Conspiracy theories concerning the death of Martin Luther King continue to circulate. James Earl Ray was convicted of the murder, and now his brother is writing a book in which he contends that the federal government was somehow involved.
My late father believed his assassination was orchestrated by the Mafia. His belief was based solely on a conversation he had 40 years ago in a bar in the Fontainebleau Hotel at Miami beach, where he was attending a convention.
Daddy related the following on his return home: “I met this Italian-looking guy in the hotel bar and the subject of our conversation turned to the Rev. King, who was in Memphis. The man said he was from Cicero, Ill., where King had visited and marched previously.”
“I understand King plans another march in Cicero when he leaves Memphis,” Daddy said.
“Mr. Mount, I can guarantee you that Martin Luther King will never, ever revisit Cicero,” was the man’s reply.
The conversation occurred the day before King was shot. Cicero was and may still be the headquarters of the Chicago Mafia.
Ray was reportedly well off financially, and Daddy theorized that Ray was paid by the Mafia to kill King and was told that in the event he was captured and in any way implicated the Mafia, he himself would be killed, whether he be in or out of prison.
Daddy’s conspiracy theory may seem far-fetched, but no more so than the one being posed by Ray’s brother.
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The relatively recent deaths of so many of my close friends is downright depressing. Maybe I’m paying a penalty for having lived so long in the same place. Ruth Speake died unexpectedly not too long ago. I’d known Ruth since 1950. She was a herbalist and once cured an infection in my foot with a mullein tea concoction when antibiotics weren’t working.
I mourned the passing of Winston Smith T, a member of the Order of Geezers who knew more about the history of Lee County than anyone else I knew.
The untimely death of Dr. George Folkerts, a walking, talking “encyclopedia of natural history” came as a shock. George and I waded swamps and swam rivers together catching snakes and turtles.
Not long afterward, Alice Kirkwood died. Janie and I consider the Kirkwood residence at Gold Hill a home away from home, as does our daughter Mary. If there was a kinder, more generous woman than Alice, I never met her.
Then, just last Friday, another of my favorites, Gail Lamar, died.
Gail was an animal enthusiast and was noted for her charming personality. She was an author of two books, but neither was a “woman’s guide of how to win friends and influence men,” which would have made the best-sellers list.
Bob Mount is emeritus professor of zoology and entomology at Auburn University and writes a column for the Opelika-Auburn News.
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