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 traditio
nally 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.
“There’s still a lot of work that has to be done. This memorial, this institution, is actually a living and breathing institution. You are the institution, and so am I. As long as you and I are living and breathing, then we might become better, help each other become better, help America become a better place. We might not think so now, but you, even you, as young as you are, one day you won’t be so young, and you’ll have children of your own. And they might not be perfect children, they might be flawed children, they may end up being children who had to deal with tragic, flawed circumstances, but they will be your children, ours, and you and we will want the best for them. So there’s still work to do, programs to enact to make sure that people understand and the future public is educated about the life, work, and philosophy of Martin Luther King, Jr.
“Now, we’re not trying to give him all the credit. Many others contributed and gave their time and talents and lives to the cause to make sure that all people would be seen as having an equal opportunity in this society. So in many ways, my father is symbolic of many other names and people. In honoring him, you honor them all. So on behalf of the board of directors of the King Center, me, and my mother, who could not be here, but who some of you have seen or met before, I welcome you, welcome you wholeheartedly, thank you for your interest and time; to Reverend King, thank you for your leadership. We hope you all will enjoy your stay here. While it may be that shortly you leave here, walk away with a sense of purpose and fulfillment; continue to encourage others, who may not have the time or may not have the ability to be here, to make the trek, to make the journey to learn more about our history. Remember this great legacy that we all are a part of. I apologize for not being able to spend more time with you, but if you can feel the spirit of my father here, then me not being around will be no great loss to anybody.
“My job was to see to it that you got to him. As you go through you’ll see that there are a lot of people from throughout America and the world, and the future world, that are here with you, and will be spending time with you, in this and the world we share, so I again thank you and I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay. May God continue to bless each and every one of you.
“During my tenure over the last eight years as the King Center president, I have been fortunate to have had innumerable inspirational moments. However, I will take this opportunity only to mention a couple of them. Two of them involved former president Bill Clinton. The first in 1994 when President Clinton asked my brother and I, along with Ted and Ethel Kennedy, to fly aboard Air Force One to Indianapolis, Indiana, to break ground for a Peace Memorial dedicated to the memories of Robert F. Kennedy and my father. This memorial is located on the spot where Robert Kennedy spoke on the night my father was killed. He was campaigning in the African-American community and calmed the crowd with his now famous remarks. These remarks were credited with preventing rioting in Indianapolis while other cities burned.
“The second incident was accompanying my mother to the White House for a State dinner honoring former South African president Nelson Mandela. This historic event inspired me because of what it represented in terms of paying tribute to the liberation of a man and his people.
“On another occasion I had the privilege of meeting His Holiness the Dalai Lama on his visit to the King Center. I remember my sister Yolanda commenting on how his spirit reminded her of my father’s.
“I also met with Israeli former prime minister and Nobel laureate Shimon Peres on his visit to our Center, where he presented me with a silver plate with the dove of peace etched upon it. We discussed the importance of using my father’s principles of non-violence to bring about peace in the Middle East. I truly hope and pray that someday there will be peace in that region, and both Jews and Palestinians can live together as sisters and brothers.”
The Kings, flawed like everybody else, are good people.
I gladly face that now, in addition to the rest of what I inherited, as part of my obligation and birthright. Now I have to at least try to identify and find and attend to my own little dreams, because the legacy, obligation, birthright, inheritance, responsibility is not my only allotment, not all that I am, does not solely define who or what I can be. I finally figured out why I had always asked, “Why?” I never finished the question—why was this happening to me? I had always waited for things to happen to me, instead of doing things myself. I realize how much has to be done in terms of bringing this legacy—and myself—full circle. What is still missing today is the spiritual element that really causes his message to live, in terms of breaking down barriers in the mind, believing you can overcome obstacles, believing we can get along, not have to solve our conflicts with violence.
It’s funny, every year we have our King celebration, we get letters and hear speeches from politicians; you hear speeches from senators, congressmen, talking about how great Dr. King was to this nation, how he led the nation out of racial strife, used nonviolence, how he should be applauded, but the same people will turn around and vote to start a war without diplomacy or other means first. So it’s almost like people recognized it in him, in my father, but still don’t want to apply it for themselves. Have I sorted out the role of spirituality—faith—in my own life?
I have decided to seek a deeper level of life. Faith has really been a key ingredient in my sustenance. I’ve done a lot of work. I mean internally. The process has been very therapeutic for me out here. Being on the ocean. Being alone. Being at peace with that. Recovery. Recovery is the word I’m looking for. The recovery is almost complete.
I could not have endured all of the ups and downs, the tragedies, controversies, conflicts, trials and tribulations, if it were not for my faith in God, believing in a higher power that ultimately the things we cannot see shape us; faith being defined as the evidence of things unseen, and uncontrollable even, when you truly surrender yourself to it. There’s really a point of submission where you say, “I’ve done everything humanly possible, and it’s out of my hands. It’s bigger than me.” That’s when you submit, and know everything’s going to be all right. “Let go and let God.” That’s what I embrace now. It’s not my nature; I am controlling in terms of wanting to know reasons why. I’m skeptical, but I don’t let it drive me; I’m cautious by nature, a lot has to do with the experiences that shaped me. But I’ve thrown caution to the winds about spirituality.
My father once said, “Unearned suffering is redemptive.” If that is true—and life has taught me it is—then he earned his historical place a thousand times over. Not only did he die a violent death diametrically opposed to his ideals, not only did he die martyred to a great cause, but also his widow suffered, his children were at times considered pariahs… but that’s all gone now.
Growing Up King Page 30
