My Chief of Staff Ray Towbis started a jail program he called the “Be Somebody Program”. In an earlier career, Ray had worked for a talent booking agency and he never really got it out of his system. It should come as no surprise that one of Ray’s favorite movies was the Woody Allen film “Broadway Danny Rose” with Allen playing a hapless New York talent agent trying to book a one legged dancing chicken and other similar oddball acts. Ray could relate.
The back of San Francisco County Jail #3 showing the prisoners' exercise yard.
But the superstars of the program were the notable and famous wherever Ray could find them. Ray hunted down Dick Gregory for months, screaming at agents and other roadblocks until he finally got Gregory’s home phone number from a sympathetic secretary. Towbis called Gregory direct and talked him into making a visit. Gregory eventually came back to the jails several times and even filmed a segment for “60 Minutes” while doing a “Be Somebody” speech.
Ray made other impressive catches for the program: writer Alice Walker, poet Nikki Giovanni, LA Mayor Tom Bradley, Dr. Harry Edwards. Ray used to say only half in jest, “You haven’t played San Francisco until you’ve played the county jail.”
Somehow, in August 1983, Towbis made a connection that attracted the Reverend Jesse Jackson. And, much to our delight, Ray got the Reverend Jackson’s commitment to speak at the San Francisco County Jail in San Bruno. The week he was scheduled to speak at the jail turned out to be the same week he appeared on the cover of Time Magazine under the headline, “Run, Jesse, Run.” Jackson had just announced his first candidacy for the White House and we had a full-blown media star on our hands. Towbis was in hog heaven.
Ray Towbis, Beverly Hennessey, and the Reverend Jesse Jackson in the San Bruno jail prisoners' exercise yard.
As we headed toward the jail, Towbis twisted around in his seat and leaned over to Jackson and his aide in the back. Ray’s arms were hanging into the back of the car and his face was only inches from Jackson’s when he started a rapid-fire speech:
“Okay. We’ve got the media waiting there for you. We’ve got ‘em all – TV, radio, newspapers, you name it. They’re gonna wanna get right to you, but we’re not gonna let ‘em. We’re gonna walk you right through the middle of them into the back of the jail where the prisoners are waiting. They come first. We’ll get you set up and then the show is yours. Take as long as you want. We’ll keep the media at bay until you finish and then we’ll hustle ‘em into a room we got set aside. We’ve even got food for the press. That’ll keep ‘em quiet. They love that free food. You can take questions there. Take as much time as you want. You give me the high sign when you are ready to get out of there and we’ll have you outside in no time.”
Ray might have taken a breath in there someplace, but I didn’t notice one.
Jackson was mute, mesmerized. He slowly nodded his head up and down a couple of times. And, although Ray had introduced himself at the airport only a few minutes ago, Jackson looked squarely at Ray and said, “Who are you again?”
Ray focused his stare at Jackson, paused a beat and then snapped, “I’m the guy who makes things happen”.
The Reverend Jesse Jackson understood perfectly.
And, so how did the rest of the day go? Here is how I recorded it hours later in my diary entry of August 19, 1983:
Hell – all I wanted to do was meet Jesse Jackson and hear Olga De Volga play bass.
The Jesse Jackson-goes-to-the-San Bruno-jail episode was vintage 1965 street theater. Jesse Jackson, the cover of this week’s Time Magazine and an entourage of ministers, Bishops, church women and three dozen press representatives went to the yard of the jail to preach and register voters.
Jackson was pure charisma, charging up the stairs into a crowd of 100 inmates, captivating everyone with his chant-and-response messages, and speaking of me as if we had been working in the struggle together for years. Maybe we have been, in a sense. I’d like to think so.
Towbis pulled a P.R. coup with Jesse.
Inside the Jail! Inmates! Candidate for President of the United States of America!
A second page story in The Examiner – two photos and the headline: “Jesse Jackson Wows ‘Em at S.F. Jail.” Walter Mondale was in town and was barely covered.
“There’s a Freedom Train a comin’
But you’ve got to register to ride
I am Somebody
I want to be Free
I deserve to be Free.
“None of us are perfect; we all have sinned.
But when you’re rich you go to San Clemente
And when you’re poor you go to San Quentin.”
Towbis and [Assistant Sheriff] Ed Flowers were the tacticians. Vehicles, media, food, deputy sheriff escort from arrival to departure. I’m sure Jesse Jackson felt like he had us all under his spell – and he did win the hearts of us all. But it was a Towbis and Flowers production all the way.
The occasion was the 119th Conference of the African Methodist Episcopal Church, Rev. Howard Gloyd, local host, pastor . . . and V.P. of the Civil Service Commission. An easy man to like – but not very much.
Jackson needed a local forum. To Gloyd’s great credit, Gloyd called us to see if a jail registration event was possible. At least Gloyd claimed the idea. I learned later that Jackson had done a similar deed in the Chicago jail, so the idea or inspiration at least is his to claim.
A made to order event. The 549 inmates couldn’t have been cast better by Lynn Stallmaster or Joyce Selznick. Classic looks, enthusiastic response and about as cooperative as anyone could expect from that large a pool of criminal talent.
When Jackson walked onto the lower yard and looked up, he saw a close horizon of colorful bodies – orange jumpsuits, blue & red sweat shirts, mostly black faces. They immediately yelled, “Run, Jesse, Run!” Not a shabby entrance.
Jackson asked me to bring them closer – which meant from a yellow rope at the edge of the yard and down onto a 40-degree angle sloped area of grass and dirt. As I went to grab Chief Zaragoza to tell him to bring the inmates closer, Jackson bolted up the steps to the upper yard and waded into the sea of inmates.
It was a scene out of a Bobby Kennedy movie. Much more so than Malcolm X at any rate. Jackson’s move had the secondary effect of cutting the Chief off from the troops who were to be ordered to bring the inmates down onto the slope. What to do?
I figured – what the heck, let’s get this show on the road. I walked to the base of the slope, yelled up and motioned with my hands for them to move down. As several inmates pogoed down the slope I realized they might come down onto the lower yard itself – and into the assembled women prisoners (a definite jail no-no) and also the already leery press corp.
I put my hands up, palms forward, and pushed slowly forward. Like magic, the inmates slowed and stopped just at the lower edge of the slope. Ah – the appearance of control. A key ingredient of leadership.
Jackson then came back to the lower yard and gave his speech – a combination traditional Democratic rhetoric, poor peoples’ rally and old time religion rally. Quite a performance.
After it was all over and the Reverend was set to be driven to the airport by Ed and Lloyd Thomas, I realized I was wired like a Christmas tree. So, what the heck – let’s go to the Fab Mab and catch the final show by The Lewd, one of S.F.’s premier leather-and-spike punk bands. After all, Olga, the bass player, had put me on the guest list.
Although I had to walk a circuitous route to avoid beat cop Bob Geary who was occasionally hanging out at the entrance, once inside everything was normal. Considering. The Lewd were great. Olga was great – looking tough in her leather and black lipstick. Little did I know that the video crew was from Channel 4. I hope to be diplomatically edited.
Quite an enjoyable day.
