The fight for civil rights and the rockets’ faint glare

Room 306, Lorraine Motel, Memphis, TN

Along the Mississippi River Near Memphis TN

July 4

Elevation: 837 feet

Weather: Muggy. Hot.

We booked out of the campsite at just before 5:00 to make our way to Memphis. I managed to get tickets for the National Civil Rights Museum that is housed in the Lorraine Motel where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. We made it, if a bit crusty and tired.

The outside of the museum is eerily the same as the photo, with Jesse Jackson, Hosea Williams and Ralph Abernathy pointing toward the sounds of the gunfire, the great man crumpled at their feet. I always admired Jackson and remember his runs for the presidency.

The civil rights movement of the 60s, of course, is part of another long arc, reaching back to Dred Scott and up to the BLM leaders. The logo for the museum is of a figure pushing against a great stone wall—the fight is hard and long. 

I was as much interested in the families milling about outside, waiting for ticket times to be called. They were mostly black; a dozen or so families lined up. There were two white families, including ours. People stood beneath Room 306 where MLK was killed, taking photos, reading the placards. They have replicas of the white dodge with green flares and long white Cadillac parked below room 306.  If the national parks were/are ensconced in white history, this place was certainly part of black America’s history.

Dr. King was killed at the Loraine Motel on 4 April 1968; 14 days before I was born. Another link hard for me to pin down. It makes me think of my mother who was all parts hippie, marching and dressing me in American flag diapers. She instilled activism in me very young. As Dr. King instructed us, we all have a duty to fight against injustice otherwise our country’s ideals will always remain just that.

I was happy we made it to the Museum, especially on the 4th of July. We all tried to come up with a good link between the two but mostly failed. The 4th of July celebrates independence (or it should) and yet it also stands as a moment in American history when some declared freedom from Britain while others remained enslaved. A comic on the radio said it was easier for African Americans to have selective amnesia around things like 4th of July celebrations. I think we all need some amnesia regarding this country. It can produce some of the most stunning heroes of our time, like Dr. King, while also allowing horrifying bigotry and ignorance. I made the mistake of switching on NPR after visiting the Museum and Scott Simon, whose voice is the embodiment of mellifluous, was describing Trump’s 4th of July speech—all filled with hate and fear mongering. How do we untangle all the wonderfully spectacular threads that make up America when they can get so buried in such pure shit?

Now we are at an RV park along the Mississippi River. It is very pleasant, with a breeze and all the RVs backed up right onto the river. I got the kids some fireworks. We’ll light them off and probably chat with some of our neighbors here. The sparks will light up over this old river and we’ll all think of America.

Dante with the Mississippi flowing behind him