When I think of the late Jesse Jackson, I recall my brother Andy’s encounter with him back in the 1984 presidential election. No one could beat Reagan, and Jackson’s run was just a vanity project for one of the country’s great publicity hounds.
Jackson wanted to book thirty rooms at a suburban Sheraton hotel my brother was managing in Louisville before the Kentucky primary. That was the year of the million-dollar presidential primary boondoggles. John Glenn’s campaign to this day owes record amounts of money to creditors across the country. Naturally, the hotel’s owner and the Sheraton company were not eager to extend the struggling Jackson campaign credit.
In the end, though, they did, and Jackson’s people were there a week; ordered room service without hesitation; and then skipped town, never paying any bills. Small price — what the hotel feared was Jackson’s talent for shaking down corporate America for money and favors by screaming “racism” at the drop of a hat...which he would have done if anyone had complained.
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