The Witch and the Minister

Two strangers share a common threat
to their religious freedom

by Ana Cabrera

One woman is black; the other is white. One is a member of the clergy, pastor of a snow-colored clapboard Methodist church with stately columns, tall windows, and a steeple that scrapes the Warren sky. The second is a member of the "Kraft" community that practices Wicca and the owner of Magickal Mama, a cozy New Age-style cafe where herbs, crystals, and children's toys share space in one of the oldest buildings on Bristol's historic waterfront.

Although both are residents of East Bay, the two women have never met. Casual observers might say they have nothing in common, but in the last several months, Reverend Inell Claypool and Artemis Ezikovich have been the targets of what is euphemistically called hate mail.

The content of these communiques, the timing of their arrival, and their authorship are presumably different. There is no reason to believe the incidents are related in any way. Only recent publicity has made both women aware of the other's situations, as both Claypool and Ezikovich, at the onset of their troubles, chose to keep their situations private. But given the places in which they chose to live, this proved to be a difficult task.

Warren and Bristol are traditionally communities of blue-collar workers, who are basically European Caucasian in heritage and, for the most part, attending either Protestant or Catholic churches. These are towns where postal workers know many of the residents on their routes by name and where gossip and news spread through a grapevine faster, and more complex, than the Internet. In these places, then, the arrival of a black minister or a pagan store owner is not likely to go unnoticed, as Ezikovich and Claypool have discovered.

The letters both women received threatened them on the basis of their ethnic and religious heritage. Still, for Ezikovich and Claypool, the tempest created by these missives was nothing compared to the storm of support that swelled around both after each incident. While such occurrences may have given other women thoughts of relocating, in these cases, Inell Claypool and Artemis Ezikovich were determined to stay in the towns they now call home.

Letters of rejection

Ezikovich first opened her shop in Bristol more than a year ago. Her goal, she says, was to have the establishment reflect her religious convictions and to be a special haven for mothers with young children.

Claypool settled in Warren nearly three years ago to assume pastoral duties at First United Methodist Church. Nestled among classic homes and facing a pleasant, cultivated park with benches and historic monuments, the church is in the heart of Warren, a town Claypool describes as "very open, very receptive." For the most part, that is.

"This is a community where the minority presence isn't large," Claypool explains. "Seeing a minority family of five walking down Warren streets is an oddity for some people, so there were people that would kind of do a double take. And, you know, we were conscious of that sort of thing."

As for Ezikovich, a minister was among her first visitors to the shop. The two spoke for several hours about their religious differences, and after the clergyman departed, Ezikovich says, she was "left with the feeling that he understood what I was all about."

Ezikovich had emphatically explained to the minister that her religious beliefs are not satanic in any way -- something she makes clear to all her customers. Ezikovich says she is a pagan, a Wiccan, a witch.

The book Paganism: A Beginner's Guide by Teresa Moorey describes witchcraft as a "religion of nature and goddess worship that celebrates the cycles of the seasons in eight festivals or Sabbats. In these, the mysteries of birth, sex, and death, and the rhythms of growth and decay of the nature world are honored.

"Wiccans also call themselves witches, and Wicca is also often referred to as the Kraft," the book continues.

After the minister's visit, Ezikovich says she began to relax and to feel like part of the fabric of the town. Claypool says she, too, began to feel as if her neighbors were starting to accept the Claypool family's presence. Both gradually settled into the individual tasks of existence, into lives essentially uneventful -- until the arrival of the daily mail changed this for both of them.

For Claypool, the nightmare began around the Christmas holidays, when the first letter arrived. At the time, the Claypools were wrapped up in what Inell calls "the spirit of giving," so during their initial inspection of the letter, they didn't think much about it. "The way the person phrased it was like I was receiving a gift," says the reverend.

Closer inspection, however, changed their minds. "It took a while to understand that it pointed to racial things and alluded to the KKK," says Claypool. It also was specifically directed at Inell, not because of her gender but "because of my race."

Confusion gradually turned into concern for Claypool because "other things that have happened, that we have received, let me know that this person could be violent," she says.

Ezikovich's problems became most public last month, when the Bristol Phoenix newspaper published a feature story about her and her store. The following week, in the paper's regular telephone input section titled "Speak Out," an unidentified caller stated the following: "I'd like to say, `Shame on the Bristol Phoenix,' printing almost a whole page on the Magickal Mama. This town of Bristol is mostly Catholics and Christians. We don't want any pagans in our town. All I can say is that the Bristol Phoenix is scraping the bottom of the barrel by printing this. Get out of town, Magickal Mama."

Contacting the FBI

In the past, Ezikovich had received messages on her answering machine and also letters at her store. One of them said, in part, "By what or who you represent, I can sadly say you are doomed to hell. You are being used by Satan himself to mislead innocent children."

At the time, Ezikovich says, she contacted authorities at the telephone company and had a tracer put on her line at the store. Reverend Claypool called the police about her dilemma, and the FBI launched an investigation into the case.

In spite of their actual differences, Artemis Ezikovich and Reverend Inell Claypool, unbeknownst to either of them, ended up sharing a common problem -- trying to make sense out of what was happening to them.

Curiously enough, though their philosophical standpoints were miles apart, the two women also found themselves riding huge waves of support from their communities.

In the case of Ezikovich, letters and phoned-in comments in response to the original "Speak Out" item appeared in the March 13 issue of the Bristol Phoenix, many of them signed by their authors. "What I read shocked me," one letter began. "Just because most of us are Christians and Catholics does not mean we should discourage people from being different."

Another said, "The lack of knowledge about the unfamiliar breeds fear and prejudice. I'm a Buddhist in Bristol. Am I supposed to go, too?"

That same issue included a letter from Ezikovich herself, in which she wrote that she was thankful to "all the people who contacted me. Christians (Catholics and Protestants) as well as members of other faiths of traditions called, stopped by, or wrote to apologize and explain their position."

Uniting for religious freedom

For Reverend Claypool, a service two Sundays ago served to shore up her faith. Nearly 500 people from as far away as New Hampshire turned out for a "Service of Witness and Unity" at the very church that Claypool preaches her Sunday sermons. One observer that day commented that even the church lofts, usually empty, were filled to the brim.

Today, both women vow that their lives will go on as usual. "True Christians do not threaten," says Ezikovich, pouring a cup of coffee in her shop. "These people who threaten me and my children . . . I cannot validate their message because I don't participate in any belief system that operates on threats and alienation."

Reverend Claypool admits she is "more cautious" these days, but she would like to tell the letter writer that "people who are different are going to be part of this world, and if you are threatened by that, you are wasting a lot of valuable time because your being concerned is not going to change it."