When I joined the Foreign Service of the US Information Agency in 1963 (Edward R. Morrow, cigarette in hand, actually swore me in), I had to go through six months of rather boring training before going overseas. It was during this period that the March on Washington took place. On the day before the March, our training officers told us not to come to class the next day. We were to be in the March on Washington. While most of us had wanted to participate, we thought we’d be stuck in class that day. Nothing of the sort. We were to get ourselves down to the Mall and march.

It was truly an unforgettable experience, especially hearing the breathtaking “I have a dream” speech of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I’ll never forget it.

But were those training officers right! One of the first question I got hit with once I arrived at my first post (Dacca — now Dhaka — East Pakistan — now Bangladesh) was: Were you in the March on Washington?

It was truly a smart call by the training officers and a memorable experience!

Submitted: April 27, 2013

When I was 20 and a college sophomore at Columbia University, I spent the summer of 1963 in Washington as an intern in the office of Utah ’s Democratic Senator, Frank Moss. I therefore had an opportunity to attend the March on Washington. As I had been sending occasional articles about my DC experiences to the Logan (Utah) Herald Journal, the march was an obvious subject. My article was probably published in early September 1963.

[Note: the scanned article is included with permission of the Logan Herald Journal.]

Submitted: March 1, 2013

During the summer of 1963, I was working as a government employee at the Naval Surface Weapons facility in White Oak, Maryland. It was my third summer working there, earning money for my college education. I was drawn to civil service because of President Kennedy and drawn to an interest in the planned March on Washington in part because of him. Civil rights in general had been important to me and to my brother, A. Paul Meyer, who, at that time, was pastor of St. John’s Lutheran Church in Alexandria, Virginia. However, there was never any focus or imperative to the movement for me until I decided to join my brother and participate in the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. It was certainly a humbling, exhilarating, and profoundly meaningful day for me and my brother. From the start of the March from the Washington Monument, through to the end at the Lincoln Memorial there was a sense of purpose, with thousands of like-minded people marching peacefully but with a determination to make a difference in advancing freedom for African American brothers and sisters. The program at the Lincoln Memorial is history with impressive “Remarks” by many and meaningful musical contributions by Marian Anderson, Mahalia Jackson and the Eva Jessye Choir. But of course the remarks by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. gave the day a special significance for me and the thousands of participants. It was a hot day and drinking water was scarce but I recall little complaining. The day had been a profound one, catalyzing thousands, even politicians, to advance the actions for jobs and freedom.

So the day for me was something of a turning point. In some small way, I hope that I have advanced those principles that Dr. King articulated on that day. But there are also disappointments too in reflecting on that day 50 years ago. Too many of my Christian friends said “No” to participating in the March and “No” to the movement. And here we are today, 50 years later, still a nation struggling with injustices, for example, as noted recently in the Washington Post by Courtland Milloy (One example from his column: “ .. one in every 15 black men is incarcerated….”) So much more needs to be done. My brother and I won’t be around to assess the 75th anniversary, but it is our hope and prayer that it will be a victory celebration.

Submitted: February 20, 2013

I was a student at Antioch College in August 1963. I and a few friends watched three buses pull away on the way to Washington, DC to what promised to be an historic demonstration for civil rights. No sooner had they left when we looked at each other and said, “Really? Chem lab and studying is more important! Really?” and we climbed into a car and headed east for what turned out to be an historic demonstration. Shortly after arriving on the Mall, I was approached by a young man with multiple cameras around his neck. When he asked why I was at the demonstration, I said something silly about wondering the same thing because I had exams the next week. He said, “No seriously, I am with the Washington Post.” So, I found something responsible to say and the next day my photo and quote were in the Post. This day helped shape who I am today far more than the exams when I returned to campus.

Submitted: February 22, 2013

As Washington bureau chief for Jet and Ebony magazines, I directed coverage of the march by a team of reporters and photographers from across the country. The secret hysteria of the federal and local governments about a huge influx of civil rights demonstrators was evidenced on the eve of the march by warnings to area residents to stay home if they were not marching, and if they were, not to bring children. Government agencies closed and a Washington Senators ballgame was postponed. As demonstrators rolled into the District on buses, in cars, on trains, and some even on bicycles or roller skates, they were stunned to see armed troops on the street corners. What they did not know was that nearby military installations had been put on alert, ready to move in more troops if necessary. What the soldiers, the press and area residents who dared come out saw were tens of thousands of nicely dressed, — mostly in business attire — dignified and peaceful Americans of all races, carrying signs or wearing buttons communicating the righteousness of their cause. What folks today might not realize is that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. neither planned nor organized the march, although when it was over, it was clear that he would own it for all time. I wrote more about what I saw that day in my book, Shocking the Conscience: A Reporter’s Account of the Civil Rights Movement (Univ. Press of Miss., 2013), p. 224-225.

