Martin Luther King Jr.'s Passing

The assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. took place when I was only 9 years old. Surprisingly, of all my years in public school, 1968 stands out the clearest. The death of Dr. King was followed by Robert Kennedy's assassination two months later in June.

This year marked the beginning of the most chaotic period in my life, mirrored in the news with the Vietnam War, Detroit riots, being bussed into inner-city schools for the school desegregation programs, and social upheaval all over the country. I don't think anyone realized that Dr. King's death was the hallmark of troubled times. But he certainly was immortalized on that fateful day in early April of 1968.

There's no way to sugar coat the truth: My dad and many of my relatives were racists. I grew up in the eastern suburbs of Detroit and never even met a black person until I was about 11 years old and bussed into an inner-city school in Jackson, Michigan.

If there's a negative word for a minority, my dad used it in our home. Even as a child, I never understood his disdain for blacks. Today, the politically-correct term is African-American. But when I grew up it was black. If you used the "N" word or Negro, it was an insult.

For the purposes of my essay, I'm going to stick to the now politically incorrect word "black." Just remember that it was the accepted term of that era.

In any case, I never understood or agreed with my dad's anger toward minorities. I'll have to give him one thing, he "dissed" EVERYONE. It wasn't spaghetti sauce for my dad, it was "Dago Sauce." Jewish folks were "Hebes" and "Kikes." The guy made me cringe with his slurs.

To this day, I blame him for the fact that when someone says the "N" word, I get nauseous. Maybe that's a good thing, after all. Funny thing was, my dad was nearly half "Native American," and resented it when people called him "Chief" or "that damned Indian." I never understood why my dad used racial slurs if he resented them being used against himself. So you can imagine what he thought of Martin Luther King.

Earlier that same school year, my dad was transferred, and we had to move. We packed up everything from our beloved childhood home to move into Lansing, Michigan, our state's capital city. It was a big step up. My dad was promoted, and we ended up in a relatively ritzy suburb. My sister and I went from sharing a tiny bedroom to our own rooms. Plus, we even had a guest room.

The house, in my eyes, was like a palace. But don't be fooled, it was just a relatively normal mid-upper class suburb in Lansing. We walked nearly a mile to school, because we lived just inside the school bus boundary. And I hated the new place. I hated most of my new school-mates, and I missed my friends from Fraser.

The big saving grace was my teacher, a young woman named Terry Woods who taught fourth grade. Mrs. Woods was newly married, young, and very sweet. I can remember her dismay when she broke the news of Dr. King's death. She actually wept in class.

Most of my classmates didn't even know much about him, but I certainly did. Of course I was also the only kid in my class allowed to watch the popular TV show "Laugh-In." In addition, my mom was very interested in politics, local and national news. Maybe it's just the fact that Dr. King's famous "I Have a Dream" speech made it to the airwaves in Detroit more often than Lansing.

But I clearly remember the shock I felt, learning that Martin Luther King, Jr. was gunned down in Memphis. It seemed absolutely incredible that this could happen in the United States of America. I remember being absolutely horrified and concerned over even more riots back "home."

As I already mentioned, my family left the Detroit area when my dad was promoted with Michigan Bell Telephone Company the previous November. That past summer of 1967, there were vicious race riots in our city, and I remember the 9 p.m. curfew in the city and Detroit-area suburbs. It was scary for us all, as the adults forgot us children as they vividly described what was going on a mere 10-15 miles further into the city.

I remember them saying how you couldn't even stop at a traffic light, without being in danger of having your car stopped and being beaten by blacks. (Neighborhoods were strictly segregated back then.) In retrospect, I have no idea if their stores were actually true, or just urban legends of the day; as a child, I just believed what the grown-ups were saying. We never went into the city.

We were hauled in from our games of hide-and-seek while it was still light outside. No more neighborhood barbeques or summer-evening swims in the backyard pools. The inner-city riots seemed to be looming just around the corner.

Coincidentally, the worst of the race riots took place over my birthday, in late July of 1967. About that time, my parents finally agreed to Michigan Bell's offer: My dad was promoted, but we had to move away from the Detroit area. Off we headed to Lansing, Michigan.

Just five months later, Dr. King was assassinated. By that time, I'd barely learned the names of all my new classmates and still thought of the Detroit area as my real home. There was a second Kim in my new classroom, and I remember how he jeered at both assassinations as we talked amongst ourselves.

He said at one point, "They just got what they deserved." Our teacher, who was very kind and sweet, chastized him severely. Even though I was just a kid, I realized the other Kim was probably just echoing the racial prejudices of his parents. (I still thought he was a big jerk! No one deserves to be gunned down like that.)

In researching this article, I recovered a video of the leading Democratic presidential candidate, Bobby Kennedy, making a speech about Dr. King's assassination. Because King's assassination took place just before his appearance, Kennedy was advised by police NOT to enter that particular community in Indianapolis.

The stop had been scheduled as part of his campaign for the Democratic nomination; however, Kennedy proceeded into the city as originally scheduled. Back then, we didn't have the instant news and Internet services like today. It was young Bobby Kennedy who publicly informed this particular audience of the death of Martin Luther King, Jr. Check out my links for a written transcript, which also contains access to the audio version of his speech. Listen to the shocked exclamations from that crowd!

It reminds me of our own emotions in the fourth grade classroom, when we heard and discussed in class Dr. King's assassination. I don't remember my parents talking about it at home at all, but I certainly remember the talks within my elementary school. The teachers and other adults were stunned, but reaction from the students varied.

We were so young, and some of the children just didn't understand the political significance. Others didn't care or just didn't understand what was going on. For myself, all I could think of was that the King family was deprived of their father, some poor woman lost her husband and so on. What I couldn't understand was the anger that might motivate someone to kill someone else over political beliefs or racial hatred. It made absolutely no sense to me.

Just before school ended that spring, we learned of the second assassination of 1968: Robert Kennedy's. These two high-profile public figures were both gunned down by madmen. At the time, the whole thing seemed surreal. As a child, I remember wondering if the whole world had gone crazy. It was bad enough watching the Vietnam "conflict" on TV each night, while we saw neighbors, relatives and friends drafted into military service. There were wild protests, riots and assorted demonstrations. Also, the "flower children" and hippie movement was gathering momentum and publicity back then. I thought the world should be like the sitcoms "Leave it to Beaver" or "Father Knows Best." Instead, it was more like something out of "The Twilight Zone."

Forty years later, with terrorism, the war in Southwest Asia, and those religious wack-jobs from Westboro, Kansas, staging their ridiculous protests at military funerals, I'm amazed at the similarity of social upheaval, with the backdrop of war overseas, four decades later. Our political parties seem singularly polarized. Dr. King's words, movement, and writings are as appropriate today as they were back in the 1960s. I'm happy to remember him, and honor his memory on the 40th anniversary of his death. I'm also glad that I don't share the racial prejudice of my dad or most of my relatives. There's still some residue of racism across America; but overall, things have definitely improved since I was a girl. I'm just sorry Dr. King wasn't here to witness the change.