MEMPHIS - Life is full of ironies. Stick around long enough and you will begin to encounter some of them.
It had been nearly 14 years since I stood on the balcony in front of room No. 306 at the Lorraine Motel - the spot where an assassin's bullet snuffed out the life of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. on April 4, 1968 - long before it was transformed into the National Civil Rights Museum.
The conversion presented a bittersweet memoir, conjuring up images of overt racial separation - America's version of apartheid - where people of color were not benefiting from the guaranteed freedoms of the U.S. Constitution.
In 1988, I was in this Mississippi River city to cover the 20th anniversary of the Kerner Commission report for a New Jersey newspaper.
The Kerner Commission, which came into being after riots had rocked the nation in the 1960s, issued a stinging indictment of race relations in the United States. Who can ever forget those words "Two societies, one black, one white, moving in opposite directions."
There are some who believe those observations hold true today. But much has changed in America since the Kerner Commission and the King murder, much of it for the better. Although the playing field is not level, it's not as uneven as it once was.
When I recall that visit, the Lorraine Motel, in ill-repair, was in the midst of a swirling controversy. Jacqueline Smith, the Lorraine's last tenant, had been forcibly removed several months before, and took up a makeshift residence on Mulberry Street in front of the motel.
Fourteen years later, Smith, a petite woman full of fire, is still there leading a single-minded campaign against what she claims is the commercial exploitation of the King legacy.
As I walked toward the site of the former Lorraine Motel, I spotted Smith, our eyes locked, but after awhile, there was recognition. We both appeared to flash back to that chilly November day 14 years ago when she stood in defiant protest.
In the ensuing years, Smith, who was once an aspiring operatic singer, has used the benevolence of family and friends to maintain her remonstrance. She has even developed a Web site: www.fulfill the dream.net.
While her resolve has not ebbed, the passing years have somewhat softened Smith, who is now in her mid-40s. She does not appear to be as bitter, but is steadfastly opposed to the high-tech, multifaceted museum located in a rapidly changing community.
Because of the gentrification, Smith, who has been essentially homeless for the past 14 years, nevertheless mans a table - a holy Bible, a photo of King in his casket are prominently displayed - under a Mulberry Street sign and gently implores passersby not to support the museum.
"We should recognize King's legacy for what he stood for, and that was serving the community," she said in between handing out literature and asking people to sign a petition opposing the museum. "What they are doing is exploiting the King legacy. We should not tie his legacy behind some walls."
Passion comes to Smith's voice when she talks about the King legacy, and the construction of an extension to the National Civil Rights Museum, which will feature a James Earl Ray wing. Ray was convicted of the King assassination, but went to his death denying the deed.
"The majority of the visitors are school children, and they should not display all of that violence," she said. "To display the alleged murder weapon and Dr. King's blood-stained clothing is nothing short of shameful to the memory of this great man."
While Smith maintains her vigil outside, the museum greets visitors inside with a multimedia display that chronicles the American black struggle for human rights over three centuries - from slavery and world wars to the civil rights movement and desegregation.
The images of old black-and-white television news clips conjure up tinges of discomfort as the invectives and racial hatred flicker across the screen - a stark reminder of a rancorous period in American history.
But this time - in the 1960s - of racial angst remains a magnet of intrigue for many people who visit the National Civil Rights Museum.
Throughout the museum, there are constant reminders - Ku Klux Klan robes and "whites" and "colored" only signs - that the Deep South was a different kind of America for blacks.
There are re-creations of Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat on a Montgomery, Ala., bus; sit-ins in North Carolina; freedom rides; and the King motel room, left the way it looked the day he was killed. The King exhibit can be quite emotional as Mahalia Jackson sings "Precious Lord" as you enter the glass-encased room.
In front of one of the many exhibits, a mother explains segregation in Spanish to her two young sons, Xavier and Philippe. I became intrigued by her exegesis.
"We are visiting family here. This is such an interesting period of American history, and I wanted my sons to see it," said Blanca Rodriguez, a native of Spain, who is living in Cambridge, Mass. "This is history everyone should be exposed to."
While I did not know it at the time, I had met her husband, Xavier Lewis, during a visit to Greenville in January with a group of Harvard University Weatherhead fellows from the Center for International Affairs. Now I know the entire family. What a small world we live in.
Yet it is a world that continues to spin off its axis on race, inequality and mistrust - human issues Martin Luther King Jr. died trying to resolve.
