Monday, September 01, 2003
0 commentsStill a Dream
Last Thursday, August 28th, was a date worth noting before it slips into memory.
As has been noted in many media sources, August 28th marked the 40th anniversary of the 1963 Civil Rights March on Washington, D.C., famous for the "I have a dream" speech of the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Too young to attend that day, at the age of 12, I did not hesitate to offer my services when asked to participate in 1983's 20th anniversary March on Washington.
I served as part of the security detail assigned to the Lincoln Memorial that day.
After a long bus ride, and a detailed briefing by March and security organizers at which we were given orders to be on site at 5:00 am, to secure the area (i.e., sweep for bombs), a half dozen of us were caught on the way out by one of the security honchos. He informed us that we had been chosen to be podium security, and the bodyguard detail for notables while they were on the Memorial: two each assigned to Coretta Scott King, Jesse Jackson and Andrew Young. I was assigned to Jackson.
We took this to be a very high honor, and admittedly were all very proud at being chosen for such an important assignment. For a moment, at least.
As a throwaway line on the way out, the security honcho told us to remember to be careful, since they'd received death threats against all three notables that day.
Just as people do in the army, we started looking around, trying to see whom we could pawn this honor off onto. But, alas, there were no takers.
It was still pitch dark when we arrived at the Memorial. Later, the day broke brutally hot. The reflecting pool kept the area from turning into an oven.
You've seen pictures by now of events, looking out from the Lincoln Memorial towards the crowds surrounding the reflecting pool and stretching out beyond. But from standing on the Memorial near the podium all day, looking out, I assert to you that I've NEVER seen a photograph capture the total and profound majesty of that sight. It truly is one of our most precious American icons.
E Pluribus Unum come to life.
As the day wore on, speech began to drone into speech, and the day grew hotter still. As the late afternoon sun beat down, Andrew Young spoke and left. It now grew time for Jackson's arrival.
I met Jesse Jackson as he arrived on the podium and placed myself to his left side, my partner on his right. There was a tightly packed clutch of people surrounding us, all of them wanting to speak/touch/adore the Rev. Jackson. It was at this moment that I realized the bravery, heroism and patent stupidity of each and every Secret Service agent in our country's service.
Standing next to a charismatic man that many that day wanted dead will bring you closer to yourself. With no training whatsoever, I found myself scanning every human being within twenty yards of us: hands/eyes; hands/eyes; hands/eyes; looking for any sudden movement that might mean danger to the person we were protecting.
And as the tallest, lightest-skinned individual in the crowd, adorned with a bright orange T-shirt signifying March Marshall, I knew that it was going to hurt a LOT whenever some moron tried to be stupid and I ended up with the bullet or blade or mortar round or club or what have you. I may not have been assuming my death at that point, but I was assuming pain. A great deal of pain. Maybe a lot of it.
He then got up to give one of the most stirring orations I've ever experienced. At its end, I too was ready to walk through walls for this man.
Our goal after Jackson's speech was to get him back through the open Memorial, down the long back stairs and into his waiting limo. At that point, our day was to end.
With his last word upon leaving the podium, we moved in beside him and started to attempt to hustle him out the back.
This was also the period when Jesse Jackson was first coyly milking the media about his possible Presidential ambitions for 1984. His "I don't knows" were sounding more and more loudly like "I'm in and running!" every single day. This had been going on for months. The media and Jackson had developed more of a Romeo and Juliet relationship than one of reluctant candidate searching his soul for guidance within public scrutiny.
The cries of "Run, Jesse, Run!" had filled the air for weeks, as they did that day.
From the moment he stepped off the podium, Jackson was surrounded by reporters, each one trying to be THE ONE to hear the man say, "I'm in."
Jackson for his part wanted each reporter to feel as if they might be THE ONE to hear him as well. So, he would stop for a reporter, and we'd scan the crowd. He'd leave that reporter and we'd start for the back again, and he'd stop! Another reporter. He'd finish that one and we'd start for the back again, and he'd stop! Over and over this went. He'd take two steps and grant another interview. This repeated itself dozens of times as we tried to make our way through the Memorial to his limo.
Soon, I no longer wanted to walk through walls for the man. I wanted to pull one down on his head, I was so angry. It was apparent that each and every reporter there would have peddled their grandmothers for being put on a list to gain a three-minute interview with Jackson in his hotel suite. There was no reason to milk the press crowd at that moment when he was in mortal danger, and those around him were in mortal fear.
Happily, we finally got him down the rear stairs and safely into his limo, and he was off.
Exhausted, my partner and I came around to the front of the Memorial and found a place to sit on a grassy knoll off to the right of the Memorial as you look from the podium. We were just far enough back where we could no longer make out the faces on the podium clearly. They were just forms at that distance.
While we had been doing the "Run, Jesse, Run!" reporter shuffle, Ms. Scott had spoken to great applause. As we were sitting down on the grass, she finished her remarks by introducing the playing of the entire recording of Dr. King's famous speech.
Electricity swept the crowd.
Sitting there, spent, after a long, hot, thrilling, terrifying day, we sat and listened to Dr. King's speech, at a distance from the stage where we couldn't tell it WASN'T him at the lecturn. The hair rose on the back of my neck and took hours to lay back down.
It may well be the day I have been most proud of being an American.
posted by Gotham 8:56 PM
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