Martin Luther King Jr. Had An Unusual Relationship With His Wife

Coretta knew all about her husband's talent and vision, and she was painfully aware of his flaws. And it was partly due to the work she did after King's death that the man remains an American icon today. Strangely enough, though, Coretta's introduction to the civil rights hero was a little bit awkward.

As a grad student at Boston University in the 1950s, King shone in the classroom — but he was struggling in a different area of his life. He wasn't connecting with any of the women at BU, so his friend Mary Powell set him up with a smart and beautiful young woman named Coretta Scott. The then-strangers first chatted over the phone.

The pair fell for each other after just a few dates. Martin was a talented preacher and activist while Coretta was a powerful mezzo-soprano with dreams of being a concert singer. In 1953, then, Coretta Scott became Coretta Scott King. But to emphasize her independence, the bride removed some terms from the traditional wedding vows. "Obey" and "submitting to one's husband" were altered, for instance.

It soon became apparent that Coretta was the loyal partner Dr. King needed the most. After already being involved in her college's NAACP chapter, Coretta later found herself at the forefront of the civil rights movement — and didn't back down. "I had a growing sense that I was involved in something so much greater than myself, something of profound historic importance," Coretta told the Academy of Achievement in 2004.

In 1955 Dr. King was elected to lead the Montgomery bus boycott, an anti-segregation protest that took the baton from Rosa Parks. And while Dr. King's involvement made most of the headlines, Coretta played a crucial role, too. She once stated, "During the bus boycott I was tested by fire and I came to understand that I was not a breakable crystal figurine. I found I became stronger in a crisis."

Her singing background wasn't lost, either. During the '50s and '60s, Coretta sang and recited poetry at protests and rallies to help reiterate the mission of the civil rights movement and unite the crowds. And after her husband was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1964, Coretta pushed him to widen his teachings of nonviolence. She wanted him to focus on global human rights issues too.

During the early '60s, Coretta joined the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom. As tensions escalated during the Vietnam War, both Kings were adamant in their opposition to the conflict. Yet Dr. King's opposition to Vietnam brought mixed responses. But Coretta was immovable in her views. So much so, she was the only woman who spoke at an antiwar rally in Madison Square Garden in 1965.

During her 15-year marriage to Dr. King, Coretta proved to be more than just the anonymous wife of a great man. She greatly opposed South African apartheid, spread her husband's ideas of nonviolence, and worked on many anti-poverty efforts. But at times, she also recognized a divide between her and her trailblazing husband.

Historical records show that King wasn't always a great husband. The activist enjoyed the attention of women and, according to one unconfirmed source, may have fathered a child with one of his mistresses. Coretta didn't address these issues publicly, but we know that she once shouted at him "for not spending enough time alone with her." However, that statement was never meant to go public.

Neither spouse knew that they were being spied on by the FBI. J. Edgar Hoover had become suspicious of King in 1963, and he feared that Dr. King was stirring up a communist insurrection. The agency started looking for ways to discredit the man before he became, in their eyes, too powerful. And in 1964 the FBI sent a direct threat to the couple.

The anonymous letter writer, who called King a "fraud" and an "evil, abnormal beast," urged the civil rights leader to take his own life before they tarnished his reputation. The letter sent chills through the King household, but they refused to abandon their mission. Tragically, though, the reverend had other enemies who would do anything to silence his calls for equality and opportunity. But even after King was assassinated, Coretta refused to let his death spell the end of the civil rights movement.

Dr. King was passionate about welfare rights and had planned, before his assassination, on attending a march in Washington D.C. to highlight poverty-stricken citizens. Coretta, in her grief, stepped forward to take her husband's place. For the first time, the full weight of King's legacy was on her shoulders. “I gave a speech from the heart and some people ‘saw’ me for the first time,” she later remembered.

She stood strong throughout that trying time, too. "If a man had nothing that was worth dying for, then he was not fit to live," she said. And the widow only grew more outspoken in the years following her husband's assassination. "Neglecting school children is violence. Punishing a mother and her family is violence," Coretta once said. "Ignoring medical needs is violence. Contempt for poverty is violence."

Civil rights crusaders lauded her efforts, but not everyone was happy with Coretta's increasing outspokenness. In the four years following Dr. King's assassination, the FBI continued to monitor Coretta and attempted to psychologically profile her "actual shrewd, calculating, businesslike activities" based on her memoirs. The FBI worried that she might "tie the anti-Vietnam movement to the civil rights movement."

Coretta's commitment to equality never wavered, and it even adapted to changing times and circumstances. In the 1980s, for instance, Coretta protested against apartheid. And in the 1980s and 1990s, she became an advocate for LGBTQ+ rights. She once said, "I appeal to everyone who believes in Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream, to make room at the table of brotherhood and sisterhood for lesbian and gay people.”

She once stated, "I am not a ceremonial symbol. I am an activist. I didn’t just emerge after Martin died — I was always there and involved." In fact, countless people of color fought for their rights before a national movement had even gained steam. And like Coretta, they never got the recognition they deserved. You see, even before the trailblazing Rosa Parks sparked a movement, another woman refused to give up her seat on the bus.

Also from Montgomery, 15-year-old Claudette Colvin climbed aboard a bus on March 2, 1955, on her way home from school. The bus was fairly empty, and Colvin and several other Black students chose seats in the empty whites-only section. As more white passengers boarded, other Black passengers moved to the back. Not Claudette, though.

