There's an intriguing white character in your book named Robert F. Maddox who obviously feels blacks aren't on par with whites. Was that character a metaphor for a broader social condition you wanted to write about?

Well, yes. What I'm trying to say here is that this scion of Atlanta's elite, this man who represented Southern Bourbon aristocracy at its highest and best-his surprise that I was in his library reading- tells volumes about the attitude of elitist as well as poor white people toward black people and their attitude about their literacy or illiteracy. And so it has burned deeply in my memory, his surprise, saying that he'd never known that any black person worked for him who was able to read. It should have been important to him that whoever was working for him, in any capacity, ought to be able to read. But then beyond that, when he found out that I was, in fact, a college student, he expressed an attitude that illustrates the limits in the white mind on black aspirations. By that, I mean, he asked a question: "Are you gonna be a teacher or a preacher?"-as if I was limited to that. That based on my education those two opportunities-though proud and productive professions-he thought that my circumstances ought to be limited by those two things. And that's another reason to use the title, "Vernon Can Read." As I talk to you and I'm sitting here, I still react to this notion of, "Are you gonna be a teacher or a preacher?" And then when I said to him that I was going to be a lawyer, his response was yet again incredulous. He said, "You're not supposed to be lawyers." And so was dealing with a man in an era where there were to be imposed limitations, not only on expanding my mind but also limiting my experiences. And it was not possible to do that.

Was there a conscious decision on your part, as a young man at that point, that you would break out of a historical mold assigned to blacks?

It was a conscious decision. I always knew, growing up, that I was going to college. That was never a doubt in my mind, and certainly not in my parents' minds because they planted the idea. They were the source and they were the inspiration. And so college was, for me, an inevitable event in my life, based on how I grew up and what I was told and taught. The chance to do something different from most young black people in the South, and that is to have gone beyond the state-to go to a school that was predominantly white where I was the only black in my class. I was taken with that. And it appealed to me.

And it was contrary to what I had talked about with my friends, and my willingness to do it got me in some trouble with my friends. My mother left me a note, suggesting to me that I could go to school wherever I wanted, but if I went to Howard University, a predominantly black school, that academically, economically and socially, I may be happier. But I chose the other road because I was intrigued by it. And making that choice, failure was never a part of the equation. It just never entered my mind that I would have problems adjusting or that I would flunk out. That was never a question. It was just a matter of how quickly can I get there? And when I get there, I'm going to give it my best shot.

How much of a role did you mother have in your mental attitude?

I think it's safe to say that she never stopped pushing. Also, I have to say that my mother was always with me in defeat and victory, but she also thought that defeat, at times, was helpful to me. I lost the presidency of the student body in high school. And she thought that was a good thing. Because I think she thought that I needed a knock-out punch. And that was certainly a knock out punch to me. She thought that would be helpful, that I would be instructed by that -and she was right. What she doesn't know is that I still don't like having lost it. But on the other hand, she was always encouraging me and pushing and pulling me, along with my father, to reach up and out. To reach higher and higher. And it was not something that was told every day but it was something that I knew I had to do-and she thought that I had to do it because she thought I could do it.

What values did you get from your family and early teachers?

I think what my parents gave to my life was structure. That was the family and the home. And beyond that there was the school. There was the Gate City Day Nursery. There was the Butler Street YMCA. There was the St. Paul AME Church, where every Monday and Friday, there was no doubt that I would be at choir rehearsal at 5 o'clock, and at Boy Scouts on Wednesday. The value of family and the family gatherings, the value of the family going to church to worship together, the value of the family going to the NAACP Emancipation Proclamation Day celebration together, which represented civic duty. My mother's involvement in the Parent Teacher Association. She was president of all of the PTAs wherever I went to school. And so that lifted up in me that home was important, that family was important, and that community was important and that you gave back to the community because, in fact, you were a beneficiary of the community.

Why did you get into public service?

