Following is the transcript of President Obama’s remarks on Thursday at the funeral service for civil rights leader Dorothy Height: 

THE PRESIDENT: Please be seated. Let me begin by saying a word to Dr. Dorothy Height’s sister, Ms. Aldridge. To some, she was a mentor. To all, she was a friend. But to you, she was family, and my family offers yours our sympathy for your loss.

We are gathered here today to celebrate the life, and mourn the passing, of Dr. Dorothy Height. It is fitting that we do so here, in our National Cathedral of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. Here, in a place of great honor. Here, in the House of God. Surrounded by the love of family and of friends. The love in this sanctuary is a testament to a life lived righteously; a life that lifted other lives; a life that changed this country for the better over the course of nearly one century here on Earth.

Michelle and I didn’t know Dr. Height as well, or as long, as many of you. We were reminded during a previous moment in the service, when you have a nephew who’s 88 — (laughter) — you’ve lived a full life. (Applause.)

But we did come to know her in the early days of my campaign. And we came to love her, as so many loved her. We came to love her stories. And we loved her smile. And we loved those hats — (laughter) — that she wore like a crown — regal. In the White House, she was a regular. She came by not once, not twice — 21 times she stopped by the White House. (Laughter and applause.) Took part in our discussions around health care reform in her final months.

Civil rights activist Dick Gregory.

Last February, I was scheduled to see her and other civil rights leaders to discuss the pressing problems of unemployment — Reverend Sharpton, Ben Jealous of the NAACP, Marc Morial of the National Urban League. Then we discovered that Washington was about to be blanketed by the worst blizzard in record — two feet of snow.

So I suggested to one of my aides, we should call Dr. Height and say we’re happy to reschedule the meeting. Certainly if the others come, she should not feel obliged. True to form, Dr. Height insisted on coming, despite the blizzard, never mind that she was in a wheelchair. She was not about to let just a bunch of men — (laughter) — in this meeting. (Applause.) It was only when the car literally could not get to her driveway that she reluctantly decided to stay home. But she still sent a message — (laughter) — about what needed to be done.

And I tell that story partly because it brings a smile to my face, but also because it captures the quiet, dogged, dignified persistence that all of us who loved Dr. Height came to know so well — an attribute that we understand she learned early on.

Born in the capital of the old Confederacy, brought north by her parents as part of that great migration, Dr. Height was raised in another age, in a different America, beyond the experience of many. It’s hard to imagine, I think, life in the first decades of that last century when the elderly woman that we knew was only a girl. Jim Crow ruled the South. The Klan was on the rise — a powerful political force. Lynching was all too often the penalty for the offense of black skin. Slaves had been freed within living memory, but too often, their children, their grandchildren remained captive, because they were denied justice and denied equality, denied opportunity, denied a chance to pursue their dreams.

The progress that followed — progress that so many of you helped to achieve, progress that ultimately made it possible for Michelle and me to be here as President and First Lady — that progress came slowly. (Applause.)

Donna Brazile Democratic political strategist and feminist activist Gloria Steinem after the service.

Progress came from the collective effort of multiple generations of Americans. From preachers and lawyers, and thinkers and doers, men and women like Dr. Height, who took it upon themselves — often at great risk — to change this country for the better. From men like W.E.B Du Bois and A. Philip Randolph; women like Mary McLeod Bethune and Betty Friedan — they’re Americans whose names we know. They are leaders whose legacies we teach. They are giants who fill our history books. Well, Dr. Dorothy Height deserves a place in this pantheon. She, too, deserves a place in our history books. (Applause.) She, too, deserves a place of honor in America’s memory.

Look at her body of work. Desegregating the YWCA. Laying the groundwork for integration on Wednesdays in Mississippi. Lending pigs to poor farmers as a sustainable source of income. Strategizing with civil rights leaders, holding her own, the only woman in the room, Queen Esther to this Moses Generation — even as she led the National Council of Negro Women with vision and energy — (applause) — with vision and energy, vision and class.

But we remember her not solely for all she did during the civil rights movement. We remember her for all she did over a lifetime, behind the scenes, to broaden the movement’s reach. To shine a light on stable families and tight-knit communities. To make us see the drive for civil rights and women’s rights not as a separate struggle, but as part of a larger movement to secure the rights of all humanity, regardless of gender, regardless of race, regardless of ethnicity.

It’s an unambiguous record of righteous work, worthy of remembrance, worthy of recognition. And yet, one of the ironies is, is that year after year, decade in, decade out, Dr. Height went about her work quietly, without fanfare, without self-promotion. She never cared about who got the credit. She didn’t need to see her picture in the papers. She understood that the movement gathered strength from the bottom up, those unheralded men and women who don’t always make it into the history books but who steadily insisted on their dignity, on their manhood and womanhood. (Applause.) She wasn’t interested in credit. What she cared about was the cause. The cause of justice. The cause of equality. The cause of opportunity. Freedom’s cause.

And that willingness to subsume herself, that humility and that grace, is why we honor Dr. Dorothy Height. As it is written in the Gospel of Matthew: “For whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.” I don’t think the author of the Gospel would mind me rephrasing: “whoever humbles herself will be exalted.” (Applause.)

One of my favorite moments with Dr. Height — this was just a few months ago — we had decided to put up the Emancipation Proclamation in the Oval Office, and we invited some elders to share reflections of the movement. And she came and it was a inter-generational event, so we had young children there, as well as elders, and the elders were asked to share stories. And she talked about attending a dinner in the 1940s at the home of Dr. Benjamin Mays, then president of Morehouse College. And seated at the table that evening was a 15-year-old student, “a gifted child,” as she described him, filled with a sense of purpose, who was trying to decide whether to enter medicine, or law, or the ministry.