When the driver shouted for her to stand up, she refused. There was an empty seat across from her that the white woman left standing in the aisle could have taken, and as Colvin recounted, “If she sat down in the same row as me, it meant I was as good as her." So, Colvin kept her seat despite the jeers flung at her. Then, the police were summoned.

As Colvin said in an NPR interview in 2009, at that moment on the bus, "My head was just too full of black history, you know, the oppression that we went through. It felt like Sojourner Truth was on one side pushing me down, and Harriet Tubman was on the other side of me pushing me down. I couldn't get up."

Tears flowing, Colvin knew she had the right to remain seated. She just kept repeating, "It's my constitutional right to sit here as much as that lady. I paid my fare. It's my constitutional right," Colvin told NPR. Unfazed by her words, the police knocked the books from her hands and carried her away.

Colvin didn't resist as some witnesses claimed, saying she fought back like a "little tigress." Instead, she went limp and recited prayers in an attempt to stay calm. An officer kicked her and still, Claudette didn't react. Next, they shoved her into the back of a police car. Colvin's fear took over, not knowing the consequence for minors who defied bus segregation laws.

The officers asked Colvin to put her hands outside the squad car window to handcuff her, which is a practice usually reserved for dangerous suspects, not teenage girls. Then, as they drove her to jail, they made lewd comments about her body and racist slurs, something Colvin never forgot many years later.

After being booked and fingerprinted at the police station, Colvin was brought to an adult women's penitentiary and locked up without a phone call. The sound of the metallic door clinking opened the floodgates holding back tears that brewed inside her. Claudette slumped on the floor and prayed that someone had informed her family or that anyone knew where she was.

Students from the bus informed Colvin's mother, who, with their reverend, posted bail that night. Claudette remembered the reverend telling her on the drive home, "I'm so proud of you. Everyone prays for freedom. We've all been praying and praying. But you're different — you want your answer the next morning. And I think you just brought the revolution to Montgomery." And while Colvin was proud of her nerve, her ordeal was far from over.

The entire Colvin family feared retribution from hate groups. As she told NPR, "Probably nobody on King Hill slept that night," and with good reason. They all knew about cross burnings and lynchings of Black people who'd stood up against segregation. Thankfully, no one showed up that the family home, but Colvin was right in thinking her protest hadn't gone noticed.

Rosa Parks, the secretary of the NAACP at the time, heard about Colvin’s arrest. Parks invited her to speak at a youth group event, and eventually, they formed a friendship. In fact, Colvin crashed at Parks’ house on nights when they worked late. While she was glad to be at the forefront of the movement, Colvin still had her trial to contend with.

Luckily, Colvin didn't work on her case alone. Parks and other activists helped prepare for her day in court. Initially, she was charged with assaulting an officer, disturbing the peace, and breaking segregation law. Then, the judge acted strategically to block Colvin’s defense by dropping everything but the assault charge, in effect, preventing her case from challenging segregation laws.

There was widespread anger about Colvin's arrest in Montgomery. So, Parks and other activists wrote hundreds of letters, raising money for Claudette's defense. Local leaders believed Colvin could draw younger generations to the movement. Even better, prior to her arrest, she was a member of the NAACP Youth Council. On paper, Colvin seemed like the perfect candidate to inspire, until she wasn't.

But in the months after her arrest, the NAACP distanced themselves from Colvin. They were reluctant to use her as a representative for the organized bus boycott for several reasons. While it's often claimed civil rights leaders dropped Colvin after she became pregnant at age sixteen, according to Colvin herself, that wasn’t accurate.

In 2009, Colvin, then a 69-year-old retiree living in the Bronx borough of New York, reflected on the events of her past in an interview with NPR. As to why the NAACP and other Black organizations preferred Parks as the figure in the spotlight, Colvin offered several reasons.

The first factor that favored Rosa Parks as the face of the bus boycott movement, Colvin explained, was an obvious one. “She was an adult. They didn't think teenagers would be reliable.” Yes, it makes sense that putting a child at the forefront gave activists pause, but Colvin thinks there were other less valid reasons that made Parks the preferable choice. 

"Her skin texture was the kind that people associate with the middle class. She fit that profile,” Colvin told NPR, making no mention of the floated theory that she was written out of the movement for her pregnancy. No, Colvin learned she was expecting after civil rights leaders had already decided she wasn’t what they were looking for.

The exact reason why Colvin was left behind remains unclear. Whether for discriminatory reasons or based on the genuine appeal of Rosa Parks, there are arguments for both. As historian David Garrow told NPR, Parks had "natural gravitas" and was an "inherently impressive person." So, she was a pragmatic choice to keep in the forefront, even if that meant Colvin was forgotten.

After telling her story over and over, Colvin said to NPR, “They seemed bored with it.” Civil rights leaders proceeded with the bus boycott without her, though she wasn't done making a difference. In 1956, Colvin, Aurelia S. Browder, Susie McDonald, and Mary Louise Smith were the four plaintiffs in Browder v Gayle, the landmark federal court case that overturned bus segregation laws in Alabama.

Once the trial concluded, Colvin had difficulty in Montgomery. Her reputation made it impossible to find a job, so in 1958, she and her son moved to New York City. There, nobody knew of her role in desegregating the Alabama bus system. Colvin found work as an aide in a nursing home, where she worked for over 30 years, spending much of her life in relative anonymity.

Today, Colvin is in her eighties and harbors no bad feelings about Rosa Parks' role overshadowing her own. Family and activists continue to educate the public on the truth of Colvin's place in the civil rights movement, as well as other important figures who aren't credited for their influence on Black history, like the relatively unknown figure Jo Ann Robinson.