01/15/2024
On the morning of Tuesday, April 9, James Baldwin left his Atlanta hotel and walked toward Ebenezer Baptist Church.
Throngs of people stretched in every direction. Baldwin squeezed his way closer to the church, inch by inch, until an impenetrable wall of humanity finally stopped him in his tracks. The people “were like rows of poppies,” recalled June Dobbs, a lifelong friend of King’s.
With some help from Jim Brown, he managed to enter the church and found a seat among the 1,000 souls pressed into Ebenezer.
“The atmosphere was black,” Baldwin wrote, “with a tension indescribable—as though something, perhaps the heavens, perhaps the earth, might crack.”
As the service began, Baldwin tried to keep himself together. “I did not want to weep for Martin, tears seemed futile.” His death was too terrible, the void too deep. “I may also have been afraid, and I could not have been the only one, that if I began to weep I would not be able to stop.”
Finally, the pallbearers carried King’s casket toward the door. When Baldwin emerged in the sunlight, he noticed the enormity of it all, which he had failed to appreciate on his way in. He saw that masses of people not only lined both sides of the road, but that they occupied every imaginable space. They stood on every rooftop, baking in the Georgia heat. “Every inch of ground, as far as the eye could see, was black with people, and they stood in silence.” They offered a mute testament to King. “It was the silence that undid me,” Baldwin explained. “I started to cry, and I stumbled.”
King’s coffin was loaded into a wagon drawn by mules. As Bernard Lafayette put it, the wagon “symbolized what he lived for and what he died for.”
The mule-drawn wagon brought King down from the plane of Nobel laureates and the rarefied air of angels. It placed him squarely alongside ordinary black laborers. It highlighted his ties with those whose hands had picked cotton, those who still worked with mules across the rural South, those who cleaned the bathrooms or carried the trash. They were King’s people.
As a Newsweek reporter wrote, the funeral procession featured “the powerful and mighty marching along with a gnarled sharecropper wearing his only oversized Sunday suit.” Princes and paupers alike donned their Sunday best.