Coretta Scott King, like her culturally mammoth husband, was for the most part beyond the reach of an ordinary social justice advocate like myself. In fact, she has always been mostly a figure connected with a past era, when civil rights conflicts and advances played out on the battling streets of distant cities. Like many others who are too old to be considered young and too young to be considered old, I really have no hands-on appreciation for the work of the Kings and those who made their journey to a promised land look feasible.
Or at least that was the case until I made a trip to Washington, DC. in December 1994 or January 1995, I can't remember the exact date. I had the opportunity to be part of a Clinton Administration working group on the reduction of violence, and particularly violence against women. (I was representing a group involved with the development of the original initiation of the Take Our Daughter's To Work Day, which was an effort to understand the underlying issues of power and oppression.)
As part of that trip, we were offered the opportunity to visit the White House to enjoy tea and cookies in the shape of Socks the cat. We dutifully waited in line for a minor security stroll through a large metal weapons scanner when the men in uniform abruptly stopped the line with me in front. Apparently someone with preference was coming.
After about 15 minutes, a limo pulled up and an entourage of large, armed men stepped out, followed by the one-and-only Queen King herself. I was flabbergasted, having never expected to see something like that, with a person of history stepping directly in front of me. She and her guards simply entered the security building.
A few minutes later I was told to proceed. They let me walk in amongst the confusion of all of Mrs. King's guards re-arming themselves following their safety check. No one much noticed me so I walked into the White House yard onto a path to the entrance door.
Until: "Excuse me, young man," came this quaint but confident voice from my left. Standing just to the side was Mrs. King, alone, dressed in a stunning gown and very high heels. "My men have been detained, it appears," she said. "So would you mind escorting me into the White House, please?"
I nearly died. Like a realistic episode of Back To The Future, I could feel myself being sucked backward into a time when no White Boy would have imagined doing anything like this, much less being asked to do so by such a petit giant of a Black Lady. I could feel the hate-filled eyes of the KKK staring at me, the anger building on the raving homophobe monsters of the time looking at me in a way that the young Black kids of the sixties felt as they were "escorted" by police into a desegregated school.
Except, of course, for the fact that there was no one around. No crowds cheering or jeering. No TV or radio. Not a camera in sight.
I was alone with a walking, talking, gentle mother of history grasping my elbow and leading me (yes, leading me!) into the home of the Master of the Free World.
She talked about the conference we were at and what I did for a living. Then she told me, without stopping to let me say anything, since she probably noticed I was paler than normal and stunned to silence, she let me know that she had twisted her ankle because of her too big heels. And that she just couldn't get into that house all by herself—a statement of profound significance to me as I look back on what I do to change the world.
As we approached the White House, the doors opened and a small crowd of suited image-makers stepped out, giving me an evil eye: a "Who was I and why shouldn't they take me aside and question me just on principles?" kind of look.
After graciously accepting her "why thank you young man; I'll be all right now" parting words, I sat down on a chair to regain my composure.
Several minutes later other members of my group came in, talking and laughing and enjoying their experience. One asked me why I was sitting there, and I said let's go get some tea and then I would then tell them something unique.
So we walked into the meeting room, grabbed a mouthful of Socks, and stepped aside near the paneled wall. Then, with my blood pressure rising rapidly again with the awesomeness of recounting something no one else could verify, I was feeling the magnificence of life and the incredibleness of escorting a woman whose magnitude was sufficient, in a different world anyway, to have made that her own home.
But before I could finish, I got hit in the back. To my utter horror this time, I turned to watch part of the wall pushing against me—the opening of a secret door.
"Oh, I'm sorry, young man," said the nice lady Hillary as she stepped into the room, unnoticed by anyone except me and my conference associates. "I hope you are enjoying your visit to this great place," was all I got from her before she too slid off to continue her journey to wherever she was going in life.
Coretta Scott King has died. But she is clearly not forgotten by many of us, including those of us whose memories include just a little subtle advice that getting into the house of the leader of the free world requires someone else's assistance.
I think about that regularly now as I ponder the questions of our nation's future where the same issues of hate and powerlessness face us all as we look for a common escort to the door of justice and opportunity.
Good-bye Mrs. King. And thanks for the escort.
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Comments: 12
Not to divert from the true essence of the story, I have to laugh whenever I think of "Take your daughter to work day". I was a member of NAFE (Nat'l Assoc of Female Executives) at the time it first was introduced and it was touted as such an important advancement for women, as it would help introduce our daughters to various workplace opportunities that girls might not realize existed for them.
Then the PC pundits got a hold of it and declared, "That's not fair, if girls should be able to go, then boys should too". Now I personally think it is a good idea for both, I think it took another three years to officially get changed to "Take your CHILD to Work Day".
All I know was that every year when it rolled around I dreaded it from a management perspective. We had to keep the kids occupied with activities and deal with the loss of productivity.
Anyway, like I said, sorry to get away from the Mrs. King. And again, great job!
Brilliant! And what an experience.
I love the fact that you had to sit down afterward to gain your exposure. Speaks to the impact this experience had on you. Additionally, I like how you stated the homophobe reference.
Nice job!
BanditTalks
It was also a very funny experience from the way she handled her broken heel.
Bonnie -- as to Take Your Daughters, I was actually the contract signatory for the agency I was the executive director of (the Oakland Men's Project) whose job it was to write, coordinate and expound the boys' component. In actuality, I fought hard to have the project called "Take Your Daughters To Work, Bring Your Sons Home," to avoid the legal challenges and complaining by conservative elements. (As you can tell, I lost.)
If you remember--and most people don't--the actual idea was that when the girls were at work, where there were massive numbers of workshops and fun things made available for them to do and to learn, the boys were supposed to be at school or at a community center or church or something learning about why it was important to have a day for girls (namely, to help them understand sexism in the career sector). Corporate American tried massively hard to kill off this idea for fear of discrimination lawsuits, even to the point where they tried to bribe my "men's agency" (not realizing that we were more feminist than Gloria Steinem was!) to do something special for them. I wanted to go ahead so we could get inside and work our magic instead of waiting for the project to become a "Take Your Kids" day. But others within the progressive movement were frightened that the project would lose its purpose, a focus on girls. So I was prohibited from following up on the corporate interest and the end result was I had to turn down thousands of dollars worth of grants, effectively running our men's project out of existence. Which ultimately saddled me, as ED, with some $50,000 in tax debt that the agency couldn't pay.
But don't get me wrong: that experience was awesome. And I would do it again, if given the chance, especially now that I'm older and "wiser."
Thanks for your memories!
Allan
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David is Editor in Chief of Gather
Allan