Dinner

Back in the late '60s, early '70s I was young and idealistic and participated in marches and rallies for civil rights. Nothing I ever took part in was ever violent, but I wasn't shy about expressing my opinions about the issues of the day.

Home for the summer after graduating from college I worked at Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis. One day I got off my shift and on my way home saw a large group gathered with a sign that said "SCLC" – Southern Christian Leadership Conference, a group dedicated to non-violence and founded by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I wasn't certain what the event was but I felt compelled to stop. It turned out to be an action promoting naming some sort of park or memorial to Dr. King. In fact, as I later discovered it was more of a social event than a rally. I thought I saw a line where they were handing out signs or leaflets or some such thing, so I got in it. Young, enthusiastic and somewhat clueless, I struck up a conversation with an older black man in front of me.

Finally, I asked him, "What are we here for?" Expecting him to tell me what the rally was all about, I hadn't yet looked forward to the head of our line or I would have discovered they were handing out paper plates filled with food.

The man smiled and said, "Dinner."

Not exactly what I expected. That evening instead of carrying a sign, I ate a hot dog in the name of civil rights.