The autobiography of martin luther

in movement had pointed up the injustices and indignities that Ne-

groes were facing all over the South, and for this reason he had'

reevaluated many of these things.

John Kennedy did not have the grasp and the comprehension of

the depths of the problem at that time, as he later did. He knew

that segregation was morally wrong and he certainly intellectually

committed himself to integration, but I could see that he didn't have

the emotional involvement then. He had not really been involved

enough in and with the problem. He didn't know too many Negroes

personally. He had never really had the personal experience of

knowing the deep groans and passionate yearnings of the Negro for

freedom, because he just didn't know Negroes generally and he

hadn't had any experience in the civil rights struggle. So I felt that it

was an intellectual commitment.

A few months later, after he had been nominated, I talked with

him over at his house in Georgetown, and in that short period he

had really learned a great deal about civil rights and had been ad-

vised rather well. I'd had little enthusiasm when he first announced

his candidacy, but I had no doubt that he would do the right thing

on the civil rights issue, if he were elected President.

He was very much concerned then about the election and possi-

bly losing. Some of his friends were concerned about this and felt he

had to do something dramatic to convince the nation of his commit-

ment to civil rights. Some of the advisors thought that he should

come South and make a civil rights speech in the South which would

really convince people. They wanted him to come under my auspices

to speak for a board meeting or a dinner sponsored by SCLC. I told

him I just couldn't do that unless Mr. Nixon came, because we were

a nonpartisan organization. I said, "Now Nixon may not come but

I would have to invite him." But they felt, naturally, that it wouldn't

work that way. So I kind of backed out on that idea because I

thought it would be a mistake.

For many months during the election campaign, my close

friends urged me to declare my support for John Kennedy. I spent

many troubled hours searching for the responsible and fair decision.

I was impressed by his qualities, by many elements in his record,

and by his program. I had learned to enjoy and respect his charm

and his incisive mind. But I made very clear to him that I did not

endorse candidates publicly and that I could not come to the point

that I would change my views on this.

"I didn't know where they were taking me"

Nevertheless, I was grateful to Senator Kennedy for the genuine con-

cern he expressed about my arrest in October 1960 because of my

participation in nonviolent efforts to integrate lunch counters in At-

lanta, Georgia. I took part in the lunch counter sit-ins at Rich's de-

partment store as a follower, not a leader. I did not initiate the thing.

It came into being with the students discussing the issues involved.

They called me and asked me to join in. They wanted me to be in it,

and I felt a moral obligation to be in it with them.

I was arrested along with some two hundred eighty students in a

sit-in demonstration seeking to integrate lunch counters. I said when

I went in Fulton County Jail that I could not in all good conscience

post bail and that I would stay and serve the time if it was one year,

five, or ten years. Of course the students agreed to stay also.

If, by chance. Your Honor, we are guilty of violating the law, please

be assured that we did it to bring the whole issue of racial injustice

under the scrutiny of the conscience of Atlanta. I must honestly say that

we firmly believe that segregation is evil, and that our Southland will

never reach its full potential and moral maturity until this cancerous

disease is removed. We do not seek to remove this unjust system for

ourselves alone but for our white brothers as well. The festering sore of

segregation debilitates the white man as well as the Negro. So, if our

actions in any way served to bring this issue to the forefront of the

conscience of the community, they were not undertaken in vain.

And, sir, I know you have a legal obligation facing you at this hour.

This judicial obligation may cause you to hand us over to another court

rather than dismiss the charges. But, sir, I must say that I have a moral

obligation facing me at this hour. This imperative drives me to say that

if you find it necessary to set a bond, I cannot in all good conscience

have anyone go buy my bail. I will choose jail rather than bail, even if

it means remaining in jail a year or even ten years. Maybe it will take

this type of self-suffering on the part of numerous Negroes to finally

expose the moral defense of our white brothers who happen to be mis-

guided and thusly awaken the dozing conscience of our community.

they came to see after five or six days that we were not com-

ing out and that the community was getting very much concerned,

the merchants dropped the charges, which meant that everybody

^as released without bail immediately. But when I was released, they

served me with papers stating that I had violated my probation and

that I would be transferred to DeKalb jail and go on trial in the court

there.