Submitted: February 18, 2013

I returned to Michigan from serving in the Peace Corps in 1963 and in August I prepared to go to a new job with former Peace Corps volunteers at Cardozo High School in Washington, DC. I arrived in Washington by train on August 27th so that I could join the March on Washington the next day.

During my time in the Peace Corps, I lived on a small island in the Philippines-Catanduanes. There was no water, electricity, etc. What saved me was my battery radio and the Voice of America. I also got old copies of Life and Look Magazines. I could not believe what was happening in my country when I listened to the radio at night and heard about the police beatings and killings of the Negro people back home.

On the morning of August 28th I went to All Souls Unitarian Church at 16th and Harvard NW and joined a group of women who were marching down to the Lincoln Memorial. The city was quiet. We moved easily down the streets and joined others with signs and songs. As I recall, it seemed to be something like a Sunday picnic with well dressed people gathering to celebrate and to ask for jobs and equal rights — also to end police brutality. I ended up somewhat near the right side of the Lincoln and could see some type of opening under that corner. That day was the beginning of my long and sorrowful time in Washington. In November, President Kennedy was assassinated and then came Malcolm X, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Robert Kennedy and the Vietnam war. I felt a terrible loss during the years after that hopeful day of August 28th 1963. I still feel that time and over the years have expressed my thoughts in paintings of the struggles of the time.

Submitted: February 16, 2013

I was there: newly arrived in Washington fresh out of Chapel Hill graduation, my office was at 12th & E Streets NW. A new friend, Mary Storm (from Frederick MD), and I casually joined the scads of people heading to the Mall and we spent hours there that day.

The “marchers” seemed almost serene in their demeanor and all were pleasant to Mary and me. The majority of the crowd was overwhelmingly black, and Mary & I were decidedly white. Never was there any discomfort in my being there. In fact, it was exhilarating and profound to be at what I had already realized was truly an historic event.

We were far back from the Lincoln Memorial, so Dr. King’s “I had a dream” speech was a bit removed from our vantage point, which was a drawback indeed.

I had been in earlier sit-ins as a student at UNC, but this crowd was totally different – not “confrontational”, not belligerent, not even “angry”. No, the crowd seemed simply happy to be at this destination. I am so grateful that I was there! Again, all I wanted was to be counted as a sincere devotee of civil rights for all. This opportunity was heaven-sent to do so – on a grand scale.

Submitted: February 11, 2013

I did attend the 1963 March on Washington. I went on a chartered bus from Princeton, NJ, where I was living at the time, leaving early in the morning. One of the most thrilling sights I have ever witnessed was to see the hundreds and hundreds of buses on the New Jersey Turnpike, all clearly going to the same place. Our group ended up on the Mall about a third of the way down from the Lincoln Memorial. I was so sleepy (from getting up so early) that I really didn’t “get” the import of all the words, but was happy just to be in the crowd (just like the 2009 Obama inauguration).

After the March, a bunch of us in Princeton founded a group we called “The Princeton Freedom Center,” which I ended up directing. That winter and spring, we recruited 14 Princeton students (undergrads and graduate students) for the 1964 Mississippi Summer. The organizers ran two one-week orientation sessions for the volunteers in Oxford, Ohio. I attended the first, to see what my volunteers were going to be doing—and found I was the only one there who wasn’t being assigned a spot in Mississippi. (I didn’t go because I was a single mother of a four-year-old.) During my orientation week I was asked to join the staff of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, and ran their New Jersey office until the next spring. At that point I moved back to Washington (my hometown) to work in the local SNCC office, whose director at the time was Marion Barry. I left SNCC that November (before the Black Power Movement would have kicked me out).

Submitted: February 13, 2013

MY THOUGHTS ON THE MARCH ON WASHINGTON, DC
MARTIN LUTHER KING . . . MARCH, 1963

I was a junior attending Dunbar High School (graduated in 1964).

There was a group of us who decided to go down to the Lincoln Memorial that day because it was something to do.

It turned out to be one of the most memorable things that I’ve done in my lifetime.

I have to speak of my parents . . . the late Mr. & Mrs. Joseph H. Whalen.

My parents were so ahead of themselves for they spoke of the same things that were in Dr. King’s speech. Civil Rights is not about the color of your skin for it goes further than that . . . it’s “Do unto others as you wish them to do unto you.”

I’ve always consider myself not just a Black American but several other things . . . a “Mutt”, female, artist.

Let me explain . . . (Mutt) my parents made a very conscious effort to let me know my entire heritage, which is Native American, Black Irish, German and most important an American Black.

I was in awe as Dr. King spoke, although we were a long distance away. You didn’t have to be up close. You felt the moment as the electricity flowed from person to person.

