Exactly one year ago today, Doc stood in the pulpit of the Riverside Church and denounced President Johnson’s escalating war in Vietnam.
Since then, a national poll indicates that nearly three-quarters of the American people have turned against Doc, and 57 percent of his own people consider him irrelevant.
Today, a Thursday, Doc is at the Lorraine in Memphis, getting a late start. Last night’s rally did him a world of good. After collapsing in a chair on stage, he managed to attend a small post-rally get-together at the hotel. He was elated to see that his brother, A. D., had driven to the city with two women, one of whom was Georgia Davis, the state senator from Kentucky.
There was talk about the legal maneuvers to stop next week’s demonstration. The women wanted to know whether Doc was considering canceling.
“The decision has been made to march,” he said. “Regardless of the outcome of today’s hearing, we will march on Monday. We cannot give in now.”
When asked whether he was afraid for his life, his answer was chilling: “I’d rather be dead than afraid.”
The talk turned to Davis’s first term as a senator. Doc was keen to learn of her accomplishments. She, in turn, wanted to hear details of his recent rallies, especially the one at Mason Temple that, due to her late arrival, she had missed. It was evident that Doc and Davis had missed each other’s company, and after a while, they excused themselves from the party to spend time alone.
Now it is early afternoon and Doc is feeling refreshed. While his aides are in court arguing for the legalization of Monday’s march, he calls Dora McDonald, his secretary in Atlanta, to share his sermon topic for next Sunday’s service at Ebenezer so that she can get it into the church bulletin. His theme is one that has been resonating in his head and heart for the past twelve months:
Why America may go to hell.
The topic is somber, but today Doc is not. Today he’s joyful.
Today he’s taking it easy.
Enjoying a catfish lunch with Ralph Abernathy.
Hanging out in A. D.’s room.
Calling home.
Chatting with Mom and Dad.
Feeling the happiness that his parents experience when they know their sons are together.
Telling his folks that he loves them.
Assuring Mama King and Daddy King that all’s well in Memphis.
Claiming that victory is at hand.
Kidding around with Andy Young when he walks through the door.
“Li’l nigger,” says Doc lovingly, “where you been?”
Doc knows that Andy’s been to court to testify about the peaceful preparations for Monday’s March, but Doc wants to forget politics—at least for now. Doc wants to play. He and Ralph grab pillows and start going after Andy. Grown men acting like little boys. The pillow fight has everyone laughing.
Everyone is looking forward to tonight’s early dinner at the home of Reverend Billy Kyles.
Looking forward to a soul food feast.
Learning from Billy’s wife, Gwen, all the items on the menu: everything from chitterlings to neck bones to turnip greens to cornbread.
Doc’s hungry.
Doc’s happy.
Doc’s hearing music coming from downstairs, where Jesse Jackson is rehearsing an ensemble of Operation Breadbasket singing hymns like “I’m So Glad (Trouble Don’t Last Always).”
Doc greets Billy Kyles, who has arrived at his room intending to drive him over to his home. It’s nearly 6 p.m.
Doc’s still in jokester mode.
“Now Billy,” he says, “if you’ve bought this big new house and can’t afford to feed us, I’m gonna tell everybody in the country.”
Kyles assures him that there will be more than enough good food to go around.
Doc keeps joking: “Your wife can’t cook, anyway. She’s too good-looking.”
The two men step outside, on the balcony. In the wake of yesterday’s storm, the air is clean and fresh.
Kyles heads down to the car.
Doc leans over the rail. Takes a deep breath. Spots Jesse Jackson in the courtyard.
“Jesse,” Doc yells down, “I want you to come to dinner with me.”
Jesse introduces Doc to the man standing next to him.
“Doc, you remember Ben Branch? He’s our saxophonist. Memphis musician.”
“Oh, yes,” Doc calls down, “he’s my man. How are you, Ben?… Make sure you play ‘Precious Lord, Take My Hand’ in the meeting tonight. Play it real pretty.”
Then a shot rings out.
The bullet finds its mark.
Doc falls.
At age thirty-nine, his life on earth ends.