"Run, Jesse, Run!"

No one was saying what Jesse was saying that Democratic primary season.

So, when it was announced he’d be speaking at the Shrine Auditorium, myself, Gilbert D'ambrosio, and John Kiwan marked our calendars.

The Shrine sits at the northern edge of the African American community of Watts, where it overlaps with the University of Southern California. We had places on Estrella Ave. and Elendale Place, were frequenting Raider games at the Coliseum where Marcus Allen was romping, and had been to the venue for a Rick James concert.

Hipsters-about-town.

Thanks to the music of a politically saturated punk band called The Clash, we were hip to the rainforest revolutions in Central America. Jackson was the only Democrat calling for the United States to stay out of the region and we loved him for it.

Although the announcement for the event made it quite clear that it was a "Mother’s Day Church and Community Rally," it didn’t quite register because for us Jackson was a "radical" and we showed up in torn Sandinista shirts, black pants with lots of zippers, and a good buzz on. The crowd, to our surprise, was mostly black ladies - matriarchs - in Easter egg-colored dresses and big floppy hats.

Though not unwelcome, our presence raised a few eyebrows.

Seated down front, we were thrown off by the Baptist-styled mass unfolding around us. They were singing Gospel hymns that had nothing to do with The Clash and we didn't know what all was going on, just standing and sitting with everyone else on cue.

At one point, the preacher said, “please rise” and we three stood up, but only a handful of others followed suit. He looked down at us over his spectacles and said, “So, you boys are pastors at local churches?” And we, you know, weren't and sank back down into our seats. The Shrine is a cavernous affair; it has hosted the Oscars, Emmys, Grammys, Soul Train awards, you name it, and seats 6,400 people. The ensuing eruption of laughter was…never mind.

Jackson was fire that day. He DID condemn U.S. intervention in Central America. "We're wrong!" he declaimed. It was not something you were hearing at the height of the Reagan era and we shook our fists. He brought the crowd to its feet again and again, until they became delirious and started chanting “Run, Jesse, Run!” as he shuffled along the stage in a simulated trot to the delight of all.

You could see something happening in the black community. People went up on stage to shake his hand and make a donation, and they looked good and dropped a LOT of coin into the collection basket. They were ebullient, taking things into their own hands, and Jesse was the catalyst.

"Poor people work. They take the early bus," he told the 1988 Democratic Convention. Not a pure "politician," Jesse Jackson was a storyteller and the story he told was a counternarrative to the pap we’re fed about what goes on in this country, the teller of a different truth, and we will not see the likes of him again.