My most immediate thought about Martin Luther King, Jr. is the day he was assassinated. I was in basic training at Ft. Ord California on that day in 1968, a member of the U.S. Army Reserve, in a company of Reservists. A few of us were from St. Louis, waiting to get back to our clerical unit at home. A large number were from Dallas, where they were part of a unit that, once basic training was over, was going to Ft. Bragg or some such place to learn to jump out of airplanes without having a heart attack. A third group was from Jonesboro Arkansas, and a fourth from semi-rural Louisiana, centered around the city of Alexandria. We had many university graduates, and we had people whose only job after high school was pumping case and washing car windows.

One day, we were on the rifle range. It was probably what you think it was. Very large. Very flat. A large number of us could fire our rifles at the same time towards targets, which were large white rectangles, with outlined bodies of men. You didn’t have to run up hills at the pace of a drill sergeant whose legs were taller than your entire body, and you didn’t have to crawl around in the mud. You stood there (or maybe you lay there, (I don’t really remember) and fired at the target.

This day was different. In the middle of our practice, there was a ceasefire order and a “special message” came over the loud speaker. Martin Luther King, Jr. had been shot and killed in Memphis. I guess everyone was shocked. Half of us stood there with our mouths open. The other half whooped it up and applauded. They were over joyed. When I heard that, my mouth opened further.

The next day or so, I was talking to one fellow in my company who I had become quite friendly with. A very nice guy, tall and a little chunky. He was from Louisiana, but he was not one of those who clapped. But he was not surprised. He had just received a letter from his mother. She would have clapped had she been in our company. Her words were something like “I’m glad they shot at least one of those Commie N……..s”. He was aghast. I think I was the only one he told.

(By the way, as you recall, Bobbie Kennedy was shot in Los Angeles just about two months later. He was shot at night, and we found out about it when we had our 6 a.m. reveille the next morning. Politics didn’t seem to play a role here. Everyone was shocked. What is the world coming to? We were waging war in Vietnam for reasons most of us did not understand, and at home everything was falling apart. We were on base, in a protected military cocoon, but what would become of us when we were sent back home? I remember that one of the songs you heard over and over on the radio when I was at Ft. Ord was “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?”. I was amused because, being just about 60 miles from San Jose, I could answer that question with confidence. A month earlier? Not so sure. But on that morning, I did not know my way anywhere with any confidence whatsoever)

Years later, when we were in Memphis, Edie and I (and maybe Michelle and Hannah – I don’t remember which trip it was) went to the Lorraine Motel to the room where Martin Luther King, Jr was shot. I assume it is still open as a memorial – it is very evocative, and you should go.