When I was 8 years old, my mother gave me a litany of things to do to improve my speech and drama. I had passed those first two years in grammar school with flying colors. But during that third year in grammar school, my teacher informed me that I needed to work on my diction.
My writing was fine and dandy, but my speech made me sound like an Elmer Fudd; if you can imagine a third grader clad in his white shirt with his black suspenders on and blue denim overalls, afraid to lift his hand because being in embarrassed is no laughing matter, but that was me.
The year was 1963, a celebratory time for African Americans.
During that era, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. led the second march on the national mall.
Even though none of my contemporaries made the trip to Washington D. C. that year, the resident of my hometown watched the proceedings on television.
I remember where Dr. King stood when he made his “I have a dream” speech — at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial.
Nearly 250,000 people congregated on the national mall that day to show their moral support and solidarity to the civil right leader.
The crowd was of the color of the rainbow — the people were not of any particular hue, but represented the multicultural heritage of all races.
It was a celebratory time in America, a centennial celebration of the release of the American slave from human bondage, that historic signing of the Emancipation Proclamation by Abraham Lincoln.