MILLION MAN MARCH : Unity on the Mall Provokes Divided Opinions Elsewhere : Reaction: Rally inspires hope in some people. Others across the country respond with cynicism, resentment.

They gathered on a private balcony high above the treetops, their white faces evincing a mixture of curiosity and aloofness as they pondered the sea of black humanity on the sun-drenched Mall.

Even from that lofty perch of an art museum, the dozen or so white people stood out on a crisp autumn day dedicated to black men. And that juxtaposition seemed to capture the state of the black-white chasm in America as the “Million Man March” unfolded Monday.

Yet amid the distance and the alienation between the races, there was also hopeful talk of reconciliation as Americans in cities across the nation, including Los Angeles, reflected on the event.

“In the end, it’s going to take all of us. The key is to come together--and then take this commitment back to our communities,” said Sue Ann Hecht, a white, Washington-area social worker who participated in the march to demonstrate her “solidarity” with the marchers.

“Something has to be done about the discontent among black Americans,” added Herbert Goldberg, a Jewish man from Skokie, Ill., who stayed over in Washington after a weekend meeting to attend the rally--despite anti-Semitic statements made in the past by the event’s main sponsor, Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakan.

“This is such a momentous event. Other people should be involved,” Goldberg said.

But just as some blacks disputed the merits of the Farrakhan-inspired gathering, it was not difficult to find whites who reacted with unease and resentment.

In Denver, Jean Easley, a 53-year-old realtor, said the march came too soon after O.J. Simpson’s acquittal--a verdict she strongly disagreed with--for her to feel any empathy.

“White suburbia is real disgusted with O.J. Simpson and disgusted with the whole black culture. It burns us up that all these black people are thrilled that he got off,” Easley said.

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“I think the ‘Million Man March’ is a sham, another fraud,” she added. “Maybe it’s because I can’t get past Louis Farrakhan.”

Around the corner from where Easley was having coffee, Earl Gordon, a 44-year-old black man who is the guest service supervisor at the Regency Hotel, said the woman missed the point.

“For one thing, you can’t compare this march with the O.J. verdict--they are two different things,” he said. “For another, Minister Farrakhan is saying black men should stand up and be recognized--that’s all he’s asking people to do.”

Gordon would have attended the march but for the fact that his wife had twin daughters born eight days ago.

Throughout Los Angeles, many residents expressed mixed feelings about the march--generally supportive of its message but not of Farrakhan.

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“In this climate of rolling back affirmative action and all the rest, I think this march is a legitimate expression of concerns,” said Dan Brandler, a white electronics engineer who lives in Ventura County but works on the Westside. “I don’t like Farrakhan, but I can understand African Americans feeling the need” to march together.

At the Los Angeles County High School for the Arts, students and faculty members listened over a classroom radio to coverage of the march and then debated its merits.

“I have no problem with people coming together to try to work through their problems, but having a leader who is very anti-Semitic and obviously sexist is ridiculous,” said Julia Parmenter, a white student from Sherman Oaks.

One of her black classmates, Kamyllia McClain of Glendale, strongly disagreed. “This is a good thing for my community,” said McClain, pounding her fist on a classroom desk for emphasis.

“Black men who are selling drugs and not behaving responsibly toward their women need to examine themselves,” she added. “I don’t care what whites think about it. We need to concentrate on ourselves.”

Irene Blea, head of Chicano Studies at Cal State L.A., said she hoped Latino men were watching the march. “Some of the same issues affecting black men affect Latinos too. Both groups have grown up as men of color in a white-male dominated society. They’ve inherited ideas that they are not worthy and that they should deal with their anger and frustration through violence.”

Robert Malone, a black nursing student at Los Angeles Trade Tech College, wondered about the march’s ultimate impact.

“What is this march really going to do?” he asked. “Tomorrow, we’ll all be back in the same position. I don’t have a job now and I won’t have one tomorrow after the march. Progress is about jobs and money, not marching.”

Monday night, about 200 people gathered at Lynwood City Hall for an event billed as the “local Million Man March.” Inspired by television coverage of the Washington gathering, the mostly African American congregation sang “We Shall Overcome” as they walked several hundred yards down Bullis Road to Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard and then turned back toward City Hall for a meeting in a nearby auditorium.

“It’s a day of awakening,” said Lynwood school district Trustee Cynthia Green Geter. “Love yourself. Love one another.”

In Atlanta, in the shadow of Dr. King’s white marble crypt, Leroy Williams, 46, a black car salesman, sat on the retaining wall of the pool that surrounds King’s tomb and talked about the march.

“It’s long overdue. It should have happened a long time ago,” he said.

Uptown, at a supermarket in the upscale neighborhood of Buckhead, Grady Brown, 52, a black meat-cutter, took a dim view of the march.

“I don’t like it,” Brown said. “I think it’s stupid. Personally I don’t like [Farrakhan], and most of the people I talk to don’t like him.”

Marie Westmoreland, 42, a white suburban housewife who had just finished shopping at a supermarket, had mixed feelings about the march. “It’s wonderful if this will somehow bond these men,” she said.

But she added: “I think it is scary that Farrakhan is their mentor. . . . It’s just so sad for me to see all the different races and religions separating like this.”

Westmoreland rued the fact that the march has not been a topic of discussion in her circles. “We’re so involved in our little worlds of school, grocery store, bank, volunteer work, or whatever,” she said.

Apathy--even ignorance about the rally--was not confined to suburban Atlanta. In Chicago, Janet Brullie, a white office worker in her early 30s, was sitting with a companion on Rush Street, drinking coffee and smoking, when asked about the rally.

“ ‘Million Man March’ “--what is it?” she responded. “I am totally clueless.”

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In Seattle, the march also took a back seat as a topic of conversation to the city’s Mariners baseball team, engaged in a fierce struggle for a place in the World Series.

“All I’ve heard is about the guy who organized it and what everybody is saying about him,” said Lorne Belcher, who is white, as he installed electronic cable in a downtown Seattle office building. “It sounds like it’s for a good purpose as far as what they’re trying to stand for. They’re all trying to get together.”

In Miami, Katherine Calzada, 31, vice president and general manager of La Therapie Cosmetics group, said she has thought a lot about the march. “I hope it isn’t just another moment to vent anger in a non-productive way,” said Calzada, who is white. “I wish the black men would show solidarity in today’s march but would go back tomorrow and take care of their wives and families.”

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Times staff writers Louis Sahagun in Denver, Edith Stanley in Atlanta, Stephen Braun and John Beckham in Chicago, Erin Texeira, Tony Olivo and James Benning in Los Angeles, Mike Clary and Anna Virtue in Miami, Doug Conner in Seattle and Lianne Hart in Houston contributed to this story.