It’s sad that, in many ways, the “political” subject matter of The Intruder still has resonance today, more than fifty years later. While some progress has indeed been made, racism and prejudice are with us still. But it is this reality that makes it all the more important that The Intruder is now being reissued, giving a new generation of readers a chance to experience Adam Cramer and the complex motives he so charmingly presents.

I invite those readers to experience what I experienced all those years ago: the thrill of discovering a novel well written, and a cast of characters that illuminate the hidden corners of the human spirit.

Roger Corman

April 2015

Roger Corman is one of the most influential filmmakers in cinematic history. Almost singlehandedly creating the low-budget and genre film, he has produced more than 400 films, the most famous of which are his Edgar Allan Poe cycle starring Vincent Price. In 2010 he received an Academy Award in honor of his filmmaking career.

This book is gratefully dedicated to

JOHN TOMERLIN

What is it that makes a man reject reason and turn his face against the tide of history, enslave himself to a lost and discredited cause, rationalize his way into a course that can only shame his nation and leave for his progeny a legacy of ridicule? . . . How do you talk men into challenging the courts, the federal government and all the power that lies behind them, when these men know that they cannot win, because they tried it almost a century ago, when the battle was at closer odds, and they could not win?

—Carl T. Rowan,

Go South to Sorrow

THE INTRUDER

The Intruder

Adam Cramer, Adam Cramer,

A strong young man were he,

He come from California

To fight for Liberty!

FRAGMENT OF A FOLK BALLAD

1

1

He couldn’t sleep on buses—he’d made up his mind about that long ago—but he was sleeping now and this annoyed him. There was something shameful in it (did Hannibal doze on the way to Saguntum?), something frightening, too. The movement of the bus, he told himself, was responsible. All this plunging and dipping, and the fact that he’d been awake for thirty hours or more. Still; it wasn’t right.

The lids of his eyes came apart, snapped shut against the hot and burning light. He fought, sluggishly, but the heat pressed in and the giant black wheels kept turning beneath him and the seat kept rocking . . .

“Caxton next!”

He sat up, stiffly, in the seat and looked about. There were four other people with him. An old man in a stained gray suit, a woman of indeterminate age, a young boy, and the driver. The woman was smiling. She had been watching him. He returned the smile.

Outside, the rolling blue-green mountains swept by, and soon restaurants and gas stations began to dot the road. A sign loomed up and disappeared:

WELCOME TO CAXTON

A GREAT PLACE TO LIVE!