That experience has shaped me into the activist that I am today. I am grateful to have been in existence at such a moment in history. I lived at 29th Monroe and was in the 10th grade. My mother from Texas had witnessed a Black man tarred and feathered and lynched as a young woman , and I remember her tears, as she told me the news when I came home from school.Despite the tumultuous days that followed, I also witnessed the most unity that I have ever seen or experienced. Signs were posted in the windows that read "Soul Brother" and Black people were driving with their headlights on in the daytime hours while extending Black fists in the air representing Black Power and Black Unity. My dad worked for a wealthy Family in Mission Hills who were out of town at the time, and called and gave my dad permission for us to stay at their home.
We could see the flames from 31st and Indiana, as if they were in our very backyard. We left our home with layers of clothes on, not knowing what to expect when we returned. As we approached 31st and Monroe to turn the Guardsman stopped our car and said to my father,
" Where you going, boy?", and my daddy politely responded, and explained. As I laid my head down on the pillow that night in Mission Hills, I felt relief, but I realized that the relief I felt was only temporary. After that experience I realized my parents could never really protect me, or themselves from the hatred, disrespect, violence and racism that we as Black people have faced, and continue to face.

I was a student at Tulane University in New Orleans when Dr. King was killed. Riding the KC Southern Belle home, listening to the porters talk about what had happened and how people were going to react, it was unreal. Then a conducter comes to find me to tell me my parents can't come from Independence to Union Station to pick me up because downtown KC is under martial law, and I'll need to get off the train in Grandview. When I do, I'm met by my father and brother-in-law with shotguns in the car for protection. To this day it still all seems so surreal.

I was 7 years old and sitting in a classroom in an integrated clasroom in KCKS. Our principal made the announcement about Dr. King's assassination. You could hear the tears in her voice. Our teachers (black and white) were crying and trying to not frighten us, but to no avail! To a kid, a crying teacher and principal is devastating! My mother began transporting neighborhood kids home, she was one of a few mothers who could actually drive a car in 1968! My oldest brother was arrested that day when he left Wyandotte High School with a group of his friends! This was his senior year! My parents were devastated but relieved that he was not hurt during the iolence.

I remember wondering if Martin-Luther-King was a cousin or something! We stayed home and watched the funeral with family and I remember watching the tears on the face of my mother and other adult kinfolks! I began to cry when they showed the horse drawn carriage! I learned about life that day, and it was a sad lesson learned.

I met dr. king when I was a student at kansas state in jan. 1968...after his speech at ksu I stayed around and talked to dr. king and took some photos...His talk at ksu was very inspirational...a few months later I saw robert kennedy at ksu and ended up working on his pres. campagin in 5 states....sen. kennedy was in indiana when dr. king was shot...I remember sen kennedy talking about dr. king at campaign stops in nebraska and oregon.......I grew up in atchison,ks. where we had black and white swimming pools...dr. king and robert kennedy offered us hope......dan lykins (kansas board of regents member)

As the riots started in Kansas City, I went outside at dusk to sit in the front yard of our home in Hickman Mills. I always felt safe sitting under the elm tree and processing the events of the day. Imagine how surreal the scene became as the National Guard used Bannister Road as its route to the riots. I watched in horror as military vehicles with soldiers, armed and ready, lumbered past my front yard en route to the riots. I remember thinking, this is what the end of the world looks like. I thought about everything I had read in my history classes about war, and wondered what these soldiers would do when they reached their destination. I knew that I would go to bed safe that night, but I could not sleep for worrying about what would happen next.

I was in second grade when King was assassinated. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day until all hell broke loose. I remember our school was shut down, my mother picked us up from school. As being in second grade, I really didn't realize the impact until that evening...watching everything explode on our black and white tv. My father worked in downtown kc, and as a family we were concerned about his safety. Riots broke out and I remember as a child I was so frightened. At that time, police were patroling the old ASB bridge, as they didn't want people who were "rioting" to cross the bridge. It was late when my father arrived home. All I can remember, that as a child I was terrified. It was a horrible day for America. I had very mixed emotions about Dr. King. He was a man who stood for peace and equality and I truly believe that he was a man of god and loved his country. However, how could his core followers become so violent.