DeKalb County and discovered I still had an Alabama driver's

license. Because of this, they gave me a ticket. I had gone to

court, and I didn't even know it at the time but the lawyer

pleaded guilty for me and they had fined me something like $25

or $50 and placed me on probation for I guess six months. It was

such a minor case; I didn't pay attention to it and never knew

that the lawyer had pleaded guilty. He had just told me, "I've got

everything worked out." He made me think it was clear and all I

needed to do was pay. Actually they later admitted in court that

LETTER TO CORETTA

Reidsville, Georgia

Hello Darling,

Today I find myself a long v^ay from you and the children. I am at the State

Prison in Reidsville which is about 230 miles from Atlanta. They picked me

up from the DeKalb jail about 4 o'clock this morning. 1 know this whole expe-

rience is very difficult for you to adjust to, especially in your condition of

pregnancy, but as I said to you yesterday this is the cross that we must bear

for the freedom of our people. So I urge you to be strong in faith, and this will

in turn strengthen me. I can assure you that it is extremely difficult for me to

think of being away from you and my Yoki and Marty for four months, but I

am asking God hourly to give me the power of endurance. I have the faith to

believe that this excessive suffering that is now coming to our family will in

some little way serve to make Atlanta a better city, Georgia a better state,

and America a better country. Just how I do not yet know, but I have faith to

believe it will. If I am correct then our suffering is not in vain.

I understand that I can have visitors twice a month—the second and fourth

Sunday. However, I understand that everybody—white and colored—can

have visitors this coming Sunday. I hope you can find some way to come

down. I know it will be a terrible inconvenience in your condition, but I want

to see you and the children very badly.

Eternally Yours,

Martin

October 26, 1960

and they really had nothing on the statute to reveal how long you

had to be in Atlanta before changing your license. So it was obvi-

ously a case of persecution.

I sat in the back of the courtroom while Mr. Charles M. Clayton,

a Negro attorney who represented me, talked with the judge. We had

this big trial and I had my lawyers arguing the case briUiantly and

after all of that the judge said six months of hard labor, and this was

not appealable.

So they took me back upstairs and put me in jail in the DeKalb

County Jail. Then early in the morning, about three o'clock in the

morning, they came and got me and took me to Reidsville. That was

the state prison some two hundred and twenty miles from Atlanta.

On the way, they dealt v«th me just like I was some hardened crimi-

nal. They had me chained all the way down to my legs, and they tied

my legs to something in the floor so there would be no way for me

to escape.

They talked with themselves. It was a long ride. I didn't know

where they were taking me; but finally I assumed it must be to one

of the state prisons after we had been gone so long. That kind of

mental anguish is worse than dying, riding for mile after mile, hun-

gry and thirsty, bound and helpless, waiting and not knowing what

you're waiting for. And all over a traffic violation.

"Kennedy exhibited moral courage"

When people found out that they had taken me out in the wee hours

of the morning and transferred me, there was real resentment all

over. I think people had already started talking to both Nixon and

Kennedy about doing something even when we were still in the Ful-

ton County Jail—saying to them that they should make a statement

about it. After they transferred me to Reidsville—in a segregated

cell-block, a place where inmates who had attacked guards, psychot-

ics, and other special cases were housed—Harris Wofford and others

strongly urged Mr. Kennedy to try to use his influence to do some-

thing about it, and he finally agreed.

The first thing he did was call my wife. She was pregnant, and

this was kind of a rough experience for her, so he called her and

J

expressed his concern. He said that he would do whatever he could

influence to get me released.

In the meantime, Robert Kennedy called the judge to find out

about the bond. I understand Robert Kennedy was really angry

about it, when they let him know all of the facts in the situation. In

that spirit of anger, he called the judge. I don't know what he said

in that conversation with the judge, but it was later revealed his main

point was "Why can't he be bonded out?" I was released the next

day. It was about two weeks before the election.

Senator Kennedy had served as a great force in making my release

firom Reidsville Prison possible. I was personally obligated to him

and his brother for their intervention during my imprisonment. He

did it because of his great concern and his humanitarian bent. I

would like to feel that he made the call because he was concerned.

He had come to know me as a person then. He had been in the

debates and had done a good job when he talked about civil rights

and what the Negro faces. Harris and others had really been talking

with him about it. At the same time, I think he naturally had politi-

cal considerations in mind. He was running for an office, and he

needed to be elected, and I'm sure he felt the need for the Negro

votes. So I think that he did something that expressed deep moral

concern, but at the same time it was politically sound. It did take a

little courage to do this; he didn't know it was politically sound.

