My Life, My Love, My Legacy

by Coretta Scott King

  As John Russwurm, who cofounded the first black American newspaper, Freedom’s Journal, in 1827, put it, “Who can tell our story better than we ourselves can tell our story?” I knew that if I left our story for others to tell, it would be misinterpreted and maligned. Through twelve and a half short years of ministry, Martin changed the world we lived in. I wanted to ensure that his legacy to humanity lived on—and could be replicated.

  So on June 26, 1968, I founded the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial Center, and in July, only three months after my husband’s assassination, I held a press conference announcing it. Eventually, the name was changed to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Center for Nonviolent Social Change, or the King Center. In those hectic first days after Martin was gone, I worked on the Center right there in my bedroom. I sometimes slept with files of Martin’s sermons and news clippings neatly stacked alongside me on the bed—on the side of the bed that only months before had belonged to the love of my life.

  I had conceived of the Center as an extension of Martin’s personality—not just a place, not just a building, but a spirit, one undergirded with his philosophy of nonviolence and love in action. It would be the official living memorial, a place where we would teach his philosophy, methodology, and strategies of nonviolence in the hope of bringing about social change and eliminating what he called the triple evils of society: poverty, racism, and war. The Center would advocate not just for civil rights but for human rights. It would encourage community and economic development in Atlanta as well as agitate for national political empowerment and promote social and economic justice around the world.

  I knew that I did not want the Center to be a monument set only in bricks and mortar, yet I did want a physical memorial as well, and I envisioned a state-of-the-art archive of my husband’s sermons, speeches, and other pertinent writings, and also films documenting the civil and human rights movements. I saw conference space for programs devoted to issues such as penal reform, voter registration, economic reform, and training in nonviolent conflict reconciliation. And I wanted a “freedom hall,” with an auditorium and meeting rooms, an all-faiths international chapel, an administration building, a memorial park, a community center, a natatorium, and of course a permanent entombment for Martin. Just as, at its best, the White House is viewed in the United States as the People’s House, the King Center and its offshoots would offer a snapshot of what a Beloved Community in the World House could become.

  Again, by the Beloved Community, I am not talking about a utopian dream of a perfect society in which everyone lives together without conflict. Many artists have produced lovely, bucolic renditions of the “peaceable kingdom,” with lions and lambs lying down together and everyone having his or her own vine and fig tree. That is more like heaven than the Beloved Community on earth, which is not a perfect society.

  To me, the Beloved Community is a realistic vision of an achievable society, one in which problems and conflict exist, but are resolved peacefully and without bitterness. In the Beloved Community, caring and compassion drive political policies that support the worldwide elimination of poverty and hunger and all forms of bigotry and violence. The Beloved Community is a state of heart and mind, a spirit of hope and goodwill that transcends all boundaries and barriers and embraces all creation. At its core, the Beloved Community is an engine of reconciliation. This way of living seems a long way from the kind of world we have now, but I do believe it is a goal that can be accomplished through courage and determination, and through education and training, if enough people are willing to make the necessary commitment.

  In the early years, my mission called for raising the funds to build the Center—to hire staff, implement programs, and build some physical structures. In consultation with my family and a few close friends, who would eventually be put in board positions, I estimated that we needed to raise about twenty million dollars to fulfill this vision. Little did I know that raising the necessary millions would be easy compared to fighting off the gremlins close at hand, who battled me at every stage.

  The long road to see this initial project to fruition was filled with difficult moments and what I now know were unnecessary setbacks. These challenges were often very painful for me. Of course, a nice way to describe the opposition and obstacles I encountered would be “growing pains” or “labor pangs,” but when I experienced the attacks on my attempts to build the Center, it felt like backstabbing, plain and simple. For years, I have not talked much about this, but now I feel I must speak about the process.

