4

“They Are Willing to Walk”

We shouldn’t give people the illusion that there are no sacrifices involved, that it can be ended soon. My intimidations are a small price to pay if victory can be won. We shouldn’t make the illusion that they won’t have to walk. I believe to the bottom of my heart that the majority of Negroes would ostracize us. They are willing to walk.

—Martin Luther King Jr., January 30, 1956

Rosa Parks would not be moved. It was Thursday afternoon, and she had just completed a long day’s work as a seamstress in a downtown department store. When she boarded the bus, Parks located a seat in the first row of the African American section, only to be ordered to move a few minutes later to accommodate a boarding white passenger. As Parks continued to sit, the bus driver got the police involved, who placed her under arrest. Word soon spread around town, and a few were ready to act. They had waited for the day when the city’s bus laws could finally be challenged in court. E. D. Nixon later remembered: “I have told the press time after time that we were doing these things for years before December 1955, but all they want to do is start at December 1 and forget about what happened. They say that Mrs. Parks is the lady that sat down on the bus and then they want to start talking about what happened December 5. But that leaves a whole lot of folks out and ignores a lot of what was done over a long period of time to set the stage.” Those who had “set the stage” in Montgomery did not waste any time seizing the moment. Clifford and Virginia Durr joined Nixon in bailing Parks out of jail. They then went to her apartment, where they talked with Parks and her husband at length about the possibility of making her arrest a constitutional test case of bus segregation. She agreed to move forward legally should she be found guilty in court the following Monday.¹

After a little more than a year in Montgomery, Parks’s arrest thrust King into the front lines of a local movement for civil rights. His theological discussions of evil would become much more than rhetoric bolstered by occasional reminders of the ugliness of racism in the segregated South. He would experience a daily battle, facing weapons as varied as the spoken word, letters, phone calls, and even bombs. Pushed into the role of spokesperson for the newly formed Montgomery Improvement Association (MIA), King flourished, galvanizing the African American community with his inspired Holt Street address. Behind the scenes, King continued to lean upon and learn from the people of Montgomery, who were the backbone of the movement. Without the organizational efforts, commitment, and examples of Nixon, Jo Ann Robinson, and Mary Fair Burks, coupled with the daily sacrifices of the people, the bus boycott would have never happened and King might well have settled into a reflective and secure career, never personally engaging the battle himself. Because the people of Montgomery were willing to walk, King had the opportunity to lead.

Jo Ann Robinson was better prepared for this moment than King. When she heard of Parks’s arrest, she went right to work, laboring through the night mimeographing thousands of fliers describing a one-day bus boycott on Monday, December 5. Her statement explained that another African American had been arrested for not yielding her seat to a white person. Noting that it was the second such arrest since the Claudette Colvin case that spring, Robinson charged: “Negroes have rights, too, for if Negroes did not ride the buses, they could not operate. Three-fourth of riders are Negroes, yet we are arrested, or have to stand over empty seats.” In an attempt to personalize the situation, she continued, “The next time it may be you, or your daughter, or mother.” The note encouraged “every Negro to stay off the buses Monday in protest of the arrest and trial. Don’t ride buses to work, to town, to school, or anywhere on Monday.” Her task was urgent if she was to circumvent any conservative impulses on the part of Montgomery’s African American ministers, many of whom tended to be reticent to take such bold steps.²

Attorney Fred Gray remembered the cautious attitude embodied by many of the local clergy: “Initially, the Women’s Political Council (led by Mary Fair Burks and Jo Ann Robinson), E. D. Nixon, and Rufus Lewis were more interested in the Protest than were the ministers.” According to Robinson, the town’s clergy supported the proposed boycott only after realizing that many of their parishioners were already backing the protest: “One minister read the circular, inquired about the announcements, and found that all the city’s black congregations were quite intelligent on the matter and were planning to support the one-day boycott with or without their ministers’ leadership. It was then that the ministers decided that it was time for them, the leaders, to catch up with the masses.” To ensure the masses were aware of the planned protest as soon as possible, Robinson mobilized the WPC on Friday morning to spread the word. Some, like fellow Dexter Avenue member and Alabama State professor J. E. Pierce, were not initially supportive. He did not believe the people would actually support even a one-day boycott. Others were more receptive, however, including Nixon.³

At first, King was reluctant to join the proposed bus protest. When Nixon called early Friday morning asking for his involvement and support, King was hesitant. Nixon later recalled: “The third person I called was Martin Luther King. He said, ‘Brother Nixon, let me think about it awhile and call me back,’ and I called him back. He said, ‘Yeah, Brother Nixon, I decided, I’m going to go along with you.’ And I said, ‘That’s fine, because I called 18 other people and I told them they’re going to meet at your church this evening.’” Meanwhile Robinson and a few of her students had left the anonymous boycott notices at a local church where a clergy meeting was scheduled for that morning. Soon nearly every pastor in Montgomery knew of the proposed boycott, and they joined other community leaders at Dexter that evening.⁴

When she returned to the Alabama State College campus, Robinson discovered that the college president, H. Councill Trenholm, wanted to see her immediately. Trenholm confronted Robinson regarding her role in making the 52,500 leaflets that were distributed. Fearing she might be fired, Robinson explained the conditions that had led to the proposed boycott and the significant role of the WPC in bringing these injustices to light. Trenholm’s response was more positive than she expected: “Your group must continue to press on for civil rights.” The president did require her to reimburse the school for the mimeographed copies she had made and let her know that her role in the protests must be behind the scenes, not involving the school directly. Assured that her job was safe at least for the time being, Robinson headed to Dexter that evening for the proposed organizational meeting.⁵

The gathering at Dexter proved contentious. Since Nixon had left town early Friday to fulfill work commitments, Reverend L. Roy Bennett, the president of the Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance, presided at the meeting. According to King, Bennett attempted to stymie debate by eliminating any group participation or discussion and instead charged ahead with concrete plans for the upcoming boycott. After nearly an hour of filibustering, Bennett agreed to open up the floor for questions and discussion. The majority voted to proceed with the one-day boycott and began working on an ad hoc transportation system to be put in place on Monday to help African Americans get around town without using the buses. They also revised Robinson’s original statement, removing a reference to Claudette Colvin and adding information about a mass meeting to be held on Monday evening at Holt Street Baptist Church. King and Abernathy used Dexter’s mimeograph machine to again produce thousands of leaflets for distribution throughout the city. While working, they discussed the leadership needs the hour demanded. According to Abernathy, King was wary of Bennett, believing he would elevate the clergy into strategic positions at the expense of the people whom they were asking to make the real sacrifice by not riding city buses.⁶

