After covering Jesse Jackson for 50 years, I'm going to miss his fierce activism

Long before his death Tuesday, the Rev. Jesse Louis Jackson was missed by those of us who wanted or needed someone to lead us through these troubled times.

For a third of the 20th century and more than a decade of this 21st one, the civil rights activist, politician and ordained Baptist minister was camera ready, omnipresent and immanently quotable.

He was cherished by most Black Americans and vilified by many white Americans. Over the half century I have known Jackson, I’ve not fallen into either camp.

As a professional journalist who has written a signed op-ed page column for the Chicago Tribune and later for the Chicago Sun-Times; hosted the TV show “Common Ground”; and worked as the editor of a Black Chicago newspaper, there have been times when we got along just fine, and at other times, not.

There were times when my reporting was not to the good reverend’s liking, and he let me know. There were times when what I wrote he thought was right on the mark.

Back in 1973, I was an assistant editor at Ebony magazine. I was assigned to interview Jackson about “Save the Children,” a movie about the PUSH exposition, featuring the Jackson 5, Marvin Gaye and Bill Withers. The reverend kept me waiting for 45 minutes, then answered my questions in words that rhymed and quipped but were not particularly detailed. I called him out on it. He stood up, then left the room. Fifteen minutes later, I realized I had all I was getting.

Eight years later, as a Tribune reporter, every week I covered his Saturday morning meeting at Operation PUSH. Each week, when he wasn’t in some other city or town, fighting for a racial injustice that he was eager to take on, he’d have some prominent figure as his guest, following it up by the sermon of the week on something white people were doing wrong.

You could bet your bottom dollar that the meetings would feature Jackson’s “I Am Somebody” chorus chant and his well-staged contributions method with two or three businessmen in the audience volunteering to contribute $500 to the cause, followed by lesser pledges immediately before the ushers circulated the collection plates from one row to the next being filled with dollar bills featuring various dead presidents.

Jackson was a master of the media. He could be called on to confront an editor or news operation where a Black journalist had been fired just because or when that newsroom was obviously a place for whites only.

The relationship between Jackson and Black journalists was often a two-way street. There was the time that Jackson was on a radio show with Derek Hill and one of the callers suggested Black Chicagoans should boycott ChicagoFest because Mayor Jane Byrne appointed whites to the Chicago Housing Authority board, ignoring Black representation. The civil rights leader took up the cause right then and there. The next day I ran into him with Gary Mayor Richard Hatcher while the two were heading into a meeting for Black mayors.

I asked about the instant boycott. Jackson said he was kicking it off because Chicago’s Black voters were being disrespected. I pointed out to Jackson that Stevie Wonder was the marquee attraction at the event on one given day.

“Have you talked to Stevie?” I asked. “You could have 5,000 protesters out front, and there will be 10,000 Blacks trying to get in to see him.”

Jackson had a stunned look on his face. It was obvious that was something he hadn’t considered. He told me he didn’t want to reveal all his plans.

Two days later it was announced that Stevie would not be appearing at ChicagoFest for safety’s sake. The boycott was a huge success, and it was a crucial step in leading to Chicago electing its first Black mayor, Harold Washington.

Two years later, Jackson would take another step. He’d mount a serious attempt at America having a Black president. His first effort didn’t work. Nor did his second one in 1988. But it turned out to be a powerful demonstration that a Black man could get to the White House. When Barack Obama followed Jackson’s lead 20 years later, becoming America’s first Black president, the civil rights leader witnessed hope not only being kept, but that it had come alive.