into warm chords—the sound was transcendent. The singing built gloriously with each line.
Standing on a stage above the singers with the headmaster beside me, I looked up at the
ceiling—at the majestic artwork. My mother had died a few months before this trip. She’d
been a church musician most of her life and had worked with dozens of children’s choirs.
When I looked up and saw the drawings of angels on the domed ceiling I thought of her. I
quickly realized I would never recover my composure looking up there, so I looked back at
the students and forced a smile. When the students finished their song, the rest of the
students cheered and applauded wildly. I joined the applause and tried to hold myself
together. When I left the stage, students came up to thank me for the talk, ask questions, and
take pictures. I was completely charmed.
It was a long and exhausting but beautiful day. When I got back to the hotel I was grateful
for the two-hour break before my next speaking commitment. I don’t know what prompted
me to turn on the television, but I’d been away from home for four days and hadn’t seen any
headlines. The local news blasted into my room. The unfamiliar Swedish TV anchors were
chatting away when I heard my name. It was the piece the crew had filmed with me; familiar
images filled the screen. I watched myself walking with the reporter into Dr. Martin Luther
King Jr.’s church on Dexter Avenue in Montgomery, then up the street to the Civil Rights
Memorial. The scene then switched to Walter, standing in overalls amid his pile of discarded
cars down in Monroeville.
Walter gently put down a little kitten he’d been holding as he started to answer the
reporters’ questions. He’d mentioned to me previously that all kinds of cats had sought shelter
in his field of abandoned metal. He said things I’d heard him say dozens of times before. Then
I watched his expression change, and he began talking with more animation and excitement
than I’d ever heard from him.
He became uncharacteristically emotional. “They put me on death row for six years! They
threatened me for six years. They tortured me with the promise of execution for six years. I
lost my job. I lost my wife. I lost my reputation. I lost my—I lost my dignity.”
He was speaking loudly and passionately and looked to be on the verge of tears. “I lost
everything,” he continued. He calmed himself and tried to smile, but it didn’t work. He
looked soberly at the camera. “It’s rough, it’s rough, man. It’s rough.” I watched worriedly
while Walter crouched down close to the ground and began to sob violently. The camera
stayed on him while he cried. The report switched back to me saying something abstract and
philosophical, and then it was over. I was stunned. I wanted to call Walter, but I couldn’t
figure out how to dial him from Sweden. I knew it was time to get back to Alabama.
elle
(Elle)
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