On the Friday before the rally, Martin and Rev. Al Sharpton had met with Attorney General Janet Reno at the White House to
both ask and demand that the federal government withhold funds from any police department or state highway patrol agency that
practices abysmal and often deadly “racial profiling” or shows a pattern of brutality. For example, the Prince George’s County
Police Department, in the year leading up to the rally, had shot twelve people, killing five of them, and two other black
men had died of injuries incurred while in police custody. A black motorist was five times more likely than a white motorist
to be stopped “on suspicion,” or general principles, on the New Jersey Turnpike, and on a stretch of I-95 in Maryland, African
Americans, who constituted 17 percent of the motorists, were 56 percent of those stopped and searched. My older brother, Martin,
said that we were all “still awaiting the day when we can raise our children to respect police first and fear them last.”
The loudest reaction at the rally was reserved for two women named King on the podium. Bernice, her face a study of burning
concentration, got the loudest ovation when she spoke. She has the Way, a knack, the voice, power, the deep spiritual conviction
my father had. She was the one who got that best. She introduced our mother to the crowd: “She helped etch my father’s name
in the consciousness of the nation. While raising four children, she helped raise a nation.”
Words on a page do not do Bernice’s oratorical power justice. I hope you get a chance to hear her sometime. Somehow, I think
maybe you will. Hearing her brought tears to my eyes as I watched these serious activities from three thousand miles away;
I called up Yoki, for comfort.
Yoki not only comforted me. She also steered me into acting. It was something I had always been interested in but never felt
free to try, being a “son of King.” I was approached by the producers of
The Rosa Parks Story,
about an acting job, portraying my dad. It was a CBS TV movie, with Angela Bassett in the lead role. The whole experience
of it was a real treat.
When I first got out to L.A. I met with one of the producers, Howard Braunstein, and the writer, Paris Qualles. At the time
they told me they were developing the story and the script was being written, was almost completed, and would I be interested?
Would I consider playing my dad? The person with the expertise was Yoki. I asked her, and she said, “Well, why wouldn’t you?”
Before she said that, I was ambivalent about it, torn. They came back to me later and said they had gotten the green light
and they really wanted me to consider it. They wanted me to portray him. Nothing big. Mostly it was a speech scene, and a
couple of other scenes. But I would have to act. Yoki said it was a good opportunity to test the waters, see if it was something
I wanted to do. She didn’t say “to see if it was something I
could
do.” She assumed that if I wanted to do it, I could. Good kind of sister to have. Initially I had reservations because I
never wanted it to appear that I was seeking to portray my dad, didn’t want to seem like I was putting myself on some kind
of pedestal, having critics saying and thinking I was being self-serving in some kind of way, just still very sensitive to
some of the negative criticisms of the past. Finally I gave myself permission to do it, to explore my options in life like
other people do.
I was nervous, but gave it a go. I was to be in about six scenes, and the most moving part of it, I guess, was actually doing
one of my dad’s speeches in the church. The film was shot on location in Montgomery in May of 2001, and the big speech scene
reenacts one of the first Montgomery Improvement Association mass meetings. It just so happens that that speech is in a recently
released Warner book
Call to Conscience,
and we also have the audio on CD, so I kept listening to that speech my dad gave, over and over and over again. Yoki worked
with me on my overall character development, my acting persona, getting into character.
Once I got down there, I didn’t have Yolanda to lean on anymore. I saw Johnnie Carr, one of Rosa Parks’s best friends and
the person who became president of the MIA after my dad left, and she was happy to see me. She is elderly now, but she was
on the set every day and actually was one of the extras. The woman who was portraying her in the movie, Tonea Stewart, is
head of the theater department at Alabama State, and had a recurring role with the late actors Carroll O’Connor and Howard
Rollins on the CBS TV series
In the Heat of the Night.
She also portrayed Samuel L. Jackson’s character’s wife in the movie
A Time to Kill.
She was very helpful to me as well. She worked with me between scenes, going over the scripts, lines, coaching me.
