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Diverting from Literary History today. Here is memory from long ago, I feel it’s worth the time to read today. Thanks for taking a moment to do so.

Seven years-old and trapped with my mom at her workplace on a perfectly good morning on a teacher’s workday – what could be worse? First, for some reason we had no books or toys for me. Secondly, my mother was secretary for the president of Crozier Theological Seminary in Chester, Pennsylvania and in these hallowed halls no children were seen or heard.

In compassion, but more likely to hide me, my mom placed me on a couch at the end of a large library/reading room.  From the untrustworthy memory and perception of a seven-year-old, the room was enormous, stretching past the distance as an eye could see.

There were no interior walls. The appearance of several connected rooms was achieved by the placement of couches, chairs, and tables. Each area had its own entrance door, but once inside one could move freely from one end to the other. 

On the couch, my back was to most of the room as I was seated in front of a small b/w television set located in the innermost corner. My mother had tuned to a cartoon show and instructed me in her MOST serious voice: “Do not move, do not get up, do not make a sound, do not touch the TV, do not touch anything.  Had it not been unhealthy I would have been told not to breathe.  Thoroughly warned, completely intimidated, and utterly bummed, I settled back and began to watch Woody Woodpecker.

As older TVs often did, the vertical hold began scrolling. Now I was really in the dumps. How long before my mom returned to check on me, probably hours. Just when matters could not be worse a group of Suits entered the library several sections from where I was.

If the term Suits is unfamiliar, it refers simply to grownups that wear collars to small, ties to tight, never smile, and, most significantly, have a particularly strong dislike of small boys – like me.

After sneaking a peek above the couch back, I tried to become invisible while attempting mind control over the Suits, willing them to exit prior to entering my section.  My fear became panic as the tip-tapping of black wing-tipped shoes came closer as the boom of several bass voices echoed in my ears.

Spotted! I could feel one of the group approaching.  He bent down, placed a strong hand on my shoulder.  His gentle eyes considered mine; as his smile and kind voice calmed me instantly.  I do not remember if I spoke; but somehow, he realized the problem.  He stood, tall and confident and began to adjust the TV.

At the very moment, his hand went behind the set, my mother entered. She stopped in the doorway.  I could tell from her face that she was unnerved, more panicked than me, in fact, flustered.

“Ethel,” the man spoke her name. He knew her, I marveled. Ethel, it’s all-right,” he said as he approached her and greeted her respectively.  I observed her embarrassment and apprehension dissolve as he engaged her in conversation.

Even at seven, I could intuitively sense the annoyance of the other somber Suits; while amazed at the grace of this powerful man.  Whoever he was, they deferred to him.  I quickly concluded he was OK; he had to dress that way, but he was NOT a Suit.

After they left my mom sat with me and spoke about my new friend. Though I was only seven, the seriousness and gravity of her conversation remained with me.

During the next few years my mom would occasionally remind me of the encounter when we saw him on television, particularly when he was maligned.

Before he spoke the Dream, Dr. King was living the Dream, at least with this little seven-year-old white boy.

"The King will reply,
'I tell you the truth, whatever you did
for one of the least of these brothers of mine,
you did for me.'

Matthew 25:40 


#MLK #MartinLutherKing

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