My Recollections of Charlottesville

An excerpt from the book A Walk in the Park: My Charlottesville Story

As the day drew closer, the event began to gain momentum on two levels. First, the court battles to hold the event were still getting settled. The American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) became involved and assisted in Jason Kessler’s defense of his permit. That permit was only finally reinstated by a judge the day before the rally. Prior to that decision, there was confusion as to where the event may occur, as the state and city attempted to move the UTR rally to a park at a separate location.

Since I was busy managing a multi-state logistics operation, the intricacies of UTR were effectively white noise to me. I did not have the time. There were some people who argued that the rally was a trap. Others believed Jason Kessler was a secret FBI agent. One VK user stated that Kessler was a member of Mossad. When I questioned the logic of such an accusation, I was called a Mossad agent.

Meanwhile, groups were pumping up their members on various forums and I would occasionally see comments on popular Alt-Right social media personalities through a variety of (mostly) Twitter accounts. For example, RamZPaul, a nerdy looking individual with great wit and frequent excellent, measured commentary on a number of matters, would occasionally share a screenshot and comment. But at no time did anyone of consequence state they specifically wanted violence. A few hot heads were itching for a fight with antifa, but they were nobodies. Rather, it was mostly a call for white unity, defense of the statues, and/or to listen to a specific speaker or leader.

Although I was never on Discord, I was familiar with the fact that some were issuing more inflammatory rhetoric on that venue. VK was also a popular venue for arguments related to violence. However, none of those on VK actually attended the rally for the League. They were keyboard commandos. Leadership kept a lid on such talk and wanted everyone to focus on the mission.

A few days prior to the event, I was in Asheville, North Carolina, working on a warehouse reassignment, before I departed for Richmond, Virginia. In Richmond, I met with friends whom I had not seen since moving to Florida. I had supper in Williamsburg on Thursday evening with some fellow William & Mary alumni. On Friday night, a group of close friends in Richmond came out to the Morton’s of Chicago steakhouse. I was completely oblivious to the torchlit march until it was shown on local news. I will admit, I was impressed by the overall size and organization that was required to make it possible.

Everyone amongst my small circle of friends was aware that I was in Virginia to protest the removal of Robert E. Lee’s statue. Everyone supported that decision. I never heard a single dissenting opinion regarding the preservation of an historic monument to a Southern icon.

After supper and a few drinks, I retired to my hotel room and went to sleep. It was an uneventful night prior to UTR. I would get up early the next morning and meet with the League of the South, as planned.  I expected the next day to be a walk in the park.

I donned my League uniform – a black polo, khaki cargo pants, boots, and a tactical vest. I was unconcerned with violence, so I wore a soft black cap. I should have brought a helmet, but on the morning of August 12, 2017, I still naively believed the police would do their job. I went downstairs to the hotel dining area and had a buffet breakfast in my uniform.

A gentleman, a little older than me, asked about the uniform while I was getting scrambled eggs, thinking I was part of a security detail. I nonchalantly explained that I was headed to protest the removal of the Lee statue in Charlottesville. He agreed that the removals were terrible and wished me luck. I thanked him and departed shortly thereafter.

I drove from Richmond to Charlottesville, which took about an hour. One of my favorite types of music for drives longer than an hour is Christmas music. So, in the middle of August, I drove in my League uniform, tactical vest in the back seat, listening to “Jingle Bells,” “Holly Jolly Christmas,” and one of my absolute favorites – “White Christmas.”

The rendezvous point was a large strip mall parking lot. There were a number of groups with which I never interacted before. TWP, Vanguard, and NSM were in uniform. I saw my Florida colleagues from the League of the South and approached them, shaking hands, and introducing myself to a number of other League members who I met for the first time. The shields the League brought were too small for my arm due to the way it was curved, so I declined a shield.

There was a Subway sandwich shop, into which some of us used the bathroom. The employees were nice but perplexed. They certainly had no idea what was happening while guys with shields milled about.

One of the security officers from the League of the South joined other security officers from various organizations in the parking lot. They conversed with a few uniformed police officers from the city of Charlottesville and a couple of plain clothed officers, that I believe were with the Virginia State Police. Since I was not able to use a shield, I wandered over with a few other members and listened to the conversation. They were confirming routes.

The groups were instructed to drive to the parking garage near the Charlottesville police station: the Market Street Parking Garage. The police station is (or was) a small building which correspondingly shares the city court. The top floor of the parking garage was largely reserved for police officer vehicles.

If we complied with their directions, and marched from the garage, the law enforcement coordinators ensured our safety. We were instructed to walk down East Market Street to Lee Park. Any deviation from that route would result in a withdrawal of police protection. The security officers asked several times for clarification. League security officers were especially insistent that the orders were understood and that police would ensure the route was clear. Our leadership was reassured that the route would be controlled. I heard every word.

The chief concern for officers was violence. Rules were issued in front of the officers by various leaders of the groups. Consistent with the preceding weeks, we were instructed not to engage in violence unless attacked. Weapons of any kind should remain in our cars and the shields were exclusively meant for defense. Virginia had a number of laws related to open carry handguns, knives, batons, and even chemical deterrents (e.g., pepper spray). We had all seen the previous assaults by violent leftists and the vast majority of us knew that fists would not be enough – but most of us complied with the requests of officers.

