Oct. 24, 2021

The day I met Colin Powell was the day I decided to become a journalist.

As stories go, it’s among my better ones, though I wish I were telling it to you on a different occasion.

I spent my share of time thinking back on that day last week as the world learned Powell died at age 84 of complications from COVID-19 and his underlying health issues.

I wish I knew the exact date this story happened, but I’m quite sure it was right around this time in October 1995, when Colin Powell became one of the first people I’d ever interviewed.

But first, you need to know the backstory.

And that requires rewinding a few more years to early 1991. I was 10 years old, in fifth grade, and our teacher expected us to follow and be able to discuss current events. It set off in me a fixation on the news of the day, which at the time was the invasion of Kuwait by Iraq and the subsequent military action by the U.S.

I would wake up early for elementary school and watch CNN, taking notes to bring with me to class. In retrospect, that alone should have been a sign of my future career path, but journalism wasn’t on my mind. The news was, though, and I absorbed all of it. I learned the geography of the Middle East, who was on the U.N. Security Council and why that mattered and, of course, who all the key players were. That included Powell, then the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Fast-forward to the fall of 1995. Powell was among the names being floated as a potential presidential candidate for the following year. And he’d just published a book, “My American Journey,” detailing his story growing up as the son of Jamaican immigrants in Harlem.

I grew up in Ohio, which, of course, figures into presidential politics. I’m not sure if that had anything to do with this, but Powell scheduled a visit to the Borders bookstore in my hometown for one of his first signings.

When I learned about it, my news junkie self desperately wanted to go. The only problem was that it was scheduled during the day, when I probably was supposed to be sitting in sophomore biology class.

I solved that with my first-ever story pitch. Surely the high school newspaper would want this covered, right? Never mind that I technically wasn’t on the staff yet, and I’m not sure many high school readers other than me might have found this worth reading. I signed up for the club, sold them on the story, and my pass out of class was ready.

But then came the next hurdle. When I reached out to the store for a press pass to attend Powell’s news conference, it was a “no.” A pretty abrupt “no” if I remember right.

I never told the newspaper. I went anyway.

When I got there, I figured I’d plead my case as a local high school reporter just trying to tell the story to my school. I did. It was a “no” again.

So I watched national media – fittingly, CNN was there – walk into my local bookstore to hear from Powell, while I just watched the growing line of people outside.

And then I had an idea.

I joined the line, bought Powell’s book and waited my turn. Of course, there was no guarantee this plan would work, and I still needed to bring back a story. So I started interviewing the people around me about why they were there.

And it was the coolest thing ever. I remember someone had come from as far as Missouri to meet Powell. Other people talked to me about how he’d inspired them and what they were hoping our next president would bring to the country.

It made the time pass by fast, and before I knew it, I was nearing the front of the line. And there was Powell – flanked by two security guards and looking just as I’d remembered him from those early morning briefings at the Pentagon.

The window for the ask was exactly how long it took for him to scrawl his name across the title page of my book, and I went for it.

“I’m Jodi Schwan, and I’m here from the high school newspaper in this city. They wouldn’t let me into your press conference. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

He stopped, looked up at me and apologized.

“High school students often have great questions,” he told me. “What would you like to know?”

I wish I could recall exactly what I managed to ask and how he answered, but at that point I had all I could do to remember to hit the record button on my tape recorder. I do remember asking what his message was to someone in high school as far as what we should learn from his own journey – always remember who you’re writing for, of course – but by far the most memorable thing for me about that interview was simply that he granted it.

I’m pretty sure that adrenaline rush lasted the entire rest of the day. And when my mom came to pick me up – I was 15, which in Ohio is too young to drive – before I’d even told her how it all transpired, I remember saying “I think this is what I really want to do.”

“This” was journalism. And while landing my one-on-one with Powell had cemented it, doing those interviews with much lesser known people had been what captivated me the most. I’d realized I loved being where the story was, and that everyone has one.

It’s an indescribable feeling to have your future career come so powerfully into focus with three years still left in high school, but it’s one I’ve always been grateful for because it set me on a path to places, people and a profession that have enriched me in ways I’d never imagined.

Powell also left me with something else that day – the confidence that even though I was a teenager, I could be a reporter.

Thanks to my experience landing that interview, I began seeing who else I could interview before graduating high school. It led to many more remarkable stories and memories I’ll probably share at some point.

There are a lot of reasons to thank Colin Powell – his service, his statesmanship, his model leadership. But I thank him most for the story. By allowing me to tell his, he helped me write mine.