I remember very well the day that Martin Luther King was killed.  It was in the summer and I had a job.  I worked in Sekiu, at Olson's Resort, cleaning cabins.  People came to fish in Sekiu in the summers.  I didn't drive so I had to depend on my parents to get me to and from my job.  On this day, my father came for me in our Volkswagen van.  Climbing up the little hill from Sekiu, I remember him telling me, "You know, they shot Martin Luther King today."  Outside it was late afternoon. It had been sunny and warm, whereas today it is chill but dry.  We've had a lot of rain lately, and last night the wind blew so hard several branches came off the Noble fir in the front yard.  I looked out the window of the van at the hillside we were passing as we climbed up to Highway 112.

Martin Luther King is dead, I thought.  Still a high school student, I reflected on the senselessness of that killing, how it had  happened.  I knew I would hear all about it on the news.  Later, when I was in college, I spent the summer  of my freshman year working in Washington DC, where I later settled for a time.  The 14th street corridor became the scene of a major race riot upon the death of Dr. King.  I took a tour by car of that area when I first came to DC.  That day in the van I had no idea I would actually see for myself how people felt about Dr. King's death.  That day I only felt helpless about it, that I was still  pretty much of a child I was very conscious of.  I don't remember saying anything other than an incredulous 'what??' to my father.  He went on to say something perfunctory about the wicked ways of mankind.  I think I might have likened the assasination to the crucifixion of Christ but I hadn't quite stretched my imagination to make such a connection at that age.  Nor do I think now that in giving up his life in such a way, that Dr. King was a martyr of the magnitude of Jesus.  They had similar interpretations of how men should live, of course, but Dr. King had known for some time that he would soon be 'called', and so it was inevitable that he lay down his life for his brothers and sisters.  It's the effect he had on people ever after that I remember now.  We don't think of him so much as a great hero as we remember his words, "I have a dream"..and how he said it.

My first husband's parents were a part of Tent City in the March on Washington.  I knew them later, after the day Dr. King died.  They said it rained and the mall in front of the White House was very muddy.  They were, of course, white folks, but they said not a word about how it was to be in solidarity with African Americans.  They were devout church goers.  That was what mattered to them.  They thought that the Lord was guiding their way and so they marched on Washington with everyone else.

The death of Dr. King was one of those days I shall never forget.  The time, the weather, where I was. I can even hear the sound of the Volkswagen as it climbed the hill out of Sekiu.  Dad shifted into neutral as we approached the stop sign for the highway.  We had something to talk about that day.  Its impact on brotherhood and the state of man was a thing I never have stopped thinking about ever since.  I know it is possible to have equality for everyone.  King's speeches have become historic references to that point.  I'm only sorry we've lost him to history before he had a chance to complete his work.  The fact we have a national holiday in his honor admits to us all we really don't have control over what happens to our heroes.  Maybe it gave us the opportunity to protect those we admire most.