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I STILL REMEMBER MARTIN
One of the greatest advantages of my life was that of having known Dr. Martin Luther King, personally, sharing the platform in several cities across the nation as his assistant regional representative in Connecticut. I had the chance to see him in moments of great joy and in times of painful sadness. It was a privilege to be considered his friend. But, more important than having known him is the fact that I still remember him.
Being remembered is important. We are told that ancient kings had their images carved in the never fading stone tablets of Egypt so that they might be long remembered. Young lovers carve their initials in the trunks of trees because legend says that as long as the tree stands, the love will last. Jesus Christ, before his death, took time to say, "This do in remembrance of me." No one wants to be forgotten.
So, I say now, almost forty years since his assassination, that I will never forget Martin. I remember him in so many ways, personal and professional, that have left an indelible impression on my life and thinking.
I remember Martin in the frenzy of a mass meeting.
A group of us from Connecticut arrived in Albany Georgia, that hot day in August of 1962 where Martin had just been released from the Albany jail that day. The word that he had been released spread around the community and the little church, Mt. Zion Baptist church was immediately crowded. After two weeks in jail, before going to the home of friends to have his first decent meal, before spending a few moments with his dear wife, Coretta, he stated to the people in the church in the words of a current freedom song. "I ain't going to let nobody turn me around."
That night, the young people who had come from Hartford, Connecticut provided the music in that mass meeting. Hundreds of people crowded in every corner of the building, and people gather outside of the church trying to see what was going on inside. Standing before the gathered throng, Martin talked about having been in jail saying, "the rightness of what we're doing can change a dismal cell to a happy place. Remember, we've come too far to turn back now." I will never forget the joy, the enthusiasm, the excitement of that mass meeting in Albany, Georgia.
I remember Martin in the face of danger.
I was the leader of a group of ten ministers who went from Connecticut to Birmingham in May of 1963 to give moral and financial support to the movement. The A. G. Gaston Motel, in which we were staying had been bombed the night before and we were told that a threat had been phoned into this black owned property that it would be bombed again. As our group sought some comfort, wondering what to do or where to turn, Martin came into the room and said, "Perhaps now you can feel the pressure of the conflict which I must live with every day. I cannot be afraid; you must not be afraid.” Then he looked around with a sense of prophecy and said to us, "Sleep well tonight, for tomorrow you may go to jail."
I remember Martin in bereavement.
I will never forget the funeral of those three little girls in Birmingham. You remember, I am sure, that on a Sunday morning, vicious racists placed bombs in a church and killed four little girls in Sunday school. I was just a few feet from Martin when he delivered the eulogy for three of those who had a common funeral. The bereaved parents and family members and thousands of people were still stunned by the weight of the tragedy. I had a chance to see, etched on Martin's face, pain and sorrow as he tried to comfort those weeping souls.
I remember Martin in triumph.
I think about his joy as he journeyed across the sea to receive the Nobel Peace Prize in Oslo Norway. He told those of us who could not go, that to be able to walk with kings, to be able to receive, for all of the poor, downtrodden and forgotten in the United States the prize which said that he and others who believed in what he was doing meant more to world peace than anyone else in the world that year.
I remember that Martin was in jail in Selma, Alabama four months after receiving the Noble peace prize. I also still remember that he lost his life fighting for the rights of garbage collectors in Memphis, Tennessee. Yes, I still remember Martin.
Rev. Dr. James D. Peters Jr. is pastor emeritus of the New Hope Baptist Church in Denver. He served that church for twenty eight years and has been an American Baptist since 1960. He is former Executive Minister the American Baptist Churches of the South and is presently a member of the ABCRM board and of the Board of National Ministries.
Rev. Dr. James D. Peters Jr.
Pastor Emertitus
New Hope Baptist Church
Denver, CO
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