A hundred years ago, this would never have occurred. America has changed over the course of time.
Not every word spoken will be in honor. There are always a few fringe groups who will make an appearance and protest the changes in our country. The words will be peppered with hate and racism. It will come from both sides.
Dr. King was born in 1929. He was 20 years older than me. By the time I was a freshman in high school he had already lived most of his young life growing up as a second class citizen in his own country.
I was raised in Kentucky, where segregation was the normal way of life. The way it had always been. I never thought a lot about it until one day we took Nathaniel, a black lady who did our ironing once a week, home.
We were far from rich. When Granddaddy hired Nathaniel to do our ironing, Granddaddy was keeping a promise he had made to my grandmother, years ago.
Soon after Mamamae and Granddaddy were married, Granddaddy was in an accident while working on the railroad. His right leg was badly damaged. Month after month he was unable to work. Mamamae cleaned other peoples homes and took in ironing's just to be able to pay the rent and put a little food on the table. They had two small children. Granddaddy was forced to sue the railroad. Something he knew nothing about.
Unfortunately, Granddaddy's lawyer was probably a crook. When the railroad offered Granddaddy a settlement of $10,000. He had to appear in court to collect the settlement. The lawyer never told him to come to court, causing the case to be dismissed. Finally they were notified of the courts decision. Granddaddy had lost his case. That day, Granddaddy promised Mamamae that once he was back on his feet, and could work, she would never have to iron again. He kept his promise.
Nathaniel was a quiet woman. She had a lazy eye and her right hip constantly caused her pain. It was either a birth defect, or her hip had been broken and had not healed correctly. I never knew the whole story, or her last name.
She smiled easily and talked to me like an adult. I liked that. I remember always trying to get her to sit down and drink some water. I don't think she ever did. When she referred to me it was "Miss Vicky", I was about 6 or 7 and I thought that was the oddest thing, to call a little girl "Miss".
I never felt like we were poor. We lived in a shotgun house on South Washington Street. It was a small home, I loved it. The reason it was called a "shotgun" house is because a person could stand in the living room and fire a shotgun, the bullet would go straight out the back door.
Granddaddy always drove a new car. His favorite car was a Buick. He traded cars every two years. There was plenty of food on the table and I was happy. I also had green eyes and white skin. I wonder how "happy" I would have been, if I had black skin and brown eyes?
The first time we took Nathaniel home was a shock for me. Nathaniel lived in the "colored" part of town. It was located behind the viaducts. To get there we drove under the old railroad tracks. Emerging on the other side was a world I knew nothing about.
The houses were run down, not much more than shanties. There was no color anywhere. The houses all needed to be painted. The porches were loosely attached to the house, with boards missing. Steps needed to be repaired and windows needed to be fixed. More than one house had cardboard in place of a window pane. When we drove through the area to Nathaniel's home, people stopped and looked. I locked my door. I wonder if Nathaniel noticed.
I lived in a bubble. In my "bubble" things usually worked out for the best. I never questioned why "colored" people ate in the back of the restaurants, or why "they" sat in the balcony at the theaters. That was just the way things had always been done. My green eyes did not question to any great extent what I saw. I accepted things I would not want to endure as a black child, as normal. This is hindsight speaking.
When I was a little girl, I just assumed that because I was happy, everyone must be happy too. Then along came Martin Luther King, Jr. and he let me know in no uncertain terms that not everyone in the United States was "happy".
Our schools were integrated for the first time, my freshman year of high school. It was a HUGE deal in the South and all across our country. People were killed, schools burned, the State Troopers and I even think the military had to be called in some places in the deeper South to keep the peace. Children had to be escorted into schools. Hatred ran rampant on both sides. It wasn't our finest hour by any means. Integration bought out the best and the worst in most people. It was hard to see past years of acceptance, the idea of being wrong.
When our high school was integrated, there were several bomb threats. All of them were taken seriously by the adults. School would be closed, the police would come in and search every nook and cranny, trying to find a bomb that did not exist.
Tonight, I wonder probably for the first time, if the black kids were afraid of being blown up, for wanting a better life? If they took seriously what I laughed about. I am sure their parents took it very seriously. I know mine did, but I didn't. I was just glad to be out of school for awhile.