  The story of the Center could be an example for anyone who wants to know the truth about institution building, to grasp the flaws and contradictions that lie within the construction of both a human and a concrete infrastructure. I am a process person. To me, the story of establishing the Center includes not just the beginning and the ending, but also what went on in the middle. Throughout the long years, I often wondered if there would someday be an attempt to tell this whole story. Too often, the Center was a one-liner in some news report that gave a brief and unfair assessment of its accomplishments without any attempt to understand its purpose or any acknowledgment that establishing its essential programs and physical facilities took fourteen years of hard work.

  Early on, the carping and mean-spirited treatment I experienced from some in the SCLC, the organization my husband cofounded, was very difficult. Almost from the start, some of Martin’s chief aides fought my building efforts, saying, “Oh, you know Coretta; she doesn’t know what she’s doing, and she’s just talking.” Or, “There goes Coretta; she’s just talking big talk, and she can’t do that.”

  In 1973, I was maligned publicly by Rev. Hosea Williams, one of my husband’s top assistants, a man who was with Martin in Memphis when he was killed. Reverend Williams attacked me in the media, saying that my fund-raising efforts for the Center were taking money from the SCLC and that I should have divided the money I was raising for the Center with them. Instead of coming to me and asking for funds, he slammed me in the press. He said I wouldn’t give the SCLC any money, which was not true. In 1969, for example, the Center had split the proceeds from a screening of the Abby Mann documentary From Montgomery to Memphis with the SCLC.

  Then Ralph Abernathy joined the fray. He told the media that the SCLC was in poor financial shape, a state that would have been avoided if I had headed its fund-raising efforts or had split the money I’d raised for the Center with the SCLC. I remember Ralph saying, “Now, Mrs. King has a right to found any organization that she chooses, but Martin Luther King Jr. never founded but one organization, and that was the Southern Christian Leadership Conference.” In essence, he was saying that there should be only one organization—certainly not mine.

  It was clear that what the SCLC leadership really wanted was for me to continue raising funds for them, just as I did when Martin was alive. Sometimes Martin would brag about how the SCLC could make payroll only because of the money I’d brought in through the Freedom Concerts. But now I felt a calling to another role. I had to be about my husband’s business and about working for the nation that I wished the United States could become.

  After watching these painful attacks on television, I wanted to get up and call some of the reporters I knew and defend myself, but I have always felt that negative or harsh counterclaims only keep the pot boiling. And I certainly did not want to turn up the flame. I just wanted to be faithful to my commitment to the movement.

  To this day, I have never understood why Ralph thought I was such a threat to the SCLC. I was simply trying to build an institution that would deal with research, education, and training around my husband’s legacy. I never wanted to compete with the SCLC in an area where it had done such a great job. Nobody could have done direct action better. But I felt strongly that younger generations had to be educated and trained, and who better to do that than Martin Luther King Jr.? What better than his message?

  At one point, I recommended that the SCLC and the Center conduct leadership traini
ng together. I didn’t have people out there who had that expertise, but the SCLC leadership refused; they wouldn’t cooperate at all. In those early days after Martin’s death, the media seemed to focus a lot of their attention on me, and I had the feeling all that attention made some SCLC people uncomfortable. I was Martin’s widow, and the media had a tendency to come to me. That’s the way it was.

  I was on the board of the SCLC for some time; after a while, I stopped attending meetings because I was treated with such disrespect. At the root of their problems with me, I think, was that I appeared to them to be a strong woman, not one to be pushed aside. Remember, this was the early 1970s, and these were primarily Baptist preachers with a strong sense of male superiority. Most thought that women should stay in the shadows; however, I felt that, as women, we had much to contribute. In fact, for the longest time, way before I married Martin, I had believed that women should allow our essence and presence to shine, rather than letting ourselves be buried or shunted to the sidelines.

