Notes From The March

The march for Martin Luther King was a mile and a half long. The day was cold, the wind biting, and everyone was wrapped in jackets and sweaters. Those who marched filled the street for three city blocks. Behind the marchers were the elderly and the infirm who traveled in buses with the headlights turned on. Along Broad Street everyone sang "We Shall Overcome," and people walked out of the stores to watch. Virtually all of them waved and applauded.

Caught up in the enthusiasm a few bystanders left the curb and joined the march. Those who were black, and caught unaware, felt obliged to explain. They’d see someone they knew and call out, “My kids are at home”… “I have to work”… “Next year, I promise.”

Everywhere were hand lettered signs that read, “Live the Dream”... “The Dream is You”... “The Dream is Alive.”

Clumps of marchers walked behind the banners of fraternal groups, political parties and civic clubs. Passing cars would honk in support. The pace was quick, and everyone was excited.

But not everyone was pleased. A black leader was marching with her five year old grandson when a man in a pickup truck veered in their direction. The driver rolled down his window, extended his arm, held up his middle finger and began to curse. The child started to cry.

That woman is a veteran of the cause who marched in Washington when King delivered his "Dream Speech." She was grown when segregation was still alive and well in Moore County. She remembers far worse than an isolated bigot in a pickup truck. Bending over her grandson she said, “Hush. Before Dr. King that was what our world was like."

That bigot wasn’t me, but for a second I took ownership of him. I felt whiter than tissue paper, and a foot shorter than that five year old child.

The march ended at Southern Pines Primary School and the auditorium filled beyond capacity. Folding chairs were passed out to handle the overflow. There were choirs, speakers, a free lunch, stepping squads and a movie. The indoor celebration started at 12:00 and lasted until 4:00.

The speaker was a pastor with thunder for a voice. Like King, he is well known for his powerful sermons, and yes, King was special, but this speaker reminded everyone that great oratory is common in black churches. The preacher urged his audience, "Don't Give Up…Don’t Give In… Don’t Give Out." He spoke for half an hour and conducted the crowd like an orchestra. The crowd swelled to its feet, and when he finished the cheering was loud and sustained.

Outside the auditorium was a long table filled with Martin Luther King souvenirs. There were LP’s of recorded speeches, portraits, interviews in “Ebony” and “Jet,” several biographies, and even board games. At the far end was a copy of “Life” magazine covered with the picture of a widow grieving in a black veil.

That evening I told my friends about that bigot in the pickup truck. A few of them said marching was misguided, even risky. Actually the risk was zero, but their concern was real. To some, marching for King is still provocative, not entirely wise, and flat stupid for a white person.

Decades have come and gone, but King still remains controversial. He is a Rorschach test for those who remember him. Some see great reason to hope, but others see only fear. The fact is, I marched behind a squad car, was welcomed by singers, and then treated to lunch. No heroism was required.

But imagine marching with King in the hot of Alabama. Marchers heading out on “Bloody Sunday” for the Edmund Pettus Bridge were taunted by crowds. The hatred was electric and guns were everywhere. No festival waited for them at the bridge - only police, water hoses, and attack dogs.

A car backfire would be reason for a heart attack

I don’t have that kind of courage. I am not a brave man. The real heroes were people like King, Abernathy and Evers, who didn’t know the meaning of quit and lived without guarantees. Back then demonstrators suffered. Some were shot, some were hung and others just disappeared. Yet all of them made a difference. March today and crowds applaud, local business pays for your lunch, and the violent bigots are few.

The struggle still isn’t over, and probably never will be, for injustice is eternal. However, we live in a place where most people are good, and anything is possible.

Honoring that is reason enough to march.