The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone #13)(97)

I had received one from the president and the vice president.

I’ve forgotten what those telegrams said.

I’d received a visit and a letter from the governor of New York, but I’ve forgotten what that letter said.

But there was another letter that came from a little girl, a young girl who was a student at the White Plains High School. And I looked at that letter, and I’ll never forget it.

It said simply,

“Dear Dr. King, I am a ninth-grade student at the White Plains High School. While it should not matter, I would like to mention that I’m a white girl. I read in the paper of your misfortune and of your suffering. And I read that if you had sneezed, you would have died. And I’m simply writing you to say that I’m so happy that you didn’t sneeze.”

And I want to say tonight that I too am happy that I didn’t sneeze.

Because if I had sneezed I wouldn’t have been around here in 1960, when students all over the South started sitting in at lunch counters. And I knew that as they were sitting in, they were really standing up for the best in the American dream, and taking the whole nation back to those great wells of democracy which were dug deep by the Founding Fathers in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn’t have been around here in 1961, when we decided to take a ride for freedom and ended segregation in interstate travel.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn’t have been around here in 1962, when Negroes in Albany, Georgia, decided to straighten their backs up. And whenever men and women straighten their backs up, they are going somewhere, because a man can’t ride your back unless it is bent.

If I had sneezed I wouldn’t have been here in 1963, when the black people of Birmingham, Alabama, aroused the conscience of this nation, and brought into being the Civil Rights Bill.

If I had sneezed I wouldn’t have had a chance later that year, in August, to try to tell America about a dream that I had.

If I had sneezed I wouldn’t have been down in Selma, Alabama, to see the great movement there.

If I had sneezed I wouldn’t have been here in Memphis to see a community rally around those brothers and sisters who are suffering.

I’m so happy that I didn’t sneeze.

I left Atlanta this morning, and as we got started on the plane there were six of us. The pilot said over the public address system, “We are sorry for the delay, but we have Dr. Martin Luther King on the plane. And to be sure that all of the bags were checked, and to be sure that nothing would be wrong on the plane, we had to check out everything carefully. And we’ve had the plane protected and guarded all night.”

And then I got into Memphis.

Some began to say the threats, or talk about the threats that were out. What would happen to me from some of our sick white brothers? I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead.

But it really doesn’t matter with me now, because I’ve been to the mountaintop.

And I don’t mind.

Like anybody, I would like to live a long life.

Longevity has its place.

But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain.

And I’ve looked over.

I’ve seen the promised land.

I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight that we, as a people, will get to the promised land.

And so I’m happy tonight.

I’m not worried about anything.

I’m not fearing any man.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.





Chapter Sixty-one


I’d heard that speech several times. But only bits and pieces. Highlights. Never this much at one sitting. But reading it now, knowing what I knew about what happened the day after, I was moved in a powerful way. I had to admit, given the context as described by Foster, King’s words sounded like those of a man who knew he was about to die. Not in a decade. Or a few years. Or even in a week.

Now.

“He spoke of mortality that night,” Foster said. “His own, but only he and I knew the true immediacy. It was an amazing speech. His voice rose and fell in calculated waves, controlling the audience’s emotions like a drum major would with a band. Not a note in front of him. Every word conceived as he spoke. There was lots of applause and verbal affirmations. I felt like I was at church on Sunday. When he uttered those last words, Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, he turned from the podium and nearly collapsed into Abernathy’s arms. He seemed totally spent. As if he’d completed all he wanted to do.”

My mind stood still, blank and bare, but I wanted to know, “Why didn’t you just tell Coleen all of this?”

His face collapsed onto itself, retreating behind folds of slackened flesh as the guilt, grief, and regret again took hold. “I couldn’t.”

“I don’t see why not.”

He reached for the switch on the reel-to-reel recorder.

“Listen.”

King: It’s going to be okay, Ben. Really, it is.

Foster: I will have to live with this for the rest of my life. It’s not right of you to ask this of me.

King: I agree. I have no right. But you’re all I have. You’re my friend, Ben. My dear friend. We both know that my fate has been sealed for a long time. We all knew that one day some damn fool would kill me. Thankfully, that didn’t happen back when we had so much to accomplish.