Where Were You When MLK Died?

We always seem to remember what we were doing when significant events happen in history like 9-11, JFK's assassination, etc.

I certainly remember what I was doing forty years ago when Dr. Martin Luther King was felled by an assassin's bullet. I had just turned 15 and was preparing to board an airplane for Lawton, Oklahoma, to visit my older brother, Grey, who was a newly commissioned artillery officer in the U.S. Army.

I was excited about the trip. It was the first time I had traveled that far alone. But I was also a bit nervous. On the second leg of my journey from Dallas to Lawton, the plane had to abort its take-off. Then I discovered that I might not be able to visit my brother at all.

Apparently, there was enough uncertainty about how the country would react to King's assassination, that some active duty military personnel, including my brother, were put on alert in case of massive rioting. Fortunately, calm prevailed and I was able to enjoy a few days with my brother.

Those were eventful and stressful days in 1968 for our country and my family. In a matter of weeks, Robert Kennedy would be assassinated.

The long, hot summer would bring anti-war and race riots from one end of the country to the other; and, within six-months, my brother would be sent to Vietnam.

Fortunately, he survived that year-long deployment and earned a Bronze Star for his service. Our country survived too. But it's hard to argue that many of the scars of 1968 remain.

It's funny how God's Providence works. Forty years to the week after visiting my brother, I would return to Ft. Sill, Oklahoma, this time with my wife, to visit our son who is following in his uncle's footsteps as a newly commissioned artillery officer in the U.S. Army.  Within a few months, he too will be serving his country in a controversial war.

My hope and prayer is that this war has a much more fruitful and speedy conclusion than the one that reached its violent pinnacle forty years ago.