We Press On

Phil. 3:14 Paul said, “I press on….” We Press On

Growing up on the South side of Chicago was different than living in the suburbs. It certainly never lacked for excitement. I can remember as a little kid asking my older brother what should we do tonight.

“I dunn no. I guess we could go watch the race riot.” Race riots went on most every night. It was just a few blocks West over in Fernwood. It meant we would get to see a whole bunch of neat police motorcycles. I loved those police motorcycles. As many as 50 lined up trying to keep the most violent white guys back. It was heady stuff being able to talk with the cops who were so impressive in their black uniforms with their gold and silver badges. They even let us run our hands over those beautiful shiny fenders. They were so polite with us kids.

I remember asking one officer, “What’s goin on?”

Like a patient teacher talking to a student he said, “Well some colored folks moved into this White neighborhood and our job is to protect them. We are here to protect folks regardless if they are colored or white. They both are equal to us. They have the same rights.”

I never heard it put that way before. Especially that word, equal.

That’s where it started for me.

It was punctuated that night about three in the morning when I heard yelling in our back yard. An elderly Black man was crying for mercy. He was bloodied from a gang of Whites who pulled him from a car on State Street where we lived. Why would people be so mean and hateful just because he drove into the White neighborhood at night?

Years later we were standing at the end of a long March in Montgomery Alabama. It was the grand conclusion of the Selma March. We were like a giant victorious army. We carried no weapons. I do remember some of our folks carrying Bibles.

Rev. King had just finished his glorious triumphant sermon. Governor George Wallace could be seen looking dejected along side the drapes in his office window. Network news teams were interviewing some of the clergy who wore clerical collars. It was the only time I ever got on national TV.

That was it. Right had won over hate and meanness-so I thought at that moment.

“Let’s grab a taxi to the airport to beat the rush”, I said to Jon Hinkamp, a fellow minister from Brooklyn. Jon stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me with shock in his eyes. “Are you Nuts? You would be crazy to get into a cab here with that collar on.” Taxis in Montgomery in those days were driven only by Whites. The war was not over.

Indeed, one of our White marchers, a 39 year old mother of 5, Mrs. Viola Luizzo from Detroit was murdered that same night by Klansmen.

The victory was short lived. We had to press on. And we did. And we never turned back. We Press on…..

There’s a lot of hate, anger and even meanness still out there. But we press on.