I was a very young soldier stationed at Fort Campbell Ky. our unit went on alert and went to Memphis to help restore order. I had never been in a riot before and was scared to death. We were not issued bullets for our M14's and the news media announced that fact. As we rolled the streets of Memphis people threw bricks at us from the top of buildings. Our government thought that 1968 was the year of revoultion for sure. It looked like America would burn. What a sad time for this country.

I was thirteen, my Uncle Frank had a liquor store on the black side of KC. It was looted and torched. We went the next day to salvage whatever we could, all my brothers and dad helped.
Uncle Frank lost everything and because he didn't have riot insurance,lost a lot of money.
He and his wife cried that day.
At thirteen I was wondering what Uncle Frank did to create such a mess. Uncle Frank treated everyone with respect and I found out later he even carried credit tabs for his customers.
He never recovered from the riot,
At that point in his life he became bitter and his attitude changed.
That's what I remember like it was yesterday.
Nick

I was 27 years old when he was killed and in New York City in a play. It was announced and no one said a word. Very quiet!

Then we rode a subway to our hotel and not one person said a word- very quiet. It was as if everyone knew something very tragic had happened.

I was 8 years old. At the time, I was one of a select few black kids in my neighborhood (42nd & Brooklyn) being bused to white schools. That year, I was at Blenheim Elementary on Prospect. After Rev. King's death, the kids in my neighborhood were kept home from school for a few days. We returned to school without incident, and nothing was ever said about it. I'd imagine parents and faculty tried to shelter us from it as best they could. I also remember on the night of Rev. Kings's death, someone went around to houses in the neighborhood advising us to turn our porch lights on if we didn't want the Black Panthers to burn our houses down. Needless to say, we turned ours on!

I will always remember sitting at my desk at Askew Elementay on 27th and Topping, when I looked out the window and saw one of my older brothers and his friend looking at me with such concern that I knew something was terribly wrong. Just the fact that they were there, was enough for me to be concerned. I was 12 years old at the time and walking me home was not a favorite chore my brothers were assigned. This was not my neighborhood school and I walked many miles alone to reach my home in an all African American neighborhood known as "The Eastside".
We were the only white children in our neighborhood and my mother sent them to walk me home safely as this day began to be more necessary over the next few years. I cannot put into words how I instantly began to figit in my chair and could not wait for the 3:10 dismissal in order to find out what was so important. My mind raced and I knew it was bad. My brothers had just recently been relieved of the duty to see me home safely since they were now attending East High School.
Due to the normal level of violence that went on in the neighborhood on any given day, we were never allowed outside anyway, only to travel to and from school. I will not go into details, but our family endured many violent experiences because of prejudism.
I watched the riots on TV and felt fear for everyone involved especially for my grandmother living just a few blocks from Swope Park. My parents were extremely prejudiced and were extremely appalled at what was happening, blaming everything that was wrong with society on the blacks.
The tension between blacks and whites seem to be just as strong today as they were then if the comments from the KC Star is any indication. When I return to the KC area, I see how people are still pointing fingers and blaming everything on race.
As I left the KC area, I was one of the few still alive and not killed from living on the Eastside. I set my mind on finding a place to raise my children where such racism did not exist. Well, I found it in Wyoming (The equality state, no less) and racism does exist,but not nearly as overtly as it does in KC. Nor as violently.
Growing up in that era and in that neighborhood, I learned that there is indeed a subculture that exists between the races, but I feel that even the white kids growing up in similar situations such as poverty, abuse, alcohol, drugs etc. have the same sense of dispair and same hurdles to climb. It is that sense of being "stuck" in the situation that begins the search for a way to escape for a short while because a permanent escape seems impossible. Most people, including a majority of my friends escaped with drugs and alcohol making the situation so much worse.
I believe that Dr. King saw how people are people, no matter what their color. He understood how things came to be and tried to help others see that the answer was not in violence nor with prejudice, but in creating a means for everyone to have the same opportunities. What the individual does with that opportunity is what makes the differnce. He was only trying to advocate for the same rights and opportunities for everyone and I am sure he ment that for blacks, whites, females, males, Hispanics, Asians etc..

