The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone 13)

If I had sneezed I wouldn’t have been here in 1963, when the black people of Birmingham, Alabama, aroused the conscience of this nation, and brought into being the Civil Rights Bill.

If I had sneezed I wouldn’t have had a chance later that year, in August, to try to tell America about a dream that I had.

If I had sneezed I wouldn’t have been down in Selma, Alabama, to see the great movement there.

If I had sneezed I wouldn’t have been here in Memphis to see a community rally around those brothers and sisters who are suffering.

I’m so happy that I didn’t sneeze.

I left Atlanta this morning, and as we got started on the plane there were six of us. The pilot said over the public address system, “We are sorry for the delay, but we have Dr. Martin Luther King on the plane. And to be sure that all of the bags were checked, and to be sure that nothing would be wrong on the plane, we had to check out everything carefully. And we’ve had the plane protected and guarded all night.”

And then I got into Memphis.

Some began to say the threats, or talk about the threats that were out. What would happen to me from some of our sick white brothers? I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead.

But it really doesn’t matter with me now, because I’ve been to the mountaintop.

And I don’t mind.

Like anybody, I would like to live a long life.

Longevity has its place.

But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain.

And I’ve looked over.

I’ve seen the promised land.

I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight that we, as a people, will get to the promised land.

And so I’m happy tonight.

I’m not worried about anything.

I’m not fearing any man.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

I’d heard that speech several times. But only bits and pieces. Highlights. Never this much at one sitting. But reading it now, knowing what I knew about what happened the day after, I was moved in a powerful way. I had to admit, given the context as described by Foster, King’s words sounded like those of a man who knew he was about to die. Not in a decade. Or a few years. Or even in a week.

Now.

“He spoke of mortality that night,” Foster said. “His own, but only he and I knew the true immediacy. It was an amazing speech. His voice rose and fell in calculated waves, controlling the audience’s emotions like a drum major would with a band. Not a note in front of him. Every word conceived as he spoke. There was lots of applause and verbal affirmations. I felt like I was at church on Sunday. When he uttered those last words, Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, he turned from the podium and nearly collapsed into Abernathy’s arms. He seemed totally spent. As if he’d completed all he wanted to do.”

My mind stood still, blank and bare, but I wanted to know, “Why didn’t you just tell Coleen all of this?”

His face collapsed onto itself, retreating behind folds of slackened flesh as the guilt, grief, and regret again took hold. “I couldn’t.”

“I don’t see why not.”

He reached for the switch on the reel-to-reel recorder.

“Listen.”

King: It’s going to be okay, Ben. Really, it is.

Foster: I will have to live with this for the rest of my life. It’s not right of you to ask this of me.

King: I agree. I have no right. But you’re all I have. You’re my friend, Ben. My dear friend. We both know that my fate has been sealed for a long time. We all knew that one day some damn fool would kill me. Thankfully, that didn’t happen back when we had so much to accomplish.

Foster: We still have things to accomplish.

King: They’ll be done, just not with me alive. I was once the voice of the Negro in this country. That is not the case anymore. Other voices have risen louder. Ones that, sadly, shout destruction and violence. We have to silence them. As Gandhi said, There are many causes I would die for. There is not a single cause I would kill for. We have to make sure our folks don’t forget that.

Foster: Yet you ask me to kill you.

King: Yes, I do. And I apologize for that. But if a man hasn’t found something he’s willing to die for, he isn’t fit to live. My cause. My race. They are both worth dying for. I’m ready to be at peace, Ben. Something else Gandhi said has stuck in my mind of late. First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win. I’m ready to win.

Foster: You have.

King: Not entirely.

[PAUSE]

Foster: Do you ever want the world to know what you did?

King: I’ve thought on that. So let me say this to those listening to this recording. If physical death is the price a man must pay to free his children and his white brethren from a permanent death of spirit, then nothing can be more redemptive. But that can only succeed if we take the high road. Leave the low road to others. If we stay the course that has already been set, I firmly believe we will see the promised land. Here’s my answer to your question. Wait fifty years before ever saying a word about any of this. If you survive to that day, make the decision then. My dream is that in fifty years the Negro will be in the promised land. If you come to join me with God before fifty years have passed, then only you and I will ever know what we’ve done. Take the secret to your grave. In this, Ben, I will trust you and you alone.

Foster switched off the machine. “I’ve respected his wish. It’s what he died for, so I could not violate that trust. I knew my life, from that day on, would come with conditions. Prudence being one of those. I’ve kept silent, and that silence included my wife and Coleen. A little over thirty years have now passed on the fifty, and I’m still breathing.”

The implications of what I was hearing weighed heavy. But I needed to know more. “Where did King get the idea to use the FBI to make it happen?”

“That was the ironic part. Hoover himself provided the spark. That note he sent to King’s house back in ’65, which suggested suicide.”

I recalled the wording.

King, there is only one thing left for you to do. You know what it is. There is but one way out for you. You better take it before your filthy, abnormal, fraudulent self is bared to the nation.

“Martin eventually came to believe Hoover was right. Death was the only route that would work, but not for the reasons Hoover wanted. That note, though, did convince Martin that Hoover wanted him dead. It’s what got him thinking in such a dark direction. Starting in late summer of ’67, he had me drop hints and suggestions to Jansen. Test the waters, lead them our way. Finally, as you heard on the cassette, I came right out and proposed it to them. They could have said no. Rejected the whole idea. But they didn’t. No one was more shocked by that than me. I was so hoping they would not go down that road.”

I saw the stress of the past few days etched into his face.

“Martin and I talked many times about mortality,” Foster said. “He meant what he said in Memphis the night before he died. There was something to be said for longevity. He would have preferred to live a long life. But he was smart enough to know when to quit, and persuasive enough to convince me that his way was the right way. So I did what he asked of me.”

“He just walked out on the balcony at the Lorraine Motel and stood there to be shot?”

“That’s exactly what he did. I was below in the parking lot with the others. When he came out to the railing, I said a prayer. He’d been specifically told not to be out in the open like that. But Martin did what Martin wanted to do, so no one questioned him. The mood that evening was light. Everyone felt good. We’d won in court. The second public march was going to happen. Things were working out. We were all headed to dinner at a local preacher’s house. Only I knew Martin would not be coming

with us. Two hours earlier, Jansen had told me it was definitely going to happen.”

Foster’s gaze went distant.

“That rooming house, where Ray found his perch, offered the perfect angle to the balcony at the Lorraine. The bathroom had a straight line of sight, so Ray positioned himself there, standing in a tub, the rifle out the window. One shell loaded. That’s all. Just one. The man had confidence.”

Or was just an idiot.

Hard to know for sure.

“Martin was leaning over the railing when the bullet struck, his back toward Ray, proving what he’d said the night before at the Masonic Temple. A man can’t ride your back unless it is bent. Those words flashed through my brain the instant I heard the shot. I also recall him smiling. Just as he turned to go back into his room for a coat. He died with a smile on his face.”

Foster pointed at the recorder.

“There’s a little more on the tape.”