[img]1881|right|Mr. Bradley||no_popup[/img]Dateline Compton – Driving into an attractive, noiseless neighborhood of flawlessly manicured, modest-sized lawns this morning, I could have zeroed in on Omar Bradley’s home even without his address in-hand.
A gigantic technicolor sign to the right of the porch announces the identity of the Master of the House.
I don’t know who his neighbors are because none of them had the courage to reveal their names in heaven-sized lettering.
The once and quite possibly soon again Mayor of the sometimes-politically rocky shoals of Compton – we will know on June 4 – greeted me in the doorway as he filled the doorway.
A strapping, handsome, smiling, eminently congenial gentleman of middle age – he celebrates No. 55 tomorrow – Mr. Bradley, during the next two hours, grew into the most fascinating personality I ever have encountered in journalism. And I was reporting when he was born, unbeknownst to both of us.
Damon Runyan would have so loved this fellow. He would have ordered a lifesize sculpture of Mr. Bradley upon first meeting.
Mr. Runyan would have elevated the extremely colorful and accessible Mr. Bradley to skyscraper stature amidst the diamond-studded glamour of Broadway.
Star time.
Mr. Bradley’s competition in the runoff – after they survived a 12-way race on April 16 that knocked out the present mayor, Eric J. Perrodin – is a little-known young woman devoid of political experience.
Attired in a short-sleeved white shirt, worn outside of his casual trousers, head shaved, it formed a perfect backdrop for his smart rimless glasses, Mr. Bradley resembles a latter-day George Foreman.
Sometimes he even peered over the top of his spectacles.
I only interviewed Mr. Foreman once, at his camp when he was training for his Rumble in the Jungle with Muhammad Ali 40 years ago, and he was too buzzed to stand very still.
The chilling stories he related of his recent past, the present campaign, and the District Attorney’s putative post-election plans would have had Mr. Ali scratching and itching himself with both of his hands, and the four nearest sets of hands.
Mr. Bradley, archly disciplined, immediately trained his sights on his visitor. Although it was not true, it seemed his eyes never left their original target the next two hours.
I daresay not another Los Angeles politician can come within a football field of Mr. Bradley’s achievements, on and off the field, in full view and out of view.
He said the D.A.’s office, led now by the first black and first woman in its history, the persistent Jackie Lacey, warned/urged him last winter not to run for Mayor of Compton this spring. They had plans for him.
Another party also revealed his plans for Mr. Bradley, and they included a one-way trip to the cemetery if he ran for mayor.
(To be continued)
