Joe Randall

When I was about eleven or twelve, I remember Mom Pam saying to me, “be sure to be home for dinner, guests are coming.” We used to have guests for dinner a lot. And I know now—because I know my mother was always being thorough—that she really must have said, “Martin Luther King is coming for dinner.” But being a kid, running out to play, all I heard was “Martin Luther.” And I remember saying to myself as I’m running out the door and into the street, why is that white guy who started the Lutheran Church coming for dinner? That’s all I understood. I knew it was a white guy, and I knew he started the Lutheran Church. So when I got home, somehow I heard Daddy Joe saying Dr. King was in the kitchen, because Daddy Joe was not the kitchen kind of guy—you put it before him and he ate it. Daddy Joe asked Mom Pam what she was going to cook for him. She said, “all preachers like fried chicken.” And that’s what she served— fried chicken, green beans, mashed potatoes, pound cake with fresh berries, and a salad.