The March in Washington

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MORE than 30 years ago, A. Philip Randolph, then and now president of the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, proposed a Negro march on Washington to protest civil rights abuses. It was never held. But Randolph never gave up in his advocacy of the merits of the idea. His desire became a dream—and this week he would see it come true.

Forget the Mayonnaise. To help dramatize the Negro's 1963 revolution, leaders of civil rights organizations seized upon Randolph's old idea, called upon sympathizers everywhere for a "March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom." Representatives of different, often rival, organizations got together, fired out to state and local representatives volley after volley of handbooks, bulletins, press releases, charts, schedules, visceral warnings and soul-stirring exhortations. Said one broadside: "We march to redress old grievances and to help resolve an American crisis born of the twin evils of racism and deprivation." The march organizers listed the demands that the parade would symbolize. Among them: 1) passage of the Kennedy Administration's civil rights legislative package—"without compromise or filibuster"; 2) integration of all public schools by the end of this year; 3) a federal program to "train and place all unemployed workers—Negroes or white—in meaningful and dignified jobs at decent wages"; 4) a federal Fair Employment Practices Act barring all job discrimination.

The march itself would go only from the Washington Monument to the Lincoln Memorial. But the march organizers made impressive logistical plans. They urged marchers to bring plenty of water—but not "alcoholic refreshments." They suggested peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, emphasized the shortcomings of mayonnaise "as it deteriorates, and may cause serious diarrhea." They reminded everyone to wear low-heeled shoes, to bring a raincoat, to wear a hat, to remember their sunglasses.

Forget the Kids. They told marchers to leave their children at home, strongly suggested that each marcher buy a 250 button, displaying a black hand clasping a white hand and wear it on parade. They arranged for 292 outdoor toilets, 21 portable water fountains, 22 first-aid stations manned by 40 doctors and 80 nurses to be scattered under the monument and along the route of the march.

To help out, the National Council of Churches volunteered to make up 80,000 box lunches (a cheese sandwich, an apple, a slice of pound cake) at a cut-rate 50¢ price for marchers.

District of Columbia police offered motorcycle escorts to meet incoming buses at the city's outskirts, and 5,600 cops to patrol the parade. The Army promised to send 4,000 extra troops into the area—just in case of an emergency. The Washington Senators postponed games scheduled for Aug. 27 and Aug. 28 so that baseball would not distract anyone from serious marching. In case of arrests, judges promised to be available on a 24-hr. basis.

Philip Randolph could only be pleased with the thought that his dream was about to be realized. Said he: "It will be one of our greatest American experiences—creative, constructive, inspirational."