At 6:05 p.m., central standard time, the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. had been shot in the neck by a sniper while standing on the balcony of the Lorraine Hotel in Memphis, Tennessee.

For the next hour, the police officers stayed in the squad room, taking calls and calling loved ones, talking quietly among themselves. Vaughn went outside to the station steps to have a smoke in the night air. Strange phoned his mother, as Vaughn had told him to do. They spoke about the robbery and the awful thing that had happened in Memphis, and she told him she loved him and he told her the same thing. As he hung the phone up the announcer returned to the air.

Dr. King had been p.r.o.nounced dead at St. Joseph's Hospital at 8:05 p.m., eastern standard time. Officer Morris, who had returned to hear the news, punched his fist into the squad room wall. Strange went to the bathroom, where he could be alone.

On 14th Street, in Shaw, the news came first to a boy who was walking down the sidewalk, carrying a cheap transistor radio on a strap.

"They killed Dr. King!" he shouted to no one in particular. "They killed Dr. King!"

People stopped to look at him as he ran down the street.

THIRTY.

AS THE NEWS spread by mouth and phone call, people began to turn on their transistor and tabletop radios, and their television sets, to get the details of the King a.s.sa.s.sination. Many inner-city residents tuned their dials to 1450, the home of soul station WOL. DJ Bob Terry, a familiar, comforting voice to his black audience, urged listeners to reflect on the news in a spiritual way. spread by mouth and phone call, people began to turn on their transistor and tabletop radios, and their television sets, to get the details of the King a.s.sa.s.sination. Many inner-city residents tuned their dials to 1450, the home of soul station WOL. DJ Bob Terry, a familiar, comforting voice to his black audience, urged listeners to reflect on the news in a spiritual way.

"This is no time to hate," said Terry. "And let me tell you something, white man . . . you better stop hating, too."

After speaking on the phone with leaders in Memphis, black activist Stokely Carmichael went to the SNCC offices on 14th Street, a couple of blocks north of U, and conferred with some of the leaders of its Washington bureau. He proposed a strike that would force closure of area businesses in honor of Dr. King. He reasoned that stores should shut down out of respect, as they had upon the a.s.sa.s.sination of JFK. While the officers of the SNCC favored some sort of protest, they did not approve of such a drastic move. Carmichael, wearing shades and his trademark fatigue jacket, disregarded their wishes and left the office to begin rounding up supporters who could help him facilitate his strike.

Soon after, Carmichael and a group of followers entered the Peoples Drug at 14th and U, the site of Tuesday night's disturbance, and asked the manager to close the store in honor of Dr. King. The manager complied, darkening the lights in the store. Carmichael then led a crowd, now grown to thirty or forty individuals, from shop to shop, going from dry cleaner to liquor store to barbershop, speaking to the owners or managers on shift, telling them all to close up shop. All complied.

The crowd then headed east on U. A light drizzle had begun, not uncommon on an April night.

The owner of the Jumbo Nut Shop, a woman, was asked to lock her doors. Ushers and box office attendants at the Republic Theater were told to terminate their first evening showing. A couple of Carmichael's followers walked into the auditorium of the Lincoln Theater and shouted to the audience, watching Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, telling them that their evening at the movies was done. The houselights came up, and patrons abandoned their seats. telling them that their evening at the movies was done. The houselights came up, and patrons abandoned their seats.

At 9:30, someone shattered the plate-gla.s.s window of the Peoples Drug.

The Reverend Walter Fauntroy, chairman of the Washington City Council and a close confidant to Dr. King, watched the trouble begin from the second-floor offices of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, next to the Peoples Drug. He went down to the street to talk to Carmichael and his followers, whose numbers had now swelled even more. Carmichael shook his arm from the diminutive Fauntroy's grasp and walked north on 14th, with hundreds in tow. Fauntroy would spend the balance of the evening going from TV station to radio station, urging "black brothers and sisters" to react to their grief "in the spirit of nonviolence." His words came too late and went unheeded.

The impromptu parade of protesters closed restaurants and businesses on 14th as they had done on U. Behind them, a trash can finished the Peoples window. Next, a bottle crashed through the window of National Liquor. Chants of "Black power," "Kill whitey," and "We gonna off some motherf.u.c.kers now" were heard in the night. Carmichael talked to the crowd and told them not to initiate any violence, that it would be harmful to them, as they were outnumbered and would be outgunned. He did this as he continued to lead them up the hill of 14th, where scores of mom-and-pop businesses, chain stores, and apartment houses lined the strip from U to Park Road.

