Dateline: Selma, Alabama
March 21-25, 2015 National Park Service Walking Classroom-The Selma to Montgomery March
Kip and I trekked 54 miles from Selma to Montgomery on the 50th anniversary of the original March for voting rights. But it is not about us.
The third and finally successful 1965 March was conducted under court-ordered protection of the Alabama State Police and the National Guard after the first group of marchers had been beaten with billy clubs, teargassed, and chased back into Selma by mounted police on the infamous Bloody Sunday. The second group crossed the bridge, dropped to their knees in prayer, and turned around. That was Turnaround Tuesday. Two weeks later, armed with a Supreme Court ruling, on March 21, 1965, 600 marchers crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge, led by a cadre of brave men and women, among them John Lewis, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Amelia Boynton.
On March 21, 2015, 225 incredibly fortunate people crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge under the guidance and tutelage of the National Park Service. The US Government devoted over a million dollars to creating an opportunity for (extra)ordinary Americans to retrace the footsteps of martyrs and heroes, contemplate our own challenges and those of our times, and formulate ways to move confidently into the future. It’s called The Walking Classroom, and it is a physical, spiritual, emotional, and intellectual challenge and gift of the highest order.
We made this pilgrimage hand in hand with marvelous people. Rachel marched the entire way carrying her 5 month old daughter, Edith, in a front pack. Shannon, a recent victim of a hit and run accident, completed the March despite her pain and struggles, all the while encouraging others and blogging for her students at home. Maze, paralyzed in 1987 falling from a helicopter over the North Korean DMZ, led us in his power chair and told me that if he hadn’t been paralyzed he would never have become an Olympian. He competed at the Paralympics in shot put, discus, and javelin. He also was our group comedian, reducing us all to tears of laughter at every morning meeting. Nathaniel, 12 years old, held a large American flag on a heavy staff raised at the proper angle the entire route.
Seven Bahamian citizens journeyed all the way to Alabama to immerse themselves in a piece of American history and vowed to return home and use what they have learned to help their own country progress. TK marched for her uncle, who was shot and killed in Montgomery in 1965. She is making a film, interviewing white citizens of Birmingham who remember the 1963 bombing that killed 4 little girls in a church in that city. Ivy and Misha work with transgender and queer young people in South Carolina, and have been turned down for a marriage license 6 times. They look forward with joy to getting hitched this fall. Grant is a 20 year veteran of the US Army, did tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan, and is now a lawyer for the ACLU in St. Louis. He has 7 active cases in Ferguson, Missouri. He has also defended people who have burned the flag. He loves the First Amendment.
Harrison is in seventh grade and dedicated his March to Jimmy Lee Jackson, a son who threw himself into the path of a bullet in 1965 to save his parents. And then there’s Rob. Rob was soloing, making his March without the support of the National Park Service. He loaded his car with crab cakes and beer, left his Baltimore home, and drove to Selma. He intended to give landowners crab cakes in exchange for permission to camp on their land. They turned down the crab cakes, which are not a delicacy in these parts. They gladly accepted the beer, though. He marched in a kilt. Yup, a kilt. He joined up now and then with our gang and we welcomed him to our family.
We were family. State Route 80 stretches long and rural from Selma nearly all the way to the Capital steps. We walked, we talked, we chanted, we sang, we cried, we laughed. We fell in love. We shared hopes, fears, dreams, and we promised to go back to our homes and get involved in our communities, to keep moving America forward. As Maze reminded us, “David didn’t know what was gonna happen when he threw that rock. But he threw it, and he brought down Goliath. So I implore you, go home, and throw your rock.” Given his prowess in the throwing events, I’m sure his rock will fly far.
We learned the stories of the four martyrs of the Alabama voting rights struggle, and whenever we were struggling on the road, slowing on a hill, we raised four fingers high over our heads, and the sign spread through our group, reminding us of our mission, and offering symbolic support to our friends as we carried on together. All our spirits lifted when we spied a tiny old lady in a car driving by extra slow with much waving and a polite toot of the horn. To our great joy, it was Amelia Boynton Robinson, 103 years young, beaten unconscious on Bloody Sunday, survived to lead in the fight for civil rights for decades to come. Lately, when young people idolize her and tell her that they are standing on the shoulders of her great generation of martyrs, she tells them, “Get off of my shoulders and GET TO WORK.”
We rested on Tuesday afternoon in the town of St. Jude, a Catholic enclave where the marchers were allowed to camp when no one else would offer them refuge. There was a concert and dancing and we were feted like heroes, though we felt we were the ones who were honored to be in the presence of people that participated in 1965. 
On the final day, Wednesday, March 25, we marched the final 3 miles from St. Jude to the Capital. But just before we left, our bus driver, Carolyn, who had stuck to her task while we all shared our stories, piped up from the front of the bus. She said, “I wanted to march in 1965, but my mother wouldn’t let me go. She was afraid. I called her up and told her I was driving you all, and I was participating in the march, and I told her, ‘I hope you are not afraid now.’ She said, ‘Nope.’ So I want to let you know I love you all and I’m proud of you and I feel like I am marching, back and forth, many times with you.” There wasn’t a dry eye on Bus 2.
Accustomed to rural marching, it was very moving to have an audience, to march past little houses, elderly folk on the porches, singing along with us- We Shall Overcome. I could see them mouthing the words and the tears marched down my face. All along the route, people were joining up, thousands of people, thousands, chanting, reminiscing, sharing their stories. Every age and color. Throngs together. At some point, I noticed that there no longer were any spectators, everyone was WITH us. Together, we marched straight up to the base of those Capital steps.
Lay em down!
All the way!
From Selma Town!
There were speeches. They were rousing. I’m sure if you’re interested you can find them on YouTube. But our time together was drawing to a close. The ceremonies ended with the playing of the Lion King theme song, and my friend Jeimy from Puerto Rico hoisted our littlest marcher, the darling of Bus 2, Edith, high in the air like a human Simba as the immortal music of Elton John reached its climax- “In the circle…., Circle of Life!!!” da da da!
The streets of Montgomery empty out for us when our buses are on the move. It’s like being the President of the United States. All interstate ramps are blocked by state troopers, and we have a full motorcycle and squad car escort. A body could get used to this… That’s how much Alabama cares about our safety and how much the Federal government believes in the importance of this event. We had everything we needed and more. The youth ages 18 to 25 who camped out in tents at the NPS Lowndes Interpretive Center were kept well fed and comfortable so they could use their social media skills to spread the word among the young, who are our future. This march and the learning and commitments we undertake are for Nathaniel and Alexander and Harrison and Edith and the boy from California who helped carry the flags and the boy on another bus whose name I didn’t learn. Based on the kids and young adults I met on this trip, we will leave the world in most capable hands. But until then, we must keep working toward a brighter future.
We had a wrap up session after our Bus 2 group hug. We held hands in a huge circle. Many folks spoke eloquently about what this experience has and will continue to mean for them. I was too choked up to say a single word. But this is what I wanted to say.
What does this experience mean to me? EVERYTHING.
Right now, these people, this gift of time and walk and especially talk, it is my EVERYTHING. To my new huge extended family, thank you for giving me the vision of what America can be, should be, and with work, will be. Now go out there and throw your rock. I’m right beside you.
www.nps.gov/semo
Get out there and experience your National Parks!
