Martin Luther King Jr.'s feet stank. At least they did April 3, 1968, in playwright Katori Hall's imagined scenario of the night before the great leader was assassinated. It makes sense. Yours might stink too after trudging back to your motel room in a torrential storm while wearing the same dress shoes you donned earlier that evening to proselytize passionately in a poorly air-conditioned Memphis church, where your words rattled the rafters with oratorical flourishes both inspiring and premonitory: "I've seen the promised land... I might not... More >>>