"They [the democratic party] had to go out and sell the black person to demonstrate that the party was still open,"

Give the party machine some credit. They didn't have to sell a black candidate. Regardless of who they supported in the primary, the precinct captains got in line behind the Dem nominee because they were Democrats. And if that nominee was black, or Polish or Irish or whatever, it didn't matter.

It's interesting that it took one of the last remaining Democratic machines to develop and elect Black candidates. As bad as machine politics can be in terms of corruption or undemocratic forces, there are perhaps some good points to consider as well. A political machine is set up to deliver votes bottom-up in elections, and deliver patronage (jobs, contracts, etc.) top-down in between elections. It's surprisingly apolitical, concentrated on maximizing votes for a given amount of government largesse while keeping power within the party apparatus.

Blacks were not the first ethnic group to understand that if you harness the machine, it can work for you, and turn out voters who might not normally vote for you. After all, it's very easy to convince an Italian (for example) to vote for a black politician if it's the local (Italian) precinct captain calling her up and she's still grateful for that bus driving job the captain got for her unemployed brother...

...for a very important story about the history of black political power and its evolution in the US, with Chicago at the center. It's true, Chicago has been, perversely, a magic town for black politicians precisely because of its having been so very segregated for so very long, while at the same time providing a haven for black people fleeing the deep south during the height of the Civil Rights movement, when it really seemed unlikely that anything like parity would be achieved against the arrayed army of the intransigent. Those who stayed back to fight were only half the story. The other half was those who decided to "go Greyhound" and head for Chicago, where almost every nascent black leader of any significance was to be launched. From the martyrdom of spiritual leader (Timothy) Noble Drew Ali, to master politico Oscar De Priest, from literary heavyweight Richard Wright to highly effective gadfly Jesse Jackson, to inspiring Mayor Harold Washington, the arc is clearly scribed and now Barack Obama rides that astounding wave from the heart of the nation to all three coasts and all points between.

It is a remarkable history and one which could only have unfolded where it did, simply because there is something in the icy water out there. The story most definitely needed to be told, and it is greatly appreciated that Edward McClelland wrote it so well and that Salon chose to publish it here.

The memories. I was a recent college graduate, a white girl from the suburbs living in one of the few mixed neighborhoods on the north side (on the edge of the Juneway Jungle), schooled as a youngster by Mike Royko's Machine-bashing columns, when Harold Washington stood for office.

So I can say I wasn't the only white kid who volunteered for him, even though cold-calling registered voters from a campaign boiler room is just about my idea of hell. But I couldn't not get in on this. It was too hopeful and too exciting.

Just as clearly I remember the traumatic day that Wendy's triple-cheeseburgers (yep, he'd talked about eating them in the back of his city car in interviews) sent him to his untimely death. Knew it would be hard for Chicago to have another mayor that transformative again (the black/Hispanic alliance alone was huge; the muting of the old-time racists huger), and they haven't. It's remembering Washington, I suspect, and that halcyon moment in Chicago, that gives me the buzz off Obama.