An August day in 1963

I no longer remember how the day started nor do I remember what it was that convinced me that I should grab all my pocket money and head off to the bus stop and take the long ride into Washington DC. I had taken the bus into the city a few times with my dad to spend a day at his work, go to museums and once we went to the National Archives. I also used this same bus to get to the local shopping strip and buy candy from Mr. Ayers’ five and dime.

So with all this change and perhaps a few mangled dollars in my pocket and I set out to catch the bus. I had several blocks to consider the complete unknown that I was heading off towards; like the length of the trip and whether I would need a transfer but I was resolved to witness an event unlike any I had ever seen. I was on my way to see the Great March on Washington DC. I was on my way to see Dr. King and stand with thousands of other folks in front of the Lincoln Memorial to listen to music and hear great speeches.

I now know that the trip from my home in Arlington VA to the Lincoln Memorial is barely eight miles but at that young age it seemed more like fifty. As I walked to the bus I thought about the long ride and the thousands of strange people. I had no idea what such a gathering would look like or if I would be afraid in such a crowd. I got to the stop and watched the bus climb the small hill where once, before Route 66 changed the landscape, N. Sycamore St. met Fairfax Drive.

My heart was racing; this was going to be a day of days - I thought about my mom at work, I hadn’t told her of my plans - as a matter of fact nobody knew what I was planning. The bus door opened, I ascended the first step, my knees buckled and I turned and ran home as fast as my 12 year old legs would carry me.

Today is January 17, Martin Luther King Day and almost 48 years have passed since that day in August but I still remember that turning to get off the bus before the door could close like it just happened. I was just twelve and about to embark on an adventure for which I had no permission and perhaps, in hindsight should have had a chaperone (I don’t know). But it has always haunted me that I didn’t allow that bus door to close behind me.