EXCERPT FROM “A DEFIANT KING” IN MY SELMA BY WILLIE MAE BROWN

Once inside the church, Mama and I found seats as fast as we could because it was filling
up quickly. We sat three rows in front of the pulpit on the right side, where two of Mama’s
friends, ushers, came over to talk to us. Mama asked them to stand in front of us while she
prayed. She said King was late and she felt the need to pray.
I didn’t understand what she meant at the time about King being late because most older
people called God King and it simply didn’t mean anything to me at the time when she said it.
One of the ushers sat behind me as the others stood. Mama was sitting, rocking, with her head
bowed, and started singing her prayer, but there was so much commotion only I could hear it:
Gotta call on you today, Lord.
Something’s happening here,
Got to call on you today to tell you about something going on here.
The Devil’s got loose in Alabama and he’s waging war on the people.
The Devil’s loose in Alabama.
He showed up in the seat of the house of power, Showed up on the police force,
Showed up in the White House,
He showed up on the roads in Alabama.
I want to tell you what we need you to do, Lord.
I want you to call Gabriel,
Telling him to perch the angels on the back roads, Perch them in the trees,
Seat them in all the churches,
You know what to do, Lord.
Help us, protect us, and stand by Martin Luther King
’cause he gone take us in the right direction.
He gone take us to Montgomery.
Be near him, Father. Aaahmen!
My mama finished praying and the ushers moved on. I was excited to see all the children,
men, and women— many we had never seen before. They all had come to see Kang, as they
would call him in a hard Southern accent. I looked around while Mama sat quiet. There was so
much movement and commotion as the ushers walked the aisles and helped to sit people.
Cameras with big bright lights and thick, snakelike cords were set up in the back. Ladies had
begun to fan themselves from the heat of the lights, and someone had started singing a song, and
after that someone else started a song, one that stayed in Mama’s head.
The songs weren’t always started from the beginning. Some were sung from the
middle . . . “Just like a tree that’s planted by the water . . .” As this beautiful singing went on, and
somebody was singing, and somebody was singing, and somebody was singing, people sat and
talked, laughed, and greeted each other with handshakes and hellos.
Someone came onstage and announced that everybody should try to find a seat. The
singing and joyful chatter stopped.
I was standing near my seat when suddenly I saw a man in a gray suit behind us pointing
in my direction, toward the dais. He screamed, “There he is! There Kang!”
I turned around to see as people rose up from their seats and started calling his name,
clapping, jumping, holding their heads, hugging each other, stomping, dancing, praising God.
“Kang, Kang, Kang! Dere he is.”
I didn’t feel Mama’s arms around me, pressing me to sit down. She had tears streaming
down her face when I finally heard her saying, “Sit down!”
I sat down but couldn’t take my eyes off this well-dressed, short, stocky man. He was
there! Right there in front of me. His face was brown and smooth, and the collar on his white
shirt was whiter than the ones we soaked in lye soap for Dah.
“Look, baby! Hundey! That’s Kang!” shouted Mama. “There he is! Whoo! Whoo-wee!
Yes, suhh! Thank you, Jesus! Kang! Kang! Kang!”
Clapping, more jumping. “Lord! Oh, Jesus, it’s going to be all right now! KAAANG!”
These were the chants and feelings and cries of the people in the church that evening. All the
people, young, colored, white. And the children, so many children. As the old people say, we
“tore the church up” with all our jumping and shouting.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. walked slowly across the dais, took his position on the pulpit,
and, looking out on the crowd, raised two well-cleansed palms. The people sat down and became
quiet. Only the rustling of fabric on the church benches and the shuffling of shoes could be
heard.
Then Dr. King began to speak, and the voice and the words were not on the TV or radio. I
was in front of him, and my mother was there. I heard him say: “We have the right to vote. Just
give us the ballot.” So surreal was his voice, which mesmerized me, and the charisma of the
time, with the unfolding of events and this giant of a man stepping forward to bring justice at any
cost to the people, hypnotized me.
I grew limp and trembled under the sound of his voice. His voice was like a dream, a
dream that I dreamt each day while listening to the radio. Mama grabbed hold of me and rocked
me back and forth as she listened to his words. My head lay on her chest and I could hear her
heart beating fast as her tears fell from her eyes and into my hair.
 Dr. King did not speak long. Soon he was ushered out the church as the loud enthusiasm
continued. By then we were all standing up to sing “We Shall Overcome,” with arms locked
together and swaying. We sang from the bottom of our hearts with smiles on our faces, smiles
that drank the flow of tears that ran from our eyes, with no hands to wipe them away because
everyone’s arms were locked together as we sang.
After Dr. King left, we heard from other speakers, but I don’t remember anything else.
Eventually we were dismissed. The people were so jubilant, leaving the church for home. One of
Dah’s friends offered us a ride that we accepted. Mama sat up front with the driver and his wife.
I sat in the back with two other people. Everyone talked about how well King spoke and how
good he looked. How he had outsmarted Jim Clark, the Dallas County sheriff who wanted to
prevent King from speaking.
I listened and held my arms around myself for fear of taking flight. I held myself against
the heavy steel door of the car because it was the strongest thing that could keep me from flying
away. I heard Mama tell the grown folks that I wasn’t shy. I was overcome. I would be all right
when I got home, Mama said. The lady in the back seat kept looking at me, and she touched my
hand and blessed me. But I never turned to look at her.
Later that night, I asked Mama why Dr. King had stayed such a short time with us.
She replied that King had defied an injunction temporarily halting civil rights activities,
and that was why he’d spoken quickly at Brown Chapel that evening. And from there he would
be going to speak to the youth in another church. King knew the people were ready, and he did
not want them to lose the momentum.
After seeing Dr. King that night, my thoughts and mind were now set on freedom. Selma
was changing. And I was changing. The door had opened for me.