And many years later, after that gifted child had become a gifted preacher — I’m sure he had been told to be on his best behavior — after he led a bus boycott in Montgomery, and inspired a nation with his dreams, he delivered a sermon on what he called “the drum major instinct” — a sermon that said we all have the desire to be first, we all want to be at the front of the line.

Former Sec. Department of Transportation Rodney Slater and his wife Cassandra.

The great test of a life, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, is to harness that instinct; to redirect it towards advancing the greater good; toward changing a community and a country for the better; toward doing the Lord’s work.

I sometimes think Dr. King must have had Dorothy Height in mind when he gave that speech. For Dorothy Height met the test. Dorothy Height embodied that instinct. Dorothy Height was a drum major for justice. A drum major for equality. A drum major for freedom. A drum major for service. And the lesson she would want us to leave with today — a lesson she lived out each and every day — is that we can all be first in service. We can all be drum majors for a righteous cause. So let us live out that lesson. Let us honor her life by changing this country for the better as long as we are blessed to live. May God bless Dr. Dorothy Height and the union that she made more perfect.

April 29, 2010 – Thursday morning the Washington National Cathedral will be filled with mourners to say their final farewell to civil rights leader Dorothy Height.  Height,  longtime president of the National Council of Negro Women, died last week at the age of 98 from natural causes.

The funeral service will be open to the public and lines are expected to form early.  On Tuesday the White House confirmed President Barack Obama would be attending the funeral and will also deliver the eulogy. 

The president’s attendance brings increased security and required ticketing for folks to be in reserved seating.   I’m fortunate enough to have one of those seats. The Washington National Cathedral is no stranger to making a final farewell an honorable and cherished celebration, and this will be no exception.

Throughout the country in response to a proclamation from the president honoring Height, several states and city governments directed that flags be lowered to half-staff Thursday in memory of the civil rights trailblazer.

The funeral will begin at 10 a.m. and will be streamed live on BET.com; Height’s burial will take place following the service at Fort Lincoln Cemetery in Brentwood.

Dorothy Height and Pamela Gentry in the spring of 2009.

April 21, 2010

– On Tuesday Black American lost an icon when Dorothy Height, civil rights leader, activist, and educator died at 98 years-old.   Height was born in 1912, when William Taft was president, the U.S. population was 95 million and a postage stamp cost two cents.

Height participated and witnessed American history and built a legacy for future generations.

It’s hard to imagine the political landscape of the early 20th century as compared to present day.  Taft was faced with a tough election in 1912 facing two opponents; unemployment was 4.6 percent and the U.S. population was just over 95 million.

Just imagine, Height was 11 years old when Henry Ford decided to organize the Ford Motor Company in 1923.  In her lifetime she witnessed more than 55 African Americans elected to Congress, the onslaught of the online world and the election of the first African-American president.

What a life!

Often we forget to look back and reflect on how far African Americans have traveled on their journey in American history.  But that’s not the case with Height.  She has always managed to keep tabs and always with a keen eye focused on how to  build on every accomplishment.   

Height started her career as a caseworker with the New York City Welfare Department.  She also began a career as a civil rights activist when she joined the National Council of Negro Women.

Throughout her life she stood steadfast for equal rights for both African Americans and women, and in 1944 she joined the national staff of the YWCA.   She served as the national president for Delta Sigma Theta Sorority Incorporated from 1946- 1957.  But her longest and most indelible contribution was to the National Council of Negro Women, where she served as president for 40 years.

Height was a trailblazer, and like others born in her generation, she was on a mission to make a difference. 

Langston Hughes, the famous African-American poet laureate born in 1902 wrote his works in “Negro dialect” with a passion that expressed the life and strife of the American Negro at that time.

“I have the right to portray any side of Negro life I wish to,” Hughes once said.  What Hughes expressed with pen and pad, composer and pianist Scott Joplin was able to put to music. 

Joplin, a contemporary of Height will always be remembered for his classic piano ragtime song, “The Entertainer.”  The quick-rhythm song became famous in 1973 when it was revived for the Oscar-winning film, “The Sting.”

Height’s contributions to the fabric of American history will leave an enduring imprint just like the words penned by Langston and the music composed by Joplin.  She’ll be missed but never forgotten.

By Pamela Gentry, Senior Political Analyst
March 27, 2010 – Rumors are unfounded that civil rights activist and the celebrated leader of the National Council of Negro Women has died.  Dorothy Height, often referred to as the “mother of civil rights,” remains in an ICU at Washington’s Howard University Hospital.

A spokesperson for the NCNW told me Saturday evening  she is hospitalized, but Height, who turned 98 years old on Wednesday, is reported to be resting and in stable condition.  Howard University Hospital spokesman Ron Harris told reporters she is “resting well.”

Rumors circulated on the internet on Saturday that Height had died. It created a flurry of online buzz and prompted a statement from Alexis Herman, a close friend and the former Secretary of Labor.  “We are grateful for the professional care of her doctors. We especially thank everyone for your thoughts, prayers and support during this challenging time.”

Height, who is chair and president emeritus of the National Council of Negro Women, has been considered a female trailblazer in the civil rights movement. She worked alongside the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., Rep. John Lewis (D-Ga.), Rev. Ralph Abernathy and A. Phillip Randolph during the 1960s.