It was a hot, steamy day in Atlanta. I was excited and nervous. I was going to meet Mrs. Martin Luther King Jr. My then husband, the literary agent, was pitching her on becoming the agent for the literary estate of her late husband, Martin Luther King Jr. We met at a hotel restaurant in downtown Atlanta. She arrived with her son, Martin Luther King III. Awestruck, I knew I was in the presence of royalty as I watched the staff at the restaurant greet her upon her arrival. They all but bowed to her as they might a queen. She looked like a queen as she swept in. She seemed ageless, her beauty as much in her regal bearing as her appearance.
Meeting her son and Martin Luther King Jr.’s namesake, I had the shivers. He looked so much like his late father at his age, it was as though I were seeing a ghost. The same face, the same voice. It was eerie.
Mrs. King greeted me and my husband courteously but with reserve, as one might expect from a queen granting an audience to someone courting her favor. As the dinner progressed she became more forthcoming. We discussed Dr. King’s legacy and her expectations for the handling of his literary estate. I was struck by the fact that referred to her late husband in the present tense. “As my husband says…” or “Martin feels…” He was obviously still alive for her.
She told a story about Dr. King that I recall with clarity as though she were sitting opposite me telling it. She and her husband were driving to an event and they were behind schedule. She became a bit impatient with him because he was obeying the speed limit. He responded, “I would rather be late than be known as the late Dr. King.” A story that seemed haunting in retrospect.
Another interesting fact I learned from Mrs. King: She and her husband spent their wedding night in a room above a funeral parlor.
It was one of the most memorable evenings of my life. I had come of age during the sixties. I had witnessed the Civil Rights movement. I had wept along with millions of others after learning of the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. Images of Mrs. King in her black dress and veil in news footage from her husband’s funeral are indelibly engraved in my memory. Now she too is gone but not forgotten.
As we parted ways at the end of the evening, I knew I would never forget my dinner with Mrs. King. I had been a witness of history.
Here, in these spare eloquent words, you bring her to life again.
I grew up in Atlanta. There was immense sadness in the town after his assassination. I was in elementary school, but I can remember watching his funeral in our classroom, as well as my teacher’s words: “You will always remember this day.”
I didn’t know then why she was so right about that. And now, knowing the role the Atlanta Metro Area played in the 2020 election—in turning Georgia blue, with a senator who stood on Martin Luther King Jr’s pulpit—I hear her words again.
She was right. We remembered.
Thank you, Josie. Yes, we remembered. Thank you for sharing your own, deeply meaningful memory of the day of Martin Luther King Jr.’s funeral. Whenever I visit Atlanta his legacy is alive in the edifices and statuary and boulevard named after him.