man who spoke a very racist, vulgar threat. I had never heard so much profane verbiage. I dropped the receiver. C. C. was standing behind me and immediately picked up the receiver and said hello. He interrupted the caller, saying, “Do you know where I live? I’m going to give you the directions. Is your insurance paid up? Mine is.” The caller hung up. Looking into my dad’s eyes, I saw a man who was dangerously determined to gain freedom at any cost! My father was the opposite of Dr. Martin King; he would be nonviolent if left alone. Death threats were phoned into the parsonage every day. My father was threatened but not bothered by the naysayers.
In 1962, Dr. King spoke at Little Union BC when no other pulpit was open to him. As the death threats phoned to the parsonage increased, during his visit, he refused to stay at the parsonage. He knew he was going to die and wanted to be alone.
After Dr. King’s speech, he and CC talked about a march the next day.
“I’ll see you tomorrow downtown on Texas Street,” King said.
“What will you be doing tomorrow on Texas Street?” CC asked King.
“We’ll be marching to call attention to our struggle.”
“I don’t march, Martin.”
“Why not?” King asked.
“Man, I’ll destroy your movement. If one of those white people put their hands on me, I’m sure there will be at least six funerals,” C. C. responded.
“Okay, I understand. You stay here and pray for us.”
C. C. was a man who knew his limitations, his strengths, and his weaknesses. He seemed never to outlive the events of 1919. He forgave, but he never forgot.
Men came to the house late one night in an attempt to get under the house. They couldn’t! Mother had told all of us, Pat, John, and me, “Get on the floor and stay there until I tell you to get up.” When C. C. opened the side door to the driveway, my mother said, “Claude, don’t go out there!”
C. C. responded, “I aim to kill or be killed tonight!”
The anxious footsteps of the men could be heard in their hasty retreat.
In 1963, I saw more trouble, but this time, it was at a church. On September 15, four young girls were killed at the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, when it was bombed. The following Sunday, September 22, Dr. King had asked for a national day of mourning. In Shreveport, Louisiana, a group of students and residents from the black community attempted to march from Booker T. Washington High School to the Little Union Baptist Church. The march was stopped by local police. The marchers were determined to get to the church, and they chose alternate routes. The church was full, but at the end of the worship service, police rode horses inside enough to beat two ministers, with Reverend Harry Blake being beaten severely. He had been dragged outside to the front of the church.
After being licensed and ordained by C. C., I entered the pastorate. In my second year of pastorate at Zion Travelers Baptist Church in Ruston, Louisiana, I decided to attend seminary at Princeton Theological Seminary in New Jersey. C. C. advised me that it was a noble idea; I would only be able to use about 10 percent of what I learned while dealing with my congregation, especially as an administrator in the black church. C. C. was a strong advocate for preparation. He had taught mathematics at Jackson High School for sixteen years before resigning and giving full time to the ministry.
When I was starting out as a young preacher, he observed my dress as I was leaving to preach. “Your clothes should not be louder than your sermon,” he said. “The preacher has to wear well, rest well, and ride well.” C. C. believed that formal training would help shape the preacher’s theology and expose him to the great homiletic minds of my era.
| Dad (C. C. McLain) Baby picture | Granddad (John McLain) |
Opening Prayer
Wednesday, July 10, 2019
The United States House of Representatives
The United States Capitol
Washington, DC
The Honorable Nancy Polosi, Speaker
The Reverend Patrick J. Conroy, Chaplain, U.S. House of Representatives
O Lord, how excellent is thy name. In the mighty name of Jesus, we praise you for the liberties paid for by our sons and daughters who gave their last full measure of devotion, at Lexington and Concord, Chalmette-New Orleans, Gettysburg, Normandy, Iwo Jima, Korea, Vietnam, and the Middle East. Thank you for those who marched with tired feet and rested souls in places such as Selma and Montgomery seeking to perfect our union.
Bless this The People’s House, of which it was said. “Here, sir the people govern.” Bless O Lord this body, its leadership on both sides of the aisle, whose composition mirrors the tapestry of America from the apple orchards of Washington State to the fragrant citrus groves of Florida, from the sun-kissed beaches of California to the lobster boats in Maine to the lakes of Minnesota to the bayous of Louisiana. Remember their families, staffs, and constituents back home, as they function as servant-leaders with the vision to see what is right and the power and the strength to do what is right, remembering the Master’s words that the greatest among you is your servant and Dr. King’s admonition that everyone can be great because everyone can serve. May members of this House heed the words of the 8th century prophet Micah when he says that you require us to love justice, do mercy and walk humbly with our God.
Amen, Amen and Amen
Written and presented to the opening session of the US Congress 2019
Reverend Asriel Gamaliel McLain
Youngest son of C. C. and Mildred McLain
Associate Minister
Little Union Baptist Church
Shreveport, Louisiana, 71103
Dr. Clifford Eugene McLain, Pastor
The McLain Preachers
(Clifford, Claude, Asriel)
Camp Philip Payne
Camp Philip Payne, Reverend Payne as he was fondly known, was one of six preachers on my street. He was a quiet man with a unique and distinctive speaking voice. He often sounded hoarse, but when he preached, that sound was soon forgotten. His musical voice, combined with wisdom and knowledge of his message, was unforgettable. C. P. was a serious student of people not too quick to speak and ready to see things from all angles. We talked at long stretches of time in his front yard, living room, and in his study at church.
In the spring of 1951, I was converted and baptized under the preaching of Reverend Payne. I was young and tended to sleep during the preaching. Three churchwomen sat behind Pinky Reynolds and me, making sure we stayed awake. After the preaching and invitation, Pastor C. C. asked Amos Jones to pray. Jones was what was and is known in the black church experience as a “prayer warrior.” He never learned to read or write, and he called God “Big Boss Man.” His ancient but refreshing reference meant more than one would find meaning for. He was born close to legal slavery. I visited Deacon Amos Jones a few weeks before his passing. He was a few years less than one hundred years old.
Reverend Payne was a graduate of the American Baptist College in Nashville, Tennessee. He began an extension of American Baptist College in Ruston, Louisiana. This was my first seminary exposure. Reverend Payne was moderator of the Gum Springs Baptist Association. He gave me the opportunity to speak to the association on more than one occasion. In the early 1970s, he was elected the first president of the Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance. We began planning the first city and area wide revival. Reverend Payne named me chairman,