If every picture tells a story, two I think you might remember from 1968 -- the turbulent 1968 of Martin and Bobby and the Tet Offensive and Chicago's raging Democratic convention -- spoke volumes.

Correction: Speak volumes.

Because they resonate still.

The first photograph focuses on two men on the awards podium at the Mexico City Olympics. One of the men is Tommie Smith, winner of the 200 meters. The other man is John Carlos, who finished third. They each have a gloved fist raised -- the Black Power salute -- as their way of protesting racial injustice in America. Their heads are bowed. Medals hang from their necks.

The second photo also pertains to two men -- a son and his father. The son is Arthur Ashe, once a child of segregated Richmond but on this day the U.S. Open tennis champion -- the first black man to win the event. His left arm is draped around his father, Arthur Sr., a recreation worker in the city the son was forced to leave behind in order to grow. The son, his head bowed. The father, near tears.

Forty years later, Smith and Carlos are distinguished sixtysomethings, and Ashe, sadly, a memory. He died at 49 in 1993. That was far too young but not too soon to fashion a deep and glowing legacy -- one that's embraced by those who shared 1968 with him.

"I remember him very well," Carlos said recently from California. "I met him on a number of occasions. We had a fondness or love for one another. We had a deep respect for one another for the images we tried to project on society -- to be progressive and to be part of a new paradigm as far as athletes were concerned."

The ESPY Awards are summer-TV filler material -- not Oscars or Emmys, not a Heisman, not an MVP. But there's meaning amid the festivities, and especially in the Arthur Ashe Courage Award, given to individuals "whose contributions transcend sports."

Next month's recipients: Tommie Smith and John Carlos.

And they are stoked.

"I will step on that stage with wings on," Smith said from his home in Atlanta. "The man, to me, was an angel. He was a great man when God took him away. He was doing things in a gentle manner."

Ashe, who once said he felt guilty for not being involved in the civil-rights struggle early on -- tight-roping through the lily-white and privileged world of tennis didn't allow for much wiggle room -- grew into an activist and humanitarian of the first magnitude.

Smith and Carlos, for their part, continued down the path they illuminated in Mexico City. Both became coaches. Both have been mentors and bulwarks in their communities. Both trace their orientation to Oct. 16, 1968.

"I say I live it every day," Carlos said. "God made that demonstration somewhat as a beacon for society. It stays with me constantly. I see it on TV. I see it in magazines. It's a part of my life. Every time I see it I think, man, we touched a lot of people -- people that weren't even born yet."

Smith, too, derives purpose from 1968, when he and Carlos -- his teammate at San Jose State, two guys in their early 20s -- took a stand for human rights. They paid for their boldness by being booted from the U.S. team and the Olympic Village. They've been enriched -- and have enriched others -- ever since.

"I live it every day because it is me," Smith said. "Every day I get up, 1968 is Tommie Smith. I view myself as a helper to the young and the old. Nineteen sixty-eight is my life. That's what I do. I live what I do."

He and Carlos will relive the moment once again July 16 (the show airs four nights later on ESPN). They never envisioned it extending into a new millennium.

"No, I did not really understand that it would be reaching 40 years into the future," Smith said. "Yes, I knew it would have some effect. But I didn't know it would be this far-reaching."

Maybe he should've. Photographs endure. So do courage and good works.