I was in Kansas City serving my two year obligation as a Conscientious Objector at the K. U. Medical Center. The morning after the assassination there was a hastily called memorial service at the Episcopal Cathedral. We, my wife-to-be and I, called in sick to our jobs so we could attend.

During the service, someone approached the Canon Priest and whispered to him. The service was brought to a close soon after. On our way out of the Cathedral, the priest stopped us quietly telling us that there was a march in progress to City Hall. It was composed of school kids who had been denied a day out of school to memorialize Dr. King and they were on their way to City Hall to protest. “We need to go,” said the priest.

We arrived at the plaza and stood about half way between the police lines and protesters. Looking around I glanced toward the roof of one of the government buildings and saw a machine gun manned by two officers. Parked at the curb were several police cars.

The police were grim-faced in their riot gear. The kids seemed leaderless. A few began climbing on the parked cars jumping from the roofs to the hoods and trucks. The air was electric and tension was building.

I heard a pop like a small firecracker behind the cops, and the air instantly filled with tear gas canisters. The police began to move forward riot sticks ready to use. One good breath of gas was enough to convince me that I needed to leave. I turned and began to run. A few steps or half a block later a little voice came on in my head. “Where is Mary (my intended)? I quickly located her… ahead of me and pulling away. “Don’t have to worry about her,” I thought.

Then the next thought: Where is David (the Canon Priest)? I turned toward the cops and saw him down in the street. I grabbed him and headed for safety.

The next morning as we dressed for work, I opened the Star. There on the front page I was captured in my moment of looking for Mary and David. “I sure hope no one sees this at work. It will be hard to explain.”

They didn’t. There was a riot going on.

Reverend Jim Rule

I remember the week that MLK had died. I was only 13 in a 1/2 white 1/2 black mixed Jr & Sr high school. My folks "I'm white" never allowed anyone to speak badly about any other race. My friends in school were mixed just like the school was. Then that week happened and all my black friends now were trying to beat me and other whites up. I couldn't understand it. I was told by my dad that a minister well known in the black community had been killed, but I still couldn't accept what the blacks were doing, trying to hurt me or my other white friends. I fought back. My anger grew. They were never again to be considered my friends. You don't hurt your friends for any reason. My dad told me that I was too young to understand and that I shouldn't judge their actions because they were extremely emotional about MLK's death. I didn't care. I didn't shoot him and I didn't encourage anyone to shoot him. Why would my good friends try to hurt me? I didn't really care what the rest of the community was doing, I was just tuned into what my "old" friends were doing. I gained some new friends out of all that. They were all white.

5 years later I joined the Marines. That's where and when I learned how to trust a fellow human being regardless of their color. That's where I started to remember the things my dad tried to instill in me. That's when I learned to look beyond my own life.

Now years later I see all the damage that his death caused. Wonder where my friends "black" are today? I miss them.

My family was one of a very few Latino's that lived in the area. We lived at 38th Montgall. I was 16 when the riots started. I recall driving west on 39th street passing Horace Mann School when I saw six white kids walking from Westport HS. I stopped to tell them they better start back because a number of young men were beating up white kids waiting for the bus at 39th and Prospect. Most of the kids retreated, but unfortunately three did not. They were assualted.

That evening my brother and I climbed on the roof of my house to see the National guard shot rioters around the telephone company on 39 and Montgall. My family lived at this address for over nine years so we grew up with some of the rioters. They ran up and down Prospect and warned us to put up a black flag, signifying unity. We complied. We were the only non-blacks in the neighborhood. I also saw carloads of police driving up and down the street in station wagons with shot guns pointed out the windows. The next morning, the five and dime (Lees)had brunt down (that is where I worked). I will alwasy remember the US tank rubbling down Prospect ave. That was our 9-11.

Tony

He had ties to Castro! Let it go the war is over.

