campaigning, this time for a seat in the U.S. Senate, ahead of the fall 2004
elections.
He’d been slowly growing restless in Springfield, frustrated by the
meandering pace of state government, convinced he could accomplish more and
better in Washington. Knowing that I had plenty of reasons to be against the idea
of a Senate run, and knowing also that he had a counterargument to present,
midway through 2002 we’d convened an informal meeting of maybe a dozen of
our closest friends, held over brunch at Valerie Jarrett’s house, thinking we would
kind of air the whole thing out and see what people thought.
Valerie lived in a high-rise not far from us in Hyde Park. Her condo was
clean and modern, with white walls and white furniture and sprays of exquisite
bright orchids adding color. At the time, she was the executive vice president at a
real-estate firm and a trustee at the University of Chicago Medical Center. She’d
supported my efforts at Public Allies when I was there and helped raise funds for
Barack’s various campaigns, marshaling her wide network of connections to boost
our every endeavor. Because of this, and because of her warm, wise demeanor,
Valerie had come to occupy a curious position in our lives. Our friendship was
equally personal and professional. And she was equally my friend and Barack’s,
which in my experience is a rare thing inside a couple. I had my high-powered
mom posse, and Barack spent what little leisure time he had playing basketball
with a group of buddies. We had some great friends who were couples, their
children friends with our children, families we liked to vacation with. But Valerie
was something different, a big sister to each of us individually and someone who
helped us stand back and take measure of our dilemmas when they arose. She saw
us clearly, saw our goals clearly, and was protective of us both.
She’d also told me privately ahead of time that she wasn’t convinced Barack
should run for the Senate, so I’d walked into brunch that morning figuring I had
the argument sewn up.
But I’d been wrong.
This Senate race presented a unique opportunity, Barack explained that day.
He felt he had a real shot. The incumbent, Peter Fitzgerald, was a conservative
Republican in an increasingly Democratic state and was having trouble
maintaining the support of his own party. It was likely that multiple candidates
would run in the primary, which meant that Barack would only need to
command a plurality of the vote to win the Democratic nomination. As for
money, he assured me that he wouldn’t need to touch our personal finances.