BernieHund: The Political Watchdog

There are always days that we remember.  Some we remember in general, others very specifically.  I remember April 4, 1968 as if it were yesterday.

I was a freshman at the University of North Carolina.  However, on the evening of Dr. King’s assassination I was on campus at Duke University.  It was about 8:00 before the word spread across the campus.  And, quite honestly, I remember feeling shock as did most of the students.  I would like to say that we all did something together to mark the moment, but we didn’t.

Instead, I found myself in a mad race to get back to Chapel Hill.  A curfew had been imposed as soon as the word hit the airwaves.  I remember the hectic ride back to Chapel Hill, trying to get back to the dorm before I was counted late or worse. 

My ride dropped me off at Ralph’s Deli, leaving me a three block run back to my dorm.  The street was dark and almost deserted.  I remember seeing a couple of police officers coming up the sidewalk and the campus police across the street, just within the boundaries of the campus itself.  The shortest route to Granville Towers would have been a run straight down Franklin Street, but it was past the curfew and I would have to pass the Chapel Hill police.

Needless to say, in that year and the few that followed, the city police had their hands full.  It was a turbulent time and the local cops weren’t as patient with the students as they had been in days gone by.  I didn’t need to have a run in with them.  Only a week or so earlier I had been dragged to the police station for being a little too outspoken on the use of Napalm. 

The campus cops were students’ best friends in those days.  They called out to me and helped me scale the small wall before the local cops could get to my position.  Once on campus, I was safe.  One of the two campus police officers transported me to the dorm and although I was late, he lied for me to keep me from being grounded for a week or more.  In those days, freshmen women had more rules than most of us had at home.

Our floor met with others in the huge rec room in the basement of the building.  And, my life changed.  I watched and I listened and for the first time, I understood.  Perhaps, it was seeing the few African American students totally devastated by the loss, as if they had lost a personal family member.

I don’t remember if it was the next day or two days later, I attended a memorial service on campus.  I remember singing “We Shall Overcome”.  I remember the tears streaming down my face.  Admittedly, although I was raised in the south, I had not seen the uglier side of segregation, nor did I fully understand it.  I had spent my years in a Catholic parochial school where segregation didn’t apply.  Perhaps, my parents had sheltered me from the ugly side of our nation, preferring to teach me that we are all equal.  It was a bit of a shock when I realized that while we all may be equal, we all are not treated equally.

The road trip that followed was something I will never forget.  There were six of us piled into a car that had no business being taken on the trip.  But, against better judgment and defying all college rules, we took off for the funeral of Martin Luther King, Jr.  I only remember bits and pieces of the trip, but I know there were odd looks as the two black people and four white people traveled together.  We were refused service in a restaurant in South Carolina.  I was called a “nigger lover” at a gas station.  And, by the time we arrived in Atlanta, I understood Martin Luther King, Jr.

I had seen pictures of Martin Luther King, Jr. when he was alive.  I remember the allegations that he was a communist.  In that day and age, there was nothing more damning one could say of a person.  But, seeing the hurt and fallen hopes in the eyes of my black friends said something to my heart.  And, seeing the hate aimed at myself and my friends as we traveled to the funeral taught me something for my future.

I may be white, but Martin Luther King, Jr. touched my life in a way that changed me forever.