He walks in to our gate. He's unassuming, moving toward an open seat about 10 chairs away from me.
I immediately recognized him. I had met him three years prior at a speech I attended in John R. Emens Auditorium.
Jesse Jackson doesn't say much, but when he speaks, there's no denying his command of language and the power in his tone.
I decided I would let him be. That is, until someone else made the first move toward him. About 10 minutes passed.
He caught the glance of a young woman across the gate. He waved her over.
I caught it out of the corner of my eye. I had since moved near his seat because I went to make a few phone calls and by time I was done, seats near him were the only ones available.
So I sat there reading "Searching for Whitopia: An Improbable Journey to the Heart of White America" by Rich Benjamin, a book, coincidentally, about white privilege and a sort of reverse gentrification to the suburbs of the United States. I still hadn't said a word.
The young woman started talking to him, telling him how grateful she was for what he has done. As I eavesdropped, I nodded in agreement. The man has accomplished so much since he has been in the spotlight. He is one of few I will admit whose reputation precedes him in my mind.
Finally, I worked up the guts to say a few words.
"I knew you looked familiar," I said. How embarrassing.
The man helped change the face of America in so many ways, and all I can say is, "You look familiar?"
The young woman looked at me and said what I had been thinking, "He better look familiar."
I tried to recover.
"I'm, uh, reading this, uh, book about white privilege and the search of 'white America,'" I uttered. "Would you mind signing it?"
"Sure thing," Jackson said. "What's your name?"
"Uh, Benjamin."
He signed the book, his handwriting barely legible. I could barely make out the words "Benjamin, keep hope alive!"
I thought my signature was illegible. Still, it didn't matter. The man is powerful.
I normally don't get star struck. I actually dislike it when people do. But in this case, I think it was understandable.
This man didn't release a record that millions of people have bought. He didn't read lines off a paper and look longingly into the eyes of a woman he barely knew, just to make a few million dollars.
This man helped change America. So I was nervous. Go ahead, judge me.
Anyway, after a handful of awkward exchanges, I finally found my confidence to speak to him normally.
We talked about the book I was reading, about Chicago. I was surprised to find out he still lives on the south side of Chicago. I told him I planned to live near Uptown and work at a paper up there.
We didn't talk long, but then again, unless he has a microphone, Jackson is a man of few words.
I'm just happy he decided to spare a few for me.
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