Martin Luther King And What His Death Meant To Me...Lessons Learned

I already told you where I was when Ronnie Reagan got popped, but last night I started thinking about the day Dr. King was assassinated...April 4, 1968. The differences couldn't be more stark. In 1968 I was a skinny, whimpy, nine year old kid who was attending our local Catholic school. Back in the late Sixties, the Catholic Church was a little more...radical is too strong a word, but progressive works. Anyway, I had been volunteered by my parents to help the Nuns clean up around the grounds of their convent. A pretty Spring day raking flower beds and stuff.