I was in the 7th grade that year. The night Dr. King was shot, I was at home alone and upon hearing about it on the television, I recall having a sick feeling. I did not have a real appreciation of the consequences of his death - I just recall having a strange feeling about it in the pit of my stomach. The next day, the riots started and my mother who worked in Kansas was trying to get to my step father who worked in the inner city of Kansas City, Mo and to get to me and my brother who was in school. There was rioting, fires, and tear gas everywhere. It was really dangerous. The teachers were afraid to dismiss anyone from school for fear of our lives. The riots, fires, and curfews continued until after Dr. King's funeral. Shortly after Dr. King's death, Robert Kennedy was killed and then there was the summer olympics in Mexico City with the show of Black pride by the athletes. So, the year 1968 stood out in my mind as one of the most difficult years in my life. But it also marked the beginning of a shift of mindset; a different attitude that I had about myself. Instead of feeling downtrotten about race relations, I felt bold and proud and assertive. I went through a period of having a militant attitude demanding respect and making a point to look White people right in their eyes. The announcement of Dr. Kin's death served as a wake up call for me never to take a back seat to anyone.

In April of 1968 I was close to completing my freshman year at the University of Kansas. I was pulling into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant on 23rd street when I heard the news of Dr. King's assassination on the radio. I remember feeling great sadness. My father, a Southern Baptist pastor, had worked with Dr. King and his father in the school desegregation effort in Atlanta. We had moved to Kansas City in 1963.

My mother and I were scheduled to be in Atlanta for spring break later that week. My father called Daddy King, as MLK, Sr. was known, and said that he could not attend the funeral. He would send me as his representative. It was an election year, and all of the candidates announced that they would attend the funeral. My father felt that it would be a circus, and he didn't want Daddy King to have to "look after me". I was 19 and certainly felt that no one would have to look after me. I protested, but to no avail.

My brother-in-law was in the Missouri National Guard. He was stationed on State Line to keep out the hordes of blacks rumored to be coming to Kansas City from Kansas. I remember being afraid for him. But the hordes never came.

Bob Shands
Olathe

I was a child, seven years old, in Maryland when Dr. King was assassinated. I remember my parents watching the news and telling me that a very good man had died.

My father worked for a labor union (AFGE). He had previously worked for the Government Printing Office for 17 years, and while there, he had always encouraged his African-American friends and co-workers that they were not "just Negroes," that they were good enough and smart enough to do anything anyone else could do. He lived out his beliefs and throughout his life and career did much for minorities and women in the federal workplace.

I remember celebrating with my father when Martin Luther King Day became a national holiday. I followed in my father's path in many ways, serving on and aiding Civil Rights Committees during my own career in the U.S. government and promoting diversity in and out of the workplace.

In recent years, I followed a calling to Kansas City, where I felt a need to serve people in an urban setting. I began anew to study the work and writing of Dr. King, and I found much to keep me going when I got tired, when I saw racism still alive around me, when I ended a relationship because I found callousness, lack of compassion and even racism in my significant other, who professed to be a Christian.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. is my primary hero. His life and work inspires me in my everyday mission and ministry, to make the world (at least my part of it) a better place for all people, to encourage people to live together in peace, to insist upon justice and fairness for all.

Kathleen M. Isabell
Kansas City, Kansas

The loss of Dr. King was a tremendous loss for all of us. At the time of his murder, I was a first grade white kid in a segregated school in Georgia. The "joke" on the playground that day? "The should charge the guy who shot him (King) $10 for shooting coons out of season and let him go." I hope those same children realize today what a tremendous loss we had that day.

In 1968 I was 12 years and our family lived in the southeast part of Kansas City. My older sister attended a Catholic high school and I attended the Catholic elementary just down the street on Swope Parkway. Our neighborhood was integrated and "white flight" was well under way.

We had friends and schoolmates of all races and ethnicities. There was a detectable anger within the black community before the assassination, and of course things boiled over afterwards.

I vividly recall how Swope Parkway at 59th was no longer the bustling intersection that called for great caution when crossing by foot. It was eerily similar to one of those movies where the population had been decimated by some bomb or germ attack by aliens.

Hardly anything was stirring. The sisters and lay teachers at our school had parents hurriedly pick up their children from school. Those of us living nearby were ordered to briskly walk straight home.

In the evening (before the riots started), at least a couple of our black friends called and cautioned our family to stay home. "Stuff was going to go down. We don't want you to be hurt, because it could be crazy" was thrust of their warnings. We did stay home and mostly watched the riots occur through the lens of the television, even though we were only a few blocks from some of the worst of it.

