YOU HAD TO HAVE BEEN THERE . . .

       I had the privilege to have been in the March On 
         Washington. Not only that - but I walked right 
       behind Martin Luther King. I never spoke to him 
     but could have reached out and touched his jacket. 
              We were packed together in solidarity.

No one quite knew what would happen. The Washington, DC
police had been mustered and posted at crucial locations along
the supposed route. The fear was that it would all escalate into
a massive riot.

      Instead, it was an event that changed my life forever.

Two hundred and fifty thousand souls showed up for this March
on Washington, along with me, a rural, midwestern young man.
I was mesmerized by being a part of such a mass of humankind.
As more and more people gathered, movement began near the
front steps of the Capitol. People began to flow toward the Mall
and the Lincoln Memorial. I found myself walking just behind
Martin Luther King, Jr.

Standing near the steps to the Memorial, we listened to songs
sung by Peter, Paul, and Mary, Mahalia Jackson, Bob Dylan,
Joan Baez, Odetta, and Marian Anderson.

King began to speak from a prepared manuscript. At first, his
speech was lackluster - not very exciting. That was until . . .

Mahalia shouted, "Tell them about the dream, Martin!" King
put aside his notes and delivered one of the most famous
speeches of the century. Coming alive, he thundered the words

                                I have a dream.

The rest was history.

It doesn't take much to trigger in me vivid recollections of that
Wednesday, the 28th day of August, 1963. Memories pour forth
as torrential flash floods in a desert.

I had been trying to make sense of what was happening in this
time in history. A student at Wesley Theological Seminar in
Washington, DC, I was so aware of all the protests, boycotts,
marches, and the actual naming of racism. I so wanted to make
a difference.

         That day, social justice became a focus of my life.

                                   *   *   *   *   *

         Having grown up in the 50's and 60's in an all-white
         community . . . only once had I seen a person with
         black skin-color. He was a player on another team
         during a state high school basketball tournament. His
         particular team came from a town just 24 miles away
         from my home.