On Saturday, ministers and other community leaders worked to distribute the leaflets. Mary Fair Burks and Jo Ann Robinson ran into their share of challenges: “Despite our early start, progress was slow. Often we not only had to take time to explain the leaflet, but also first to read it to those unable to do so.” This experience interacting with the city’s poorer citizens proved an eye-opening experience for Burks, who taught at Alabama State College, as boycott communication efforts forced her out of her middle-class world: “It was my first encounter with masses of the truly poor and disenfranchised. I remember thinking that not even a successful boycott would solve the problems of poverty and illiteracy which I saw that day.” Burks was not alone in her observations. Many pastors also encountered the challenging living conditions faced by many of Montgomery’s African American residents for the very first time. Edgar French, the pastor of Hillard Chapel AME Zion, noted: “Although there was not time for pastoral visits, ministers had been closer to the realities of living in slum areas than ever before. They had really been among poorly-clad and undernourished children, alcoholics, and many other forms of human deprivation they hardly realized existed. The stark evils of social and economic injustices experienced in those few hours made it easy for many of the ministers to discard their well-prepared manuscripts at the Sunday worship hour, and to speak concerning the evils of their day.” The task of communicating about the planned boycott proved to be as galvanizing for Montgomery’s African American community as Parks’s arrest had been.⁷

That evening, Mary Fair Burks also experienced the aloofness of some of Montgomery’s black professionals. Due to delays in explaining the handbills that announced the proposed one-day boycott to the masses in Montgomery, Robinson and Burks were an hour late to a scheduled bridge party. Burks remembered: “Our partners were irate, despite our explanations…. And so about one hundred black women played bridge a scant thirty-six hours before the boycott began, much like Nero had played his fiddle while Rome burned. That was the black middle class before the boycott.” Although not every African American understood or embraced the proposed protest, Burks and Robinson worked tirelessly to make sure everybody, regardless of economic class, would know about the boycott by Monday morning.⁸

In addition to the leaflets, nearly all the African American congregations heard about the boycott from their pastors that Sunday. Stories in both the Alabama Tribune and the Montgomery Advertiser bolstered efforts to inform the entire black community about the one-day protest. Local television news stations also highlighted the effort in their broadcasts. While some wanted the plot to remain a secret to surprise the city, the media coverage served to inform those who had not yet heard of the plan and to legitimize the effort in the minds of others. Many united around the proposed boycott, arousing interest that circumvented the typically rigid class distinctions. Rosa Parks’s standing in the community contributed to this widespread support. As Mary Fair Burks put it: “Mrs. Parks’s arrest penetrated the indifference of the middle class and shook the passivity of the masses. The educated class realized that what had happened to her could happen to any one of them. Most of the passive masses did not know Rosa, but when the boycott was called, they identified with her situation. They had experienced it all too often.” Though most black residents did not know Parks, the majority of black leaders and professionals did not know the so-called “passive masses.” Before the arrest of Parks and the subsequent planned protest, they had crossed paths primarily in the public sphere. Most black civil rights leaders in Montgomery did not have enough evidence to determine how passive the working class was until this moment, when the masses proved more than ready to get involved.⁹

The boycott of city buses allowed a disparate African American community to unite to unleash a perfect storm upon white leaders in Montgomery. Black professionals saw Rosa Parks as a respectable citizen who was mistreated and abused for conducting herself with silent dignity. No matter how much African Americans in the Jim Crow South had accomplished, they remained vulnerable second-class citizens subject to the whims of white authority figures. They also saw the opportunity to challenge the dehumanizing system of segregation that affected every black regardless of class or degree of respectability. Meanwhile, the working class bore the brunt of the specific dehumanizing experience of riding buses in Montgomery. They endured the racist abuses of some of the drivers. They identified with how tired and weary Parks was on the night of her arrest. The situation on the city buses was a quality-of-life issue for the working class of Montgomery, and they proved ready to sacrifice to change the situation.

On the Sunday morning following Parks’s arrest, King chose to address the “awful silence of God” with his Dexter congregation. King suggested that although throughout history people had “appealed to God in desperate tones” to bring justice, “evil continued to rise to astronomical proportions.” King admitted that, in a world filled with evil and injustice, maintaining the necessary faith to fight for change would not be easy. Despite the enormity of the challenge, King called on his congregation to join a citywide, one-day boycott of city buses. While not brushing aside experiences to the contrary, King called for action to overcome “the iron feet of oppression.” King’s text for the sermon, found in Isaiah 45:15, asserts, “Verily thou art a God that hidest thyself, O God of Israel, the Saviour.” The context of the verse, however, proclaims the creative and redeeming power of God leading to the salvation of Israel and the downfall of their oppressors. Over the next two months, thousands in Montgomery proved willing to walk so God’s justice would no longer be hidden by the wickedness of white supremacy. Inspired by God and the people, King would learn to lead as they courageously encountered the depths of evil together.¹⁰

As Monday morning dawned, many watched city buses go by their homes and places of business, wondering how successful the boycott would be. To their great surprise and satisfaction, the boycott was nearly 100 percent effective. Ralph Abernathy credited another element of good fortune that helped make the effort so successful. The previous day, the city’s police commissioner had appeared on local television and radio assuring police protection for blacks who chose to ride despite “goon squads” that would threaten them. “The Commissioner also said that there would be two squad cars—one in front and one behind every bus that rolled on Monday morning.” According to Abernathy, “Negroes who had not really been swept into the spirit of the movement, upon seeing policemen riding behind the buses, felt they were there to force them to ride, and rebelled against it by joining with those who were walking.” During a testimony time at a mass meeting held during the boycott, a participant recounted how she had joined the boycott upon seeing police at her bus stop that morning. Given the reputation of white police officers for violence against African Americans, she decided to avoid the bus stop and walked to work instead. In the end, only a handful of Montgomery’s African American citizens rode the bus that Monday, December 5, 1955. It proved to be an extremely successful beginning of what would become a yearlong protest.¹¹

Early that morning, Fred Gray left a meeting with King and Robinson and headed to the courthouse as the defense attorney for Rosa Parks’s trial, which was scheduled to begin at 9 a.m. Gray had to weave through hundreds of people to make it into the packed courtroom. After originally intending to charge Parks under a city code demanding segregation, the state instead convicted her in violation of chapter 1, section 8, of an obscure 1945 Alabama law requiring segregation on buses. The court sentenced Parks to either pay a ten-dollar fine or face fourteen days in jail. Fred Gray immediately appealed the ruling on Parks’s behalf. Nixon later remembered the community’s response: “On December 5, 1955, the black man was born again in Montgomery. On that morning when they tried Mrs. Rosa Parks, the whole courtroom and all out in the street was crowded with black men. They was saying, ‘Brother Nick, Brother Nick, what’s happening?’ I tells them she’s found guilty. They was mad then. They said, ‘Brother Nick, if you don’t come out, you know what we gonna do? We gonna come in there and get you.’ There must’ve been over five hundred men there.” Parks’s guilty verdict, coupled with the early success of the boycott, further galvanized the city’s African American community as they prepared to meet at Holt Street Baptist Church that evening.¹²

