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that Carter had a good chance of winning the nomination, and the two Georgians formed what was then considered one of the most peculiar alliances in the history of American politics. Many of Young's liberal colleagues—Black and white—in the House were outraged. How could he, they wondered, support a one-term governor who came from what Young himself has called "the meanest cracker country (Sumter County, Ga.) anywhere."

It was a big risk, but Young was willing to gamble. "Somehow," he says, "I remembered the words of Dr. King who used to say 'give us the ballot and we will elect men of goodwill from the Southland.' I saw Jimmy Carter as one of those men of goodwill."

As expected, the selling of Carter in the South was not difficult. Southerners of any background tend to be fiercely chauvinistic about their region, and Blacks—like most whites—welcomed the idea of a Southerner making a serious challenge for the Presidency. A carefully planned strategy would be required, however, to win Northern Blacks over to the Carter camp. The tactic eventually decided upon, called for Young and Dr. Martin Luther King Sr., both men of the cloth, to take the Carter message to the North's Black Bible belt. Each of the men handled the assignment with remarkable dispatch. In a long series of speeches from the pulpits of Black Protestant churches, in key primary states. Young and King praised Carter as "a man of God" who had spoken out for racial justice in the South, during a period (the 1960s) when it might have been hazardous to his personal safety to embrace Black causes. 

The truth is that Carter's only notable gesture in race relations during the 1960s was to refuse membership in the Plains chapter of the White Citizens Council.

Nevertheless, at almost every church on their itinerary, the ministers found captive audiences of  mostly middle-class and middle-aged Blacks, who, in many cases, had roots in the South. They were the kind of people who believed in God and family. They also wanted desperately to believe in their country, and so the emotions ran high when King and Young promised them that Carter, a God-fearing Southerner, would restore confidence in government. "Jimmy Carter loves the Lord and he loves people," Young would tell them. "Yes Lord, thank you Jesus" someone would reply. "Jimmy Carter is a Southerner and many of you are Southerners. You know that a Southerner will always let you know where he stands and Jimmy Carter stands for equal opportunity and justice for every American."

Time after time, at political rallies that constantly took on the tone of old-fashioned revival meetings, Young and King won votes for Jimmy Carter in the Northern industrial states. And precious votes they were. For very often they spelled the difference between victory and defeat in the crucial primaries that Carter had to win in order to assure himself of the Democratic Presidential nomination. 

After he won the party's nomination on the fist ballot in July, Carter appeared to be a shoo in, but by late September he had begun to slip badly in the polls. Again, Young came to the rescue. He was installed as chairman of the Democratic Party's $2 million national voter registration drive. The goal was to register more than a million new voters, and a large part of Young's budget was earmarked for Black districts. 

In the past, efforts to enroll large numbers of Blacks and young voters had not paid off. Once enrolled, many of the newly registered did not vote. Young, putting the organizing skills he acquired in the civil rights movement to work, not only registered new voters, but persuaded them to go to the polls. He received a healthy assist from the National Coalition on Black Voter Participation and the Southern Voter Education Project. The results for Carter, on Election Day, were spectacular. According to a national survey conducted by the Joint Center for Political Studies, 94 percent of an estimated 6.6 million Blacks who went to the polls voted for Carter. Those Black votes provided the Democratic candidate with the crucial margin in several key states without which he could not have been elected. 

Carter's deputy campaign director—that thousands of Black ministers, politicians and local precinct workers had worked tirelessly to get out the Black vote for Carter.

Moreover, since the election, Young has been portrayed in the media constantly as the "nation's most powerful Black" and one of Carter's closest advisors. So, it stands to reason that Blacks, across the nation, perceive him as a man who can get things done. 

To the dismay and annoyance of many Black Democrats, however, Young has not—so far—collected Carter's acknowledged political "debt." On a recent afternoon, as the Congressman talked with visitors in his Atlanta home about his expectations under a Carter Presidency, he was inundated with telephone calls from Black politicians seeking various favors from the new administration. Each caller was turned away politely with a stock reply: "I'm not sure that I can be of any help. Jimmy is not the kind of man who can be pressured. We can trust him to get things done."

With a conviction that almost borders on naiveté, Young trusts Carter to keep his campaign promises to Blacks without any public prodding. "I am convinced," he says, "that Carter will make an honest attempt to do what is right, even if it means jeopardizing his chances for a second term. As governor of Georgia, he put his political future on the line by appointing Blacks to every board and agency in the state government. In some cases, he even expanded boards from three to five members just to create places for us. I can't see how as President he will be any less committed in encouraging equal opportunity for Blacks."

Young did not always express such unwavering confidence in Carter. In fact, the two men barely knew each other before Carter became a serious presidential contender. Hubert Humphrey had been Young's choice for the party's nomination, but he agreed to see his fellow Georgian through the Florida Primary. A Carter victory in Florida, Young believed, would weaken George Wallace's campaign and perhaps eliminate the Alabama governor from the race altogether. 

For several weeks leading up to Primary Day, Young was on the Florida campaign trail, pleading with

Significantly, Election Year 1976 marked the first time in history that Blacks had played such a major role in the nomination of a Presidential candidate and the election of a President. And Democrats are in general agreement that without the efforts of Andrew Young it may not have happened. 

Oddly enough, Young—a family man with four children—insists he wants no reward for a job well done, and doesn't see his appointment as the chief United States delegate to the United Nations as such. 

He accepted the appointment as ambassador to the United Nations against strong advise from many admirers. He says, "I was subjected to pressure from people who really, I think, love me and care for me and are concerned about my future. I've never had so many people cussing me out and crying and sending me messages not to take this job."

But he took it anyway stating that, "rather than play it safe in the House and in the Fifth Congressional District, I felt that this was a challenge that I could not afford to refuse."

In the House, some of Young's Black colleagues have criticized him for not being forceful enough on Black issues. Others see him as a masterful tactician, a pragmatist who has learned to work effectively across ideological and party lines. "I represent a bi-racial district," he says. "So I can't really be a purist on Black issues, in the way that Shirley Chisholm or Charles Rangel can. Besides, I believe it is necessary for Blacks to build coalitions wherever possible so that we can influence the majority." 

To understand Young, the politician, requires a closer look at Young, the man. The product of an old Black bourgeois family, he is a highly principled and religious man. He is also a vigorous champion of the underdog. In Atlanta, he is well liked and respected—but most of all people trust him. And he returns that trust in kind. He is really sincere when he says: "I expect Jimmy Carter to live up to and exceed the expectations of most Black Americans. I know the man."

Some people might say that Young's political and personal philosophies, influenced by the teachings of Dr. King, are a bit simplistic. But, they seem to have worked. 

By Jacob Wortham 

[[image - black & white photograph of Andrew Young listening to a gentleman]]

Courtesy of Black Enterprise Magazine

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