I always felt that Nixon lost a real opportunity to express support

of something much larger than an individual, because this expressed

support for the movement for civil rights. It indicated the direction

that this man would take, if he became president.

And I had known Nixon longer. He had been supposedly close

to me, and he would call me frequently about things, seeking my

advice. And yet, when this moment came, it was like he had never

heard of me. So this is why I really considered him a moral coward

and one who was unwilling to take a courageous step and take a risk.

i\nd I am convinced that he lost the election because of that. Many

Negroes were still on the fence, still undecided, and they were lean-

ing toward Nixon.

ON RICHARD NIXON

First, I must admit that I was strongly opposed to Vice President

Nixon before meeting him personally. 1 went to him with an initial bias. I

remembered his statements against Helen Gahegen Douglas and also

the fact that he voted with the right wing of the Republican Party. These

were almost unforgivable sins for me at that time. After meeting the vice

president, however, I must admit that my impression somewhat changed.

I have frankly come to feel that the position and the world contacts of

the vice president have matured his person and judgment. Whether he

can have experienced a complete conversion, I cannot say. But I do be-

lieve that he has grown a great deal and has changed many of his for-

mer opinions.

Since I am quite interested in civil rights, I might say just a word con-

cerning his views at this point. I am coming to believe that Nixon is ab-

solutely sincere about his views on this issue. His travels have revealed

to him how the race problem is hurting America in international relations

and it is altogether possible that he has no basic racial prejudice. Nixon

happens to be a Quaker and there are very few Quakers who are preju-

diced from a racial point of view. I also feel that Nixon would have done

much more to meet the present crisis in race relations than President Ei-

senhower has done. . . .

Finally, I would say that Nixon has a genius for convincing one that

he is sincere. When you are close to Nixon he almost disarms you with

his apparent sincerity. You never get the impression that he is the same

man who campaigned in California a few years ago, and who made a

tear-jerking speech on television in the 1952 campaign to save himself

from an obvious misdeed. And so I would conclude by saying that if

Richard Nixon is not sincere, he is the most dangerous man in America.

Letter to Earl Mazo, September 2, 1958

My father had endorsed Nixon until that call. He knew about

my relations with Nixon, and I think he felt that Nixon would do a

good job on the civil rights question. I guess deep down within there

may have been a little of the religious feeling that a Catholic should

not be president. I'm sure my father had been somewhat influenced

by this, so that he had gone on record endorsing Nixon. After that

call, he changed, and he made a very strong statement.

I was grateful to Senator Kennedy for the genuine concern he

expressed in my arrest. After the call I made a statement to the press

thanking him but not endorsing him. Very frankly, I did not feel at

that time that there was much difference between Kennedy and

Nixon. I could find some things in the background of both men that

I didn't particularly agree with. Remembering what Nixon had done

out in California to Helen Gahegen Douglas, I felt that he was an

opportunist at many times who had no real grounding in basic con-

victions, and his voting record was not good. He improved when he

became vice president, but, when he was a congressman and a sena-

tor, he didn't have a good voting record.

With Mr. Kennedy, after I looked over his voting record, I felt at

points that he was so concerned about being president of the United

States that he would compromise basic principles to become presi-

dent. But I had to look at something else beyond the man—the peo-

ple who surrounded him—and I felt that Kennedy was surrounded

by better people. It was on that basis that I felt that Kennedy would

make the best president.

I never came out with an endorsement. My father did, but I

never made one. I took this position in order to maintain a nonpar-

tisan posture, which I have followed all along in order to be able to

look objectively at both parties at all times. As I said to him all along,

I couldn't, and I never changed that even after he made the call

during my arrest. I made a statement of thanks, and I expressed my

gratitude for the call, but in the statement I made it clear that I did

not endorse any candidate and that this was not to be interpreted as

an endorsement.

I had to conclude that the then known facts about Kennedy were

not adequate to make an unqualified judgment in his favor. I do feel

that, as any man, he grew a great deal. After he became president I

thought we really saw two Kennedys—a Kennedy of the first two

years and another Kennedy emerging in 1963. He was getting ready

to throw off political considerations and see the real moral issues.

Had President Kennedy lived, I would probably have endorsed him

in 1964. But, back at that time, I concluded that there was something

to be desired in both candidates.

16

THE ALBANY

Why Albany? Because Albany symbolizes the bastions of segregation

set upon by the compounded forces of morality and justice.

