FIVE DAYS IN APRIL 1968

January 21, 2008 

In the thirty-nine years since Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s death, Americans have made real progress toward a color-blind society. Much remains unsettled, however, and whenever race is the issue, King and what he stood for are central to the discussion. During the five days between King's assassination on April 4, 1968, and his funeral, I learned an important lesson about the power of his influence.

Recently back from Vietnam, I was a first lieutenant commanding an exceptionally large advanced individual training (AIT) company of over 400 young men learning to become cooks, drivers, and mechanics at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. More than thirty-five percent of them were African Americans, mostly draftees, from the inner cities of Chicago and St. Louis .

While the US military in 1968 was ahead of the rest of American society when it came to race relations, these young men were fresh off the streets of a country torn by protests over the Vietnam War and the civil rights movement. African Americans were shedding their blood and dying with equality on the battlefields of Vietnam, where most of my troops were headed, but they had yet to achieve equality on the streets of America.

The problems of American society aren’t left at the door when you enter the military. They're counterbalanced by discipline and leadership. Not yet fully adjusted, few men in my company were comfortable living in close quarters with strangers from other racial and ethnic groups. They clustered with their own at every opportunity. And with all the catalysts present in 1968, it didn't take much to stir up unrest.

On Thursday, April 4, when news reports informed the nation that Dr. King had been shot while standing on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee, Fort Leonard Wood was locked down, leaves and passes were cancelled, and every person in position of leadership was on alert.

In the days before cable television, portable transistor radios, and 24/7 news coverage, save for the black and white television in the company day room, the troops had little access to the news. Rumors and speculation ran rampant. The five days at Fort Leonard Wood from the day King was shot until his funeral, Tuesday, April 9, strained everyone. One careless comment easily could have sparked a race riot.

By Tuesday morning the men in my company were on a razors edge as the nation prepared for King’s funeral. My battalion commander told me he expected the commanding general would declare a training holiday, but no such order had come down. And when time came for the troops to form up on the street to march off to class, not a single African American soldier fell in. They had decided the night before, with a clear understanding of the consequences, that unless they were excused from class to watch King’s funeral on TV they would remain in the barracks.

When an attempt by company First Sergeant Simeral to convince them otherwise failed, I entered the barracks where the protest organizers were surrounded by 50 to 60 men from other barracks. I told them I sympathized with their request, but with no orders to the contrary, I had no choice but to order them to fall into formation on the street.

What started as a peaceful sit-in rapidly deteriorated into a cacophony of angry voices, many shouting profanity while others pleaded for understanding. All made it clear they had no intention of obeying my order. The situation was on the verge of spinning out of control.

Suddenly, one young hothead stepped toward me brandishing a stiletto with a six inch blade. “We ain’t going,” he said, bracketed by various four-letter words. Out of the corner of my eye I watch Simeral disappear out the barracks door. Several tense minutes passed as I tried to reason with the group and the man was alternatively encouraged and discouraged by his fellow soldiers. I knew the minute I turned and left the room I’d have to call the military police and what would follow likely was violence.

As suddenly as he had disappeared, Simeral reappeared with an M-14 rifle. He locked and loaded a round in the chamber, raised the rifle, and pointed it at the man with the knife. An infantry NCO with two tours in Vietnam behind him, Simeral wasn't bluffing. A deadly silence fell over the room. My heart stopped.

Then, a slender young man emerged from among the angry faces and positioned himself between me and them facing the man with the knife. “Dr. King didn’t die so you could go jail,” he said calmly extending an upturned hand. “And if he were in this room, he wouldn’t have a knife in his hand.”

I don’t know what went through the mind of the man with the knife, who I now realized had tears in his eyes, but it was obvious that just the mention of King’s name was enough to make him stop and think.  After what seemed like an eternity, but was only a few seconds, he gave the knife to the soldier in front of him who turned around and handed it to me.

With timing only a movie director could create, as Simeral lowered the M-14 the company clerk burst into the barracks announcing that all training had been cancelled for the day. The commanding general had made his declaration. With all eyes turned back to me I told Simeral to find out what time the funeral would be broadcast. Then I told the troops they still had time for breakfast and that the day room would be open when they got back. I folded the stiletto's blade back into its handle, put it in my pocket, and left the barracks.

No matter how long you live, you not only don’t forget an experience like that, you remember how it affected you, and it had a powerful affect on me.

Now and then, I take the stiletto out of the box I keep it in at home and look at it. It reminds me of five fateful and important days in American history; five days that made me stop and think. 

In the years since, I’ve reflected often on those days and how they affected my own ideas about race. I've come to the conclusion that the seed of racial prejudice exists in every human being. It's either cultivated by those around us or it's kept dormant by reason and understanding. King was a voice for reason and understanding. He remains so today, and will continue to be as long was we are not a color blind society.