If my adolescent innocence didn't end that summer (which included the second Kennedy assassination of my young life), it did the next summer. On or about the last day of June my best friend, Brian Holderby, innocently caught a bullet in his heart. Blacks and whites were having a confrontation outside his family's home, and Brian came downstairs from bed and looked through the screen door, unfortunately, in the line of fire. He didn't make it to the hospital alive.

I doubt that any one of us from that class can get this visual out of their heads: eight to ten 12- and 13-year old boys; white, black and Hispanic; carrying the casket of their fallen friend. No, things have never been the same.

I occasionally drive through the "old neighborhood" but it mostly makes me sad. The house my grandparents bought around 1919 still stands and is occupied. Our family home still stands but looks pretty tired, without much care. A number of the areas homes have been knocked down, and many are in disrepair. And driving by the location of my friend's shooting will always open that old wound a little and make me wonder what we'd be doing together if he had lived.

No, things will never be the same.

My brother was a patrolman with the KCPD. I was 16 years old and my mom and I lived in Leave-It-To- Beaverhood. My brother's wife and children, and his partner's wife and children all came to stay at our house. We were very isolated from the rioting, but still were afraid. One neighbor called us to say they were glad to see the patrol car come by as it made them feel safer. A couple of us went out to the grocery store, and a neighbor boy came running up and slammed the top of the car with his hand to get my attention. My passenger jumped nearly through the roof at the sound, thinking we were being attacked.
I didn't understand until I got older why people would burn down their own businesses and homes, and I'm not sure I really understand now. But I do appreciate, as much as one who wasn't affected by it can, how angry and frustrated people were with the unfairness and prejudice and the murder of dreams.
My brother died later that year as a result of an accident with two young black men who hit his patrol car with a stolen car. They had the grace and courage to come to the hospital to see us and tell us how sorry they were.
It was a tough year for all of us.

I was 9 years old attending a school assembly for Easter when I remember our principal came into the auditorium with my mom's friend who happened to be a police officer. She called my name and my 2 younger sisters to come to the front door. Our friend told us girls that he was going to take us home in his police car to see mom and dad. Something had happened and we needed to get home.

We lived in Northeast Kansas City and soon after we arrived home my mom showed up in a police car also. Dad was on his way home. I remember the police officer telling all of us to stay in our house with the doors locked and away from the windows. I remember being scared because we did not know what was going on. I remember it so vividly. The riots had started. Why were all the black people tearing stuff up? We were a white family so close to the black neighborhood. The three of us girls could not understand. I am not real sure my grownup parents understood either though.

Why can't people in this world just get along? It's the age old question that I'm not sure will ever be answered. God Bless All!

April 4, 1968 was the first day that I ever saw my father cry. As a young girl of five years old, I was used to my father, Chester C. Owens, Jr., being the strong figure that would comfort me when I was down and console me when I fell off my bike or skinned my knee. But, here he was, crying and staring at the television.

My parents, along with James and Dorothy McField, were just planning to open the HUB bookstore, a place that specialized in Afro-centric books and thought. Their plans were to help the Northeast area of Kansas City, Kansas by providing a place for knowledge building and molding minds. The day they opened was the day of Dr. King's funeral.

My father told me how Dr. King had influenced his life and gave him the strength to stand up for discrimination and injustices in Kansas City, KS. My father scheduled all of the pickets for the NAACP for uptown Kansas City, KS and helped to lead the fight (along with many others) against school segregation and oppression. My parents even stayed right with King as he opposed the War on Vietnam, when others deserted him. This led to our phone being tapped, threatening phone calls, a visit by the FBI to my father's employer and my father checking underneath his car whenever he went to start it.

But, on April 4, 1968, it was me who comforted my father and told him that it would be all right. The things that Dr. King lived and died for would be instilled in my generation. While I can't speak for others around my age, I can say that my father and his dedication to leading a life that King spoke about, lived and died for has forever impacted my life and how I treat my fellow man and woman.

Carla A.Owens
St. Louis, Missouri

I vividly remember then Mayor Ilus Davis in the WDAF-TV Newsroom and studio simulcasting to all stations in the area, urging calm. I was in junior high school and there certainly was a sense in the city that racial disturbances only happened in New York, Los Angeles or the South. Certainly, the sense of "We don't have any race issues here!" dominated the mindset of the community until that night.

