Posted by
Richard Davis on Friday, April 04, 2008 12:00:00 AM
Forty years ago today I thought I was going to die.
So did my father, and so did my mother.
We were under attack for something we did not do.
My father had loaded shotguns at the ready, and my sisters and I were told to stay away from the windows.
Martin Luther King had been killed. Assassinated.
Cities were burning. Chicago was burning.
Martin Luther King, to me, is not some historical figure. He is much closer and real.
To me, he was a man who delivered a mixed message. He advocated racial equality and tolerance, and asked white people, who in many, many cases treated black people badly, to judge by the content of character and not the color of skin. Yet, his being around seemed to just ignite the flames of hatred from the black and white.
Martin Luther King came around here. He marched in Marquette Park, a mostly Polish and Lithuanian neighborhood. The people who witnessed his marches were fresh off the boat, mostly. They were struggling. They were having about as bad a time as the average "Negro" back then. They were "DP's". Once "DP's" meant "Displaced Persons", a term from the diaspora of World War II. Then, as these refugees tried to assimilate into American, "DP" came to mean "Dumb Polock". It didn't matter if they were from Croatia or Lithuania, they were all lumped together.
In my house, my parents used to talk about King. My mother, a radical herself, knew what King was doing. He was using the tactics of a well known activist (at the time), Saul Alinky. Alinsky knew that to draw a crowd and to draw sympathy from the media and others, you went and punched the beast in the belly. You headed for trouble. And when it found you, you pointed out how wronged you were.
King's marching though Marquette Park produced the usual haters and brick throwers and name callers.
If the KKK had marched through Bronzeville, or another Southside neighborhood, the rock throwers and name callers would be out there, too.
Forty years ago today, we were afraid for our lives. The guns were loaded. The doors locked. The city burned. Martin Luther King was dead.
This was the last time we had to stand ready.