As of 10:00, there appeared to be little police presence on the street. Officials were aware of the growing problem and had begun to send units down to the scene. Public Safety Director Patrick Murphy instructed officers to try to maintain order but retreat from any "imminent confrontation."

Five blocks north of U, at the top of the hill, a woman pushed her backside through the plate-gla.s.s window of Belmont TV. A few people tried to get into the display area to take some televisions but were blocked by Carmichael and a couple of SNCC workers. Carmichael produced a pistol from his jacket, waved it, and told his agitated followers that this was not "the way."

Meanwhile, crowds had regathered at 14th and U. As he walked south and neared the intersection, Carmichael could clearly discern that he was no longer in control of the situation. The crowd had grown considerably and its movements were erratic and unbridled. The voices of the partic.i.p.ants had risen in anger and something like glee. Carmichael got into a waiting car and sped away. He would not be seen for the remainder of the night.

At around 10:30, the crowd broke the windows of Sam's p.a.w.nbrokers and Rhodes Five and Ten, both south of U, and began to steal jewelry, television sets, transistor radios, appliances, useless trinkets, and anything else that was not locked up or nailed down. SNCC volunteers tried to stop them. They were laughed at and brushed aside.

Imploding gla.s.s sounded as the display windows of many stores around 14th and U were shattered. The London Custom Shop was looted, as were the surrounding shops. North of U, people began spilling out of tenement-style apartments, some in curiosity, some in anger, some with the purposeless mentality of a mob, and began to damage and rob stores.

An informal command post was set up at the Thirteenth Precinct station near 16th and V. There, Mayor Walter Washington, Police Chief John B. Layton, and Patrick Murphy developed a rough consensual plan. The Special Operations Division (SOD) of the Civil Disturbance Unit (CDU), which had extensive training in counterriot activity, was called to duty. In addition, the four-to-midnight shift of active Thirteenth Precinct street officers was ordered to perform a double and work the midnight-to-eight a.m. as well. All available units were to report to the disturbance area of Shaw.

Officer Lydell Blue of the Thirteenth was among many to arrive in this wave.

Officers from other precincts who were not otherwise engaged were encouraged to join the Thirteenth's effort in quelling the riot.

At the Sixth Precinct station house, Officer Strange, along with Officer Morris and two other uniformed cops, volunteered for duty. They got into a squad car and headed south.

Detective Frank Vaughn drove to the house of Vernon Wilson and told his mother that her son's murderers had been found, and that those who were not killed in the attempted robbery would spend the rest of their lives in prison. He then went to the Villa Rosa, in downtown Silver Spring, and had a couple of drinks.

STRANGE AND THE others, grouped down near U, got their orders from a sergeant out of the Thirteenth. others, grouped down near U, got their orders from a sergeant out of the Thirteenth.

"Maintain order through intimidation and threat. Use your nightsticks and tear gas only if you have to. Do not draw your guns."

"Gas?" said one of the young police officers. "We don't even have masks."

"We're short on masks," said the sergeant.

"So we can't draw our weapons," said the young policeman, looking around at his fellow officers for support. "They're lootin' this whole block. We supposed to, what, stand back and let 'em?"

"Orders from above," said the sergeant, repeating the command. "Intimidation and threat."

Strange looked to the south. CDU officers wearing white riot helmets, gas masks, long white billy clubs on their belts, and armed with tear gas canisters, were not far behind them. They had formed at 14th and Swann and were marching north in a streetwide wedge, using their clubs to move looters toward MPD officers accompanying them in squad cars and paddy wagons. As they marched, they pa.s.sed Nick's Grill, owned by Nick Stefanos. As of yet, its plate-gla.s.s window and the window in its door had not been touched.

Strange started up the hill on foot with two other police. He pa.s.sed a used-car lot at Belmont Street, where a Chevy had been set on fire. Orange light colored his uniform and danced at his feet.

The drizzle had turned to hard rain. Strange adjusted his hat, pulling it down tightly on his forehead so that its bill would deflect the water away from his face. He could see other police on side streets, inside and outside their cars, talking nervously among themselves, trying to light damp cigarettes. He walked on.

