1968, a train and a flag

In the summer of 1968, I was twelve years old. I was waiting on a train. Standing in the sunshine of a crisp June morning with my dad. I was excited and I can still recall seeing that train slowly come into focus. The people surrounding us were quite loud, talking and commenting on the events of that day. But, when that train came into view . . . . silence drifted over the crowd like a mournful shroud.

That train began its journey in California carrying Bobby Kennedy to Washington, DC. I recall someone saying something about how there was two caskets. One held the man and the other the dream. Those words haunted me then and they still haunt me today. Forty five years later I understand the meaning of that comment. The world loves someone who will speak for them, taking all the risk and giving others the gift. Some of us cheer on the speakers, knowing that the assassin's sights would be on the speaker and not the crowd. Others see wrong and try to right it. In doing so they purchase a ticket on that train. Knowingly and willingly. It doesn't take courage it takes faith. Faith in the dream and in the people who carry that burden of injustice.

There seems to be a shortage of those who would speak out against all the evils in this world.

That train carried a single flag draped casket. The dream lives in the heart of those who believe in others. No grave could ever hold the dream of people who long to be free. Freedom of all the injustices laid upon them by others.