I always wanted to be a civil rights lawyer and when I came out of law school, I went to work for a very prominent civil rights lawyer in Atlanta, Don L. Hollowell. I wonder if I had been confronted with the many, many options that young black people face today, maybe I would not have chosen to be a civil rights lawyer. So it was a part choice-it was also a part no-choice, in that I could have stayed in Washington and worked for the government, which, for me, was no choice. But when I went home there were no jobs for young black lawyers in the city government, the county government, the state government, or even the federal government, and private enterprise was out of the question. So I had a choice within the segregated world-I could go work for a commercial lawyer who offered me a job, or I could go work for Don Hollowell, the civil rights lawyer, who also offered me a job. And I made the right choice for me at that particular time. But the problem, however, was that at the time I came out of law school in 1960, the civil rights movement was on the move. And it was a gathering storm. And I wanted to be a part of it.

Did you feel that you were sort of consciously a part of history in the making? Or did that kind of insight come later?

I think at the time, you're not thinking about making history. You have a very short-term objective: to win this lawsuit. To get these young people out of jail. To open doors and break down barriers. And so that was the focus. I don't think there was any thinking about the historic context in which it was happening. It was just trying to get it done. It was 24-7. It was going at it. And so I think, in the process, there's not much time to think philosophically about, "Are we making history?" It was just getting the job done to which we were committed.

To someone who has accomplished so much, is there a special way of assessing contemporary history?

What I'm mostly interested in, is seeing objective manifestations of the work that we did in the South taking place. On Saturday afternoon, for example, when I'm watching football and I'm looking at teams in the Southeastern Conference or teams in the South, period-and I see black coaches and black quarterbacks. I know that change has come when I see the finals at the NCAA and see black players and black coaches. When I see two black people, or three black people, get Oscar awards, it is a reminder that the game is different. When I go home to Atlanta, and walk into City Hall, and see a black mayor, I know that times have changed. A few years back when I was in West Point, Mississippi to play golf, as I drove down the highway, I saw a state patrol car stopping another car. And as I approached it, I looked and there was a black Mississippi state trooper writing a speeding ticket for a white woman. And my friend, Medgar Evers-I thought about him because he never lived to see that kind of tangible achievement. A black state trooper making an arrest in Mississippi of a Mississippi white citizen-you may not think much of that in the total context of things, but that is a dramatic example of how the South has changed.

Medgar Evers, Martin Luther King, Whitney Young, Roy Wilkins-you met them all. What was it like?

It was wonderful to have known Medgar and Martin as intimately as I did. I did not know Malcolm very well. Whitney and Roy were very important mentors in my life. But when I think of them, I regret that they did not get to enjoy the fruits of their labor. They did not have the opportunity to see things happen that they would have been so proud to know about for they laid the groundwork. And they helped make it happen. And they are not here to personally witness it and to shout about it. But that is oftentimes true that the people who make history never get to see it implemented.

In your book you seem to say, "Don't be complacent. There's a whole bunch of tough things out there." Is that a correct reading?

Absolutely. We are not finished yet. And my suspicion is that we will not be finished for a very long time. And so I don't think it is time now to take comfort in our enormous achievements. But to take heart from what we've done. You know, take not comfort but take heart and be inspired to do more.

Were you aware from an early age that you had a special gift for articulating certain kinds of ideas?

Well, I always liked hearing myself talk. And I liked the reactions that I got from people as I talked whether it was a declamation contest, or whatever. And historically in our world, we have been led by inspiring oratory and speeches, and I believe that is a form of leadership, of planting ideas and getting them across. It's a part of our culture and we ought not ever lose it.

In your mind's eye again, do you look at some future point and say, "That is Vernon Jordan's definition of what full citizenship, of being finished, means?" I think the definition is an evolving one. Because as things change,-somebody wrote, "New occasions teach new duties." So every time you solve one problem, you probably create five. And so it's an unending process. And there was a tendency for people to go two steps and relax and say, "I've done it." But you've got to keep on keeping on.

What disappoints you in today's youth? And what, if I were to invite you to speak to a mixed gathering, blacks, whites, Asians, whatever, what would be your theme before young men and women, say, coming out of college right now?