In the afternoon, community leaders gathered in an attempt to organize in the wake of the success of the one-day boycott. They met at Reverend Bennett’s Mt. Zion African Methodist Episcopal Church, with Reverend Bennett again presiding. The decision to have the meeting at Mt. Zion reflected both the low level of trust between many of the city’s pastors and an attempt to remain united as the protest developed. Many believed the non-Baptist ministers would not have attended had the meeting been held at the Baptist Center under the direction of Reverend Hubbard, who served as president of the Baptist Ministers Conference. Therefore they chose to meet at a Methodist church in order to bolster whatever frail unity existed in the moment. As had been the case a few days earlier, the meeting began with attempts to wrest control away from Reverend Bennett, who again held onto the floor. At this point, Robert Matthews of the NAACP suggested that some in the meeting were trying to spy on the proceedings in order to report back to white leaders. In the midst of the chaos, those gathered finally decided to form an executive committee that would meet behind closed doors to determine the shape of the organization and make plans for the mass meeting that evening. According to Abernathy, eighteen people were chosen to serve on the committee.¹³

When the executive meeting began, Abernathy suggested they call their new organization the “Montgomery Improvement Association (MIA),” a proposal that was quickly accepted. The meeting’s momentum soon slowed as several leaders wanted to be able to keep their affiliation with the MIA secret. Most local clergy had learned to be cautious in challenging racial mores, as they balanced advocating for their race while not unduly offending white officials. Nixon was incensed: “We are acting like little boys. Somebody’s name will have to be known, and if we are afraid we might just as well fold up right now…. We’d better decide now if we are going to be fearless men or scared boys.” Chastised by Nixon, those present agreed to publicly endorse an indefinite continuation of the one-day boycott until certain conditions were met.¹⁴

As one of their first orders of business, the MIA selected officers. Many of those gathered had served in various leadership capacities over the years. Few of them would have ridden buses that day even if a boycott had not been in effect. While the new organization needed a leader who would command the respect of the people in the room, they also needed someone who would be able to connect with those who were making the real sacrifice by giving up the use of public transportation. Although Nixon had the strongest connection with the black working class, his unlearned use of the English language and lack of education prevented many professionals from uniting behind him. Rufus Lewis and NAACP chair Robert Matthews did not have the support of the working class. The more established clergy, such as Baptist Ministers Conference president and Bethel Baptist Church pastor Hillman H. Hubbard, or Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance president Reverend L. Roy Bennett, had a history of compromise with city fathers that disqualified them, while younger pastors, like Uriah J. Fields of Bell Street Baptist Church, had not yet earned the respect of the more established leaders.

Those gathered had to navigate the distrust, rivalries, and jealousies while also finding a spokesperson who could connect with African Americans across class lines. Independently, Nixon and Lewis believed King was the person who could become a unifying figure for the trying days ahead. When the nominations for president opened, Lewis hastily submitted King’s name, and he was unanimously elected to the position. When he later reflected on this turn of events, King claimed that if he had taken time to consider the position, “I would have declined the nomination.” When some friends had encouraged him to pursue the presidency of the local NAACP chapter a few weeks earlier, he and Coretta had decided he “should not then take on any heavy community responsibilities, since I had so recently finished my thesis, and needed to give more attention to my church work.” Without the time to contemplate the possible implications of his new role, King became president of the newly formed MIA.¹⁵

Not everyone was enthusiastic about the decision to place King in charge of the new organization. Uriah Fields coveted the job as well. Years later, Fields claimed: “It was given to King because some of the older ministers didn’t want it. I feel that there was a strong feeling as to whether King or I should’ve had that position. Because of what I had been involved in. But it went to King. And notice that immediately after they selected King president, they elected me secretary.” Despite the undercurrents of jealousy that were bound to emerge among the town’s leaders, all united behind King. Before adjourning, they organized a subcommittee to continue meeting in order to draw up a list of demands they would bring to the city and the bus company.¹⁶

Nixon, Abernathy, and Reverend Edgar French had the responsibility of drawing up a list of demands as conditions for ending the boycott. The first was a plan that the WPC had been pushing for several years: Seating on the buses would be first-come, first-served, with blacks filling the bus from the back to the front, and whites from the front to the back. Once patrons had filled all the seats, no one would be expected to yield their seat to an oncoming passenger. Second, they called for more courteous treatment of customers by the bus drivers. The third demand concerned hiring black bus drivers for predominantly African American routes. This idea, which Uriah Fields had included in a letter to the editor of the Montgomery Advertiser over a year and a half earlier, reflected Nixon’s desire for black economic development to be one of the significant desired objectives of the protest. French typed up these three demands later in the day so they could be presented at that evening’s mass meeting.¹⁷

The demands did not include an end to segregation on the city’s buses. In an interview conducted during the boycott, Jo Ann Robinson attempted to explain why: “There is a state law requiring segregation, and all we do must come under that law. We cannot change the law by protesting. It must be declared unconstitutional through the courts. We can get our demands under the present law, however, this protest is more far reaching than that. It is making the white man more respective of the Negro, and it shows him that the Negro can be a threat to his economic security which has kept him in his position of superiority to some extent.” Alabama Tribune editor Emory O. Jackson basically agreed with Robinson’s assessment, noting that the boycott was only “incidentally a protest against segregation. That is the first observation, it seems to me, which should be emphasized and kept in mind. What has happened is the release of pent up resentment over the recurring, unceasing and unrelenting abuse, humiliation and disrespect accorded Negro passengers, especially the lady folk.” Jackson applauded the efforts of Montgomery’s black citizens: “For placid, conservative yielding Montgomery leadership to get worked up into what has been described as a ‘boycott’ had to be something that touched more sharply than racial segregation, must have been a reaction from segregation more painful than the mere shameful practice of an annoying discrimination.” The African American people of Montgomery were ready to act.¹⁸

King made his way to Holt Street Baptist Church aware that he had been thrust into a position that he had neither expected nor sought. King later admitted: “When I went to Montgomery as a pastor, I had not the slightest idea that I would later become involved in a crisis in which non-violent resistance would be applicable. I neither started the protest nor suggested it. I simply responded to the call of the people for a spokesman.” He had little time to prepare for what would be the most significant address of his young life. He felt the burden of the task as he attempted to construct “a speech that was expected to give a sense of direction to a people imbued with a new and still unplumbed passion for justice.” With only enough time to prepare a brief outline, King set out for Holt Street. Traffic was so thick around the church that he had to park several blocks away. The service began with two hymns, prayer, and Scripture, followed by what would be the first of many memorable addresses delivered by King.¹⁹

In his Holt Street address, King reminded the large audience of the long history of intimidation on the city’s buses and discussed the specific circumstances surrounding Parks’s arrest. Employing a phrase he had used the day before in his sermon at Dexter, King charged, “And you know, my friends, there comes a time when people get tired of being trampled over by the iron feet of oppression.” Aware of the history of divisions among the city’s black community, King called for unity as they worked together for justice. In his stirring conclusion, King proclaimed: “Right here in Montgomery, when the history books are written in the future, somebody will have to say, ‘There lived a race of people, a black people, “fleecy locks and black complexion,” a people who had the moral courage to stand up for their rights. And thereby they injected a new meaning into the veins of history and civilization.’” King later remembered the enthusiastic response to his speech: “As I sat listening to the continued applause I realized that this speech had evoked more response than any speech or sermon I had ever delivered, and yet it was virtually unprepared.” Few who were there would ever forget the impact that King’s speech had on them that early December evening.²⁰

