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The
Autobiography of
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Chapter 12: Brush with DeathThis was a rather difficult year for me. I have had to confront the brutality of police officers, an unwarranted arrest, and a near fatal stab wound by a mentally deranged woman. These things were poured upon me like staggering torrents on a cold, wintry day.
On a Saturday afternoon in 1958, I sat in
a Harlem department store, surrounded by hundreds of people. I was
autographing copies of Stride Toward
Freedom, my book about the Montgomery
bus boycott. And while sitting there, a demented black woman came
up. The only question I heard from
her was, "Are you Martin Luther King?" I was looking down writing,
and I said "Yes." And the next minute, I felt
something sharp plunge forcefully into my chest. Before I knew
it, I had been stabbed with a letter opener by a woman who would
later be judged insane, Mrs. Izola Ware Curry. Rushed by ambulance to
Harlem Hospital, I lay in a bed for hours while preparations were
made to remove the keen-edged knife from my body. Days later, when
I was well enough to talk with Dr. Aubrey Maynard, the chief of
the surgeons who performed the delicate, dangerous operation, I
learned the reason for the long delay that preceded surgery. He
told me that the razor tip of the instrument had been touching my
aorta and that my whole chest had to be opened to extract it.
"If you had sneezed during
all those hours of waiting," Dr. Maynard said, "your aorta would
have been punctured and you would have drowned in your own blood."
It came out in the
New York Times
the next morning that, if I had sneezed, I would have died.
About four days later, after the operation, after my chest had been opened, and the blade had been taken out, they allowed me to move around in the wheelchair in the hospital and read some of the kind letters that came from all over the States, and the world. I read a few, but one of them I will never forget. There was a letter from a young girl who was a student at the White Plains High School. It said simply, "Dear Dr. King: I am a ninth-grade student at the White Plains High School." She said, "While it should not matter, I would like to mention that I am a white girl. I read in the paper of your misfortune, and of your suffering. And I read that if you had sneezed, you would have died. And I'm simply writing you to say that I'm so happy that you didn't sneeze." If I demonstrated unusual
calm during the recent attempt on my life, it was certainly not
due to any extraordinary powers that I possess. Rather, it was due
to the power of God working through me. Throughout this struggle
for racial justice I have constantly asked God to remove all bitterness
from my heart and to give me the strength and courage to face any
disaster that came my way. This constant prayer life and feeling
of dependence on God have given me the feeling that I have divine
companionship in the struggle. I know no other way to explain
it. It is the fact that in the midst of external tension, God can
give an inner peace. As far as the repeated attacks on me and my family, I must say that here again God gives one the strength to adjust to such acts of violence. None of these attacks came as a total surprise to me, because I counted the cost early in the struggle. To believe in nonviolence does not mean that violence will not be inflicted upon you. The believer in nonviolence is the person who will willingly allow himself to be the victim of violence but will never inflict violence upon another. He lives by the conviction that through his suffering and cross bearing, the social situation may be redeemed.
The experience I had in
New York gave me time to think. I became convinced that if the movement
held to the spirit of nonviolence, our struggle and example would
challenge and help redeem not only America but the world. It was
my hope that we would remove from
our souls the shackles of fear and the manacles of despair, and
move on into the uncertain but promising future with the faith that
the dawn of a new day was just around the horizon. The pathetic aspect of
the experience was not the injury to one individual. It demonstrated
to me that a climate of hatred and bitterness so permeated areas
of our nation that inevitably deeds of extreme violence must erupt.
I saw its wider social significance. The lack of restraint upon
violence in our society along with the defiance of law by men in
high places cannot but result in an atmosphere which engenders desperate
deeds. I was intensely impatient to get back to continue the work we all knew had to be done regardless of the cost. So I rejoined the ranks of those who were working ceaselessly for the realization of the ideals of freedom and justice for all men. I did not have the slightest intention of turning back at that point. |
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