Collection 2: "Nobody Turn Me Around: A People's History of the 1963 March on Washington" by Charles Euchner

In a low drawl, he emphasizes syllables to create his own cadence, to bring his audience into the flow of emotions.

In a low drawl, he emphasizes syllables to create his own cadence, to bring his audience into the flow of emotions.

King’s Southern accent, softened by time spent in his family’s bourgeois circles and tempered by years in the North, put a special emphasis on his words...

King’s brooding voice tells two parallel stories of exile and return.

King’s brooding voice tells two parallel stories of exile and return.

Right away, King uses anaphora, the repetition of key words and phrases at the beginning of successive statements.

Right away, King uses anaphora, the repetition of key words and phrases at the beginning of successive statements.

After recalling the story of Lincoln freeing the slaves, with the simple stroke of a pen in the middle of a bloody war, King laments the inferior position of blacks a century later.

Every invocation of “one hundred years” emphasizes the horrors of the black’s position in American life.

Now King honors his country, calling attention to the civic power of Lincoln’s monument.

For this one moment, the stubbornness of racism lifts and the people revel in a moment of integrated community.

King’s voice echoes, his baritone voice triumphing over the tinny sounds of the loudspeakers.

Subtly, King conjures images of apocalypse.

Subtly, King conjures images of apocalypse.

“The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize”—his voice rises—“that their destiny is tied up with our destiny.”

I have been beaten and jailed and reviled.

He remembers his father telling him about his grandfather—one of the few black landowners in Alabama—sitting on a horse, getting shot by a white farmer who was jealous that a colored man could command such an expanse.

Disbelieve it, and you will be gripped by despair—or the combative, uncompromising, separatist jingoism of Malcolm.

Disbelieve it, and you will be gripped by despair—or the combative, uncompromising, separatist jingoism of Malcolm.

Pritchard became a minister because he believed God saved him as a small child, when he spent three years in the hospital with tuberculosis. And then, as a young priest, he saw racism in God’s own flock. White priests wouldn’t take assignments in black churches—and so he decided to become the pastor of a black parish in Kansas City.

So skinny you can see his bones, the Reverend Pritchard dangles his feet in the water. He is being baptized anew. King’s dream is his dream. The image almost removes him from the throng, and at the same time connects him even more with the throng.

Ruth knows the crowd includes cynics, and she resents having her experience of King’s dream ruined by these ones.

Then, full of the passion of the words of that simple anthem, King imagines freedom ringing—a dreamlike image—and exhorts the crowd to make this vision happen.

All of these are Northern places, and their images are ones of pure beauty. But that’s not enough, King now invokes the sites of repression across the South.

All of these are Northern places, and their images are ones of pure beauty. But that’s not enough, King now invokes the sites of repression across the South.

Finally, dizzy from the view of a nation teeming with freedom, King offers the moment of deliverance.