American Pharaoh by Elizabeth Taylor, Adam Cohen Page A

the product of two contrary instincts on race. The Kelly-Nash machine believed firmly in Cermak’s pragmatic
     vision of serving as a “house for all peoples.” But at the same time, the reality was that Chicago in the 1930s and 1940s
     was not prepared for a truly integrated political machine. Chicago was not as racially divided as the Jim Crow South, but
     in many ways it came close. As late as 1946, a restaurant that served customers of both races on an equal basis was so rare
     that one was given an award by the Chicago Commission on Human Relations. Marshall Field, the prominent downtown department
     store, had a policy against hiring black employees until 1953. The black submachine balanced these competing interests in
     inclusion and separation. It was a fully functioning part of the larger Chicago Democratic machine, delivering votes for the
     machine ticket and receiving political patronage in return. But it was also a world apart, headed by its own black political
     boss, who supervised legions of black ward committeemen, precinct captains, and election-day workers — and who reported to
     the boss of the citywide white machine. 17
    The first and only boss of the black submachine was William Levi Dawson. Dawson was born in Albany, Georgia, on April 26,
     1886, a son of the segregated South and grandson of a slave. Dawson’s father, a barber, had a sister who was raped by a white
     man. When Dawson’s father retaliated against the man, the family was forced to leave Georgia. Dawson attended Fisk University,
     graduating in 1909 magna cum laude. During the summers, he earned his tuition and board by working as a bellhop and porter
     in Chicago, at the train station and at the old South Side Chicago Beach Hotel. After college, Dawson served in World War
     I with the 365th Infantry in France, where he was wounded and gassed during the Meuse-Argonne campaign. After the war, he
     returned to Chicago, where he attended law school. He joined the bar in 1920 and soon began practicing law. 18
    Dawson was, in physical terms, an unprepossessing man. He had a wooden leg and a pencil-thin mustache, and he looked enough
     like a political hack to seem right at home behind a battered desk in the Near South Side’s 2nd Ward political office. But
     Dawson was far more intelligent and widely read than most of the Chicago machine politicians he spent his life working among.
     He could recite classical poetry from memory, and he was a jazz aficionado whose collection of Jelly Roll Morton, Count Basie,
     and Duke Ellington albums was among the finest on the South Side. But Dawson’s true genius lay in his mastery of human nature.
     “God gave me the key to understand men and to know them,” Dawson once said. “If you learn how to handle men ... you can get
     what you want.” 19 As far as Dawson rose — and he would for years be the nation’s most powerful black elected official — he never lost touch
     with the common man. Dawson spoke the language of the black South Side, most of whose residents had made the same journey
     he had up from the rural South. “Walk along, little children,” Dawson used to say when he wrapped up a speech at his headquarters
     on Indiana Avenue, “and don’t get weary, ’cause there’s a big camp meeting at the end of the road.” 20
    Dawson began his political career as a Republican. In the days when the Republican Party still controlled Chicago’s black
     wards, Dawson started out as a precinct aide, moved to the 2nd Ward, and in 1933 was elected alderman with the backing of
     the powerful Congressman DePriest. Dawson would have had a bright future as a Republican, except that during the New Deal
     all of his constituents were becoming Democrats. Dawson tried, at first, to resist the tide. He ran for Congress as a Republican
     in 1938, but despite campaign literature that pleaded with voters to “Vote the Man — Not the Party,” Democrat Arthur Mitchell
     held on to the seat.