Thousands heard the speech, either from seats in the auditorium, through a public address system in the church basement, or on makeshift speakers placed outside of the building. Many saw in the people’s response the dawning of a new day for Montgomery’s African American citizens. Rufus Lewis claimed the speech “stimulated the people more than anything has ever stimulated them as long as I’ve been here.”²¹ The Montgomery resident Idessa Williams Redden was so moved by King’s speech that she shouted, “Lord, you have sent us a leader.” Not surprisingly, Nixon’s perspective on the evening was different; he described the mass meeting as “the most amazing and the most heartening thing I have seen in my life. The leaders were led. It was a vertical thing.” While the speech did inspire the people and elevated King’s stature in the minds of the community, the converse is true as well. The response of the crowd stimulated something in King. He had risen to the occasion, and the people’s response emboldened him. King was not a regular patron of the city’s buses. He was not boycotting anything. The African American people of Montgomery allowed him to participate in the boycott in the role of the president and spokesperson of the MIA. As Nixon aptly stated, King was led, and his life and ministry would never be the same.²²

No longer a one-day event, the bus boycott galvanized Montgomery’s African American community. Organizers of the protest launched creative solutions to accommodate those whose jobs necessitated significant daily travel. Their first transportation alternative was to enlist African American–owned taxis to offer service at a reduced rate equivalent to local bus fares. In response, the city enacted a law that set a minimum rate for taxis and threatened full prosecution for any who dared to break this mandate. Again ingenuity prevailed, as boycott leaders set up an intricate carpooling system that allowed residents to get the transportation they needed. The car pools served to further unify the community as strangers and casual acquaintances began to spend significant time together each day. Those wealthy enough to own vehicles volunteered to drive working-class citizens, further breaking down barriers between the classes. As they rode, they shared the joys and trials of the boycott with one another. Alabama State College history professor Norman Walton emphasized the significance of the car pool in solidifying the cohesion of the participants: “It has closed the gap between the Negro groups based on education, income and position. In Montgomery, there is unity, the lowest person doing her humble task, rides to work in a Cadillac, a jalopy or a truck. The college professor talks with the maid and the drunkard to the minister, but with a common interest that brings them together.” These unplanned conversations and burgeoning relationships did as much to solidify the boycott as any speech or mass meeting.²³

Meanwhile King continued to shepherd Dexter Avenue Baptist Church. After a guest speaker filled the Dexter pulpit on December 12, King preached the following three Sundays to his home congregation, including a Christmas sermon entitled “The Light That Shineth amid Darkness.” In the midst of the darkness of white stubbornness, hatred, and exclusion, King emphasized the necessity of love to his congregation that Christmas morning. His words had more force now, however, as his descriptions of darkness were not theological abstractions but morally tangible and politically all too real. Over the coming months, King’s sermons would continue to grow in depth, urgency, and power. A technically accomplished preacher before the boycott, King’s speaking was now imbued with a passion that stirred his congregation, his community, and eventually the nation.²⁴

Although he was pastor of a silk-stocking church in Montgomery, King’s time at Ebenezer had prepared him for dealing with both the professional and working-class citizens of Montgomery. His decisions to take on summer jobs as a teen doing manual labor helped him more effectively communicate with those who had depended on the buses for daily transportation. Since his arrival at Dexter, he had hoped to attract more working-class and poor blacks to his church. Even if changing the makeup of his congregation proved difficult, King enjoyed the opportunity to address the working class regularly at mass meetings. He also attempted to listen to and learn from those who were sacrificing most so the boycott could continue. King’s ability to effectively interact with even the boycott’s most vulnerable participants impressed Jo Ann Robinson: “There was no other leader there with the humility, with the education, with the know-how of dealing with people who were angry and poor and hungry…. If King had not been prepared to talk with all of them, make all of them feel that they were making a contribution—and they were. Even that man who couldn’t give a straight sentence was letting you know how he felt, and maybe representing the people from his area.”

Not only did King encourage and inspire the poor and working-class participants; he was encouraged and transformed by their commitment as well. One of his favorite anecdotes from the boycott was about an elderly woman known to the black community as Mother Pollard, who dismissed suggestions by concerned friends and pastors that she go ahead and ride the bus due to her age. In response, she simply replied, “My feets is tired, but my soul is rested.” As he witnessed the resilience of people like Mother Pollard, King was more prepared to make personal sacrifices.²⁵

Aware that the boycott represented a radical challenge to the status quo in Montgomery, leaders of the Alabama Council on Human Relations (ACHR) got involved, hoping to serve as an intermediary body between the protesters, the city leaders, and the bus company. Local leaders of the ACHR included the council president, Thomas Thrasher, who was pastor of the Church of the Ascension, Montgomery’s largest Episcopalian congregation, and Robert E. Hughes, a Methodist minister who served as the organization’s executive director. An interracial organization, the ACHR had the advantage of relationships with all the local parties involved. They moved to set up a meeting in the hope that a settlement could be reached. There was reason to be pessimistic about the ability of the ACHR to broker an agreement. Following the Brown v. Board of Education decision, they had tried and failed to bring white and black ministers together to merely discuss the implications of the ruling. While Hughes did not shy away from speaking about racial justice, he was more interested in developing relationships than engaging in debates with staunch segregationists. Together Hughes and Thrasher parlayed their unique positions in the community to arrange a December 8 meeting between the MIA and the city commissioners.²⁶

The meeting was held at city hall as a dozen MIA leaders met with the city commissioners as well as the local bus manager, J. H. Bagley, and the attorney for Montgomery City Lines, Jack Crenshaw. Crenshaw would not yield, claiming the bus company could not violate a city ordinance to accommodate the protesters’ request. According to King, “the more Crenshaw talked, the more he won the city fathers to his position. Mayor Gayle and Commissioner Sellers became more and more intransigent.” With the meeting going nowhere, the mayor asked a smaller contingent to meet behind closed doors. Again Crenshaw quelled any hope for an agreement, claiming, “If we grant the Negroes these demands they will go about boasting of a victory that they had won over the white people; and this we will not stand for.” As a next step, the MIA sent a letter to the bus company headquarters in Chicago, apprising them of the bus conditions that had led to the boycott. After delineating the three proposals that bus company officials and the city commissioners had denied, they pleaded, “Since 44 % of the city’s population is Negro, and since 75 % of the bus riders are Negro, we urge you to send a representative to Montgomery to arbitrate.” A few days later, MIA leaders issued a press release regarding the rationale for the protest in which they argued that a settlement was possible: “We feel that there is no issue between the Negro citizens and the Montgomery City Lines that cannot be solved by negotiations between people of good will and we submit that there is no legal barrier to such negotiations.” Despite good-faith efforts to further negotiations, both bus and city officials refused to yield to the MIA’s seating proposal.²⁷

A few of Montgomery’s white citizens supported the boycott, including Hughes, Virginia Durr, and the Trinity Lutheran pastor, Robert Graetz, each of whom assisted with the car pool by driving protesters around the town. Graetz, who served as pastor of a predominantly African American congregation, attended the Holt Street meeting. Impressed by the reasonableness of the MIA demands, he pushed fellow clergy in the white ministerial association to support the boycott’s objectives, but they refused. Inspired by his congregation’s resolve and the just cause of the protest, Graetz decided to join the MIA himself, proving to be the lone white pastor to participate in the organization during the boycott.²⁸