  I was brought up in the southern tradition, and was taught to have manners, to be ladylike and polite. That, however, did not mean allowing other people to walk all over me or treat me like a wallflower. It did not mean allowing some struggles men have with women to overwhelm me. I tried to operate in the strength and the grace of the Holy Spirit, and that kept me going. Once I’d prayed about it and felt I had God’s blessing, I never really doubted that I could build a great institution. I knew I could not quit. The naysayers would not stop me. When I didn’t know exactly how to begin the venture, I prayed. When I didn’t know where to look for funds, I prayed. When critics condemned me without cause, I prayed. And when the physical buildings of the Center were completed, I still prayed, thanking God for how far He had brought us and asking Him to continue His watch, to protect and guide us as we made our way forward.

  Also, I remembered that only after death was Martin so loved; while he lived, he was often condemned. Could I really have expected to be treated any differently?

  I did so wish for Martin during these tough moments. When he was alive, he had me. But in my crises, I did not have him to lean on. In my darkest hours, I felt so alone. I never stayed fixated on that for long, though; there was too much to gain. The very fact that Martin was gone gave me a fighting spirit, encouraged me to keep building and developing.

  With or without the top men in the SCLC, I had to keep building the Center. I just believed that I was going the right way, and when I was able to raise the millions in funds we needed, I saw that as affirmation that I’d done the right thing. When you can raise that kind of money against all odds—well, that in itself is encouraging.

  And I believed that if I just kept treating the movement men, even my detractors, in a loving way and working for the higher cause, of service and of keeping Martin’s agenda alive, eventually the barriers would come down. This is precisely what happened: Rev. Ben Hooks, formerly with the SCLC, who went on to head the NAACP, came to me and told me what an outstanding job I was doing. For quite a while, he sent checks for a thousand dollars. One of my husband’s biographers, Lerone Bennett, complimented me on “doing a miraculous job.”

  What I found even more rewarding was the about-face from some of the women around me who had initially spoken against me. They had been taught that a woman was supposed to stay at home with the kids. I didn’t fit the mold, and they didn’t understand what I was doing. When they saw me standing up and speaking out, they seemed to think I was a threat to their way of life. But then, as they watched more closely and saw what I was doing, they began to support us.

  Also, far outnumbering the naysayers was a wonderful, supportive network of people, including my family and Martin’s family. For example, Christine King Farris, Martin’s sister, was absolutely dedicated to helping me with the Center from its inception, working alongside me daily, as did her husband, Isaac Farris Sr. He managed the King Center bookstore and eventually served as the project manager for the construction of the King Center. Daddy King was a strong force who occasionally accompanied me to raise money. Our niece Alveda, one of A.D. and Naomi’s daughters, was one of my first secretaries at the Center. In the early 1980s, Alveda’s mother, Naomi, worked at the Center’s bookstore, and in the mid-1990s, she assisted me from my home. My sister, Edythe, provided a lot of administrative support and helped with our initial cultural events. I also had trusted help from people who weren’t family in the beginning. Over the years, Pat Latimore, Dorothy Lockhart, Narissa Neal, Laura Brown, and Halton Horton all helped with the children. Mr. Horton had started working for us when Martin was still alive, mostly as a handyman; after Martin was gone, Mr. Horton also helped as a cook and as a surrogate for me at the children’s extracurricular activities, and he often drove them to school and to their doctor appointments. Daisy Dial cleaned and cooked for us for years. Bob Fuse and Gordon Joyner tutored the children. So I had the trusted help of family and of other people who became like family. When you are building a great institution, someone also has to help you take care of your home and your kids. I never could have done what I did without all these people.

