Day Six: Weary Feet, Rested Souls - Montgomery

I'm almost embarrassed to return to this time honored paraphrase of a Montgomery Bus Boycott participant when asked how she was holding up after months of steering clear of the city bus lines. I use it while teaching; I introduced it to our students on tour; it is currently my facebook status update; it is the title from an on-line journal I wrote while on tour with a University of Virginia group led by Julian Bond (see http://historytravels.blogspot.com).

But, I refuse to apologize for overuse of a perfect visual for what my students and I are feeling on Day Six of our tour. We've endured three-days of 90+ degree heat (reached 100 today) and stifling humidity. We reached the 1,600 mile mark on the bus today. Any drive longer than 20 minutes, and everyone in the group is sound asleep, save me and my wife, Molly--our support vehicle driver. Dinners seldom happen until after 8 or 9 o'clock. Lunches are always on the run to the next venue. Pool time in the hotel seems ubiquitously cut short due to time constraints.



I witnessed the group reach a critical turning point at the close of our tour through Montgomery today. And it surprised me, I must admit. My expectations prepared me for the gripe-fest and selfish overtones that generally accompany a week away from familiar surroundings--comfy pillows and bed, mom's home cookin', and that well-worn chair in the living room. I had steadied myself not to react to any negative vibes coming from exceedingly tired young folk (I've seen the worst happen in college groups overseas and have been one of the "ready to get home at any cost" tour participants a time or two, also).

But, at the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church Parsonage, the Stratford-Richardson teens, instead of falling into the tour malaise, individually approached me (on their own terms) and thanked me for allowing them to be on the trip. It was a heartfelt moment--honest to the core. I had to fight back the proud parent moment that usually makes me grab my children and pull them close in a bear hug.



Maybe it was our destinations today that made the difference. We walked through Dexter Avenue Baptist Church (King's first appointment as pastor). The students learned that the building was constructed on property that had once been a Montgomery slave pen--only a stone's throw from the state capitol of Alabama. They each stood behind the pulpit that King used, imagining themselves stirring a crowd into action with a rhetorical flourish. They walked though the King family home in Montgomery, considering the humble environs and relieved to know that terrorist bombers in 1956 did not harm anyone with their unwarranted attack--and amazed that King demanded a non-violent reaction in the face this unjust deed. At the Civil Rights Memorial Center of the Southern Poverty Law Center, the students were introduced to 40 martyrs of the Movement. Moreover, they were encouraged to participate in the ongoing battles against injustices big and small by placing their names on the Wall of Tolerance. This act would now make them participants of the Movement--no longer simply students. To their credit, every student, adult, and even my young children signed the pledge. Their names now cascade down the Wall with the likes of Julian Bond and Morris Dees.



But as I look for an explanation of the positive turning point on our trip--where many begin to turn somewhat sour, I realize that I need only to look at the young men and women themselves. In the short time I've know them, they have matured beyond their years. Now, true, they still know how to be silly and have fun, but they are forever changed through this experience. My sense is that not only do each of them realize this, but they are beginning to embrace the possibilities.