However, once again I am remembering with green eyes and white skin, my youth.
I do believe integration was harder for the adults than for the teenagers. I don't remember being mean to anyone or causing fights. It may have happened, but I never saw it. We just went to school. Maybe for awhile we were a little standoffish, but soon that was eased out of the picture. We mixed when it was time to mix and we went our own separate ways when school was over. Change, a real change of the heart and mind, doesn't happen over night.
We all had a lot of "firsts', pushed in our faces and down our throats. It came from all sides and at times all at once, it seemed. Integration, Pres. Kennedy's assassination, the Vietnam War, drugs, free love. Everything changed. Some of us questioned everything we were taught, some of us never questioned anything.
Later that year, as the marches grew stronger and the violence worsened, Dr. King made his famous speech "I Have a dream" at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. I think there was a crowd of around 200,000 people. I watched it on television and I remember thinking, "If I were black this is exactly how I would feel." Not exactly the feelings Dr. King wanted to invoke in my white mind, but it was a start, a beginning. He was calling for a change and for action. I sat passively and thought. It made me start see things differently. He put questions in my mind and made me want to look for the answers. I can still quote part of that speech.
"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character." Impressive.
This past October, Melodi and I stood on those very steps, in the same spot Dr. King stood. We looked out and tried to imagine tens of thousands of people in one place, in one accord, listening to words of freedom. Words spoken for them and to us. Words to make a nation stop and think. Words to make a nation desire to look at their country through new eyes.
The speech was 17 minutes long, but spoke volumes.
On April 4, 1968, two days before my 19th birthday, Dr. King was assassinated. I was in my dorm room when I heard screaming, crying, young black women running up and down the halls yelling. I ran out the door and was told "A white man just killed Dr. King". I thought all hell was going to break loose and it did for a little while. Insults spewed from crying girls. A few white students said they were "sorry", most people were too shocked to speak. Doors slammed and were locked. Others embraced each other and openly wept. Instinct took over that afternoon.
People began to turn on radios, or tried to get on the phone to call a loved one to see if it was true. Some parents who lived close to the college, came and picked up their students. Tension was running high and peoples emotions were just under the skin, anything could happen. It wouldn't take but a wrong look or word and things would blow sky high. This lasted for weeks. It ebbed and receded, like the tide.
Thankfully, nothing horrible happen to cause a riot. At least not at our college. Not that these green eyes can remember.
There are so many sides to this story. Things and events happened, everyone has their version of the truth. Somewhere in the middle is a thread that links it all together.
It is strange in a way, but most of the people who had the biggest impact on my life were people I never met. These people influenced my thinking, making me question all the things I had been taught. They gave me a new way to see the world. Something new to fight for and believe in.
The people who influenced my life varies greatly. President Kennedy, with his, "ask not what America can do for you, but ask what you can do for America",Martin Luther King, Jr., Anne Sullivan and Helen Keller. They confirmed my belief in miracles. Anne Frank, showed me how to be young and strong in my willpower and to think of death differently. Leon Uris' writing introduced me to a land and people who lived and fought each and every day to survive. Maya Angelou showed me just how strong a woman could be. The list is long and varied, able to change on any given day. These are a few people who always remain somewhere in the long list of inspiration.
My classmates and friends who went to Vietnam will always be in that list. Their letters spoke of a life I will probably never know. These are just a few of the many, many people who have left a mark on my mind.
The ones who helped make me the woman I am today, are the people I ate dinner with every night for years, my family. For them I am thankful. Even though we had blue eyes and green eyes and white skin, we learned to see the world through new eyes. Slowly ever so slowly. They taught me to use my mind and listen to my inner voice. To be open to change and to give it a chance.
It didn't come fast and it didn't come easy and some times it didn't even come at all. But eventually the playing field has been leveled and change happened. Gray eyes helped.
It is not over by any means. As long as there are people, injustice will raise its head every chance it gets. We have come a long way. We have a long way to go but we are moving forward, a little faster and easier than years ago. But then again, that is my green eyes and white skin talking.
wow, you really expanded this...your revisions are terrific!
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