Spring of 1968 was just before I turned 12 later that summer. I was more caught up in starting baseball, having weird feelings about girls, and trying to figure out what my hippie sisters were doing. The night of MLK's assination I was more annoyed that some of my favorite TV shows were pre-empted, but as I watched what was unfolding, and learned more, we talked within our family and at school of the terrible thing this was. Perhaps this was my time of awakening, and it really started hitting home when Bobby Kennedy was shot a couple of months later. I remember sitting with my friends under the trees and talking about the calamity that the world seemed, hoping my big brother wasn't going to Viet Nam... and then playing baseball. For all of the troubles of that time, those were the waning days of a more simple, protected world within which I lived.

i remember sitting on my bed and looking out the window of my apt. on the SW trafficway. All you could hear were sirens all night long. it was such a frightful night. no traffic and a curfew had been set.

days later, we had to evacuate our office at 34th & broadway as we had received threats of a bomb. other offices had the same thing happening.

now in wash.,mo.

I was attending the catholic school on 31 and Benton. Central H.S. was down the street from us. The nuns had heard the news and had most of the school in the church to pray. Afterwards our parents were notified to pick us up from school. I lived on 32nd and Chestnut, about a block from the school and everything else. My step-dad picked us up and on that day the skys and my surroundings were really quiet. Like a weirdness in the air. I saw young men sitting on corners, not knowing which direction to turn to. We reached home and was in our backyard playing. Throughout the day, a curfew had been announced and no one was allowed to be out after 6PM. I had found out later my Step dad had went out after curfew.It was still early, my siblings and I were in the backyard when suddenly there appeared a heilocopter in the air. As we were watching it, all of a sudden we couldn't breathe very well, our throats and eyes were burning! The helio had sprayed or dropped tear gas! We ran into our house and stayed for most of the time.

I was living with my parents in our home near Swope Park, and they had gone out of town on vacation. When the riots began, the northern sky became dark with the smoke of burning businesses on 31st St, and the odor seemed to permeate everything. Kansas City was under martial law, and a tank with several heavily armed soldiers was parked for days at the intersection of 62nd and Swope Parkway. To get to and from work in Independence, I had to pass through several National Guard and police checkpoints. At our high school, the teachers had to drive past a group of jeering students who were angry because the school had not closed. (It did later) They yelled threats at anyone who tried to park or enter the building. To my surprise, some of the ugliest behavior came from some of my best students. As I saw the smoky skyline of the city on my drive home, it looked like the whole town was on fire. It was a very frightening time. Things were never quite the same at school after order was restored. The fine spirit of cooperation between races which had previously existed became very strained.

The day Dr. King was shot I was on a bus at Fort Des Moines IA, filled with potential Army draftees who had just taken pre-induction physical exams. The bus had a radio and the regular broadcast was interrupted with the bulletin announcing the murder. The bus broke out in loud cheers of approval. I can still feel the chill run down my spine.

As a 5-year old, I remember asking my mother if today (April 4, 1968) was the Judgement Day because everything was burning. I remember how living in Parade Park (17th & Michigan)the residents seemed to be part of a military occupied zone with all the National Guardsmen patrolling the neighborhood, and the parents kept the kids indoors for the next week or so. I vividly remember the black and white TV in our living room, and how I changed through the channels amazed that all three channels had the same picture at the same time (we only had channels 4, 5 & 9 back then)of Dr. King's mule driven cart being pulled through the streets of Atlanta with thousands following in the throngs behind his body.

Does discrimination and racism exist in the America today, 40 years after King's death? Sure it does. But racism and discrimination has changed over the years. It is more subtle than in years past. As far as Dr. King's dream, today, in my belief, it has become a national nightmare. As a Black Man in America of mixed heritage (my father is Black and my mother Japanese), I have seen racism and discrimination from different perspectives.

When looking at the social ills in the Black Community in particular, many of these problems may have origins in racism and discrimination, but unfortunately, too many black people have contributed to their own demise based on their own actions. Wake up Black People! We cannot continue to blame White America for many of our problems. I have found that most white people are not prejudiced. Many may be indifferent to the crisis in black communities, but that indifference is no different to the indifference black people may have for starving people in Africa. Yes, we know there is a problem, but if it does not directly affect you, then you will probably feel less empathetic towards other people.

