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3 The Chosen I n the summer of 1982, two thousand people showed up at a south side church for a daylong event that Lu Palmer had billed as a “black plebiscite.” The idea was to invite anyone who was anyone in black movement politics and, at this gathering of the clan, crown Harold Washington as their choice for mayor. Speaker after speaker cited informal polls that showed Washington far more popular than Palmer, Jesse Jackson, and other well-known black local figures. Near day’s end, a vote was taken: Washington outdistanced the second-place finisher by something like five-to-one. All that remained was the formality of Washington humbly accepting their nomination. That, at least, was the way Palmer’s script read. The crowd treated Washington to a standing ovation as he made his way to the microphone. But instead of declaring his candidacy, he started talking about how it was “the plan, not the man.” Don’t get too hung up on any one candidate, Washington urged the crowd. Washington’s words confused almost everyone in the room except Palmer, who was feeling overcome with rage. Palmer didn’t mask his feelings. Every week Palmer seemed to invent a new pretext for mentioning Washington’s name on the air. Other journalists in the black media were doing the same. Press releases and pictures flooded the black media as if Washington were already a declared candidate in a current race. And Washington always seemed more than willing to accommodate plans to promote him at every turn. To Palmer, it was too late for cold feet. Palmer confronted Washington after the latter’s speech. “I’m not planning on running,” Washington told him, and Palmer lost his cool. He cursed, hol- The Chosen 27 lered, and threatened to grab a microphone and tell the assembled crowd that the man they had just chosen overwhelmingly as their candidate for mayor was as full of shit as the next politician. “I’m going to kill that man,” Palmer said to anyone within earshot. Renault Robinson, a close ally of Washington’s, witnessed Palmer’s tirade and decided to intervene. Blasting Washington in front of all these people would probably not help matters, he explained. It wasn’t easy, but Robinson talked Palmer into meeting with Washington to work things out. For a couple of years Robinson had been among those gathering with Washington at his local congressional office to toss around the idea of a black challenge to Jane Byrne. Everyone around the room had assumed Washington was exploring the possibilities of his own candidacy, though he was always careful to refer to this candidate as an unnamed third person. A strained modesty in an immodest world, Robinson figured, akin to a buddy beginning a conversation with “Let’s say this friend has a problem.” Robinson was as surprised by Washington’s “it’s the plan” speech as Palmer. A few weeks later, Robinson was at Washington’s side when he met with Palmer and around ten others. Palmer started things off by asking Washington to repeat what he had said to him after the plebiscite. Washington didn’t mince words: “I told Lu that I’m not going to run and never intended to run.” The room exploded with noise. Everyone fought to speak except Washington , who remained quietly defiant. He sat and listened as people accused him of betraying the cause and playing with people’s lives. When someone mentioned a rumor that Washington had cut a deal with the machine, Washington only said, “You can hear anything on the street.” The way Palmer remembered it, he was scared that several people might come to blows with Washington. Others there that night, however, dismissed the claim as Palmer’s usual hyperbole: there were harsh words, nerves were frayed from one of those unrelenting Chicago summer days that drain the body of all moisture, but no one was about to trade punches with a congressman just because he was acting as if the idea of running for mayor never crossed his mind. Washington grew tired of the assault and stalked out. The group of them were left to stare at one another. To their minds, they were casting him as savior opposite Byrne’s antebellum master. What more enviable circumstance could a politician want? For the life of them they couldn’t understand this remarkable but strange man they so desperately wanted as their candidate. He was born on...

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