At the top of the hill at Clifton, youths hurled rocks and bottles at buses and the last of the cars that were still using 14th. A bottle went through the window of a squad car parked sideways in the street. Strange chased one rock thrower down but lost him as he cut into an alley. The boy looked to be in his early teens. A young woman cursed at Strange from an open apartment window as he walked back to 14th. He didn't even turn his head.

Strange walked north. He saw some police regrouping at Fairmont Street. He saw the broad back of an officer who was gesturing with his hands as he spoke to the others. He knew from the broad gestures and the way the man stood that it was Lydell Blue. Strange came upon the group and shook hands with his friend. He and Blue stepped back from the others.

"What's goin' on with you, brother?" said Blue. "Heard from my man Morris up in the Sixth that you thwarted a robbery today."

"I didn't thwart s.h.i.t," said Strange. "My partner got shot while I was duckin' behind a car."

"I expect it took the juice out you, man."

"I'm good."

"You're on your second shift, right? You all right to be here?"

"I got got to be here, Lydell." to be here, Lydell."

Their attention went north as the voices of the crowd there neared a frenzied pitch. Between the next street, Girard, and beyond to Park Road, hundreds of young people began smashing the windows of clothing, liquor, and hardware stores, and looting their contents. Uniformed police waded into the crowd, waving their clubs.

"We better get to it," said Strange, pulling his nightstick as other officers gathered around them. Blue pulled his nightstick, too.

The officers went into the crowd with their sticks high. They apprehended some looters and chased others into alleys. These same people, mostly youths and young men, emerged from the alleys minutes later and resumed their looting. Strange took a rock to his back, felt the sting, and turned and saw the man who'd thrown it, who was smiling at him from the crowd. He chased the man with an explosion of energy fueled by adrenaline, and as he reached him swung his nightstick, clipping him on the shoulder. The man, who was Strange's age, tripped and went down. Strange held him there until a paddy wagon, slowly collecting looters, arrived.

"Tom-a.s.s n.i.g.g.e.r," said the man.

Strange led him without comment to the paddy wagon and pushed him roughly into the back.

Strange's next capture was a running boy who had b.u.mped into him, looking over his shoulder as he tried to carry a stereo system down the street. The boy dropped the stereo to the asphalt as Strange got him in a hug. He looked into the boy's eyes, saw himself at twelve, and let him go.

About five hundred MPD officers and CDU police had now arrived on the 14th Street corridor due to the call-ups and overlapping shifts. Fire trucks had arrived as well. Still, the police and firemen were badly outnumbered by rioters, unprepared for the frenzy that had ensued, and rendered impotent by the restraint orders they had been given.

At half past midnight, fires were set at the Central Market and the Pleasant Hill Market on opposite corners of the intersection at 14th and Fairmont. The Pleasant Hill fire spread to Steelman's liquor store beside it and to the apartments above. Firemen tried to extinguish the blaze as they were surrounded by taunting crowds and pelted by rocks and bottles from the street and from the rooftops of the adjacent buildings. Police threw tear gas canisters into the crowd. They tossed them from on foot and out the windows of roving squad cars and paddy wagons. CDU officers used grenade launchers to shoot tear gas onto the roofs from which offenders were attacking them with projectiles.

The rain had stopped. Burglar alarms rang steadily in the night. Smoke drifted in the street through the light strobing off the cherry tops of the squad car roofs.

Strange sat on the running board of a fire truck, a wet rag in his burning, tearing eyes, his throat raw, his breathing short. A fireman had handed him the rag. The tear gas had driven back the crowd, but it had also incapacitated many of the uniformed officers, who had no masks. Strange watched two women coming down the street, laughing and holding up dresses against one another to check their fit, tears running down their faces. They were of his generation. They were his color.

He looked around the street and saw no police he knew. He could not see Lydell.

A white police officer walked by him, dirt on his face, rubbing at his eyes, unaware that Strange was sitting on the truck. The police officer said, "f.u.c.kin' n.i.g.g.e.rs" to no one, then repeated it, shaking his head as he walked on. Strange watched him pa.s.s.

He thought of Carmen: where she was and what she was doing tonight. She was with her friends, probably, from Howard U. Talking about this, getting behind it, most likely, while he was out here fighting it. He thought of his brother and what he would say if he were still alive. His father and his mom. The conversations they'd all be having, the spirited debate, if they were together again on Princeton. What would his father tell him to do if he were here right now?

Strange dropped the rag to the street, got up, and walked to an area of disturbance to the south.