A week after the boycott began, librarian Juliette Morgan penned a letter to the editor of the Montgomery Advertiser. She compared the goals and methods of the protestors to the effective efforts of Gandhi in India a few decades earlier. Impressed by the significance of the event, Morgan wrote: “One feels that history is being made in Montgomery these days, the most important in her career. It is hard to imagine a soul so dead, a heart so hard, a vision so blinded and provincial as not to be moved with admiration at the quiet dignity, discipline, and dedication with which the Negroes have conducted their boycott.” Morgan’s letter affirmed the ill-treatment of African American passengers by some of the bus drivers. Morgan and a few other white citizens in Montgomery were willing to stand up and be counted by supporting the efforts of the protestors.²⁹

Reverend Graetz attempted to draw greater national publicity to the boycott. In late December, he typed a letter to the news editor of Time magazine in which he called the nascent protest a story “that may be just as explosive as the Till case.” Frustrated with what he deemed to be slanted local coverage by Montgomery’s white media, he urged the magazine to send a reporter to the city so they could “get a good look at the way a one-race press and a one-race police force band together to discredit fifty thousand people who are tired of being treated like animals on the city buses, and who are registering their feelings by refraining from riding those buses.”³⁰

In the early days of the boycott, Nixon was an essential contributor both in his role as MIA treasurer and as a strategist. While many black professionals did not believe Nixon could effectively serve as leader of the protest, they recognized the critical role he played in making the boycott a reality. Dexter deacon Robert D. Nesbitt Sr. noted, “Mr. Nixon had already been laboring in the community to secure rights for black people and his commitment to the advancement of his race was well known.” After claiming that Nixon could not have effectively led the effort, he quickly added: “He was a dynamic community man. Securing the release of Mrs. Parks and calling the meeting, seizing the moment to initiate a protest, and helping engineer the election of Martin are evidence of his insight.” Rufus Lewis saw things differently, believing Nixon had wanted the prestige of leadership for the movement he had helped engineer: “Mr. Nixon did not initially want Reverend King. The former wanted to be the leader. Nixon was ambitious, but he did not have the force or background necessary to command a large following.” Dexter member Mrs. Thelma Austin Rice stressed Nixon’s significant contributions, however: “The bus boycott was basically Mr. E. D. Nixon’s idea. He made such a claim on several occasions and I believe it. Mr. Nixon had the wherewithal, the tenacity, and commitment needed to make things happen, but lacked the ability to communicate with all people and groups. He had the necessary raw skills. Reverend King brought the refined dimension required.” As Rice suggested, Nixon’s perspective was vital in developing the grassroots nature of the boycott, having earned the trust of working people over the previous two decades. Nixon also brought his union experiences to the table as his organization skills proved invaluable to the MIA. As part of A. Philip Randolph’s Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, Nixon understood the opportunities that can materialize when people are organized and united. He also knew how much work would be needed for the effort to last beyond the first few weeks.³¹

Soon after the boycott began, the NAACP held a special meeting. King had been on the local board since August and attended the December 13 gathering called by Mr. W. C. Patton, who served as a NAACP field secretary. In notes recorded by Rosa Parks, the local branch commended the MIA for their efforts in the bus protest. The organization sought to work in tandem with the MIA, whose focus would be the local boycott, while the NAACP would press forward with Parks’s legal case. For her part, Parks was willing for the “NAACP to take case to fullest extent of the law.” The organization gave attorney Fred Gray a $100 retainer and named Ralph Abernathy as the chair of the fund-raising efforts to cover anticipated legal expenses.³²

While some were amazed at the cohesiveness and sacrificial efforts of the people of Montgomery, J. E. Pierce believed the leadership in Montgomery had “finally caught up with the masses,” who had “been ready for a long time, but until now they have been without leadership.” For Pierce, the leaders who were finally stepping up were the town’s clergy, for he was well aware of the long-standing efforts of fellow Dexter Social and Political Action Committee members Jo Ann Robinson and Mary Fair Burks to bring substantive change to the city. The leaders who were most ready for this day were Nixon and the women of the WPC. Based on their sacrificial response, the people were also ready. They simply needed local black leaders to move beyond paternalism, recognizing that they could be equal participants in a movement to bring substantive change to their lives. The bus boycott tapped into their willingness to take action.³³

By the dawn of 1956, any hope of a quick end of the boycott had faded. Four weeks into the protest, and with no end in sight, King delivered a sermon at Dexter titled “Our God Is Able.” As would be true numerous times over the coming year, King emphasized God’s power and ability in the face of difficulties. He boldly told his congregation: “The God we worship is not a weak God, He is not an incompetent God and consequently he is able to beat back gigantic mountains of opposition and to bring low prodigious hilltops of evil.” Despite this theological truth, King admitted that sometimes circumstances lead to “times when each of us is forced to question the ableness of God.” He next turned to evidence of God’s power, noting the intricacies of creation and the ultimate triumph of good over evil: “This is ultimately the hope that keeps us going. Much of my ministry has been given to fighting against social evil. There are times that I get despondent, and wonder if it is worth it. But then something says to me deep down within God is able, you need not worry. So this morning I say to you we must continue to struggle against evil, but don’t worry, God is able.” Thematically similar to “Death of Evil upon the Seashore,” which King had preached the previous summer, on this occasion his words seem stronger, filled with passion. The theological assertion that God is able took on deeper meaning now that King was personally active in the struggle.³⁴

As King stepped into the pulpit throughout 1956, he was preaching to his congregation while also “ministering to his own spirit.” Throughout the year, as King’s personal involvement in the struggle continued to deepen and intensify, he forged a resilient and hope-filled faith in God in the face of the brutal realities of racism. As James Cone has argued, by participating in the struggle on a daily basis, “King was reintroduced, in a practical manner, to the God of the black experience.” King’s decision to heed Benjamin Mays’s challenge to return to the South had given rise to a spiritual awakening within the young pastor. Through the crucible of the struggle, King remembered and experienced the power and hope Daddy King had been preaching for decades: that “God is able.”³⁵

The people of Montgomery also sharpened King’s faith and understanding. Early in the boycott, King had a conversation with Myles Horton, who ran the Highlander Folk School. King asked him for any advice he might lend, to which Horton replied: “draw your strength from the people. You are not going to get it from any kind of ideology. That is fine to have. We all need it and I am all for it, but practically speaking you’ve got to listen to the people and learn to respond to their feelings and needs and be intuitive.” Horton believed King followed his advice and indeed drew “his strength from the people.”³⁶

Among the people King leaned on most were Robinson and Burks, who wielded great influence during the early months of the protest. According to Erna Dungee Allen, who served as the secretary of the WPC, the women “were kind of like the power behind the throne. We really were the ones who carried out the actions.” Allen also asserted: “When all the dust settled the women were there when it cleared. They were there in positions to hold the thing [MIA] together. We took the position that if anything comes up, all you have to do is whistle and the men will be there. They’d come. But the little day-to-day things, taking care of the finances, things like that, the women still take care of that.” In Allen’s view, King benefited from the committed people around him, men and women alike: “He listened a lot and he thought a lot. He got by himself a lot. But he had a lot of help from the other men. And they exchanged ideas and he accepted ideas. And they usually came up with a good decision out of all of the exchanging of ideas.” While King may have had the responsibility of making final decisions and communicating those to the people, in the early days of the boycott King benefited from the collective wisdom, passion, and ideas of the gifted people around him.³⁷