I looked around the crowd and there was excitement but there was also a sense of peace on the faces of everyone, a sense of purpose.

Strangers held hands, hugged because there was this single purpose. We were all there at first out of curiosity but we all realized that it went further than that.

I don’t think I truly realize the impact that day had on me until years later.

Being 16 years one doesn’t necessary understand the depth that a moment is going to mean to you.

As I went on to graduate from Dunbar High School and attend Howard University . . . I was introduced to the late Mary Craighill through a friend (George Faison).

Mary Craighill was the director of St. Mark’s Dance Studio / Company.

She choreographed a piece about interracial feelings and it premiered during the riots in Washington, DC after the assassination of Dr. King.

The piece was choreographed before the assassination but ended up being so profoundly right for the moment. It seemed like it was done on purpose. The performance was felt by all whom saw it; especially those of us who were on stage . . . the tears flowed heavily.

It was a way of stating that we are the same in the eyes of God.

That day on the mall has impacted my own choreography in a lot of ways.

I work with a group of young dancers and I’m always saying that through them I hope to show how we must be one, we must respect everyone.

I’m always talking about being a “care taker” . . . we all need to be care takers. Care takers in the sense of doing the right thing by everyone . . . not just the privilege few but every mankind / womankind.

Doctor King’s speak showed me what my parents meant by “do unto others as they do unto you”.

I’ve also been shown how things go full circle. My daughter did a “Black History” report on Doctor King’s speak; when she was in the 6th grade. I had at that time an old cassette recording of it. She very impressed with what he said. She is now 44 years old.

His speak will never be stale for as long as there are prejudices his words will ring out loudly.

Let’s hope that one day the words will run stale as mankind gives respect to all.

Submitted: February 11, 2013

Reflections on Participating in Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s August
28, 1963 March on Washington

Thank you for the opportunity to share some of my Civil Rights
experiences with a larger community, especially my first direct
experience with the Civil Rights movement and Dr. Martin Luther King,
Jr.

By way of background, I was born in Winsted, Connecticut, a town with
a population of about 10,000 of which only about 20 were Black. My
father, Abram Smith, was born a baby slave in Virginia in 1862. He was
70 years old when I was born; he died in a car accident when I was age
6. My mother, Clara Wheeler Smith, had been a young bride. A domestic
worker, she raised 8 children plus other foster children. We were very
poor.

Nevertheless, I attended and graduated from the only privately run
public school, Gilbert High School in Winsted, from which I graduated
in 1952. I was the only Black student in the school at the time. David
Halberstam and Ralph Nader were classmates. Although Connecticut was
traditionally a liberal state, with abolitionist leaders dating to the
1800s (John Brown was from nearby Torrington CT), as a boy and a young
man, I still faced discrimination socially and in housing as well as
the prejudice and stereotypes of the time.

After graduation, I was drafted into the US Army during the Korean
War. I served as a medic/operating room technician and scrub nurse in
the Army’s medical corps and also as a Red Cross Swimming Instructor
at the 121st Evacuation Hospital in Seoul, Korea. President Truman
integrated, by Executive Order, integration of the military in 1948.
While I did face some racial animosity, my experience in the Army was
very positive.

At the end of the war, I returned to attend Springfield College,
Mass., and graduated with a BS degree in general studies with minors
in sociology and psychology. During my four years at Springfield, the
Civil Rights movement was in progress, with Rosa Parks laying the
foundation in 1955 for the future Alabama Bus Boycott with Dr. Martin
Luther King, Jr.’s leadership.

Following graduation from Springfield College, I accepted a position
at Norwich State Hospital A 3000 bed state mental institution, where I
was a social worker covering the geriatric unit and the maximum
security ward in the Salmon Building. It was there that I met Barry
Fritz, a Jewish psychologist and Civil Rights advocate from New York
doing graduate study for his PhD. We worked together along with other
young male and female interns and residents from other states and
countries in a co-ed, integrated professional housing complex. Along
with others in that group, we often after work spent time discussing
the pro’s and con’s of life in the United States and the impact of
full racial integration on American society.

When Dr. King’s planned March on Washington became a topic of
discussion in the early summer of 1963. Our discussions centered
around three key issues:
(1) The purpose of the march and what it would accomplish;
(2) Safety and medical attention for participants who might be
involved in riots during the march.
(3) Whether Civil Rights was a problem for the South to solve and was
not a Connecticut or northern or national problem.

As the march date drew closer to August, Barry Fritz and I debated
our going to Washington to participate in it. Most of our professional
colleagues thought we were “nuts” to go and put ourselves in
harm’s way. Finally, it was Barry who convinced me that he and I
should journey to Washington DC to show our support for Dr. King and
the Civil Rights Movement.

