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“Dinkins trumpets his accomplishments as mayor and offers some insights into the boisterous New York political scene, the rise of Harlem’s political influence, and the evolution of black political leaders during a turbulent period.”
"A former New York City mayor recounts his personal journey from humble roots to running America’s most iconic metropolis A frank, unique look at the many challenges in New York City politics."
Posted October 13, 2013
Review of David Dinkins’ Mayor’s Life: Governing New York’s Gorgeous Mosaic.
By Douglas Henderson Jr.
Arthur Ashe was a close friend and mentor. Through innumerable conversations with him over 18 years, I got to know him intimately: his thoughts, his proclivities, his likes and dislikes. I sought his advice when deciding which college to attend. A few days later, I received a college recommendation from him. Upon graduating, I questioned him about career direction. Within the week, I received a glowing job recommendation. Arthur was an introverted public figure—ever conscious of his public image—who shielded his private life. As our friendship grew, those barriers fell to reveal a very human being. One even greater than his public persona. Few knew this Arthur.
David Dinkins is a close friend and mentor. We’ve had immeasurable conversations and contacts since our initial introduction, at the 1978 US Open. During the summers of my college years, I worked on jobs he got for me. After college, he took a hands-on approach to my professional career. When applying for law school, I sought his counsel and received a glowing recommendation. Despite all this, I knew so very little about him: his childhood, what molded his genteel personality, what drove him, his philosophy on raising his children, etc. Mayor Dinkins is an extroverted public figure whose extrinsic personality erects a façade that hides a remarkable life that I knew very little about—that is, until I read his just-published autobiography, A Mayor’s Life: Governing New York’s Gorgeous Mosaic.
As, seemingly, opposite as Ashe and Dinkins may first appear, they are very much alike. Both were impacted by Jim Crow at early ages. Ashe was born in Virginia; Dinkins joined the Marines and went through boot camp in the Deep South. Each had very powerful parental influences, and shares many common denominators. They placed a premium on propriety and education. But perhaps the characteristic that places each in rarefied air is their willingness to unselfishly give—a characteristic, seemingly, embedded in their DNA.
I enjoy reading autobiographies and biographies, for in them, if properly written, one can see the influences on the subject at different phases of their life. One can see what goes into greatness, what warped the individual, their driving forces, etc. These seeds are generally sown early in life. But not all books in this genre are created equal. As examples, let us look at two other autobiographies. Andre Agassi’s Open, a powerful bestseller that is frank and honest. It would have been one of the best tennis autobiographies ever written, had the writer written it in Agassi’s language, his word, his tone. Simply put, the author does not capture Agassi’s “voice.” While reading it, one never gets the sense that Agassi is telling his story. And you wonder where his story ends and the author’s begins. When the tennis legend, who only finished the 9th grade, talked about crossing the Rubicon, you knew something was awry.
Likewise, in Jimmy Connors’ bestselling book, The Outsider, the superficial manner in which Connors’ career is covered, coupled with several factual errors, leave one with the sense that the research was conducted on Wikipedia. Had the book even remotely captured the essence of the tennis superstar’s career, it would have been an invaluable piece of tennis literature. The driving forces behind the sales of The Outsider are the strength of the Connors personality, not the quality of the book, itself, and the salacious pre-released excerpts, so much of the media focused on. These thoughts were in my mind as I began reading Mayor Dinkins’ autobiography. From my relationship with him, I knew Dinkins’ language, his manner of speaking, and his vocabulary. Could the writer, Peter Knobler, remain true to the Dinkins voice? Also, I was very much familiar with New York City politics. Would the book offer a superficial, perfunctory discussion on it, or would its analysis cut to the marrow?
In his riveting autobiography (which doubles as a primer on New York politics), Dinkins takes us back to his childhood and recalls in great detail the qualities his parents instilled in him, qualities that are very much evident in the man today. His fascinating recollection, peppered with humorous anecdotes, of the varying stages of his upbringing promotes an image of a sculptor meticulously molding clay towards the final completed piece. The readers already know the result, but are tuning in to become voyeurs to the shaping process. And that process is quite the adventure, as we learn how he ultimately became involved in politics.
Dinkins has always exuded class. His fine clothing and eloquent diction showcase a refined man. In some regards, he seemed above the fray of racism. Nothing could be further from the truth. His book tells of several instances where racism tore into his soul. We learn of the racist vitriol directed at him by the police and of the filled beer cans hurled at him during the St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Dinkins recounts the racist police riot at City Hall, where 10,000 police officers exhibited Klan-like behavior and were egged on by Rudy Giuliani. Many of the rioters carried extremely racist placards as they disgraced the seat of New York City government and recalled the darkest days of southern racism. This day remains indelibly imprinted on my mind because of an incident that happened after the riot.
I was heading home from work on the subway, opposite 3 drunken, white police officers. One of them had some literature from the riot in his hand. They were staring me down. On several occasions, one would whisper something in the other’s ear, then they would laugh. I sensed these were racist comments. I was dressed in a suit and tie, and certainly did not look like what they referred to as a “perp.” Looking down at the ankle of one of these men, I saw the outline of a gun. Instead of being scared, I became increasingly mad. I thought if they attacked me, they would win, but that I was going to inflict some seriously hurt on one of them. My eyes never wavered from them, nor theirs from me. Luckily, they got off the train at 34th Street, a few stops from where I had boarded the train. Apparently, the disgraceful racist behavior they exhibited earlier had carried over. And I was not alone. I read of another incident in which police officers from the riot confronted another Black male on the subway. Things got heated and the Black male pulled out a razor cut one of the officers.
I have never been a fan of Giuliani. Many in the Black community feel he is a racist. His behavior during the riot certainly supports that belief. Before he became America’s Mayor, he was a failed politician. His poll numbers were low and he was forced to drop out of the senatorial race against Hillary Clinton. His personal life was fodder for the tabloids on a daily basis. And his venomous attacks on Dinkins were personal. Just once, I wanted Dinkins to abandon his decorum, roll up his sleeves and throw some haymakers at him. Remember, the rope-a-dope involved fighting back, not just taking punches.
At last, Dinkins has answered my pleadings. He details Giuliani’s racism and finally admits that racism cost him his chance at re-election. I vividly remember that Staten Island wanted to secede and the issue was placed on the same ballot as the mayor’s race. The borough was overwhelmingly pro-Giuliani and anti-Dinkins. At the time, I felt it was a ploy to lure the anti-Dinkins vote to the voting booth. I still feel that way. Finally, Dinkins has admitted he feels this way, also. And his book painstakingly documents evidence in support of this claim. (Interestingly enough, Joe Lhot
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