JANUARY 30, 1961

Kings' third child. Dexter Scott, is born

MAY 21

terminals are assaulted in Alabama, King addresses mass rally at

mob-besieged Montgomery church

DECEMBER 15

King arrives in Albany in response to telegram from Dr. W. G.

Anderson, head of the Albany Movement

DECEMBER 16

Is arrested with more than 700 Albany protesters

JULY 10, 1962

With Ralph Abernathy, is convicted of leading December protest;

begins serving a 45-day sentence

JULY 12

JULY 25

to atone for violence

JULY 27

Albany city hall prayer vigil ends in arrest

Leaves jail and agrees to halt demonstrations

In 1961 the Kennedy administration waged an essentially cautious

and defensive struggle for civil rights against an unyielding adver-

sary. As the year unfolded, executive initiative became increasingly

feeble, and the chilling prospect emerged of a general administration

retreat.

Negroes had manifested their faith by racking up a substantial

majority of their votes for President Kennedy. They had expected

more of him than of the previous administration. His administra-

tion appeared to believe it was doing as much as was politically pos-

sible and had, by its positive deeds, earned enough credit to coast on

civil rights. Politically, perhaps, this was not a surprising conclusion.

How many people understood, during the first two years of the Ken-

nedy administration, that the Negroes' "Now" was becoming as mil-

itant as the segregationists' "Never"?

Despite tormenting handicaps, Negroes moved from sporadic,

limited actions to broadscale activities different in kind and degree

fi-om anything done in the past. A new spirit was manifest in the

Negro's willingness to demonstrate in the streets of communities in

which, by tradition, he was supposed to step aside when a white man

strode toward him.

Areas such as Mississippi and rural Georgia, hitherto quiescent,

were churned into turbulence by registration campaigns and free-

dom rides. The change in spirit was even more dramatically exem-

plified by the Negroes' willingness, in communities such as Albany,

Georgia, to endure mass jailing.

Albany, Georgia, was a distillation of the tensions and conflicts

straining the social fabric of the contemporary South. On one side

were the segregationists who thought granite stubbornness was a

policy. On the other side were Negroes marching forward utilizing

nonviolence. Discrimination of all kinds had been simultaneously

brought under our sights: school segregation, denial of voting rights,

segregation in parks, libraries, restaurants, and buses.

The Negroes of Albany suffered in quiet silence. The throbbing

pain of segregation could be felt but not seen. It scarred Negroes in

every experience of their lives. They lived in segregation; they ate in

segregation; they learned in segregation; they prayed and rode and

worked and died in segregation. And in silence. A corroding loss of

self-respect rusted their moral fiber. Their discontent was turned

inward on themselves. But an end came with the beginning of pro-

test.

As Rosa Parks triggered the Montgomery bus protest, so the arrival

in December 1961 of eleven Freedom Riders had triggered the now

historic nonviolent thrust in Albany. This Freedom Ride movement

came into being to reveal the indignities and the injustices which

Negro people faced as they attempted to do the simple thing of trav-

eling through the South as interstate passengers. The Freedom Rides,

which were begun by the young, grew to such proportion that they

eventually encompassed people of all ages. As a result of this move-

ment, many achievements had come into being. The Interstate

Commerce Commission had said in substance that aU bus terminals

must be integrated. The dramatic Albany Movement was the climax

to this psychological forward thrust.

The Albany Movement, headed by Dr. W. G. Anderson, was al-

ready ftinctional and had developed a year-long history on the part

of the Negro community to seek relief of their grievances. The pres-

ence of staff and personnel of variegated human relations fields gave

rise to the notion that Albany had been made a target city, with the

ominous decision having been made months before—probably in a

"smoke-filled New York hotel room." The truth is, Albany had be-

come a symbol of segregation's last stand almost by chance. The

ferment of a hundred years' frustration had come to the fore. Socio-

logically, Albany had all the ingredients of a target city, but it could

just as easily have been one of a hundred cities throughout the deep

and mid South. Twenty-seven thousand Negroes lived in Albany,

Georgia, but a hundred years of political, economic, and educational

suppression had kept them hopelessly enslaved to a demonic,

though sophisticated, system of segregation which sought desper-

ately and ruthlessly to perpetuate these deprivations.

Negroes, wielding nonviolent protest in its most creative utiliza-

tion to date, challenged discrimination in public places, denial of