At the ceremony, we stood on the Selma side of the bridge and watched John’s casket pulled by two horses go by. The crowd watched the passing of American greatness. The horses stopped at the foot of the bridge. Rose petals were scattered along the path that represented the blood that was spilled years ago. This time Alabama State Troopers cleared the way. Unlike the writers of network TV, the script writers of history never disappoint. The horses started again, at a faster gait to carry the casket over the bridge. We watched as it reached the crest of the arch, high above the Alabama River. We watched him slowly disappear over the crest, toward the other side of the bank. There was no turning back.
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