We used Barry’s car for the eight-hour trip south. We were filled
with anxiety the closer we got to DC. We entered the nation’s
capital via New York Avenue. Much to our surprise, we were met by a
white motorcycle police officer who was extremely polite, professional
and helpful. He acted as an escort, and we followed him to a white
home. We were told that the owners were members of the Student
Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) headed by John Lewis (now
Congressman from Georgia) or the Southern Christian Leadership
Conference (SCLC). (I don’t recall which.)

I remember distinctly asking our hosts if the DC restaurants and
hotels were segregated or open for all, and they assured us that they
were. They invited us to spend the night in their attic, which we did
with about 20 other marchers from all over the country, using sleeping
bags and floor mats on a nice oak floor. We were provided doughnuts,
coffee and orange juice the next morning.

I don’t remember how far our housing was from the Lincoln Memorial,
but I do recall how the street simply filled up with orderly,
well-dressed black and white marchers. Walking with the packed crowd
past the Washington Monument, it took Barry and me about two hours to
reach the Reflecting Pool at the base of the Lincoln Memorial. Along
the way, a newspaper reporter asked one of our marchers, “What do
the Negros want?” The reply was “Equal rights under the law – no
more, no less.”

As one who considered himself a group dynamics expert and organizer,
I marveled at the size of the crowd and the unity of expressed
purpose. I had witnessed great crowds and crowd control while serving
in the military, but this was just a mass of people of all races,
genders and religions singing “We Shall Overcome” and marching
with determined faces, yet in a “festive” mode. There were women
pushing infants in baby carriages and fathers with children on their
shoulders. There were nuns, priests and rabbis, men in military
uniforms, youth dressed in boy scout uniforms, and union members
passing out literature and pins.

In short, the Reflecting Pool was surrounded by a living sea of
humanity, all trying to get closer to the Lincoln Memorial to see and
hear Dr. King speak. Some people perched in trees, others waded into
the pool, while others sat and dangled their feet to cool them from
the hot pavement. Barry and I worked our way through the crowd, to
almost within 100 feet of the podium at the end of the Reflecting Pool
where Dr. King was to speak. (Facing the Lincoln Memorial we were on
the left side.)

There was a “buzz” in the crowd because of John Lewis, who was
considered a “firebrand” because he was using stronger, more
inflammatory language in his speech than the march leaders felt
appropriate for the event. Because of this, there was even a question
of whether John Lewis would be allowed to address the marchers. He
subsequently spoke, however, and received strong applause.

The other crowd “buzz” was whether President Kennedy would appear
and address the marchers. He did not. (Indeed, Barry and I had
predicted that he would not come because of security reasons.) But we
all were thrilled when Mahalia Jackson, one of the most noted gospel
singers of the time, sang one of her classic songs, “Take My Hand,
Precious Lord.”

Of course, there were many other speakers. But the one we all waited
for was Dr. King, who came on the stage in mid afternoon and delivered
his powerful “I Have a Dream” speech. We were all transfixed.

There was an amusing moment too, when Dr. King spoke of having a
dream of little black boys and girls walking hand in hand together
with little white boys and white girls. Barry jokingly said, “Do you
think maybe Dr. King has gone too far?” I just laughed. (I already
knew that day was here.)

We all joined in great applause afterwards. Many around us – Barry
and I too – had tears in our eyes. Afterwards, it ended with all of us
once again, singing, “We Shall Overcome.”

Barry and I drove back to Connecticut fulfilled. We understood that
we had been involved in a truly historical American event, one that
included all races and was not mired in riots but was, in fact,
peaceful in all respects.

Postscript:

Subsequently, I moved to Alabama and became a student at Tuskegee
Institute School of Veterinary Medicine but left to work in the Civil
Rights Movement. I served as associate director of Tuskegee’s Summer
Education Program (serving disadvantaged students in 12 counties of
rural Alabama). I later became the executive director in Lowndes
County, Alabama, of a Sargent Shriver anti-poverty program battling
Governor George Wallace and nearly lost my life by the Ku Klux Klan.
(Lowndes County was the actual home of the Black Panther Party, where
Viola Liuzzo, a white Civil Rights worker from Detroit, was shot and
killed by the KKK.)

Dr. King’s words continued to inspire me, and I walked with him on
another march, the one from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama. I
subsequently came to Washington DC and accepted a position in federal
government in the Office of Economic Opportunity (OEO).

Barry Fritz went on to finish his PhD and, at my suggestion, came to
Alabama to work as the evaluation director at the Tuskegee
Institute’s Summer Education Program (TISEP). He became a prominent
professor of psychology at Connecticut’s Quinnipiac College. He died
in 2004.

Submitted: February 6, 2013