We as black people, need to correct one another for some of the embarrassing displays of public behavior that most of us have witnessed. Many of us reading this passage have been in public and heard one black person refer to another black person by the "N" word. Young men, pull up your pants. Sagging is out! No one sags anymore but innercity youth in the Midwest. Parents, control your children. Many kids in the urban core have fallen into the ills of the Hip Hop subculture. The children need to be encouraged by the elders in the home and community to do better. We as black people must come together and work out solutions to enrich our communities across America. Often, I have parents tell me their child is their best friend. Wake up parents! Your kids have plenty of friends. Right now, they need parents, and parents who will guide them in the right direction.

Don't get upset with the comments Don Imus made last year about the Rutgers women's basketball team. Those are the same type of comments I hear everyday from ordinary black men in normal discussions about women. Why should we get upset when Imus just did a parody of what many black men say publicly on a daily basis? Why is it that black comedians can make fun of white people and it's okay to laugh, but if a white comedian makes fun of black people he/she is now a racist? Why does it seem that only black people can talk about race, but if a white person tries to offer his/her point of view, now he/she runs the risk of being labeled racist? If we are going to open up a dialogue and talk about race, then let's be fair and talk about race openly and allow one another to share their thoughts, observations and opinions.

Why is it that we as Black Americans, tend to show society the worst that we have to offer? We see the high number of blacks imprisoned, often the perpertrator in a crime shown on the news is black, even our children insists on dressing as gangsters with their hip hop clothing. I saw a two year old boy sagging his pants last week and wondered, "what does a two-year old know about sagging?" Without a doubt, that one came from an adult. These are exciting times with Barak Obama running for president, however, even if he should win, Obama cannot fix the ills that have plagued us for 400 years in this country. I am sure Mr. Obama would tell us that we need to take responsibility for our actions and we must invest our time and resources back into making our communities more liveable.

My most important observation since the death of MLK, is that black people need to go back to church. Yes, many of us do attend service on sunday, but many of us do not and nor do our children. Our children need to be exposed to the moral teachings of the church to improve lives in our community. Currently, church attendence is at its lowest in the history of our nation irregardless of skin color. Dr. King and our leaders in the Civil Rights Movement were ministers. Churches were typically the meeting place to strategically plan our next move in the movement. I firmly believe that once Black America got equal rights under the law, many black people turned their backs on God and quit going to church. In return, I believe God is now punishing black people in America because we abandoned him in large numbers after we received what we had been praying for. Look around in your churches on sunday, and notice the low numbers of black men in particular that are in the pews. Louis Farrakhan had a great idea 13 years ago with the Million Man March. He showed us that a million men could gather in one place for a day, and have not one single arrest. Farrakhan also showed us that we have the power to empower ourselves. Unfortunately, the spirit that ignited and brought black men together for a day in America, quickly fizzled out because there was no real meaningful follow up to keep the momentum going. If you look around today, in most cities with a Martin Luther King Blvd or Martin Luther King school, those streets and schools usually have a stigma of violence attached to them. That is the opposite of what Dr. King stood for. All in all, King gave his life for a noble cause, and we, as black people have made strides in this country, but too many of us have let Dr. King down due to our own personal behaviors and lack of motivation to do better.

Until we as black people take responsibility for our actions and behaviors, the condition or our community will continue to deteriorate because we have become complacent. Don't continue to blame white people for our problems. White people don't live in our communities, and they are taking care of their own. We as black people, need to step up and handle our business at home. Until then, things will not get any better unless we make it better.

Richard O. Brown
Kansas City, MO
mrbrownwps@yahoo.com

Growing up in KCMO a Detective's daughter I probably felt more of the problems then other's. My Father had to be called in and they worked extra shifts because of the riots.
We were not allowed to go outside and play during that time and as a child I just didn't understand it all.
We lived in a white neighborhood on the SW side of Kansas City and once the riots started we were terrified.
All I could think of is that I hadn't done anything to anyone why would anyone want to hurt me? I just wanted to go outside and hang out with my friends.
It was a very turbulent time in the cities history.
I am glad that it is what it is history and I wish that we could all just get along, think that will ever happen?

