My Dinner with Colin

Colin Powell was the speaker at a journalism conference in New York around 1990. It was a great speech, at

least that part of it that I could hear.

He spoke about his life as the son of Jamaican immigrants, his military career, his love for his wife, Alma, and his vow that he would never run for political office despite a full-court press by some factions of the GOP and Democratic Party to recruit him.

He kept that vow until his death Oct. 18.


I couldn't hear all of his speech, nor could I concentrate on the massive T-bone steak a la carte I was working on, because the four or five Army officers seated at my table were gushing over the general and telling me - even before he started - how much I was going to enjoy it.

The speech was boilerplate stuff, revealing no secrets, advancing no agendae, but they were right: the hundreds of journalists and I enjoyed it immensely and The Saunders Report is impelled to pay tribute to him upon his passing.

There has been jubilation in some quarters after Powell’s death, with some revisionists lamenting that he wasn’t tried for war crimes.