IT was August 28, 1963, and Martin Luther King Jr was losing his audience. His speech to some 250,000 persons gathered at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington for a protest rally was not going down well. It was supposed to be the major speech of the afternoon, eagerly awaited by the millions following on radio and TV, and to provide upliftment for the spirits that hungered for the redeeming words of freedom and equality championed by King and his colleagues.

But the speech had been doctored by too many hands and, in what was an unusual practice for him, he had allowed it to be edited by his fellow programme directors for theme and appeal.

The disappointment was creeping across the platform and around the park.

Legendary gospel singer and one of King’s best friends, Mahalia Jackson, sensed it too. She saw the moment slipping away, and in her own peculiar style and deepest southern accent she yelled from somewhere near the front, “tell ’em about the dream, Martin, tell ’em about the dream”. In an instant response Martin shifted gear, abandoned his prepared text, and with hand pointed at the sky began his spontaneous and memorable oration based on personal rhetoric that Mahalia had been privy to, “I have a dream”.

The sudden shift of momentum that roused the world’s attention is only one of the many inside stories that makes the circumstances surrounding the March on Washington such exciting telling.

The celebration of ‘that famous speech that almost never was’ saw thousands again gathered at the Memorial last month on August 28, 50 years later, to honour the founding leaders and to savour the memories treasured by some of the storytellers who were there.

The focus has always been on Dr King’s speech, but the behind the scenes organisation and build-up to that extraordinary event makes one epic tale of planning, meetings, vision, struggles, differences, unity, strategies, and the immense courage of 250,000 people who took enormous risks to stage what turned out to be a peaceful and remarkable demonstration.

It was not easy to get so many people into a venerated space in the capital city of America. Racial strife had gripped the country. Between May and August 1963 there had been 1,340 demonstrations in more than 200 cities. They were coming to Washington fresh out of a sustained period of beatings, brutality, imprisonment, snarling dogs, fire hoses, tear gas, and insults. They were not welcome.

It took nerve and a vast reservoir of courage and determination to plan a march that would bring so many people into town to make their case in a massive show of protest, and Washington did not take to it kindly. President Kennedy himself was pushing back in an abundance of caution, and his own fears that it would affect a civil rights Bill which he had hastily drafted that June to appease the demonstrators.

Faced with this tremendous opposition, King and his fellow organisers would not let go. The planning was started by two outstanding black leaders A Phillip Randolph and Bayard Rustin in December 1962. By June 1963, leaders from several different organisations including the church, the National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People (NAACP), the National Urban League, and student groups were meeting as “the Big Six” to forge plans and encourage persons to take the arduous road to Washington on August 28.

The organisers promoted the march through meetings, press conferences, telephone calls, radio and television, church meetings, posters, buttons, and other paraphernalia.

As the momentum grew, “the Big Six” got bomb threats at their homes and offices. Roy Williams, NAACP president, was told he would be assassinated if he didn’t leave the country.

For many it would be their first time in Washington, they would not even know how to get to the monument. Marshals were appointed to walk the city to provide direction and assistance. Advisories were issued on train schedules, what to wear, what to bring, what to eat, where to park.

Sub-committees were appointed for arranging portables, water fountains, doctors, nurses, charter buses, public address systems, special fares, armbands, signs.

They came by road, bus, rail and air. Some camped overnight. They came from Little Rock, Birmingham, Milwaukee, St Louis, Florida, and elsewhere. On the said morning 450 buses left Harlem for Washington. By 8:00am, 100 buses per hour were streaming through the Baltimore Harbour tunnel.

They carried picnic baskets, water jugs, Bibles, and a willingness to march and pray in the face of possible retaliation.

They had a right to be concerned. Kennedy had ordered a mobilisation of security as a pre-emptive measure, unprecedented outside of wartime. Some 5,900 police officers were on duty. National Guard officers numbering 2,000 were called out. Over 150 FBI agents were assigned to mingle with the crowd, while others were stationed on rooftops and around sensitive areas. By mid-morning five military bases on the outskirts of the capital were active and in-waiting. The District of Columbia was placed under martial law and Washington virtually locked down for the day.

But the organisers continued to work peacefully and assiduously.

By mid morning more than 2,000 buses, 21 chartered trains, numerous cars, had provided orderly transport, while all regularly scheduled trains and planes were filled to capacity.

As it turned out the day was not only orderly, but it was integrated. Black hugged white and it was a rainbow coalition in Washington. Celebrities Harry Belafonte, Charlton Heston, Diahann Carroll, Paul Newman, Sammy Davis Jnr, Marlon Brando, and others of different hue and shades walked with persons who had put at risk their own personal safety, their jobs, their homes.

Mahalia Jackson sang How I got over, while Marian Anderson sang He got the whole world in His hands. Speakers from the representative groups addressed the crowd, and then it was time for Martin Luther King, the untitled leader of the civil rights movement, to stand.

Watching the speech from the White House, Kennedy was riveted to his black and white TV. It was the first time he had heard King speak, and was moved by his eloquence and intonation. “He is good,” he told an aide. “He is dammmn good.”

After the programme, he hosted the leaders for a meeting in the Oval Office. The march had proved peaceful. There were only three arrests, all involving whites. JFK greeted King at the doorstep with a relieved smile and a jaunty “I have a dream”.

The speech was the turning point in the history of the movement. Kennedy and King moved closer together. I had a friend who was on King’s press team in those days, and he shared a joke that made the rounds after the eventful day.

King was given an open line to JFK and the story goes that one night at 3:00 am the phone rings by Kennedy’s bedside.

“Hello…Oh, hi Martin…it’s OK Martin, you can call me at any time…yes…but Martin….but Martin. Yes, but look Martin, you know it’s always been called the White House.”

Lance Neita is a public relations and communications specialist. Send comments to lanceneita@hotmail.com