  * * *

  THE KING CENTER started in the basement of our house. After Martin died, I had the basement built out for the purpose of providing King Center offices, a kitchen, and a playroom for the children. Martin’s sister, Christine, became my number two person—my right arm. She initially oversaw the finances. She came to my home every afternoon after her day of full-time teaching at Spelman College. She’d pick up her kids after school and bring them over to be with my kids. Her kids, Angela and Isaac Jr., did their homework while she worked on the King Center’s books. Afterward, we would sit in my bedroom or in the kitchen to talk about the King Center, current affairs, and family matters. Through the years, we talked almost every day, many times late at night by phone. She worked with me this way, a silent giant behind the scenes, for a long time and didn’t get the credit she deserves. She was the accountability factor, someone who could keep the books and whom I could trust. I really can’t say enough about what a pillar she’s been to me, or to my family outside the King Center. She’s always been there, supporting me in every way. She also would keep Bunny sometimes on weekends, when I would go out of town, since Bunny and her daughter, Angela, were close in age. As a volunteer at the Center, she was vice president, treasurer, and chief fiscal officer, eventually becoming senior vice president and ultimately vice chair and treasurer. She used her skills as an educator at Spelman to help write Kingian nonviolence curriculums, such as the Martin Luther King, Jr. Infusion Model for Teaching Nonviolent Principles (grades K through 12). She wrote the first intermediate-level textbook on Martin for schools. She was also in charge of the King Center’s Early Learning Center, housed at the Community Center, and the Right to Read Program, and she chaired the King Ecumenical Service for many years and worked on the committee for the King Center’s annual fundraiser, the Salute to Greatness Awards Dinner.

  In 1970, as plans for the Center continued in earnest, I embarked on a global tour to promote My Life with Martin Luther King, Jr., a book I’d published the year before. My travels took me to Great Britain, Germany, Holland, France, Spain, Sweden, and Italy, where I carried forth the message of nonviolence and unconditional love and also hosted Freedom Concerts to raise funds for the Center.

  While in Amsterdam, I was invited to have lunch with Queen Juliana of the Netherlands, one of the longest-reigning monarchs in the world at that time. A dozen years later, in 1982, after Juliana’s daughter Beatrix succeeded her as queen, Queen Beatrix came to the Center and gave us a sizable financial contribution.

  Spain was a country that had lived under a dictatorship for so many years. Yet the message of love and nonviolence I carried with me on that trip in 1970 quickly touched the hearts of those I met, and the people proved to be so loving and embracing. They were perpetually hugging and kissing me; it was just overwhelming.

  In Italy, crowds lined up to see me. Suc
h love I was finding in these white European countries! Love that made for a particularly sharp contrast when I got horrible news from home about more hate. While I was in Italy, someone shot up Martin’s crypt in the predominantly black South-View Cemetery in Atlanta. Several bullet holes marred the crypt’s surface, as if it had been used for target practice. South-View Cemetery was founded in 1886 by nine former slaves who had been barred from whites-only graveyards and had opened South-View to all races, but through this evil act, the ugly past came racing back. Can you imagine people hating Martin so badly that they would still shoot at him even after he was dead? Following this incident, we quietly moved his grave to the grounds of what would eventually become the Freedom Hall Complex at the King Center. In 1973 we broke ground for Martin’s permanent entombment, the International Chapel of All Faiths and the Freedom Walkway. For a time after that 1970 trip to Europe, the image of two distinct and opposite human realities—of being loved where I had never been, but subjected to hate where I lived—lingered in my mind.

  Still, in the face of such upsetting developments, I remained ever energized, seeing through the building of the King Center with the start of the King library and archives, the hiring of staff, the revitalization of Martin’s birthplace, and the location of temporary administrative offices. Then, in 1978, all my dreams for the Center came much closer to reality when Henry Ford II took on the task of heading an $8.4 million building campaign for the Center’s Freedom Hall Complex, which included an auditorium and meeting rooms; the administration, programs, and archive building; and an exhibit hall. Also in 1978, we received about $3.5 million through our friend President Jimmy Carter, who hosted one of the major fund-raisers for the Center. I never expressly asked President Carter for the money, but several times he publicly credited the King family with helping get him elected. In fact, he repeatedly said that if it were not for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and his movement, which changed the culture of the South, he would never have made it to the White House. His administration, working with Coca-Cola executives, paved the way for us to apply to several funding sources. (Yes, we had to apply for funds like everybody else, but I feel sure we were shown deference because of our relationship with President Carter.) Hundreds of major corporations and unions also contributed. Taken together, the funds we raised provided the money we needed to build the Center. And by the time we completed construction in the early 1980s, we had paid it off. That in itself was a miracle.