My View

John H. Johnson -The name for Black folks, symbolizes tenacity, integrity, creativity and above all, an unshakable faith in the “God of the Impossible,” and publishing a Black magazine that was a literary mainstay in most African American homes.
Thank God for him and his vision. We know about Martin Luther King Jr., Jesse Jackson and other stalwart soldiers of the cross battling the political and racist Goliaths of their day, but somehow a man like Johnson was seemingly forgotten when we praised and applauded those who had brought us from a mighty long way.

I can recall reading a copy of “Ebony,” a magazine published by Johnson and reportedly patterned after the popular “Look” and “Life” magazines distributed to mainstream society.

The particular edition that stands out vividly in my mind is the issue on which the audacious and unflappable genius in the person of Mary McLeod Bethune graced the cover. There she stood, apparently on the steps of the White House in a black poodle stole, looking elegant with every strand of her silver-streaked hair in place.

I cannot explain to this day why I was so fascinated by that cover, but as a kid I just knew the gallant lady on that cover was someone of whom I should be proud. And, I was.

Oh, there were other such memorable covers. The beautiful actress Dorothy Dandridge was planted on the cover of another edition, as was the gorgeous Rev. Adam Clayton Powell Jr., who epitomized what charm and graciousness was all about.
We unashamedly love John H. Johnson because he loved us first. He loved his community enough to put it all on the line for his people. About 10 years ago, singer/actress Diahann Carroll recounted this story. I’m paraphrasing obviously: She said, whenever she came to Chicago, she would always bring her friends to the Johnson Publication office building, because she wanted them to see what a Black man could accomplish.

I guess that pretty much sums up how most of us Blacks felt and yet feel about Mr. Johnson. He wanted to make us proud of whom we were. After all, the larger society wasn’t doing it. And, some might add, still isn’t. Above and beyond his business acumen, however, was a man of tremendous faith. How could this not be so?

The odds were clearly against him. Money was in short supply. But Johnson not only believed in God, but also believed in himself. In doing so, he made the naysayers “take low” as the old Black saints used to say, and continued to move on with the ministry to which he was called.

Everybody was not designed to mount a pulpit but he spread the word, so to speak, about the achievements of his people (and there were many). He did so proudly and when you bought a copy of “Ebony” or “Jet,” a pocket-sized, slick magazine that told Blacks weekly about things pertinent to their community, you were proud, too.
To his critics who insist the magazine was/is too much on the “white side,” I ask, “What does that mean?” Then I say, “Who cares what that means.”

All I know is that in the 20th century there was a man named John H. Johnson who fought a good fight, who finished his course, who kept the faith.