"I am a Man!"

"I am a man!"

"Yes, may I help you?" she said as she opened the door.

"We are here for the tour," I replied.

"I'm sorry. There is no tour today."

"But the sign on the door says 10:00 am on Friday, one tour," I told her as I
pointed to the schedule posted on the wall just outside the door.

"Well, you can come in and look around," she said.

"Thank you. You know this was to be the highlight of my trip here to Montgomery. I appreciate your hospitality," I told her.

Upon entering the church basement, she handed us a few pamphlets that would
provide an explanation of the history of the church and the beautiful mural located to the left just inside the door.

I must tell you that I was nervous with anticipation even as we parked just a
half block down the road. But now standing here I could feel a rush in the beat of my heart. There are few times when being in the presence of someone that I act like a child waiting for Santa. But this is a piece of history. The history of my nation. My history, as I lived through the changing 60's. My beginnings as I discovered a special piece of who I am.

I am standing here where he once stood.

We are in the Dexter Avenue King Memorial Baptist Church where Dr. Martin
Luther King was once Pastor.

The mural on the wall sent chills through my soul. Pictures of historical moments in the struggle for human dignity. It reflects segregation, hatred, unity, and strength. Rosa Parks, Robert Kennedy, John F. Kennedy, Mahatma Gandhi, Malcolm X, and dozens of others whose names were a part of my everyday life.

Various scenes of struggle, defeat and liberty are mixed throughout this
beautiful painting.

But there, just about in the center of the picture, my eyes come to rest on an
image that tore into my heart like a hot burning dagger. I see before me the
images of black men carrying signs that say "I am a man!"

Oh, my God! Not in my country. Not here in this place I call home. Never could there have been and never should there be a moment when a human being needs to address the simplest of dignities. To be recognized as a human being like any other on this Earth created by the same God Who created us all. Then
pictures of black men, women and children, yes children being hosed down like
animals.

Oh, Lord I can't, I don't want to remember this. But I do. The pictures flash back like it was yesterday. I remember all too well the deaths of the two Kennedy's and King. My head spins with sounds that obviously were permanently embedded in my mind.

"Marianne. Let's go upstairs," I say. I just wanted a break from the
whirlwind of remembering those moments.

As we entered through the back of the church I felt a sense of peace and calm. I looked up to the pulpit and thought of this great man preaching and igniting the spirit of freedom in the souls of those who longed for it.

With all the wonderful technology available today, I thought how great it would be if they could recreate a holographic image of Reverend King preaching once again. How inspiring and life changing that would be. But we sat speechless in the pews of this small church just the two of us in silence. I thought about my own struggles to make a difference in this world. I then realized that from this small church this one man touched the entire world. From vague and humble beginnings he made the world stop and re-evaluate it's course.

After about fifteen minutes of just sitting there, we decided it was time to go. I stood up from that front pew and felt like I had the world sitting on my shoulders. When we got to the bottom of the stairs I told Marianne I needed to thank the young lady for permitting us to walk freely through the building. As I entered her office, my heart began to pound. I quietly said, "Thank you so very much. He was such a great man...I feel so guilty."

Her face changed with surprise and confusion. "Sir, there is no reason for you
to feel guilty. You didn't do this," she said.

"No but I can't imagine for a moment that in this great country that I love so very much that any human being should have to carry a sign that says "I am a man!" Tears ran down my face. My voice quivered with pain.

"I just want to thank you. Just being here where it all began has truly been a personal highlight for me," I said. "You see I did not cause his death, but perhaps I didn't do enough to help his cause. I watched from the comfort of my
home and thought how terrible. He walked arm in harm down this road from Selma to Montgomery to make his point," I said as I leaned forward.

"Thanks so very much," I continued as I reached my hand out for hers.

She grabbed it with such authority as we shook hands. Two strangers connected by a spirit of love and compassion. Two human beings who are no different. Except she is a woman and I, I am a man!

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