Jesse Jackson died.

I was not a friend of the Reverend Jesse Jackson. I had a brief, one-day experience with him. It was an important day for me.

Several years ago, I received an invitation to speak at Jesse Jackson’s church.

At first, I was ambivalent because I had a negative feeling about him. I remembered that he had long ago referred to New York City as “hymietown.” That was blatantly anti-Semitic, and it made me think of him as bigoted against Jews.

But I was interested in meeting him so I accepted the invitation.

When I arrived at his church in Chicago, the congregants were engaged in prayer.

An assistant brought me to meet Rev. Jackson, and he greeted me enthusiastically and warmly.

About 30 minutes later, he invited me to the pulpit to speak. I spoke for about 30 minutes and talked about the threat to privatize public schools and the importance of public schools. His congregation listened intently and applauded the message.

Then Rev. Jackson took me under his wing. He walked me around, introduced me to people, walked me to the meal in the churchyard, filled my plate, and sat to talk with me.

I felt enveloped in his warmth and kindness.

That night, he took me to dinner at a celebrated Chicago steakhouse along with some of his associates and one of his sons. In the hubbub of the restaurant, I strained to hear what he was saying. He spoke so low that I didn’t understand most of what he said. What pearls of wisdom was I missing, I wondered. I would never find out.

But by the time I left, I felt a genuine love for this man.

He was kind, thoughtful, generous, and warm. The people around him basked in his warmth. Briefly, so did I.