At Canaan's Edge by Taylor Branch

saddled horses and issued equipment that included wide-nozzle tear gas spray guns and launching rifles for tear gas canisters.
    Word of the tear gas spread rapidly among the marchers, who tried to calm themselves as they filled out mimeographed notification forms in and around Brown Chapel. Some suggested that they try to elude the troopers by taking a more northerly route on Alabama Highway 14 instead of U.S. 80 over Pettus Bridge, but local ministers L. L. Anderson and F. D. Reese said it was foolhardy to hope that demonstrators on foot could outflank motorized officers. Dr. Alfred Moldovan of New York, one of ten volunteer doctors and nurses from the Medical Committee for Human Rights, gathered prospective marchers for impromptu speeches about the medical properties of tear gas. “It is not a dangerous gas, usually,” he said. “It blinds you temporarily and drives you into a panic. If tear gas hits you, go off to the side of the road and stand quietly. Don’t panic.” Frank Soracco, a young white Californian, added a roving speech for nonviolent discipline, saying that panic could make them look like a mob and give the troopers an excuse to do their worst. Having canvassed, improvised, and gone to jail in Selma since December, Soracco resolved that morning to be in the midst of whatever developed—a choice that fell within SNCC’s grudging vote of tolerance but isolated him among fellow staff workers, most of whom regarded march preparations with censure from a distance.

    S HORTLY AFTER noon, John Lewis arrived at Brown Chapel to find Young, Bevel, and Williams darting about in agitated huddles. Bevel had endeared himself for once to Williams (who said later he “could have kissed him”), by confirming that King wanted to supersede the instructions he gave early that morning when he sent Young alone to the Atlanta airport, and now to reauthorize the march. Before a nonplussed Lewis, they debated whether to confirm the change with King in light of the formidable opposition across Pettus Bridge, and if so how to penetrate the screen of Daddy King’s loyal deacons at Ebenezer Church where King was preaching in a lengthy service. They all knew that King’s father and co-pastor for years had employed a mix of sly ministrations and histrionic bluster to discourage his son from taking movement risks—this time scolding him for neglecting Ebenezer, coaxing him to fulfill his primary duties as a pastor, and finally claiming a sudden illness that Daddy King said rendered him so weak that his son must stay in Atlanta to take his place in the pulpit. Hosea Williams conceded that he lacked the clout to get an emergency phone message to King during worship, but he did manage to pull Ralph Abernathy from his service at West Hunter Street Baptist in Atlanta and beg intercession on behalf of the “thousands” Williams declared had showed up ready to march.
    Abernathy in turn pushed through to King by phone during the Ebenezer service, as did Young and Bevel from Selma. They said postponement would be dispiriting, especially for the large turnout from Perry County, which more than offset the advantage of waiting until King could be there on Monday. Bevel reiterated that if five hundred people went to jail today, five hundred more should go tomorrow. No matter what the result, he said, their effort almost certainly would need repeating, and King was better saved for the building phases in days ahead, as in Birmingham. King consented. He stipulated that two of his three deputies should stay out of the march to handle follow-up logistics. They retired to flip coins simultaneously, and Williams, by showing the only heads, became the odd-man-out to lead the march in King’s place. Their usual banter defied the solemnity of what was to come. Young congratulated Williams for not hoodwinking him to the front a third time, and Williams accused Bevel of rigging the toss against