. As we tell groups about it, you can see sort of a sparkle come to their eyes.''
There is a bit of a down side. The Seltzers' efforts have earned them some hate mail and a few threats they do not want to talk about. Their phone number is now unlisted, and all they want written about their personal life is that they are professional people in Springfield with grown children.
``But the positive far outweighs the negative,'' Lindy Seltzer says. ``We get some tremendously heartwarming letters. This really strikes a chord with people. It's never entered my mind to stop doing this.''
The idea actually germinated for more than a decade. In the late 1970s, the Chicago suburb of Skokie tried unsuccessfully to stop a Nazi group from marching through the town, where many residents were Jews who survived the Holocaust.
The protracted legal battle over the right to free speech - which later became the focus of a TV movie - gave the Nazis a blaze of publicity. Springfield is a four-hour drive from Skokie, but the controversy got Lindy Seltzer thinking.
``I think they have to have the right to hold their rally,'' she says, ``because I want my rights, and I don't want somebody denying my permit because you don't like my ideology. So if you can't prevent it, come up with another solution. This just popped into my head.''
It was too late for Skokie. ``But I just decided if something like that ever came up in Springfield, I would try it here,'' she says.
Two years ago, the Klan gave her the chance, announcing a rally at the state Capitol on Martin Luther King's birthday in January. They gave six weeks' notice.
``We couldn't prevent their presence in Springfield, but we could show as a community that we confront their ideology,'' Bill Seltzer says. ``We called a few community leaders to see if this would be anything they would object to. They didn't, so we decided to do it.''
They contacted community groups and churches, newspapers and radio stations, everybody they knew and many they did not. They printed pamphlets and pledge cards. In what may have been the easiest part, they persuaded the Anti-Defamation League, NAACP and Southern Poverty Law Center to endorse the effort - and accept donations.
``A lot of teachers used this as a teaching-tolerance project,'' Lindy Seltzer says. ``There were classes where children pledged a penny a minute, just to be involved.''
The rally itself, on a bitterly cold day, attracted all of 20 Klan members. Police provided the official time of 45 minutes.
Donors were encouraged to make out checks directly to the anti-Klan groups. Any written to Project Lemonade were divided among the three.
A few weeks after the rally, the Seltzers called one last news conference, presented big ceremonial checks to the three groups and thought they were finished.
``But that just got more publicity,'' Bill Seltzer says. ``We got calls from all over. We had no idea it would grab people like it did.''
Project Lemonade can be contacted at 1136 W. Jefferson St., Suite 111, Springfield, IL 62702.
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