No one played a greater role than Robinson. Less than two months into the boycott, the Fisk researcher Donald Ferron wrote: “I sense that in addition to Reverend King, there is another leader, though unknown to the public, of perhaps equal significance. The public recognized King as the leader, but I wonder if Mrs. Robinson may be of equal importance.” King later described Robinson as “indefatigable” and as a person who “was active on every level of the protest. She took part in both the executive board and the strategy committee meetings. When the MIA newsletter was inaugurated a few months after the protest began, she became its editor. She was sure to be present whenever negotiations were in progress. And although she carried a full teaching load at Alabama State, she still found time to drive both morning and afternoon.”³⁸

Not all was harmonious inside the leadership of the MIA, however. In an early January edition of the Montgomery Advertiser, an editorial appeared by MIA secretary Uriah Fields. He used strong language throughout, arguing: “On our side there can be no compromise with this principle involved. In the first place this is a compromise to begin with. We should have demanded complete integration which does away with Jim Crow, and what our constitutional rights guarantee to all American citizens.” Raising the stakes even higher, Fields concluded: “We shall never cease our struggle for equality until we gain first-class citizenship, and take it from me this is from a reliable source of Negro citizens of Montgomery. We have no intention of compromising. Such unwarranted delay in granting our request may very well result in a demand for the annihilation of segregation which will result in complete integration.” While Fields’s words may have represented the true sentiments of the majority of Montgomery’s African American citizenry and the leaders of the MIA, the leadership did not want their views broadcast in the local media. Fields had sent in the editorial without informing the rest of the MIA leadership. King and other leaders were angry with Fields, whose words served to heighten the vitriolic rhetoric between the parties and blunted the claim of the protesters that they were not seeking an end to segregation. A few weeks later, at an executive board meeting, the decision was made to curtail any such letters in the future: “The President at his discretion may make releases to the press. All other releases must be approved by the exec. comm., and such releases must be in writing with the newspaper having a copy and copy (duplicate) kept by the committee as a protective measure.” This would not be the last time Fields’s comments caused a crisis for the MIA and headaches for King.³⁹

In an effort to clarify their position, the MIA and a group of African American pastors wrote a letter to Montgomery officials. They reiterated that their boycott was in part a response to “the present seating arrangement,” though they added that it was “not a request for the abolition of segregation on buses but for a fair and reasonable seating of passengers so as to assure all passengers equal treatment.” The mayor and city commissioners refused to budge, citing their commitment to uphold city and state law.⁴⁰

Despite the internal controversy, the Alabama Tribune editorial director, Emory Jackson, remained impressed by the boycott as it entered its sixth week. He stressed not only the unity of the people and the quality of leadership, but also the economic benefit the protest yielded for the community’s African American citizens, noting Montgomery “has demonstrated the power of mobilized purchasing power” and that “the dollar can be made to perform a double duty in a democracy.” Instead of patronizing city buses, blacks hired carpool drivers and purchased gas from black-owned service stations. The boycott of buses also meant most African Americans had less time, opportunity, and inclination to patronize downtown Montgomery’s predominantly white-owned businesses.⁴¹

The bus boycott galvanized the African American community around a common protest, but that was not all that bound the people together. As Jackson’s editorial suggests, one consequence of the boycott was the establishing of a parallel black economy in the city. Instead of spending their dollars in white-owned businesses downtown, African Americans increasingly depended upon one another, creating new business and job opportunities. While the working class bore the brunt of the protest by not riding city buses, some did benefit from the broader galvanizing of the black community surrounding the boycott. Not only were some new jobs created, such as driving vehicles for the car pools, but numerous relationships were forged across class lines. The economic dimensions of the boycott must have particularly pleased Nixon, who not only longed for symbolic victories to challenge segregation, but who also desired substantive changes in the daily lives for all of Montgomery’s black citizens.

As he tried to respond to the controversy caused by the Fields editorial, King delivered a sermon titled “How to Believe in a Good God in the Midst of Glaring Evil.” Among King’s responses to the problem of evil was his assertion that “disbelief in a good God presents more problems than it solves. It is difficult to explain the presence of evil in the world of a good God, but it is more difficult to explain the presence of good in a world of no God.” The sermon contained no easy answers. His philosophical responses seem hollow given the challenges facing both he and his congregation. Perhaps they knew no high-minded theological treatise could substitute for the daily experience of God’s presence, even in the midst of glaring evil. King and his congregation would lean on their faith often over the coming weeks.⁴²

As January dragged on, the ACHR director, Robert Hughes, still hoped some type of settlement could be brokered. Though Hughes privately believed the demands of the protest were legitimate, his role with the ACHR limited how much he could say publicly. He did not believe a boycott was the most constructive approach to solving the problem, noting it “is too much like the way the citizens’ council work.” Hughes clarified his distaste for the protest: “I think it is wrong to take measures that deprive people of their livelihood, that you should work things out in some way that will not cut off a man’s income because he feels differently than you do.” Hughes hinted at an underground effort of those who want to try to solve the boycott that was scheduled for January 20, but when pressed on the details, he was sketchy and evasive. Like many other liberal whites in Montgomery, Hughes affirmed the injustice of the current conditions but did not endorse the means by which the MIA chose to challenge the injustice. In the guise of being part of a bridge organization between whites and blacks, he evaded taking a clear public stand on any of the principles involved.⁴³

On January 20, the ACHR held their monthly meeting at Dexter Avenue Baptist Church. Around forty people attended to hear a discussion of the pastor’s role in race relations. Panel members included Reverend E. Tipton Carroll of Cloverdale Christian Church, Dr. Crockett of Alabama State College, and Reverend Thomas R. Thrasher of the Church of the Ascension. King was originally scheduled to be on the panel but was out of town. In notes taken at the meeting, the Fisk University researcher Anna Holden commented that each of the respondents believed there were times when one should risk one’s position to take a stand, and they all admitted a reluctance to do so. In the question-and-answer period, Clara Rutledge recommended a recent Reader’s Digest article to the group titled “The Churches Repent,” which examined the outcome for some churches that chose to integrate. At the close of the meeting, Hughes asked for prayer for Reverend Robert Graetz, who had received many threats. Among those present at the meeting were Fred Gray and Coretta King.⁴⁴

