Mendell - Obama

As much of America knows by now, Barack Obama has written two books that detail, from his perspective, his first forty-five years of life. During the course of an interview for this book, an Obama friend once asked me, He hasnt left much for you to write, has he? Indeed, Obamas own personal story is exhaustively well toldmore than eight hundred pages of type.

I strove with this book to add another perspectivevarious outside perspectives, reallyto what Obama has filtered through his personal lens. I also endeavored to fill in the gaps that Obama left open, and to fill them both with my own observations and with astute reflections from some of the many people who make significant appearances throughout Obamas restless existence.

I tried to assess the senators entire political career up to the point of his presidential candidacy announcement and to show how his formative years, coupled with the currents of the countrys political tide, have carried Obama to the crest of this enormous wave. More than anything, however, I wanted to provide a straightforward, honest account of how a talented, exceedingly driven man ascended so quickly from relative anonymity to political superstardom. I tried not to muck up the narrative with too many deep thoughts of my own but to simply carry readers along on this incredible journey that Obama has taken and, to some extent, the wild ride that I unwittingly hopped onto for several years.

There are many people to thank for helping me maintain my balance along the way. My literary agent, Jim Hornfischer, was among the first to see the promise of this project; his steady hand from the first proposal through the final manuscript was invaluable. Stacey Barney, the editor who purchased this book for Amistad, deserves my gratitude for her enthusiasm and foresight. Dawn Davis steered me through some difficult moments as this story unfolded and I am grateful to her. Laura Klynstra designed a simply wonderful book jacket. And Rakesh Satyal, this books final editor, struck just the right touch of firmness and compassion, but I especially owe him for his patience with a first-time author.

I thank all of those in Obamas universe who allowed me to harvest their thoughts and kept me in the loop. Robert Gibbs, David Axelrod, Dan Shomon, Julian Green, Jim Cauley, Pete Giangreco, Maya Soetoro-Ng, Michelle Obama and, especially, Barack Obama, have my utmost appreciation. Many journalists who have written about Obama enhanced my observations about him, with Jeff Zeleny, Ben Wallace-Wells, Laurie Abraham and Lynn Sweet at the top of that list.

At the Chicago Tribune , the number of my colleagues deserving thanks is innumerable. The short list: Hanke Gratteau, Ann Marie Lipinski, George de Lama, Bob Secter, Jim Webb, Mike Tackett, John Chase, Liam Ford, John McCormick, Ray Long, Rick Pearson, Pete Souza, Rick Kogan and Flynn McRoberts and the Cypriot brotherhood. Jim OShea, now at the Los Angeles Times , gave his blessing to this project, and I thank him for that. Darnell Little deserves special thanks for listening to me drone on, day after day, as I collected my scattered thoughts into something that resembled coherent prose.

Many journalists and others also deserve mention for helping me climb the mountain to this point. Again, the short list: Steve Rohs, John Cole, Steve Bennish, Susan Vinella, Abdon Pallasch, Regina Waldroup, Armelia Jefferson and Jim Bebbington. My good friends Mark Adams, Greg DeSalvo and Dave Doran helped keep me sane; and without Glenn Gamboa, this book would not have happened. Shawn Taylor provided early inspiration and encouragement, and I cannot thank her enough. Finally, the happy innocence of my son, Nathan, lifted me from the abyss at countless desperate moments.

For those who know Barack Obama well, this might sound close to impossible, but the swagger in his step appeared even cockier than usual on the afternoon of July 27, 2004.

As summertime bathed downtown Boston in warm sunshine, Obama led a gaggle of reporters, aides and a couple of friendsa group occasionally two dozen deeparound a maze of chain-link security fences guarding the large-scale FleetCenter indoor arena. A former high school basketball player who, at forty-two, still relished a pickup game, the rail-thin Obama was carrying his upper body as if he were heading to the free throw line for the game-winning shot, a shot he believed was destined to sink. His shoulders were pitched backward. His head was held erect. His blue-suited torso swayed in a side-by-side motion with every pace forward. His enormous confidence appeared at an all-time peak. And for good reason: hours later, the Illinois state lawmaker and law school lecturer would take his first steps onto the national stage to deliver his now famous 2004 keynote address to the Democratic National Convention.

Indeed, Obamas time in the bright sunshine had arrived. And though this moment had come upon him rather quickly, unexpectedly and somewhat weirdly, with only weeks of notice, his opportunity to prove to the world that he could play in this most elite league was at hand. Finally.

Having covered Obama for the Chicago Tribune since the early days of his U.S. Senate candidacy more than nine months before, I had already established a rapport with the state senator, and I was mostly trying to stay out of the way and watch the day unfold, watch the story of Barack Obama unfurl. Still, as a skeptical newspaper reporter, I was not completely convinced that, by days end, all would come out well. I was still trying to gauge if this strut was something of an act, whether his winning free throw would clang on the rim and bounce away or whether he was on the verge of hitting nothing but net and making a national name for himself.

After Obama and I slipped through a security checkpoint and he momentarily broke free from the entourage, I sidled up to him and told him that he seemed to be impressing many people of influence in this rarefied atmosphere.

Obama, his gaze fixed directly ahead, never broke his stride.

Im LeBron, baby, he replied, referring to LeBron James, the phenomenally talented teenager who at the time was shooting the lights out in the National Basketball Association. I can play on this level. I got some game.

I wasnt so sure. I fell back amid the marching gaggle of the Obama entourage and chatted with one of his closest friends, Marty Nesbitt, who had flown in from Chicago to accompany Obama during the convention week. I asked Nesbitt how he thought his friend would perform that night, given all the media attention and political pressure. He sat down with Ted Koppel earlier this week and he hit the cover off the ball, didnt he? Nesbitt asked. Barack reminds me of a player on my high school basketball team back in Ohio. He could elevate his game to almost any situation. And when we needed a shot, he always hit it. Always.

That evening, Obama introduced himself to America. He delivered a keynote address of historic proportions, so inspiring that even some conservative commentators would concede they were moved by it. His rich baritone voice resolute and clear, he hearkened back to his beloved mothers philosophy of a common humanity, a philosophy that had been ingrained in him throughout his childhood. He declared that America is a land of good-hearted people, a nation of citizens who have more unifying traits than dividing traits, a country of individuals bound by the common purpose of freedom and opportunity for all. Theres not a liberal America and a conservative Americatheres the United States of America. Theres not a black America and white America and Latino America and Asian Americatheres the United States of America. We are one people.