live the call of your own dexter avenue

Coretta Scott King and her husband, a leader and martyr of the Civil Rights movement, - were heroes among heroes. She was a mother and an activist. She was a dignified widow who continued her husband Martin’s work. She had faith that could move mountains. Through my political work, and Washingtonian social relationships I have had the pleasure of meeting numerous historical figures, celebrities, and writers - but meeting Mrs. King was one encounter that I will always remember.

My sophomore and junior years in college, I was very involved with a student lecture series on campus at American University called The Kennedy Political Union (KPU). As Director of Logistics, it was my responsibility to “make sure the trains run on time.” Before each event, I would often spend a week coordinating all of the on and off campus entities pertinent in making a lecture happen. During my time with KPU, we hosted a wide range of historical and political icons including His Holiness the Dali Lama and Charleton Heston.

It was October of 1998 when Mrs. King was our guest speaker. In preparation, her handler - a very protective assistant - was quite particular about how things would need to be on the day of her speech. The arrangement we agreed upon with her assistant was as follows: On the day of the speech, she (and her assistant) would have cocktails at President Ladner's house before heading over to campus. Upon her arrival, we would greet hold a small meet and greet for KPU members with Mrs. King. Then, the officers would escort the President, his wife, Mrs. King, (and her handler of course), by elevator, down to the stage. Mrs. King would speak for however long and then return for a private reception with the members of the Kennedy Political Union. It was essential in the handler’s orders that Mrs. King not encounter any one other than KPU staff before and after the speech. This may have been a security measure.

For an hour or so before this, I arranged that the elevator essentially go into “lock” mode so no random American University folks could possibly get on board and interrupt our journey with Mrs. King down to the floor of the gymnasium where she would walk to the stage for speaking. As back up, I placed a student with a walkie-talkie on every single floor with the explicit instructions "do not let anyone on to the elevator.” When it was time, I sent the message to them all via walkie-talkie that Mrs. King, the Ladners, and the Officers have gotten into the elevator. Things were going smoothly. We rode in silence. Then the elevator stopped on floor seven. "Why is the elevator stopped, what is happening?” It is holds for a few seconds. The doors open and a sweaty, stinky, gross guy on rollerblades wearing a bizarre hat gets right on!!

I was tempted to say “hey- stop - you can’t get on,” but I didn’t want to appear ungracious in front of a woman who had allowed the most gracious act possible – the sacrifice of her husband, and the father of her children. Derrida says the only true gift is the gift of one’s life. I stood in an elevator with a woman who had given a sacred gift for our country, and prevailed not in silence but with a voice. Appearing to be absolutely unaware of the serious-looking and dignified Mrs. King in a bright red suit, along with the President of the University and his wife dressed to the nines--- this guy rollerblades right into the elevator and journeys with us all the way to the gym floor.

It was difficult for me to hold back the laughter. With in a few seconds that seemed to pass like hours- the doors opened and Mrs. King exited – arm in arm with her handler, who gave the stare of death to the poor kid on the gym floor with the walkie-talkie.

After a most inspiring speech to nearly two thousand people, I visited with Mrs. King at the private reception upstairs. With a big lump in my throat, I approached her, and I felt such humility. She was sitting down, resting in a chair. I walked over and thanked her for her work, and for the inspiring speech. With her left hand she squeezed my left hand. I looked down at her wedding ring, and thought about her husband. She continued to hold my hand for longer than I expected and she said, "Soon, you will be doing this too. You will be doing the work my husband and I dedicated our lives to.”

That moment and those words are so accessible and fresh in my memory. Yet, it was almost a decade ago. Reflecting, I think about how I have most certainly failed in the covenant I made on that day. But I also think of the old adage that says - if you are not backsliding then your standards are just not high enough.

I took this photo in 2006 on a mini-pilgrimage to Montgomery, Alabama. The Kings lived in this house from 1954 to 1960 while Rev. King was ministering at Dexter Avenue. He initially took the position at Dexter Avenue thinking it would be a quiet place to work and finish up his PhD dissertation, but the black domestic workers and cooks were organizing. They were waiting for him. And he arrived.