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The Tale of Bob Mathews

June 17, 2020 Occidental Observer:

by Robert S. Griffin, Ph.D.

In 1983, The National Alliance—a white activist organization founded and headed by William Pierce—held its annual convention in Washington, D.C.  A young mine worker from the Pacific Northwest by the name of Bob Mathews was scheduled to give a talk at the convention.  Mathews had been an Alliance member for three years and actively recruiting new members for the organization among the farmers and ranchers and working people around where he lived in Washington State.  Dr. Pierce asked Bob to tell the people at the convention how his efforts were going, and about the situation generally in his part of the country.  Bob wrote out his speech on his dining table at home and flew out to D.C. for the conference.1

The Bob Mathews those in attendance saw at the podium was a boyish-looking man thirty years of age.  He was about 5’7” and had a trim muscular build.  He was good-looking with even facial features.  His dark brown hair was short and parted to the side and fell forward onto his forehead.  Those who knew Bob said he had hazel eyes that shone with intensity and purpose.  They saw him as a serious and forceful person.  Even those who disliked his politics liked Bob the man.  In pictures I have seen of him, he reminds me of an army enlisted man home on leave, or the young working-class fathers I see walking past the stores in shopping malls with their wives, their young children in strollers.

An audio tape exists of Bob’s talk. His voice is youthful. There is a tension and fervor in his delivery that gives a sense of immediacy and electricity to the occasion.  Bob talked about ten minutes, not long.  An excerpt from what he had to say that day in the late summer of 1983 gives a sense of his message:

My brothers and sisters, from the mist-shrouded forested valleys and mountains of the Pacific Northwest I bring you a message of solidarity, a call to action, and a demand for adherence to duty as members of a vanguard of an Aryan resurgence and, ultimately, total Aryan victory.  The signs of awakening are sprouting up across the Northwest, and no more than among the two-fisted farmers and ranchers.  The task is not going to be easy.  TV satellite dishes are springing up like poisonous mushrooms across the domain of the tillers of the soil.  The electronic Jew is slithering into the living rooms of even the most remote farms and ranches.  The race-destroying domes are everywhere.  In Metaline Falls [the town where he lives], we have broken the chains of Jewish thought.  We know not the meaning of the word “mine.”  It is “ours”: our race, the totality of our people.  Ten hearts, one beat!  One hundred hearts, one beat!  Ten thousand hearts, one beat!  We were born to fight and die and to continue the flow of our people.  The future is now!  Stand up like men and drive the enemy to the sea!  Stand up like men and swear a sacred oath upon the green graves of our sires that you will reclaim what our forefathers discovered, explored, conquered, settled, built, and died for!  Stand up like men and reclaim our soil!  Look toward the stars and proclaim our destiny!  In Metaline Falls we have a saying: Defeat, never!  Victory, forever!

Bob’s talk received a standing ovation.  He would be dead in a little over a year.

*  *  *

Robert Jay Mathews was born in Marfa, Texas in 1953 and grew up in Arizona around Phoenix.  From the time he was a teenager, Bob had a fierce racial pride in being a Caucasian.  It wasn’t primarily a matter of prejudice against minorities—harboring antagonistic feelings toward them, resenting them—as is usually attributed to whites who hold strong racial views.  Bob wasn’t so much against anything as he was for something: white people.  He held the conviction that it was white men who had created the greatness that is Western Civilization.  He was convinced that America was in a decline and that whites were being brought down to far less than they once were, and that they had to do something about it.

When still a teenager, Bob joined the ultra-conservative John Birch Society, and he tried to start a survivalist-type group called the Sons of Liberty, but that didn’t get far. He also got involved with a tax-protest movement in Arizona. He wound up getting arrested and put on probation for not paying his taxes.

After high school, Bob didn’t go on to college, much to the disappointment of his parents.  He told them that he didn’t want to go through all the liberal propaganda they shove down your throat in college, and anyway, he wanted to get on with his life.  He wanted to get out of Phoenix, that was for sure.  There were too many laws, too many urban problems, too many minorities, and just too many people in general.
         

Bob got out a map of North America and started running his finger over it.  His finger came to rest on an isolated village in Washington State, Metaline Falls, the last town before the Canadian border.  Bob loaded up his pickup and drove to Metaline Falls to begin a new life.  Right away, he found a laboring job in a lead and zinc mine.  It wasn’t long before he could afford to buy fifty acres of land and put a mobile home on it.