I was a junior in college and strong follower of Dr. King. I had met him in person one time. When he was murdered I felt like I had loss a family member.I must admit to this day I lost my dream of America ever being an equal place to live. When ever I am in the work place and things get hard I think of some of the speeches King made and I always succeed at what I am doing.I really don't expect America to ever be a place where all people are judged on their actions rather than the color of their skin.I am now 60 years old and about to retire and as I talk with my parents (still living) not many things have changed just new ways of doing things.There have been a few advancements but the black people seem further behind today than they were when I was growing up.

I am reading this and cannot believe that it was 40 yrs. ago. Forty years ago I was 20, had 1 baby and another 1 on the way, didn't really pay much attention to what was going on in the world in regard to MLK. I came from a small town in KS where 85 to 90% was white. I thought this doesn't pertain to me, it's somewhere else and not in my little world. I was like an ostrich sticking his head in the sand. My views and belief's changed over the years. I have been an RN for the past 26 years and have taken care of many different people through the years. I have learned so much and I no longer look the other way. I treat everyone with respect, no matter what color, what religion or belief's. There is always going to be mean and vindictive people in this world. It doesn't matter what we say to them as they have their head stuck in the sand and believe that they are right and everyone else is wrong. Praise "God" there are many more good people than bad. Martin Luther King was one of the "good". His words and death were not in vain and his legacy lives on, not just for African American's but for everyone. LLW in Phoenix

I'm originally from the Washington, DC area. I grew up in the northern Virginia suburbs. That is where I lived in 1968 when Martin Luther King was assassinated. I remember the fear of that time. I was 12 years old in 1968.

Shortly after Dr. King's death, marchers rode on buses coming up from the south heading for DC. I remember people in my community were scared to death that something bad was going to happen. We were let out of school early that day for fear of this.

The good news is that nothing happened in our suburban community. The buses rolled right on through. The bad news is that sections of DC, like many cities, were burned to the ground by rioters, particularly what they called the "I" Street corridor. The blemishes remained for many years after. Our nation's capital has not seen a darker day since.

I'm from Arkansas and I was a senior in high school during that time. I can't believe its been 40 yrs already. It was a very sad day for us in school. It was like it became silent or if they had boom the towers.
jm

I was a young lawyer for the K.C Legal Aid Society. We had a neighborhood office at 18th & Woodland. We spent several days under the desks because of gunfire. Mike Davis, a fellow legal aid lawyer and I set up detention centers in various schools and churches because the jails were full from violations of the curfew. I personally represented hundreds of people charged with violations some women so charged because they had gone to the suburbs to work as domestics and were trying to get back home after the early curfew.
After the smoke had cleared we began to look at the Mayor's declaration of the curfew and realized he had no authority to proclaim said curfew . We had many arrests and subsequent criminal charges thrown out of court, because of the illegality of the initial stop.
To this day I believe the K.C. police set off the riot when they stopped the school kids from Lincoln and Manuel who had marched down Truman Road and turned up Grand Ave. from proceeding into
the area known as "pettycoat lane". The kids had been peaceful up to that point and the cops threw up baracades to prevent them from marching further.

It was only a few days after MLK's assassination and I was skipping a day off during my senior year of High School. I went downtown with a fellow student so he could pay a traffic fine. There was a postponement until later that day, so we went to a diner downtown to kill some time. The TV was on with ongoing news about the hunt for MLK's assassin. A white guy with a southern accent started talking to us about how he was there in Memphis when MLK was shot. He said that he heard the shot and then proceeded to make a series of derogatory remarks towards MLK and how he deserved what he got. My friend and I wrestled with the idea of reporting all of this to the authorities. We finally reached an agreement that it was the right thing to do. We ran to the Federel Bldg. and spoke to the FBI. They took all of our information, and with a description of this man, would question him. When I got home later that day my mother let me know that an FBI agent had called and left a message that they had found and questioned this man. He had been let go and the FBI wanted to thank me for my help.Due to these extenuating circumstances my parents even agreed to overlook my playing hookie. DH formerly of KC area