Fifty Years Later it is not Black and White

Warren K. Leffler, via The Library of Congress

     When reading Michiko Kakutani’s article in the New York Times (http://www.nytimes.com/2013/08/28/us/the-lasting-power-of-dr-kings-dream-speech.html) I was immediately thrown back in time to Alexandria, Louisiana circa 1960’s. I was in the 7th grade, walking to my locker, when I heard that Martin Luther King had been assassinated. The locker area in my junior high school was strangely silent. It was as if a hush had fallen over the usually noisy school hallways. There we were, 13 year olds hearing awful news as a group, yet I felt so alone, afraid and sad.

     I grew up in Alexandria, Louisiana. We had been “feeling” the unrest of the Vietnam War and racial tension for several years. At times it seemed the world was upside down. Our parents took us to church and taught us about a God of love. Our Sunday School teachers taught us about a Jesus that came to bring peace and equality to all humankind. The world we lived in did not feel peaceful or equal.

     Several issues were going on from my view of life. Older brothers and sons of our family’s friends were being drafted for war or leaving for Canada as conscientious objectors. Meetings were held at our house about both unthinkable options. People seemed to be trying to make sense of this war. At the same time, there were wars at home. The war on poverty, the war between races, and the war between generations were being stoked regularly. Dr. King was assassinated and the civil rights war was on our doorstep.

     At 13 we marched for peace, ate carrot soup in solidarity for Vietnam prisoners of war, stood in line for our Prisoners of War (POW) and  Missing in Action (MIA) bracelets, begged our parents to “stay out “ of the bussing issues, and dreamed of a world far different than the one we were observing and living. This new word “integration” entered our lives as more than a word. Integration was a living breathing life force. We heard our parents whispering and yelling around dinner tables about this thing called “ busing”. As budding teenagers, most of us had no idea what all the fuss was about. Our generation adopted a peace and love approach to life.

     My father grew up in Memphis, Tennessee. In the 1960’s, his family still lived in Memphis when Dr. King was assassinated. My dad had 2 cousins on the Memphis police force and both were actively involved in the intimate details of the death of Martin Luther King. My dad’s cousins helped investigate Dr. King’s assassination, kept peace on the streets of Memphis, and maintained the Marshall Law established in Memphis. The days following the assassination, I vividly remember my mom and dad waiting every night for calls from our Memphis family reporting about the chaos in Memphis. My grandfather, Dr. Ira Cole and my uncle, Dr. Howard Kolb, were both Baptist pastors in Memphis and had their own peace to keep in their congregations Memphis. I felt as if these events were unfolding in my own living room. It felt personal, close, and life changing for me at 13 years old.

     My dad, Dr. Jim Cole, a Baptist minister, was Editor of the Baptist state paper in Louisiana, The Baptist Message. Years before the Dr. Martin Luther King assassination, my dad was already an outspoken advocate for racial equality, much to the displeasure of many Baptists in Louisiana. My family received threatening phone calls and hate mail. I could not have been prouder of my dad for standing firm in his non-violent, peaceful, brave response. His courage instilled in me a value for humanity no matter race or culture. It was not what he said; it was what he did and how he stood firm in the face of a firestorm.

     Integration came to my junior high the same 7th grade year Dr. King was assassinated. My father explained to me what this odd word meant for us as a family and for the many families “on the other side “ of town. It affected everyone, not just us. He further explained to me how difficult it was going to be for our black brothers and sisters to be bussed across town to new schools . He painted me a word picture of students leaving behind life long friends and teachers to come to “our ” schools. This picture seemed unfair to me. Per my dad’s instructions, I was to be welcoming, accepting, and above all else kind, no matter what my other classmates said or did.

     Just as progress was being made in this strange new land of jerking kids up and out of neighborhood schools then driving them across town, a brave, wise man of peace was murdered. It made no sense to me. I remember weeping as I left school that day. I was not alone in my weeping.

     That was 1968. All these years later I remember exactly where I was standing in my integrated school and how my heart dropped to my knees when I heard the news. My first thought was how my black friends, who were being bussed to this ALL white school, were feeling. We all needed comfort. We all needed peace. We all needed equality. We all longed for faith and practice to be in harmony.    

     This past January 20, 2014, many Americans remember and celebrate the life of a man who demonstrated to us a non-violent resistance to social injustice. I had no idea then as a 13 year old girl what a social worker was. I just knew I would spend the rest of my life trying to live out what Dr. Martin Luther King and others began in this country. It became a mission in my life. My dad simply instructed me all those years ago, be kind, peaceful, and accepting with all God’s people. I hope I am holding true to those core values that both my dad and Dr. King taught me, “be kind, peaceful and accepting with all God’s people."