O’Donnell: Roots of Jesse Jackson touched hope, Bulls and the Fighting Illini

THE REV. JESSE JACKSON WAS NO STRANGER to the locker room of the Chicago Bulls.

The first encounter came before a nothing game at Chicago Stadium during the winter of 1983-84. That team was going nowhere.

Except eventually into a 1984 NBA draft that would yield the moon, the star and the pricey shoe launcher who would wear No. 23.

The Reverend was unobtrusive. His status gave him entry, but he was just another guy in the room. It took a second glance to realize it was him.

HE STOOD ALONE at the locker of Quintin Dailey — an eminently personable but trouble-prone Bull of that era — casually kibitzing. Rev. Jackson was meticulous in dress, chromatically stylish in an outfit that crisply accentuated assorted shades of brown.

It seemed impolite to interject. But Dailey abruptly ended that notion by motioning the reporter over and asking, “Do you know 'The Rev?'”

Since their paths had never crossed, the answer was “no.”

SO THE INTRODUCTION was made. The ensuing minutes skirted the edges of idle pregame chitchat. He was pleasant, taller than expected and clearly opinionated on a few tweaks that could upgrade coach Kevin Loughery's first edition.

On the midnight Metra home that night, the thought struck the suburban beat boy: That fellow in the locker room is in the process of mounting the first serious major-party run by a Black man for President of the United States.

(Rev. Jackson finished third at the 1984 Democratic convention, behind Walter Mondale and Gary Hart. Four years later, he was first runner-up to Mike Dukakis.)

IN THE WAKE OF HIS DEATH at age 84 last week, the athletic background of “The Rev” can't be overlooked. He had talent and the sort of audaciousness that laid foundation for his path to pragmatic pop/political icon, minister and shrewd capitalist.

His biological father — Noah Robinson — was a star pitcher in the regional Negro Leagues around his native South Carolina.

Jackson himself won consecutive football championships as starting QB at Sterling High in Greenville, S.C. That led to his recruitment to Illinois, where the narrative gets a bit foggy.

Some chroniclers have written that he left Champaign-Urbana after his freshman year because of “racism” in the football program.

THE MORE INFORMED POINT OUT that coach Ray Eliot had a developing Black quarterback named Mel Meyers seeing important minutes behind incumbent John Easterbrook.

That same tandem remained the following season (1960) when Jackson departed and Eliot handed the coaching reins to Pete Elliott.

(Grand footnote for Bears fans: A key bailout receiver on both teams was two-way end Ed O'Bradovich. He did not yet have a postgame howlfest on the campus radio station.)

IN ANY CASE, YOUNG JACKSON HEADED back to the South, to HCBU North Carolina A&T. There his football star once again began to ascend.

He was plagued by knee problems in 1960-61. In 1962 he emerged as a reliable fullback-defensive end for the Aggies. In his final campaign of 1963, he helped quarterback the team to a 6-3 record.

(Jackson alternated with fellow star Cornell Gordon, who — during an eight-season NFL career — started 10 games at safety for Joe Willie Namath and the Super Bowl III champion New York Jets.)

IT WAS DURING THAT SENIOR YEAR that fate and a knack for charismatic, faith-based activism altered the life arc of The Reverend.

He was accepted into the Divinity School at Duke but opted instead to study at the Chicago Theological Seminary. That led he and young wife Jackie to forever lay down roots in Chicago.

During his final year at North Carolina A&T, Rev. Jackson was also appointed to the state's Intercollegiate Council on Human Rights by Gov. Terry Sanford. It was that position that prompted additional involvement with the Chicago-spawned Congress of Racial Equality (CORE), work that directly drew Jackson into the sphere of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

(Irresistible note: Gov. Sanford was considered an extraordinarily visioned regional leader during the turbulent 1960s in the South. He had such dynamic loft that extremely credible historians have stated that in all likelihood, he would have replaced the investigation-plagued Lyndon Johnson as President John F. Kennedy's running mate in 1964. That would have left Sanford a likely front-runner for the Democratic presidential nomination in 1968.)

SO THE REV. JESSE JACKSON WAS NO STRANGER to the blood, sweat and cheers of locker rooms and agencies of change.

Now his rainbow coalition continues to bid him an earthly farewell.

All those nights ago, he fit in so seamlessly downstairs at Chicago Stadium.

Even inside of a locker room where keeping hope alive seemed such an impossible scheme.

Jim O'Donnell's Sports and Media column appears each week on Sunday and Wednesday. Reach him at jimodonnelldh@yahoo.com. All communications may be considered for publication.