I really morphed into my father. I felt like I was in his spirit and in his soul, thinking, being in Montgomery in the mid-’50s.
What it must have been like for a twenty-six-year-old black man in that space and time, to be thrust into a defining moment
of leadership, then to be subjected to the atrocities of the day, with his young wife and a newborn (Yolanda!). All these
emotions were at play in me. When I came on the set to deliver the speech, everyone was so supportive, a collective emotional
embrace, and you could feel the spirit of community from the crew, the extras, the cast; there were a lot of talented people
there and I drew from them all and I imagine I felt the way my dad must have felt at times. I felt uplifted.
Julie Dash (
Daughters of the Dust
) was the director. And she got it out of me. When I gave the speech, she and then everybody else came up to me afterward
and said, “Great job, Dexter!” “Uncanny!” And it was a powerful moment…
My friends, there comes a time when people get tired of being trampled over… and we’re not wrong… If we’re wrong, the Supreme
Court of this nation is wrong… if we’re wrong, God Almighty is wrong…
It was uncanny. It was powerful. The timbre and tremor of his voice—it just came naturally. That’s what I was saying about
being in his spirit. That was the easiest part, giving his speech, believe it or not. The hardest parts were the dialogue
scenes, when I had to try and mediate a disagreement among the members. But I got through it, with the help of Julie Dash
and Tonea Stewart. Angela Bassett would come over from time to time and whisper in my ear, tell me what to focus on, how to
focus, giving me tips to try this or that. It was a great experience.
I have to give credit to Yolanda. She was always obviously the actress. When we were young, she inspired us to pursue it.
We used to go with her on a regular basis to an acting workshop in Atlanta run by the parents of Eric and Julia Roberts. Yolanda
was part of their controversial production
The Owl and the Pussy Cat.
She played a prostitute. Very controversial, for Yolanda. Dr. King’s daughter, playing a prostitute? I remember so well.
There was an uproar at Ebenezer. Granddaddy was still alive then, and preaching, that’s how long ago this was, and he wasn’t
going to the performance because the church members were ganging up on him about it. But Mother said, “You know, she really
would be hurt if you don’t come.” He showed up at the last minute and Yoki was surprised, and pleased, and gave a good performance,
and afterward he came over to her and said, “You know, it wasn’t that bad. You did really good, girl!”
As for me, the experience was very pleasant. I think acting has possibilities.
There is also a CBS miniseries about my mother’s life being written by Tina Andrews, and another HBO movie is being developed
after the success HBO had with
Boycott,
the film starring Jeffrey Wright as Dad. I’ve developed a good relationship with Colin Callendar, head of HBO Films. He feels
he has found a way to tell some of these stories in a manner more contemporary, so they aren’t considered so much of a history
lesson, and therefore boring to young folks. Julie Dash raved about
Boycott
. She loved it. So I think more and more people in the film industry are seeing the dramatic value in these stories from the
era of the Civil Rights Movement. There’s a lot there.
The King Center facilities, along with 234 Sunset, Mother’s home, our home, are also in stasis, much like the papers. The
National Park Service would at some point like to turn 234 Sunset into a National Historic Site.
I sit on the beach on the Pacific and wonder if I’ll ever understand the ironies of life, or if I’m supposed to. Here comes
that little boy again. He is quiet this time. “Maybe you’re just supposed to live—let the chips, double standards, mistakes,
and bad guys doing good things and vice versa just… fall where they may,” I say to him.
There are still forces out there that do not want what’s best for Dad’s legacy, or for my family to be in any way comfortable;
they want to take everything away. They believe they’re entitled to their viewpoints of our father, yet we can’t have a viewpoint
about our own father.
What would you have done? For me it’s been a burden, because…
I don’t know what to do.
