By John M. Williams
I was in Washington, DC on August 28, 1963 when Martin Luther King gave his immortal I Have a Dream speech. I was visiting a great aunt and uncle who lived on Connecticut Avenue in Northwest. My uncle Tommy O’Toole had retired on June 30, 1963 from the police force serving the White House. President John F. Kennedy attended his retirement party. My uncle and aunt had invited me to visit them before I started college the following week. I had arrived on August 25 and was leaving on the 30th.
My uncle was not feeling well and declined to attend the March, but he had a retired police officer friend of his accompany me to the march. It was warm that day, and very cloudy. My aunt insisted that I take an umbrella. I did.
We arrived at the Reflecting Pool mid-morning. I can’t tell you how w got to the Reflecting Pool from my uncle’s place. I remember we parked in a lot on 14th and walked to the Reflecting Pool. My uncle’s friend used his connections with the police to get us a standing room only place about 200 yards from the Lincoln Memorial. Tens of thousands of people were all ready there and tens of thousands of people were arriving throughout the day. I saw about 20 African-Americans for every Caucasian. There were Hispanics, Asians and Native Americans, though they were in smaller numbers than the 20-to-1 ratio. I had a powerful pair of binoculars. My uncle loaned them to me. I could me more than a mile. During the day I spotted such notables, besides Martin Luther King, as Charlton Heston, Sidney Poitier, Harry Belafonte, Joan Baez, Peter, Paul and Mary, maybe Paul Newman and others. The binoculars were nearly glued to my eyes throughout most of the day.
Even though I was 18, I understood the gravity of the goals behind the march. African Americans wanted full citizenship. They wanted better schools. They wanted better jobs. They wanted voting rights. They wanted an end to segregation. They wanted an end to the killings, beatings and lynchings. They wanted decent housings. They wanted an end to apartheid. They wanted to be Americans. I supported their goals.
I was overwhelmed by the numbers of people. I was overwhelmed by the peacefulness of the cloud. I was overwhelmed by the integration of myself into the crowd. I was accepted by the African-Americans as a brother. I was not an enemy. Neither was my companion.
I joined hands with the people to sing a number of Negro spirituals, including We Shall Overcome. I did my best to follow the words.
I was there for hours before the speeches started. Except for Martin Luther King’s speech, I do not remember anything any of the speakers said. The most famous pat of his speech appears below.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today!
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of “interposition” and “nullification” — one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today!
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.”2
This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.
With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
And this will be the day — this will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning:
My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my father’s died, land of the Pilgrim’s pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.
And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.
Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.
Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that:
Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.
From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual
Free at last! Free at last!
Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!
I was thunder struck by the speech. Everybody there was. The crowd roared and clapped, shouted and shouted and clapped. They loved his message. I knew this was an historic moment that I would always remember.
During supper, I discussed the day’s events with my aunt and uncle. They were glad I attended. So was I. I still am glad I was there!