The 1950s, for me, can best be characterized by its collective voice — a voice that was paternal, authoritarian and mostly white. And the 1960s is when that voice began to crack and change … along with my own. If I close my eyes and recall, that voice emerges clear and strong — it is the voice of Martin Luther King Jr.

The cultural history of America is often grouped into decades. Decades made distinct by a kind of collective identity. An identity shaped, as individual identities are, by exploration, accomplishments and, perhaps more significantly, struggles — struggles that reveal what we are made of and what we will make of ourselves from that point on.

Both voices, King’s and my own changing voice, came as a welcome surprise. In the rites of passage that accompany the leap of faith, hope and self-determination of every adolescent, that change of voice can set a tone of confidence, maturity and affirmation.

King’s voice traveled from afar, both physically and culturally.

As a boy growing up outside the cities in the Northeast, there was scant opportunity to socialize with the black folk. We were fairly recent immigrants of the European ilk; Irish, Italian and German Catholics clustered in communal comfort.

The American education system in the ’50s still referred to the Mason-Dixon Line — that cultural line drawn in the sand between the Yanks and the Rebels — teams in leagues that had not played each other since the Civil War.

During that time, on a road trip to visit family that had recently relocated to Florida, I readily expected to see a different world as we crossed over the line into the South. One Sunday, on the Dixie highway, we stopped for gasoline, fully served with Southern hospitality … that is, until we inquired about the nearest Catholic Church. The attendant abruptly stopped the pump, took some money and walked his cold shoulder away without replacing the gas cap.

Down there the scenery had not changed much but the game had changed and there were other rules.

As events of the late ’50s and early ’60s began to unfold, the voices and eyewitness accounts of those historical events, conveyed through the radio in the kitchen, took on epic proportions and many of the 70 million newly ordained teenagers, a revolutionary-ready band of principled rogues and rascals, were poised to leap into the fray. We wanted real fundamental change away from the monotone dogma of the conformity of our recent past toward a fresh liberating way of thinking and creating — and the cost was not a consideration.

We craved that our billowing potential would find an open and common ground, and Dr. King was clearing the way.

In 1962, technology unwittingly conspired to bring about a cultural revolution. The pocket-sized transistor radio was in mass production and for just two days of summer work on the boardwalks of New Jersey almost every teen was sporting one. We became AM/FM linked by the songs of freedom. And from our breast pockets, out in front of our hearts, came that moving, passionate, kingly voice — Dr. King’s message went viral. He rang that bell of freedom and class was being dismissed. It was time to take our education to the streets.

Martin Luther King Jr. sounded like we were feeling, and he served up acts of courage when most gave only lip service. From his lips came food for our souls.

When he marched for freedom and civil rights, we cheered and walked alongside him in spirit. When he got struck down, we grew angry while he employed the ways of Gandhi. When war was not the answer, he knew the right questions to ask.

What transpired for Dr. King inspired the younger generation and enriched the content of their character.

To me, Martin Luther King Jr. was, above all, a righteous human being and to remember him only once a year does only a little for the Dream. Together, we can still walk his talk, and to our children ensure an effective and unwavering voice at the dawn of their decade.

Glenn Stover was born on the Jersey shore. He has taught Somali and Sudanese refugees in Lewiston, developed cultural diversity workshops and has lived and worked abroad for more than 14 years. He is a substitute teacher in English language learning at Lewiston High School and lives in Brunswick.