In a surprising development, the Montgomery Advertiser announced on January 22 that city officials had reached a settlement of the bus boycott with some prominent African American leaders. There had been a meeting with three relatively obscure black pastors who were not a part of the MIA in which they agreed to what King called “conditions that had existed prior to the boycott.” The MIA moved quickly to refute the story, calling local clergy late at night to ensure they would let their congregants know during their worship services the following morning that the boycott was still on. Recognizing that many would not be in church the next day, King joined a group who visited African American nightclubs and pool halls until one o’clock in the morning to let them know that any rumors of a settlement were false. Reflecting on his long night, King noted, “For the first time I had a chance to see the inside of most of Montgomery’s night spots.” The fraudulent settlement ended up backfiring on city leaders as King and others reinforced ties with the broader black community through their late-night crusade through taverns and bars. The boycotters responded angrily to the purported agreement, serving notice to all that they were not interested in any outcome based on promises of possible future changes. MIA leaders also issued a press release in which they argued that any ministers who did meet with city officials “do not represent even a modicum of the Negro bus riders.” Claiming that more than 99 percent of the city’s black community supported the boycott, they emphasized that “the bus protest is still on and it will last until our proposals are given sympathetic consideration through our appointed leaders.”⁴⁵

The day after responding to the supposed settlement of the boycott, King told his congregation that “Christianity has never been content to wrap itself up in the garments of any particular society.” He urged his audience to take seriously Jesus’ call to go “into all the world and preach the gospel,” arguing that the one who most needed to hear about universal dimensions of the Gospel was “the white man,” noting “he is pagan in his conceptions.” As an example, King referred to those who murdered Emmett Till. He also sharply criticized white concern for foreign missions while they continued to trample “over the Negro” in the United States. King’s proposed method for reaching out to southern whites included exploring “the root of the problem,” loving them, and sitting down and preaching to them. He concluded the sermon by calling his congregation to “be maladjusted.” In the wake of a manipulative attempt to end the boycott, King called for a vigilant movement to redeem the souls of southern whites. Less than two months into the boycott, King’s dream for the South was bigger than the end of segregation; he envisioned the creation of what he often called the beloved community.⁴⁶

Even after the MIA vehemently debunked the spurious settlement announced by city officials, the rector of the Episcopal Church of the Ascension, Thomas Thrasher, hoped a compromise could still be reached. A board member of the ACHR who had served nine years in the city, Thrasher believed black leaders had not sought full integration because “Nigras here are used to operating within the framework of the state laws and that they feel more comfortable when they stay within the bounds of the law.” The real roadblock to a settlement was Crenshaw, the lawyer for the bus company, whom Thrasher called “rabidly anti-Nigra and a disturbed person.” While Thrasher hoped to find some middle ground, he also faced pressure from some in his congregation to remain silent on racial matters. Among those urging the rector to keep his moderate views quiet was Luther Ingalls, a parishioner in Thrasher’s church and the primary organizer of the White Citizens Council (WCC) in Montgomery.⁴⁷

Boycott participant and WPC member Irene West was not interested in any brokered settlement dreamed up by Thrasher. Although she was a wealthy widow of dentist A. W. West Sr., she recognized the critical role played by the working people in the struggle. She had been involved in attempts to advance the quality of life for African Americans in Montgomery for decades, even hosting Ella Baker at her home during a trip by the NAACP branch director in the early 1940s. The bus company was financially dependent on laborers who rode the buses to work each day. These were “the ones who keep this movement going. The leaders could do nothing by themselves. They are only the voice of thousands of colored workers.” West believed a significant change had occurred in white-black relations since the Brown decision, as white clerks in the town’s stores began interacting with African American patrons with “a steely glare in their eyes.” Emphasizing the economic power wielded by the black community, West claimed no compromise would happen and that the demands were only a first step. Next would be an all-out assault on “the unconstitutionality of the state statute. From this point we can wipe out state wide segregation on city bus lines.” Six weeks into the boycott, she believed the protest might “last another month or a year, but so long as it does, I’ll get up at 4:00 a.m. and help people get to work and everything else I can to make it a success. We have reached the point of no return.” King later applauded West’s exemplary commitment to the cause: “Every morning she drove her large green Cadillac to her assigned dispatch station, and for several hours in the morning and again in the afternoon one could see this distinguished and handsome gray-haired chauffeur driving people to work and home again.”⁴⁸

In an MIA board meeting a few days later, King speculated the settlement announcement betrayed an attempt by the mayor to portray the African American community as divided. Debate in the meeting revealed there were very real differences within the MIA leadership. The majority argued that they should give up on their demand for black bus drivers, while a few felt that having bus drivers was the most important of the boycott objectives. Early on, several MIA leaders began to waiver on the demand for black bus drivers. While the executive board vowed to stand firm on their three conditions, King later admitted: “considering the possibility that there were no imminent vacancies and taking into account the existence of certain priorities due to union regulations, it was agreed that we would not demand the immediate hiring of Negro bus drivers, but would settle for the willingness of the bus company to take applications from Negroes and hire some as soon as vacancies occurred.” Their willingness to be flexible on this point reflects the presence of varying priorities on the part of the leaders of the MIA. This wavering also led many in the area to view this last demand as little more than a bargaining chip when negotiations began, as the ACHR director, Robert Hughes, believed: “I can’t say this publicly and this is of course confidential, but it seems to me that the demands for Negro drivers was tacked on for purposes of compromise—I think it was something the leaders added to use as a bargaining point and I think it will be dropped when they are ready to end the thing, whenever that is.”⁴⁹

While MIA leaders tried to stay unified, the city commissioners announced a “get-tough policy” after their bogus settlement fell apart. A few weeks earlier, Commissioner Clyde Sellers had joined the Montgomery White Citizens Council, claiming “I’ll stand up and say I’m a white man.” The crowd roared as Sellers joined an organization that now numbered as many as twelve thousand people from the Montgomery area. Following the ill-fated compromise attempt, all three commissioners claimed they “felt betrayed,” and at a rally on January 24, Mayor Gayle and City Commissioner Parks joined Sellers as members of the White Citizens Council.⁵⁰

Responding to the news that all the city commissioners were now members of the WCC, the ACHR chair, Reverend Raymond Whatley, declared that “the Mayor has declared war on the Nigras of Montgomery.” In an attempt to explain this overreaction by white authorities, Whatley added that “they see this as an opening wedge leading to mixing in the schools and in people’s homes.” In the wake of Sellers joining the WCC, Whatley had preached a sermon on Herod, noting the Roman leader ordered the deaths of innocent infants out of fear that this newborn King of the Jews would threaten his rule. Whatley claimed that some modern-day public officials were like Herods who were willing to join the WCC to preserve their reign of leadership. Soon after, Whatley got a note from the vestry board asking him to not mention blacks and segregation from the pulpit. He was later forced by his church board to resign from the ACHR, as both chair and member. Over the coming months Whatley decided to leave the firestorm at St. Marks to become the pastor at a small country church.⁵¹

Following this new “get-tough” policy by Mayor Gayle, the number of threats made against boycott participants grew significantly. King continued to be one of the primary recipients of hate-filled letters and phone calls. One night late in January, the phone rang just as King was heading to bed. A threatening voice told King that by “next week, you’ll be sorry you ever came to Montgomery.” At that moment, the torrent of threats and the stresses of leadership overwhelmed King. Unable to sleep, he made some coffee and deliberated how to gracefully remove himself from the leadership of the MIA. Exhausted and overwhelmed, King decided to practice what he preached by bringing his situation to God. He later remembered the tenor of his prayer: “I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But now I am afraid. The people are looking to me for leadership, and if I stand before them without strength and courage, they too will falter. I am at the end of my powers. I have nothing left. I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.” In a later recounting, King remembered: “At that moment I experienced the presence of the Divine as I never had experienced Him before. It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying: ‘Stand up for righteousness, stand up for truth; and God will be at your side forever.’ Almost at once my fears began to go. My uncertainty disappeared. I was ready to face anything.” This prayer would serve as a defining moment of his personal faith and his leadership of the Montgomery movement.⁵²

