Why is it that city folk have the tendency to believe that those living in small towns and backwater communities are full of superstitious nonsense,

when cities are the places that hold the most secrets?

The brick and concrete holds echoes of the past, like warm paving slabs hold the heat of the sun on a summer evening.

All those buildings, all those people, no one knows each other like they do in a small town.

There's an anonymity that comes from living in a city.

In a town, rumors are rife, and rumors lead to stories, and stories lead to legends.

But in a city, stories stay hidden.

The legends are buried and lost with each new building developed.

With every new foundation laid, history is erased.

Muncie, Indiana emerged as a factory city at the turn of the 20th century, becoming home

to a number of iron and steel mills, glass manufacturers, and automotive parts makers.

Wealthy families, such as the Ball family, generously invested into Muncie during the early

1900s, helping to establish Ball State University, a YMCA, the Ball Memorial Hospital, and

a Masonic Temple.

By the 1920s, at least 70% of Muncie's population belonged to the working class.

But labor unions had been driven out because the city's business elite saw them as anti-capitalist.

If you were unemployed in Muncie, it was a personal problem, your problem. The disparity between the business

elite and working class was large. But there was a way to close that gap. A way to rub shoulders

with your boss, get that promotion. Upgrade from a Ford to Buick and send your kids to college.

Just join the Ku Klux Klan. They were already running the local government, funding businesses, employing your aunt and uncle, and hosting

weekend cookouts with your church group. It would be rude not to, right? By the end of the decade, the Indiana clan was all but dismantled,

following the conviction of Grand Dragon Stevenson.

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