From Marion, Ala., to the mountaintop of the dream

Ebony, Nov, 1995 by Coretta Scott King

When the first issue of Ebony appeared in November 1945, I was a freshman, one of six Black students in Antioch College, where my older sister, Edythe, had enrolled as the first Black student two years before. My situation was unusual for an African-American in the mid-1940s, because I had daily interaction with White people on an ostensibly equal footing. This gave me a belief that relations between the races could be much better than what I and millions of Blacks had experienced.

Despite having experienced my share of racial discrimination and myriad indignities in the years leading up to college, I had some positive interracial experiences. I attended Lincoln High School, a semi-private school for Black, youngsters located in Marion, Ala. The faculty and administration at Lincoln were half-White and half-Black, and they lived together in integrated dormitories. At Lincoln I was exposed to genuinely caring White teachers who were dedicated to helping Blacks get a decent education. One of the teachers, Dr. Frances Thomas, remains a dear friend to this day. I had looked forward to the higher level of racial tolerance that was part of Antioch's reputation. My sister had written letters about her positive experiences. I also found the people at Antioch to be friendly and accepting, and there was a great spirit of community. But, in time, I learned that the attitudes of many of them had not escaped the deeply rooted racism of society.

My sister pointed out, for example, that she seemed to always be asked for her opinions about race relations issues and felt she was expected to be the spokesperson for the Black race. In one instance in my senior year, I was supposed to do some practice teaching at a public elementary school attended by White children. But my supervisor, who was reported to have once said that God never intended for the races to mix, informed me that I had to teach at an all-Black, segregated school nine miles away. She said that if we pushed to have me do my practice teaching at the public school, which had no Black teachers, Antioch could lose all of its practice teaching privileges. Unfortunately, the president of Antioch supported her, despite my protests.

I refused to teach at the segregated school, and I received some support from two faculty members (one White, and the only Black member) and a couple of students. Eventually, however, I had to accept a compromise, in which I was allowed to do my practice teaching at Antioch's private elementary school, for which I received a teaching certificate. This incident enhanced my determination to challenge racism, and I became active in the campus NAACP chapter and committees dealing with race relations and civil liberties.

About that time I remember a magazine in a friend's home catching my eye. As I read through it, I was pleased to find that this new magazine, so boldly titled Ebony, was not only about us and for us, but by us, as well. Just the fact that there was now a first-rate magazine that spoke to our experience provided a sense of racial pride and accomplishment. Ebony represented to me a significant milestone in the growth of our self-awareness and identity as a people, and I have read it regularly since then.

I left Antioch for Boston in 1951 to attend the New England Conservatory of Music, where there were only about 15 or so Black students. While I saw no "White only" signs in Boston, we did not feel welcome at many restaurants, clubs and social events.

In February 1952, 1 met a young postgraduate student, an ordained minister, who was working on his Ph.D. in systematic theology. We began a courtship, and I soon became aware that he was not only personally appealing, but also a creative thinker with an intense social consciousness. We had many long discussions in which he shared his interpretations of the great philosophers and theologians. He was extremely interested in finding some way to apply his Christian beliefs in the struggle against racism.

Meeting Martin Luther King Jr. was a decisive turning point in my life. Just as he was being prepared for leadership, I feel now that I was somehow being prepared to be his wife and helpmate in the nonviolent revolution he was to lead. We married in 1953 and the following year we moved to Montgomery, Ala., where Martin had accepted a pastorate at Dexter Avenue Baptist Church. The 1954 U.S. Supreme Court decision in Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka declaring racial segregation in public schools unconstitutional was a political earthquake, and I remember the excitement we felt about new hope for racial justice in society.

In December 1955, the Montgomery Bus Boycott was launched. On the first day of the boycott, Martin was elected president and spokesperson of the newly formed Montgomery Improvement Association and he was propelled into the forefront of our centuries-long march to freedom.

The changes wrought by the Civil Rights Movement under Martin's leadership in a relatively short period (less than 13 years) have transformed America. As a result of the Montgomery Bus Boycott, the U.S. Supreme Court ordered the desegregation of public transportation. The Civil Rights Act of 1964, passed as a direct result of die successful nonviolent campaign against desegregation in Birmingham and the 1963 March on Washington, desegregated restaurants, hotels, parks and other public accommodations. The Voting Rights Act of 1965, passed as a result of the Selma-to-Montgomery March for Voting Rights, provided much-needed protection of our right to vote without out interference and has had a profound influence on the way this nation is governed.