An American Journey : In a Post-O.J. World, Colin Powell’s Book-Signing Blitzkrieg Continues to Inspire Scenes : of Racial Unity and Political Diversity

At every stop on Gen. Colin L. Powell’s book tour, throngs of reporters have focused on one question: Will he run for President?

But as he stood before the standard bouquet of microphones at a Ft. Worth, Tex., Wal-Mart last Tuesday, the reporters were distracted. Many had their ears glued to cell phones. As Powell recalled the scene, he was answering his second query when a member of the press corps blurted out: “He’s not guilty! What do you think, General?”

Before the verdicts in the O.J. Simpson case, some pundits hinted that Powell, the highest-ranking African American in military history and a symbol of “sensible centrism,” would benefit politically in a nation desperate to mend its racial wounds.

But when the Simpson jury delivered its “not guilties,” America’s already shaky political landscape quaked.

Some subcurrents of conventional wisdom now murmur that the white middle class might riot--inthe voting booth come November, 1996. The backlash could affect African American candidates indiscriminately. As the harsh rhetoric of talk radio put it: “No justice, no welfare.”

In an interview in Denver the day after the verdicts, that phrase sparked an angry groan from Powell. But he remained as unflappable in his response to O.J. outrage as he’d been while orchestrating news conferences during Operation Desert Storm.

Leaning back in a chair in his hotel suite, Powell, 58, quoted the advice of 19th-Century military strategist Karl von Clausewitz: “Beware the vividness of transient events.”

“This is a very vivid event,” Powell said, “but it is a transient event. So I would say let’s all take a deep breath and relax. . . . I would not start writing off harmony between blacks and whites. I would not start saying that the right wing of the political spectrum is now going to embed this in their philosophy. . . .

“The one thing that none of us can escape, whether we are on the right, left, middle, top or bottom, black, white, brown, green or yellow, is that we’re all living in this one country together. . . . We are blessed with each other--stuck with each other. We had better figure out how to get along with each other.”

Indeed, if Powell’s record-breaking book-signing blitzkrieg were assigned an official theme, as in the rock ‘n’ roll world, his roadies’ silk jackets might read: “The Racial Harmony Tour.”

Thousands of people turned out for a San Bernardino event sponsored by an African American bookstore that had recently hosted militant rapper Sister Souljah. That same day a few thousand more lined up outside a bookstore in tony La Jolla, where Margaret Thatcher and Newt Gingrich had previously received warm welcomes.

Even before Powell’s small entourage hit Southern California, Random House had published 1.25 million copies of the biography, “My American Journey,” and he had already signed 16,000 of them in Virginia, Boston, Chicago, Milwaukee, San Francisco and Washington, D.C.

In Southern California, Powell would scrawl his name at the rate of about 1000 an hour, burning up black Scribe pens as ethnically diverse crowds of Republicans, Democrats, Independents and Perotistas trooped by, drawn at least in part by a story that is already approaching the status of modern myth.

Powell was born to Jamaican immigrants and raised in a low-income, ethnically diverse neighborhood of New York’s South Bronx known as Banana Kelly. Directionless as a boy, young Colin joined the Army ROTC program at City College of New York. He began his scramble through the military ranks walking jungle patrol as a Kennedy-era adviser to the South Vietnamese army. He wound up serving, under Presidents Bush and Clinton, as the first African American, as well as the youngest, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

The Powell legend took root in the American consciousness when the general stood up during Desert Storm and explained his plans for Saddam Hussein’s army: “First we’ll cut it off, and then we’ll kill it.”

But the tidbits in “My American Journey” are what flesh out Powell’s character: As a young White House Fellow, he drove a Chevy Bel Air he had personally spruced up with a coat of house paint; as a budding muckety-muck, he played calypso music in his Pentagon office.

As Powell crisscrossed Southern California recently for the book tour, the high and humble elements of his story coalesced. At the Price Club in Fountain Valley, the line began forming at 2:45 a.m. Security was tight. The mayor and city council did the dignitary routine.

But in the area of the warehouse store where Powell was cranking out his signature, family and friends, blacks and whites, some in shorts and zoris, others in elegant evening wear, swarmed in hugging and yakking, creating the air of a rollicking wedding reception.

“Oh, my hips are killing me,” a blonde with a New York accent kvetched as she greeted one of Powell’s nieces. Then she sniffed: “I notice your uncle is sitting down.”

Powell’s sister Marilyn Berns, who recently retired after 17 years as an Orange County school teacher, spent her time escorting star-struck friends up to meet the author.

“There was no way of expecting this,” she said of her little brother’s sudden celebrity. “We watched him grow and develop and achieve, but still, we were all floored.”

*

If “My American Journey” can be said to have a theme, it is that family provides a vital “structure, purpose and discipline” in people’s lives. In his talks on the tour and in the book, Powell emphasizes the importance not only of his own warm nuclear family, but also of the military “family” that nurtured him.

That military family is showing up in force on the tour. U.S. Marine Corps Maj. Rod vonLipsey, who had served as an aide de camp during operation Desert Storm, stood in line for four hours in Fountain Valley.

