We had been shopping in Albany, Georgia, and we were driving back, Jean and me, with a three-month-old baby in a bassinet in the back seat of this little Nash Rambler. We go around the curve in this little town called Doerun, Georgia, and I was going pretty fast and there were people all over the streets. I slowed down quickly, and there must have been a hundred people in sheets with their pointed hats. They didn’t have their face masks on, but I turned the corner and I was in the middle of a Klan rally. I realized that they were coming to Thomasville because I had put up signs about a voter registration drive. And I expected to — I was prepared for it — and so I said to Jean, I said, “Look…” And she’s a country girl. One of the things we used to do on dates is go out in the backyard and shoot tin cans. So she was a good shot. And I said, “Look, I’m going to try to reason with these people if they come to visit us, and I want you to sit in the window and just point our rifle at the guy I’m talking to.” See, I’d been to theology school and I was —  I mean, I grew up in the Second World War, where Reinhold Niebuhr and others criticized the church for being pacifist. So I wanted her to sit up there, and we were talking then about negotiating from a position of strength. So I said, “You point the gun at him, and then I can reason with him as a brother. Because if he takes me out, you take him out.” And she said, “I’m not going to do that.” I said, “What do you mean? What are you going to do?” She said, “I’m not going to point a gun at a human being.” I said, “That’s not a human being, that’s the Ku Klux Klan!” She said, “Look, don’t you forget it. Under that sheet is the heart of a child of God.” And my idea was, “Damn, woman! What kind of woman did I marry?” And she said, “No, we’re not going to point guns. We’re not.” She said, “If you don’t believe in what you preach, we need to quit now.” And so she forced me to rethink it.