On that Tuesday game planning day in 2010, Paycor Stadium security called the desk of Bengals head coach Marvin Lewis and informed him, "Rev. Jackson is here to see you."
Lewis, immersed in the upcoming game in Indianapolis, answered, "I don't know a Rev. Jackson."
The voice on the other end suddenly lowered and whispered-hissed, "Jesse Jackson."
Now, Lewis was in a game-day situation.
The greatest civil rights activist of the day, killing time before making a speech in downtown Cincinnati, wanted to meet him and his Bengals. So, Lewis rushed down to security, ushered in the Rev. Jesse Jackson, and showed him around the place.
"Amazing," says Lewis as he reflected on the moment in the wake of Jackson's death at age 84 earlier this week. "A great experience for, you know, a guy from McDonald, Pa."
Proof you can see anything in the NFL? Never mind on any given Sunday, but any given day. If you walked by the training room around noon at Paycor that day, you could see Terrell Owens talking to Jesse Jackson.
It was a day off, but Lewis tried to punch up various players on his cell phone to get them back in the building. Lewis tantalized Pro Bowl wide receiver Chad Johnson with, "You've got to guess. Initials are J.J. Big historical name. No, bigger than that."
Jackson already knew Owens from a few years back when they reached out to each other during the T.O. struggles in Philadelphia. Jackson, who stunned the pundits in 1988 when he ran for president and grabbed 25% of the delegates at the Democratic Convention, knew something about running mates and had the lowdown on Owens' partner Chad Ochocinco.
He clearly had been following Ocho and Owens that year, their only season they played together.
"He still has the magic," Jackson told Bengals.com of Owens' personality. "It's attractive. Like Chad, he's entertaining. Every team he's played for, he's made the team better. He does his work on the field. This year you're seeing a level of strength. For all of those who thought his career was over, they see, like brandy, he has taken it to higher ground."
Lewis soon realized that Jackson followed the league.
"Very much so. Very vibrant. The way he talked and the way he carried himself," Lewis says. "He was a big man, and he had a presence."
Lewis made sure he took Jackson upstairs to meet Bengals president Mike Brown, and he recalls they talked about the teams Paul Brown coached in Cleveland before he founded the Bengals.
Lewis also stopped by the equipment room of Jeff Brickner and Adam Knollman so he could make sure that Jackson, almost always attired in sharp black suits, left with some Bengals' orange and black wardrobe.
No question, though. The man Jackson had come to see was Lewis. At the time, in his eighth season, Lewis was the NFL's longest-tenured African-American head coach of the century, and in three years would pass Dennis Green for the longest in league annals.
"I admire him so much," Jackson said that day in the Bengals locker room. "His character represents the best in all of us. Coach represents a persona that's true and good for the healing of people. I always judged him in that way, and I admire him."
When the guy from McDonald, Pa., told one of his old strength coaches what happened, leave it to Ray Oliver to sum up the surreal day by borrowing one of Jackson's signature lines.
"Well, that proves you are somebody," Oliver told him.
More than 15 years later, the kid from McDonald, Pa., is still shaking his head that once upon a time Jesse Jackson dropped in.
"Jesse Jackson says, 'I want to meet the coach,'" Lewis says. "He did."