“I don’t think I’ve ever worked for anyone who evokes the deep and abiding sense of loyalty that Gen. Powell does,” vonLipsey said. “He’s a great man.”

A few minutes later, Larry Mead stepped up to the table wearing a “Powell for President” button. He told the general he’d served with him in South Korea, under Henry E. (Gunfighter) Emerson.

“You remember those four-mile runs?” Powell asked, cracking a smile.

Mead nodded.

Mead, now an L.A. County sheriff’s deputy with the gang enforcement team, said that Powell’s book captured Korea in the early ‘70s exactly. Mead, who is black, said that Powell, then a colonel, did indeed help break up the racial antagonisms that festered on and off the post. Some of the African American GIs called him “Bro P,” and a few had less respectful epithets, he confirmed.

“If you’re African American and in the mainstream, and successful, some whites will view you as a pushy African American,” Mead said. “Some black people will view you as an Uncle Tom.”

Mead rejects either characterization: “You come here,” he said, looking at Powell, “and you see the American dream.”

As a black centrist toying with the pursuit of the ultimate American dream, Powell is getting hit from almost every flank.

His book signings have been picketed by people upset with the hands-off advice he gave both Bush and Clinton on Bosnia; by Operation Rescue folks who object to his support of abortion rights. In La Jolla, a lone man carried a picket sign that challenged Powell’s support of the “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy toward gays in the military: “I am a gay veteran of WWII General Powell: Discrimination is not an American Value.”

In talks, on the radio and on television, Powell emphasizes that he is “multicultural”--a mix of African, English, Irish, Scotch and possibly Arawak Indian. But, he pointedly adds, in spite of his tan complexion: “I am as black as the ace of spades.”

Powell acknowledges that he has benefited from affirmative action, but he cautions against quotas and preferences. “At the same time,” he told one black radio host in L.A., “preferences and quotas have been a way of American life for most of our history. The quota was simple: 100% white males.”

Such positions spurred a conservative black columnist for the Denver Post to suggest that Powell is “just another African American crybaby.”

At the same time, liberal USA Today columnist Barbara Reynolds noted that many blacks distrust Powell because he is supported by so many whites.

“No black man--except those who sing, dance or play sports--has been as readily embraced by whites,” she said. She advised him not to run for President.

Those African Americans who see race at the heart of American politics have always sneered at Powell’s chances, arguing that supposedly supportive white voters would get inside the ballot box and balk.

Now, post-O.J., the race card is in such plain view that even some “We Are the World” types are wondering about the effect of potential white backlash on a Powell presidential bid.

If Powell is remotely concerned, he didn’t let it show.

“Obviously there is more disappointment with the verdict in the white community than the black community,” he said. “But I don’t know that that really translates into anything politically.”

When asked if he could bring himself to shake Simpson’s hand, Powell maintained calm eye contact: “If I were to see O.J. Simpson and he extended his hand to me, I would shake his hand. He has been found not guilty, he has been found innocent of the charges against him. He is now a free citizen of this country.”

America’s racial divide is being exaggerated by the heat of the moment, Powell believes. As evidence he points to the book signing he did in San Bernardino--a beleaguered city where unemployment is soaring and cops sell T-shirts touting the city’s distinction as “the murder capital of America.”

Despite its woes, San Bernardino treated Powell’s visit with as much pomp as other cities were laying on the Pope. On the theater stage where Powell did his signing, an Air Force honor guard twirled rifles huht! huht! huht! A four-man combo played cool jazz. Black poets read and the white owner of a supermarket chain reminded everyone that he and Powell were both recipients of a Horatio Alger award.

Afterward, outside the theater, Daryl Terrell stood on a corner looking at the general’s signature in his book. Powell “would unify us as a family,” said Terrell, a young black county employee who had arrived at 3:30 a.m. to wait on the sidewalk.

“He said that we’re all family in this country. That’s true. He would unite us as a family,” Terrell said. “I told him he’s my hero, and that I hope he’ll run for President, so that someday I can follow in his footsteps.”

*

On the day after the Simpson verdicts, another multiethnic crowd of admirers snaked through the Tattered Cover bookstore in Denver. Many blacks in line said they applauded the jury’s decision. Many whites vented rage. But they all waited patiently for Powell to sign their books.

Already the real politiknics are probing Powell’s past for mistakes and his character for flaws. But the true believers in line aren’t worried. They look at Powell, they say, and see someone who says what he thinks--someone with true leadership.

Powell’s reticence to run has created such dramatic tension that many supporters await his announcement as breathlessly as they did the Simpson verdicts. While the declared candidates all glisten with the unsavory sweat of desperate ambition, Powell exudes the sort of nonchalance that drives suitors wild.

Powell lists a panoply of factors that will influence his decision, from his wife Alma’s concerns to whether he thinks he can ould win.

But he acknowledges that his book tour has added another issue, by bringing him face to face with people who, like Daryl Terrell, have linked their dreams to his inspiring trajectory.

His voice softens a degree when he reflects on this complication.

“There are a lot of people out there who are placing some hopes and aspirations on me, and that makes the decision for me a little more difficult.”