Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered. It also rained on the day that marked the death of Malcolm X. It was June 8, 1991, and again it was pouring rain outside. I usually slept good when it rained, but I knew I had to get out of my bed and get dressed. I was never one to be lazy, but today was different. I felt like pulling the covers over my head and sleeping until eternity. I was hoping that I had a bad dream or something. Unfortunately, I knew that was not the case. Reality for me was looking across my room and seeing a neatly pressed black suit. That reality made me feel grim. It was only 7:15 A.M. Usually at that time I would have been asleep, but not today. The rain outside my window wasn’t what woke me. The fact that I was about to attend a funeral in three hours is what was keeping me awake. That same thought kept me tossing and turning throughout the night. Richie was dead! I had just walked and talked with him five days ago, and now he was dead. How would his casket look? What would he be wearing?
