A Fever in the Heartland: The Ku Klux Klan's Plot to Take Over America, and the Woman Who Stopped Them

When Oberholtzer’s mother, Mathilde, enlisted the help of attorney Asa Smith in the case of her daughter’s disappearance, Smith hired a private detective. Later that day, Mathilde received the telegram from her daughter, but it all smelled fishy. Smith drove her to Union Station to await the train from Chicago, but Oberholtzer was not on board. Smith then took Mathilde to Stephenson’s compound where the Grand Dragon had just arrived by car and deposited the dying Oberholtzer in an apartment above his garage. When her screams threatened to alert the neighbors, one of Stephenson’s cronies drove her home, leaving her alone in her bedroom. When a boarder living with the Oberholtzers discovered the wounded Madge, she called a doctor and informed Mathilde. Madge’s prognosis was not good. Meanwhile, Stephenson’s ex-wife, Nettie, arrived from Oklahoma seeking child support payments dating back nine years.

The Oberholtzers considered reporting Stephenson to the authorities, but Stephenson was the authority. When Smith and another attorney, Griffith Dean, confronted Stephenson about his crime, he denied it at first and then became irate and defensive. Several days later, Stephenson’s attorney met Smith and spun a different tale: Oberholtzer was assaulted, his client claimed, by a guest at one of his parties. He accepted some liability and “generously” offered the Oberholtzers $5,000 in compensation. Smith rejected the offer.

Oberholtzer was in the grip of fever, her wounds terribly infected (antibiotics would be discovered three years later). Her parents finally decided to take legal action, but Oberholtzer was barely conscious, and without her testimony, the accusations had no corroboration. With Oberholtzer’s death a certainty, Smith recorded her statement hoping to use it in court. Smith shared Oberholtzer’s story with Will Remy, the Marion County district attorney and one of the few public officials not to swear fealty to the Klan. Stephenson was arrested, although he was released on $10,000 bail. A confident Stephenson claimed he was framed.

Oberholtzer hovered near death, her organs shutting down. She was memorialized in the press as “the most popular girl in Irvington” (226). She died 29 days after ingesting the poison. Stephenson’s associates in Indiana refused to condemn their leader, but Evans and the national KKK banished him from the order for “conduct unbecoming a Klansman” (227). In court, Stephenson pled not guilty before a Klan judge. Despite his legal woes, his influence still carried weight in the upcoming local elections.

Shortly after Oberholtzer’s burial, Stephenson’s mansion was torched. He blamed Evans, but insurance fraud was a more likely possibility. District Attorney Remy, meanwhile, faced threats against his life. When his indictment included murder in the second degree, Stephenson was arrested and held without bail. Other women came forward to tell their own stories of sexual assault at the hands of Stephenson. The case catalyzed a wave of protest as women demanded justice for Oberholtzer. Stephenson’s legal team tried to besmirch Oberholtzer’s character, but her friends and former teachers rallied to her cause.

Stephenson’s attorney, Ephraim Inman, argued that his client could not be guilty of murder since Oberholtzer took her own life. Remy countered that she took the poison “under duress.”

On Election Day, Klan-supported candidates won elections across the state.