As I sit here with my television on the History Channel I see and hear the images that commemorate Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. These images bring to mind thoughts of heroism. Yes, some heroes take up their guns and charge in to stop the violence of evil. Some heroes run up the steps of the burning buildings while everyone else is running down. Some heroes, like Dr. King use their oratory gifts to raise the spirits and the conscience of humanity. But as I watch the images of chaos and brutality from the early 1960's I see something else. I see something in the images that has escaped my notice for all these years. I see something remarkable. I see white people; old and young, tall and short, men & women who left their comfortable existences. They came from peaceful homes where they were not oppressed or struggling and walked with the oppressed, bled with the oppressed and went to jail with the oppressed. They saw oppression and said, "That's not right!" and they did something about it. We will never know the name of the short, fortyish white man with the horn-rimmed glasses whose blood spilled on the Edmund Pettus Bridge or the housewife who was brutalized in the streets of Selma. We will never know who they were or where they lived. Many have probably gone to their eternal rest. All we will every really know is that there came a time when they said, "Enough!" With no obvious gain in sight and at great peril to themselves, they put on their shoes, got their coats and their purses and went to some place of suffering to say, "You are not alone!"
They were "good and decent people who saw wrong and tried to right it, saw suffering and tried to heal it."