That there is much yet to be done. And their job is to finish, their job is to keep moving this ball down the field. That is hard, and in some ways, it's harder now than it was then. Because all of the instantly identifiable indices of racial attitudes and racial segregation have been removed. You don't have to deal with cross-burnings and people in white physically. But you have to deal with three-piece suits that have the white robe mentality. And so that requires a different tactic and a different approach. That's why it's unending.

There are people who would say that if you look around today, there simply are very, very few models. You are probably the only one that comes immediately to mind. I disagree with that. I disagree with that. There are role models everywhere. You just have to look. The problem is that we are looking where we used to look, we're looking to the march on Washington. But if you go through corporate America, for example, there are enormous role models-Dick Parsons of of Merril Lynch, Ken Chenault of American Express, Frank Raines of Fannie Mae. They are there. There are successful accomplished minorities on boards of big corporations, running big agencies, elected officials. So the role models are there. They're not all in Washington making an "I Have a Dream" speech. That's not likely to happen again. But there are a lot of "let's-get-together" speeches being made at the community level and there are a lot of role models.

How should organizations such as the United Negro College Fund and the National Urban League-with whom you were associated for so long-be energized?

I'll suggest that they're already energized. And that they have found a role consistent with the times and that those who say, "Well, we haven't heard from them because they were not on that march or that march" ... new occasions teach new duties. And so I think that we're fortunate to still have the College Fund and the Urban League, and the NAACP, who are out there manning the barricades every day. And the reason people think that nothing's going on, is because they are so accustomed, as it relates to civil rights, to seeing the hoses and the dogs going. But that has changed and we moved beyond that in many ways. And so we are now in this implementation stage, a stage of making real rights one with the civil rights movement. Because one thing, they have the right to check into the hotel. It's quite another to have the wherewithal to check out of the hotel. And so there was a different process required to achieve that.

Are we paying enough attention to problems around the world?

I don't think we have any choice but to pay some attention because the world now is a small neighborhood. And we all know instantly if something bad happens at one of these small neighborhoods. And so we are inextricably bound together. And there's so many overlapping things, whether it's fraud or jobs, we are an interdependent world, which in and of itself, creates some conflicts. But also that inter-independence provides avenues and roads to solve a lot of those intractable problems.

What's the value of someone like Vernon Jordan enjoying a public stage? What, at this point in your life and career, are the new ideas, perhaps even revived ideas, you would like not only young people, but your peers to be concerned about?

See, I don't have any new ideas. I'm still hung up on the old-fashioned values of hard work and hard study. And living with and loving your neighbors and treating people right. Those values have not changed in America. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. That's still fundamental. So I don't think we need to do anything new necessarily. I think the basics are there. It's like our Constitution. Our Constitution is so strong and so flexible that it has withstood so much pounding. And so I think that there's a lot wrong in our society still. But based on what we fixed that was wrong, our record empowers and encourages us to finish the task.

What do you believe in?

I believe in this country. I believe in democracy. I believe in the value of the free market system. I believe in competition. And I believe in its people to have the judgment to do what is right because it is right. I also believe in myself and I think that that's a very important element of one's life that you have some belief in yourself. And that you have no doubt about that which you can do. Even if you feel you have to make the effort. This is sort of how I live my life.

Do you have to really restrain yourself from being unkind?

It's very easy to be kind. I view bitterness and anger as corrosive elements in one's mind and body. And so I've tried to spend as little time as possible giving in to anger and frustration because I find that I do not think clearly when in that process.

What contribution has Vernon Jordan made to American society, to this country? What has your life meant to you and in your perception what has your life meant to this society and country?

Well, I've seen America change. I've had a small hand in helping it to change. And I'm blessed to be a beneficiary of that change. And I am pleased, proud of how far we've come, yet hopeful that we can go even further and faster to make it what it ought to really be.

If a magic spirit came and said to you, "You've been a good man, you've served your fellow men well, and therefore, in acknowledgment of your public service, I grant you three wishes." What would those wishes be? To do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God.