At the Empire Market at 14th and Euclid, a group of youths had attempted to set fire to the looted store. Police had driven them away with tear gas, but they had returned. One of the young men threw a canister back at the officers who had thrown it at him. Strange joined the officers in their attempts to repel the a.s.sault. The boys disappeared into a nearby alley, returned fifteen minutes later, and tried again. Police were successful in chasing them off but were called back north to quell more rioting. When Strange returned with other police, the store had been set ablaze.

Strange stood in the street as firemen trained their hoses with futility on the store.

A woman his mother's age, wearing a housecoat, came out from a nearby apartment building and handed him a teacup full of water. Strange thanked her and drank it down, lapping at it like a dog. Strange and the woman watched the market burn, their faces illuminated by the flames and embers that rose into the night.

STRANGE FOUND BLUE down around U Street near dawn. Police now lined the strip, and most of the citizens had gone indoors. Tear gas and the smoke of fires still roiled in the air, and burglar alarms continued to sound. But it seemed as if the trouble was done. down around U Street near dawn. Police now lined the strip, and most of the citizens had gone indoors. Tear gas and the smoke of fires still roiled in the air, and burglar alarms continued to sound. But it seemed as if the trouble was done.

Two hundred adults and juveniles had been arrested. Two hundred stores had had their windows broken, and most of those stores had been looted. Many buildings had been destroyed by fire.

Some windows of the F Street Hecht's had been broken, as had the windows of D.J. Kaufman's at 10th and E, near Pennsylvania Avenue. Scattered window breaking had been reported on Mount Pleasant Street, 7th and Florida, and in Park View, where kids had hurled rocks from moving cars. But the rioting seemed to have been contained to the 14th Street corridor.

"Go home," said Blue, his face streaked with dried tears of dirt.

"I'm on till eight."

"I talked to my CO," said Blue. "He said you can go. Take those boys you came with, too."

Strange nodded. Blue tapped his fist to his chest. Strange did the same.

Strange and his fellow officers from the Sixth took their squad car up to the precinct house. Those that did not go to sleep immediately in the car did not speak. At the station, Strange picked up his Impala and drove down to his parents' row house. As he turned off Georgia onto Princeton, he noticed that the window in the door of Meyer's market had been broken. Mr. Meyer was there, taping a square of cardboard over the gla.s.s.

Derek Strange's parents were seated at the eating table of the living room as he entered the apartment. He hugged his mother, who stood to greet him, and shook his father's hand. Derek had a seat at the table and rubbed one hand over his cheeks while his mother went into the kitchen to get him a cup of black coffee.

Darius Strange looked at his son's dirt-streaked face and the areas of his uniform darkened by ash and perspiration.

"You had quite a day," said Darius.

Derek nodded. By his tone Derek knew that his father was telling him he had done well.

"I want you to take care of yourself, you hear me, boy?"

"Yes," said Derek.

"Your mother can't take another loss."

"I'll be fine."

"Look at me, son." Darius leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I'm sick, Derek."

"What you mean, sick? sick?"

"I mean I don't know how much longer I have on this earth."

"Pop . . ."

"Ain't no need for you to stress on it. I'm tellin' you now so you think about it the next time you step out that door."

"How do you know?"

"I know. know. Now, listen, you're gonna need to stay healthy for your mother. She's strong, but there is only so much a person can take." Now, listen, you're gonna need to stay healthy for your mother. She's strong, but there is only so much a person can take."

"Have you told her?"

Darius shook his head. He kept his gaze on his son, telling him with his eyes not to speak about what had been said, as Alethea returned to the table and placed a cup of coffee before Derek.

"Thank you, Mama," he said.

"We should say some words," said Alethea.

Darius led them in a prayer. They prayed for Dr. King and for what he stood for, and for peace to come to the streets. They prayed for justice. They prayed for Dr. King's soul and for the soul of their son and brother, Dennis Strange.

"Amen," said Alethea and Derek when Darius was done.

Darius cleared his throat. "This trouble is gonna change the funeral plans."

"I'll call the home today," said Derek. "See what they say."

"You need to get some rest first," said Alethea.

"I will." Derek noticed his mother's uniform dress and his father's starched white shirt for the first time. "Y'all are going in today?"

"Everybody is," said Darius. "Business as usual, that's what they're sayin' on the radio and TV."

"They need to close everything down," said Derek. "Show some respect for the reverend. That's what most folks are lookin' for."

"I agree," said Darius. "But the decision's been made. Even the government's open. "

"You don't work for the government."