King emphasized this kitchen table experience in later stories about the boycott and recounted it in sermons around the country for years. Many King scholars have followed King’s lead, emphasizing this prayer as a critical turning point. Keith Miller emphasizes the “social gospel twist” of the story: “Unlike the narrators of traditional conversions, he faltered not from personal weakness or temptation, but from the strain of leading a social crusade. His description testifies to a social gospel, for God offered him strength—not to resist personal temptation—but to continue leading the bus boycott. By translating the social gospel into a conversion narrative, he expertly blends this-worldly and otherworldly redemption.” James Cone claims this was the moment when King first made the God of the African American experience his own. Mervyn Warren asserts that the vision at the kitchen table transformed King from “a mere pastor to a minister with innumerable inner resources.” Lewis Baldwin also credits what he calls King’s “vision in the kitchen” with solidifying a spiritual conception of his social leadership. Baldwin goes on to qualify his perspective, however, suggesting this was not a unique experience, but rather was one reflective of many such encounters King had over the course of his civil rights leadership.⁵³

King did not mention this epiphany publicly for nearly a year, when he was quoted as telling his church that he had a vision in which God told him to “stand up and die for the truth, stand up and die for the righteousness.” Given the distance between the incident and any public account, it is quite possible King used this event as a rhetorical device to capsulate a yearlong journey marked by a consistent struggle with fear and doubt. Throughout the year, and for the remainder of his life, King fought to retain his faith in God’s ultimate power and presence. King’s sermons suggest a need by both King and the community to be reminded again and again that “our God is able” and that one can indeed “believe in a good God in the midst of glaring evil.” While his vision at the kitchen table was significant, it was but one in a series of crises that King faced during the year of the boycott. King’s faith in God and in his own ability to lead developed in the midst of many moments of truth throughout the year.⁵⁴

A few days later, King called a special executive board meeting of the MIA to deal with some urgent issues. The minutes reflect that the first item they addressed was whether to accept a new settlement proposal made by “white friends” to Reverend Binion, who was on the MIA finance committee and served on the executive board. After explaining that this proposal had been floated before the so-called compromise, Binion suggested that a vastly reduced number of seats reserved for whites on predominantly black bus routes might be amenable to the city commissioners and provide some grounds for an agreement. Nixon dismissed the suggestion immediately, noting the board was “going to run into trouble” with the foot soldiers of the movement should they make such a compromise. Nixon wanted no part of such a compromise: “If that’s what you’re going to do, I don’t want to be here when you tell the people.” King quickly sided with Nixon: “From my limited contact, if we went tonight and asked the people to get back on the bus, we would be ostracized. They wouldn’t get back. We shouldn’t give people the illusion that there are no sacrifices involved, that it could be ended soon. My intimidations are a small price to pay if victory can be won. We shouldn’t make the illusion that they won’t have to walk. I believe to the bottom of my heart that the majority of Negroes would ostracize us. They are willing to walk.” King knew this was no time to grow timid or turn back. If the people were willing to walk, the leaders of the MIA needed to demonstrate their commitment through bold leadership. They took a courageous step when they concluded their meeting with a commitment to file suit in federal court to seek a ruling that would ensure full integration on city buses.⁵⁵

That evening, a mass meeting was held at Ralph Abernathy’s First Baptist Church. In King’s keynote address, he told the people: “If M. L. King had never been born this movement would have taken place. I just happened to be here. You know there comes a time when time itself is ready for change. That time has come in Montgomery, and I had nothing to do with it.” Referring to his recent arrest and fine for speeding at the hands of Montgomery police, King continued, “If all I have to pay is going to jail a few times and getting about 20 threatening calls a day, I think it is a very small price to pay for what we are fighting for.” As the meeting was winding down, King received word that a bomb had exploded at his home where his wife, Coretta, and their new baby were resting.⁵⁶

King rushed home, making his way through a gathering crowd to discover a hole in the front porch and several shattered windows. He quickly located his wife, Coretta, and was relieved to discover that she and their young baby had not been harmed. King next turned his attention to the angry crowd, which was primarily comprised of a number of Alabama State students and some working-class blacks who had sacrificed significantly over the previous few months. From his badly damaged front porch, King urged them not to resort to violence but to continue to love their enemies. He then reiterated a theme he had sounded at the mass meeting earlier in the evening, reminding them that “if I am stopped this movement will not stop. If I am stopped our work will not stop. For what we are doing is right. What we are doing is just. And God is with us.” After encouraging the crowd to return to their homes, King added, “We are not hurt and remember that if anything happens to me, there will be others to take my place.”⁵⁷

Many scholars have reflected on the significance of this front porch speech. Keith Miller characterizes it as “the most important address this man ever made. If he failed to control his emotions, if he failed to talk nonviolence, if he failed to preach love, and—most importantly—if he failed to disarm the mob, nonviolence would fail, the boycott would fail, love would fail, and he would fail.” King’s comments suggest the moment was about much more than King, however. This was a moment for the people of Montgomery. How they responded to this blatant act of violence against their leader and his family said much more about the character of the movement than King’s speech did. As the boycott entered its third month, the protest belonged to the people. It was not his to bargain away. It was not dependent on his rhetoric in a time of crisis. Rather, the movement’s future rested with the African American citizens of Montgomery, and with God, who walked with them.⁵⁸

Several months later, the MIA’s effort to get bus segregation declared unconstitutional went to trial. In the courtroom, the defense lawyer Walter Knabe interrogated Claudette Colvin, who had been arrested for violating the city’s bus segregation laws a year earlier. He charged that the MIA had changed their goals since December 5, to which Colvin responded: “No, sir. We haven’t changed our ideas. It has been in me ever since I was born.” Later Colvin responded to a question about leadership of the boycott: “Did we have a leader? Our leaders is just we ourself.” When Knabe pressed another witness to affirm that King had originally made three demands at the beginning of the boycott, none of which were for desegregation, another witness noted, “The Reverend King did not ask that, the Negroes asked that.” She later added, “We employed him to be our mouth piece.” The women who signed on to the lawsuit that would change the segregation laws in Montgomery rejected the notion that King or anybody else was the leader of the movement. Rather, they credited the people with being their own leaders. By the end of January 1956, the most significant change for King was that he was now fully a part of the people. As one movement participant commented in a mass meeting, if anybody in the city wanted to kill King, they were too late “because Martin Luther King is in all of us now, and in order to kill Martin Luther King, you’ll have to kill every black in the city of Montgomery.” Thanks to the crucible of the past few months, the people were in King as well. Their courage and commitment had inspired King, motivating him as a leader and inspiring him as a speaker. They proved willing to walk together.⁵⁹