A writer describes the place Bob went to:

Minorities were virtually absent from the Metaline Falls area, and a white man living there could imagine that he was existing in a country that wasn’t ethnically diverse or full of crowded, complicated cities.  A man could dream of starting over here, of rebuilding his life from scratch.  Mathews loved the landscape the town was set in.  Canada’s Selkirk Mountains rose in the distance.  At dawn, deer walked across the main street of Metaline Falls.  Heavy snow only made the hills and evergreens more beautiful.  God’s country.  It was the kind of climate one would find in northern Europe, where the Aryan people had flourished before their heirs came to America.  In centuries past, those ethnic groups had given rise to Norse and Viking sagas, grand tales of the courage and strength of northern warriors in battle.  They had no fear of death: if they perished heroically, the Valkyries (the handmaidens of Odin, the Supreme Being of Norse mythology) would whisk their souls away to Valhalla, where they’d be enshrined in the great hall of immortality.  A modern-day religion, Odinism, has sprung from these sagas.  Bob Mathews was familiar with it and liked it.  He regarded it the same way he regarded the Northwestern Passage—both could inspire a man to become a hero.2

 

Bob wanted to start a family, and he met his wife in an unconventional way, through an ad in the nationally circulated Mother Earth News.  His ad read, “Looking for a mature, intelligent woman, 18-25, to share my life and land in Washington.”  One-hundred-thirty women replied.  The letter that most caught Bob’s attention was from a Kansan who had moved to Wyoming after college by the name of Debbie McGarrity.  Debbie wrote Bob that she thought the most important job a woman could do was to raise children.  “You can’t have a good society unless the home is a decent place,” Debbie wrote.  Bob drove to Wyoming to meet Debbie.  She moved to Metaline Falls and they were married in 1976.  Debbie and Bob didn’t have children of their own, but they adopted a son.

Bob had really taken to Dr. Pierce’s book The Turner Diaries.3 He pored over every word in the book and gave it to his friends along with his highest recommendation.  But the thing about Bob was that he wasn’t content to just read the book and agree with what it said.  Bob was a man of action.  He had a fire burning inside him.  He was going to create an Order of his own like the one in the book, and start a revolution like the one he had read about.  Bob meant business.

Right after Bob returned home from his speech at the National Alliance convention, he gathered together eight men in a barracks-like structure he had erected near his mobile home.  “I’ve asked you to come here because I think we share a common goal.”  Earlier, he had talked to them about forming an Order like the one in The Turner Diaries, a group of racial kinsman who would let their deeds do their talking for them.  The goal Bob had in mind was to carve out a part of eastern Washington as a homeland for the white race, purged of Jews and minorities.  They would use The Turner Diaries as a blueprint for getting that done.  “I’m telling you now,” Bob said, “if any of you don’t want to get involved in this, you are free to leave.”

No one left.

“I’m going to ask each of you to take an oath that you will remain true to this cause.  I would like to remind all of you what is at stake here.  It is our children and their economic and racial survival.  Because of that, I would like to place a white child before us as we take this oath.”  A six-week-old daughter of one of the men was placed in the center of the circle as a symbol of a Caucasian future they were about to pledge to create.  She stared up at the figures looming above her in the glow of the candles.

The men clasped hands and recited an oath of loyalty and commitment to their race and to their cause Bob had written:

I, as an Aryan warrior, swear myself to complete secrecy to the Order and total loyalty to my comrades.

Let me bear witness to you, my brothers, that should one of you fall in battle, I will see to the welfare and well-being of your family.

Let me bear witness to you, my brothers, that should one of you be taken prisoner, I will do whatever is necessary to regain your freedom.

Let me bear witness to you, my brothers, that should an enemy agent hurt you, I will chase him to the ends of the earth and remove his head from his body.

And furthermore, let me bear witness to you, my brothers, that if I break this oath, let me be forever cursed upon the lips of our people as a coward and an oath breaker.

My brothers, let us go forth by ones and twos, by scores and by legions, and as true Aryan men with pure hearts and strong minds face the enemies of our faith and our race with courage and determination.

We hereby invoke the blood covenant and declare that we are in a full state of war and will not lay down our weapons until we have driven the enemy into the sea and reclaimed the land which was promised to our fathers of old, and which through our blood becomes the land of our children to be.

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