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The death of Rev. Jesse Jackson this week has sparked a flurry of remembrances about his decades-long career as a civil rights champion and political figure.
It’s timely, therefore, to recall an episode from his up-and-down relationship with Jerry Brown, whose celebrity was comparable during the heyday of the 1970s and 1980s — particularly one day in 1979.
Jackson had founded PUSH (People United to Save Humanity) in 1971, after splitting away from Martin Luther King’s organization during a power struggle in the aftermath of King’s assassination.
In 1979, PUSH was holding a convention in Cleveland. Brown, then in his second term as California governor and planning a second presidential campaign, was invited to speak.
Therefore, I found myself on a redeye flight from California to Cleveland with Brown, his state welfare director, Marion Woods, and a reporter from the Los Angeles Times whose name I can’t recall.
I had covered Brown’s first run for the White House in 1976 for the Sacramento Union and was curious about how his yearnings for the spotlight would play off Jackson’s equally strong penchant for attention.
That day the PUSH program was half political gathering and half religious service, with music and singing — all being broadcast over a network of radio stations.
Brown appeared to be taken aback, or perhaps confused, about the unusual format, but on cue he mounted the podium and delivered his remarks. I cannot recall the content.
Shortly thereafter Jackson wound down the session by appealing for money, shouting out various amounts and asking those willing to meet the requests to “come on down,” as a choir rocked the venue with vigorous renditions of spirituals.
At one point, Jackson turned to Brown and suggested he could donate. Brown stared straight ahead, neither responding nor giving. It was not surprising, given Brown’s skinflint image.
The session ended, and Brown and his coterie, including the Times reporter and me, were invited to Jackson’s hotel suite for some food, drink and conversation. Listening to Jackson and Brown bantering about politics and philosophy was worth the trip. But the day wasn’t over.
On the way back to the airport, our little convoy of cars driven by Cleveland police officers diverted to City Hall, where Brown met with the city’s young, politically ambitious mayor, Dennis Kucinich, after which the mayor jumped into the lead car with Brown and took us on a whirlwind tour of the city, winding up at his brother’s house, with the brother running out to shake Brown’s hand.
While waiting to board our flight back to California, I asked Brown why he hadn’t given Jackson a donation and whether he had brought any money. He reached into the watch pocket of his vest (Brown often wore three-piece suits then), pulled out a single $100 bill and said he didn’t feel obligated to give.
Brown did, in fact, run again for president in 1980, but his campaign crashed in the Wisconsin primary a few months later. Jackson ran for president in 1984, delivered a thundering address at the Democratic convention in San Francisco, and failed to win the nomination. He tried again in 1988.
When Brown made his third White House bid in 1992, his relationship with Jackson became an issue. At one point, Brown suggested that Jackson might be his running mate, but it drew condemnation from New York’s Jewish community because Jackson had referred to the city using an ethnic slur.
Meanwhile, Kucinich who was Cleveland’s mayor for just two years, endured political and personal financial setbacks and recuperated in Southern California. He returned to Ohio and served 16 years as a congressman. Like Brown and Jackson, he, too, made an unsuccessful bid for the presidency.
