Hail and farewell: Maynard Holbrook Jackson Jr. 1938-2003: throngs celebrate life of Atlanta's visionary first Black mayor - Obituary - Biography

IT was a special moment, one that lasted for several days as thousands of people--ordinary people and two U.S. presidents--paid tribute to a man who was larger than life, and whose personality and politics touched so many other lives.

When Maynard Holbrook Jackson Jr., the first Black mayor of Atlanta, died of a heart attack at age 65, he left a legacy of unmatched achievement, having helped to transform a provincial town into a world-class city and change the complexion of urban politics and business throughout the country.

"He was one of the founding fathers of the New Atlanta, the New South and the New America," U.S. Rep. John Lewis (D-Ga.) said at the funeral.

Everyone, it seemed, had been affected by him over his three terms as mayor and his nearly 30 years of public life. But it was more than his public policies. Much more. It was the man himself who, at 6-foot-3 and 300 pounds, always stood out in any crowd.

"Maynard Jackson was a bear of a man," noted former Georgia Gov. Roy Barnes. "But he had to have a body that big to house the heart that beat within his soul."

That is why so many felt a need to take part in the "celebration of life." They stood in long lines in the sweltering summer heat to view Jackson's body that lay in state at Atlanta's City Hall and then the next day at King Chapel at Morehouse College. They began lining up in the early morning rain the day after that to enter the 4,600-seat Boisfeuillet Jones Atlanta Civic Center, where they had welcomed Mayor Jackson at his first inaugural in January 1974. During the more than three-hour "celebration of life" ceremony, the huge hall overflowed. With people. With emotions.

Jackson's wife of 25 years, Atlanta radio personality Valerie Jackson, was escorted by former President Bill Clinton as she led a long line of family and dignitaries into the service, including her two children with Jackson and his three children from a previous marriage.

Twenty-four family members, friends, ministers, business leaders and politicians took part in the program. Many found it difficult to hold to the 3-minute limit. But everyone felt they had to be there, they would say, because Maynard had always been there for them. Among the high points of the service was a tearful tribute paid by Jackson's daughter, Brooke Jackson Edmond, who touched every heart when she described her father as "a figure of mythic proportions." There also was soloist Robin Brown's rousing rendition of "His Eye Is On The Sparrow," which rocked the hall, and the Morehouse College Glee Club's soul-stirring recessional "Fare Ye Well."

Jackson had built his public career and his personal life working for empowerment. In 1975, he would give a lesson to White contractors--a lesson in the new math of his administration. Simple addition. He threatened to shut down the $400 million construction of a new terminal for Atlanta's Hartsfield International Airport if Black contractors were not included. "He saw how much good affirmative action did for well-connected White folks and he thought it ought to be tried for other people as well," former President Bill Clinton said to a rousing ovation at the funeral service. "Sure enough, it worked."

Indeed, it did. Black business owners who were getting less than 1 percent of city contracts when Jackson was elected in 1973, were getting nearly 39 percent by 1978. But the impact was even more far-reaching. The Jackson blueprint for Black and White joint ventures became a national model for Black success and progress for everyone.

It was progress that was highlighted by development--a new airport, a new mass transit system, and an international reputation for Atlanta as the host city for the 1996 Summer Olympics and as a Black mecca. Even as a private citizen, as the head of his Jackson Securities, he kept pushing, encouraging Blacks in business development and, of course, electoral politics. He helped elect every Black mayor who served after him--Andrew Young, Bill Campbell and current Mayor Shirley Franklin.

People celebrated all of that as they came together to sing the praises of a man who "lived a life that mattered," as Mayor Franklin would say. In a way, Jackson transcended all of his accomplishments. There was something about the man that just reached out and grabbed people. It was his never-meet-a-stranger approach to life. It was at least part of the reason he left office in 1994 with a 70 percent approval rating. It was present at his funeral service. It filled the air.

"Maynard Jackson was a son of excellence," Dr. Otis Moss said in his eulogy, noting that Jackson came from a long line of leaders. "In many ways, his life was a prayer answered and a prayer being given on a daily basis," said the Olivet Institutional Baptist Church pastor, Morehouse College Board of Trustees chairman, and lifelong friend.

Despite the early confrontations with the White power structure of Atlanta, Jackson was praised as a bridge-builder, closing the gaps between races and genders and generations. That unity could be seen all around the Atlanta Civic Center in the faces of Blacks and Whites, women and men, young people and old. But Jackson bridged something else, too. He helped to merge activism and government, forever changing the way the public sector and the private sector do business. Carrying on that work was the challenge considered by everyone attending the service, where Jackson kept a watchful eye from the oversized poster upfront. His eyes seemed to follow everyone around that huge hall. Connecting. In death, as in life, Maynard was still working the room.

COPYRIGHT 2003 Johnson Publishing Co.
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