I wasn’t so wedded to any one course of action. If my father’s wishes were to turn his bequest over to the people and the
jackals, so be it, let them fight it out, even though I have a feeling I know who would win a battle for the meat of his heritage
and legacy. Jackals win scavenging contests. If I knew he wanted that—so be it. But he didn’t say that, and his conduct in
documenting, copyrighting, and licensing his work and litigating to protect it said the opposite. He didn’t get to the Promised
Land with us on a physical plane, but we can still hear him: “I’m telling you tonight that we as a people will get to the
Promised Land!” I can never know for certain what he would have wished. If he’d been allowed to remain in my life longer,
maybe I’d be more sure.
It has always been a difficult emotional and psychological issue, and I find that people will always bring it up for us to
ponder. I talk to Yoki about this all the time. She’s why I might be alone sometimes but never lonely. Sometimes I wish my
parents had raised the kind of children who wouldn’t care what people said. I want to do the right thing. He’s not here to
consult with me. But my sisters and brother are. I feel I have an obligation to uphold them, what he upheld. So I try. In
the end, that’s all we did, as his children. We tried.
My siblings and I are still waiting for the moving of documents, the King papers, his documentation, in his own hand, to an
appropriate custodian. The Library of Congress has approached us about acquiring the papers. It was always contingent on Congress’s
approvals. Basically the deal got tabled. The Senate approved it, authorized the Library to enter into negotiations, but the
House did not. The bill never made it to the floor. There was a lot of debate and filibuster over the papers—whether they
were worth it, if the price was too high. A political football. In the end, raising of the funds was not approved, so discussions
broke down. The pending legislation is really nonsubstantive. There are two parts to the bill, legislative and appropriation.
Without funds, it’s de facto, a nonissue. The Senate voted unanimously to support the legislation. But the House… it got bogged
down.
This is an era of transference—transferring the legacy that should be a part of the American landscape into the American landscape.
Some may see irony in this as well, that a jury in Shelby County found that a onetime café owner and “the government at several
levels” conspired to assassinate Dad. Some may see it as justice.
All of this represents my father’s ascension into the mainstream of American history, into the pantheon of honored American
lives, and therefore into American society and life. As an African American, I am proud that my father has been receiving
accolades and recognition traditionally reserved for a more “elite” class of non–African Americans.
We give Mother all the credit. She did all of the things that people acknowledge or attach to greatness: lobbying to get a
King holiday, lobbying to build a nonprofit living memorial, striving to create a permanent place where people could embrace,
appreciate, and learn from my father’s achievements. If she had not been a goodwill ambassador, a steward, a torchbearer,
my father’s work might have largely died with him. Without her popularizing his legacy the whole thing would have faded into
memory. No matter what J. Edgar Hoover’s opinions of my father were back in the ’60s, no matter whose hands were behind his
assassination, my father has been recognized as a great American by the American institutions, by the federal government itself,
which is, ideally, only an extension of the people. All the people. Even the flawed people. The shining eyes of Mother mean
the people have some of their validation. My father will be etched in the history books and in people’s minds forever.
He may not have gotten there with us physically—but he did get there with us in spirit.
Atlanta, Georgia.
“If I can have your attention. At this time I want to introduce to you my cousin; I grew up with Dexter Scott King, who is
the president of the Martin Luther King Center; he has taken the time to come out to personally greet us; so let’s give him
a hand, Dexter King…”
“I want to first thank Reverend Vernon King, my first cousin, somebody I hold near and dear to my heart. We grew up together.
I won’t tell you about any of those stories. Because if I told you, you might ask him to step down… But we’re all a step down
from Dr. King, aren’t we? And we can’t help that, can we? But look at it this way. He does give us a goal, something to aspire
to.
“I want to first thank you, then welcome you here to the King Center and the King Historic Preservation District on behalf
of the Park Service, which operates this facility in a fine fashion; what you’ll be seeing as you go through this historic
site is American history; you’ll see the tomb of Dr. King, my father; historic Ebenezer Baptist Church; the birth home, where
my father grew up. I want to say I think it’s important we as a community take the time out to really understand what the
King legacy represents. Particularly for the youth, you who may not have been around, or aren’t old enough to appreciate what
the Civil Rights Movement was about, what evolution of history brought us to, in pointing us to where we are today, where
we might be tomorrow.