I returned to my vehicle. It was time to roll out. I was planning to head to the rally point solo, but some of the League members thought that would be a bad idea. A few folks from NSM carpooled with me to the parking garage. I asked them about NSM and we had a nice conversation. They were from Virginia. The family was multigenerational Virginians with ancestors who fought for the Confederacy. I asked them why they joined NSM and not the League. They stated that they were White Nationalists, not Southern Nationalists. We explored the conversation further and it boiled down to a belief on their part that the white race was under assault and the time for division amongst whites was over. I appreciated their explanation, but it was a relatively short drive, and we had very little time to discuss the matter further.

For those who have never been to Charlottesville, it is pretty. It has some modern buildings, but for the most part, it has largely kept its small, college town feel intact. I had been to Charlottesville many times to visit their idyllic local vineyards and walk the campus of the University of Virginia. In fact, I was accepted to UVA’s Darden Business School and almost attended, before choosing a different MBA program closer to home. That morning there was an eerie silence as I drove toward the parking lot.

Within the lot, we parked in packs, as close to the top as possible. Various groups began congregating. The League of the South gathered and discussed ops. Folks were getting ready for the inevitable march through the city. We knew the police would protect our march but expected insults and occasional projectiles. We did not expect that which would happen next – at least, not to the level at which it occurred.

The National Front coalesced into a marching order of approximately four abreast. A group of militia members of some kind watched as we formed and they secured their weapons and body armor. The scene was surreal on the downward sloping floor of the parking lot. Flags were handed out. I grabbed a CSA Battle Flag.

It was at about that moment when a female nurse who had been recruited to the League approached me and pointed out a major soft spot in the formation. All of the young men had moved to the front of the formation, including myself.  I was standing about four rows back. However, the rear of the marching columns, which was predominantly comprised of women and the elderly, was completely exposed.

When I went to the back with the nurse, I found out that more than half of those in the rear of the formation were not League members at all. One older couple explained that they were libertarian history buffs who just wanted to keep Lee’s statue standing. Another older man, a Korean War veteran, just wanted to march. He seemed to have no purpose at all. Many of the females in the group were there to provide medical support if anyone got hurt – naively committing to assist anyone from the Left or the Right. It was a strange collection of people who had no idea about the League of the South, White Nationalism, or even the antifa.

An active member of the Virginia League of the South quickly grabbed another member from Georgia and the three of us determined to protect those in the rear, by standing on the outside flank until we got to the park. This created a gap in which we knew we were dangerously behind the rest of the men. As we sought a couple of other volunteers to do the same, the League officer in charge of security barked out some instructions and a chant was called out. I bellowed the chant, but honestly, I could not remember what that chant was all about. There was too much running through my mind and we were still trying to get the older members and females into a defensive position.

As we stepped off, the three of us determined to watch each other’s backs no matter what came at us. When we exited the parking lot, there were a couple of insults thrown our way, but for the most part, it was quiet. As we got closer, we could see signs about diversity bridging the streets. Photographers and camera crews were seen filming us. One thing we did not see were any substantial police presence. The protected pathway the police claimed to have set up for us did not exist. We were literally marching toward a violent gang of leftists and had no idea.

As with any formation, there is a tendency for an accordion effect and this march proved no different. Some people on the sidelines took cheap shots at the marchers in the rear. One gentleman – a Civil War history buff – was separated from our group. Later we learned he was viciously assaulted by antifa as he marched toward the park.

As we got closer, the march suddenly stopped. From our vantage point, it seemed like we hit a wall of some kind. We did not realize that the front of the line was now engaged in fighting their way into the park. That is when I tasted pepper spray in my throat and eyes for the first time. The people around me began choking. I was somewhat accustomed to pepper spray due to both military and defense contractor training. Still, it was irritating. The two men with me tightened up and we now barked out orders for the women to come into the center of the formation while we prepared to fight. I grabbed a few of the older stragglers, who seemed somewhat oblivious as to that which was happening.

Suddenly, the march resumed, and we began rolling into individuals whom the front had dispatched. These leftists began attacking us in the rear. We handled them quickly and kept moving forward. No one wanted to leave a violent leftist available to recover and attack our rear, but we also did not want to stick around and get into a prolonged scuffle which would have exposed us to being isolated and having to fight alone.

When we finally got to the park, a shield wall had formed at the entrance of the park. I marched the elderly and females toward the rear of the park, near the police. For their part, the police did absolutely nothing. They just stood in formation in riot gear. A variety of actors, including the newly arrived League females and unaffiliated marchers, began yelling at the police to “do something.” The police ignored them.

Leftists were now throwing things into the park. Rocks, bottles, feces, and small balloons that had an acidic irritant – it was not bad enough to melt skin, but it caused a sting if you left it on too long. It was especially harmful to the eyes. I now went to the front, to assist at the wall, without a shield.

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You can purchase A Walk in the Park: My Charlottesville Story here.