"He talked a little about his personal life, what it was like for him growing up," recalls Sheriff Hunter Nelms, who oversees the camp. "He conveyed that he too did not have an easy life, and he too had to make a choice about what direction he was going to go in his life and he felt he made the right choice."
Born Oct. 19, 1958 at Andrews Air Force Base, Steele grew up just outside the county in the District's Petworth section. He didn't have a peaceful home life, describing his father as an alcoholic who was abusive and cruel. "I'm sure he had nice qualities about him, I just didn't see them when he was drinking," says Steele. "How many people can identify with that? It ultimately killed him at 36-years-old."
It's those memories that in part feed Steele's message to youngsters that hard times don't have to last forever.
Nelm says, "It was my perception that he wanted to connect with these kids by saying 'I know something about how you got here. And, but for the grace of God, I also could be here.' I like the lieutenant governor; I think he's a sincere individual."
A lawyer in an athlete's body, Steele is a towering 6'4" 245 pounds. Longtime friend and colleague Matt Dolan, a partner at Baker & Hostetler, a Washington-based law firm, has known Steele since their high school days at Archbishop Carroll in the District.
"When Michael walks into the room he becomes the center of attention," says Dolan, who also worked with Steele on the Archdiocese's committee in Washington. "He is a physically imposing figure, although as a kid he was never particularly interested in sports. He's more of a bookish type in a power-forward's body."
In high school and college Steele played soccer and became an adept fencer. Earlier this year he faced off against Democratic Alderman George O. Kelley Sr. of Annapolis. "I did an exhibition at St. John's and he read about it in the paper and he says, 'Man, I got to take you on.' And I said, 'Man you're just talking a bunch of stuff, come on.'"
The two lunged and parried in a three-round match that went 2-1 Steele at a recreation center in downtown Annapolis to raise money for the United Way. Kelley was hampered by the style of play in which the whole body is a target. Kelley at 6'1" and 285 pounds is used to fighting matches where only the upper torso is struck to score.
"It was a lot of fun," Kelley says. "Steele is a great gentleman and a good sports person and we had a good time out of it." The two are slated to meet again and Steele has agreed to fence Kelley's style. In this heavily partisan era, Kelley says the event brought the two sides closer. "It was a good opportunity to bring Democrats and Republicans together, even though we were sticking each other, " he says laughing. "I'm looking forward to doing it again."
Fall winds have brought cool temps and clear skies to Annapolis on a sunny Wednesday morning. Steele has put his seemingly non-stop schedule on pause to talk a little more about his favorite things: Minority business, building wealth, and education. Fox News is playing on the TV monitors inside Steele's second-sroty State House offices. The walls of his private office feature pictures and drawings of Ronald Reagan, George Bush, George W. Bush and Martin Luther King Jr. A pair of red Everlast boxing gloves signed by Steele's former brother-in-law and former heavyweight champion of the world, Mike Tyson, hang in the corner. "Yeah, we've got a couple of pairs of those around the house." The boxer was married to Steele's sister, Dr. Monica Turner.
For a man who averages four hours of sleep, his days start at 6 a.m. and end around 2 a.m., Steele appears fresh. While he'd like to exercise, he's often too busy to do it. "I'm sporadic about it. Every once in a while I get a buzz and say I've got to workout," moving his hands as if pumping iron. "I joined a gym in Annapolis and I've been once. My schedule just won't allow it." He says he's dragging a bit as campaign fatigue is getting the better of him.
On the road audiences only got a glimpse of Steele stumping for Bush, but during the Republican National Convention in New York, Steele did more than give boice to the values of his party. He paid homage to the woman who nurtured his success, his mother Maebell Turner.
"She worked 45 years in a Laundromat, making minimum wage and still managed to send her kids to parochial school. She never took public assistance because, as she put it, she didn't want the government raising her kids. Maebell always had the hope that her kids would be better off than she was, and she turned that hope into action. Today, Maebell Turner has a daughter who is an accomplished pediatrician and a son who is lieutenant governor of Maryland. A lifelong Democrat, she once asked me how I could become such a strong Republican; I simply replied, 'Mom, you raised me well.'"
Madison Square Garden thundered with applause and tears fell from Maebell watching back home. Recalling the moment, Steele, legs crossed, says, "So I'm thinking, I'll go out there and do my thing and sit down. We talked about how everybody was jacked up for Arnold (Schwarzenegger), only 25 to 30 percent of the people were listening, and then there was a moment and I sensed everyone stopped. That moment for me was like, 'Oh Hell, people are actually paying attention. Now, what did I write?'"
It took Steele three days to write a 13-minute speech that put him in the limelight and raised his stock among those inside and out of his party.
Sylvester Vaughns of Palmer Park was part of the Maryland delegation. "A lot of people there never met Michael, and didn't know Michael and maybe some never heard of Michael, and I think the more he talked, the more they felt comfortable with what he was saying. They had to listen first to be grabbed by him." But delegate JoAnn Fisher of Oxon Hill wanted more. She was hoping Steele would have been given airtime on par with Illinois Senator-elect Barack Obama, a black American who was the keynote speaker at the Democratic party's national convention. "I really would like to have seen him more out front. I think the Republicans need to do that. People are always saying, 'Well, we've got to find blacks.' Why do you have to find them? We're right here."
Jim Mumford has known Steele since he was a student in his high school drama class. Now principal of Archbishop Carroll, the two are friends. Mumford, who directed Steele in performances at Johns Hopkins, could tell Steele felt the speech resonated with his audience. And he had an even better time when talking to Chris Matthews on Hardball, he says. "You can tell he liked jousting with Matthews and he's very comfortable in the element of back-and-forth. He has a sense of humor and doesn't take himself seriously. Chris was giving him a hard time, and Michael just laughed and signed off with, 'I love you, Chris.'"
The Republican Party's use of Steele during the campaign and his high visibility on the Sunday morning pundit shows may present bright omens of things to come. With Ehrlich's well-documented support, it's not out of step to imagine Steele in a run for the Governor's mansion in due time--joining a very small-but-historic club of black governors. And Steele may have the right stuff to win. He's a charismatic member of the new school era of black politicians in the likes of Obama and Jesse Jackson Jr. In turn of the century America, hue takes a backseat to message.
These men are giving voice to themes that tap into the sensibilities of families, entrepreneurs, conservatives, liberals and possibly the political savvy among those who eschew such labels.
They have breached mainstream consciousness without denying the heritage that emboldens their success. Obama's induction to the Senate as the third black senator since Reconstruction, and Steele's continuing firsts as an African American, speak loudly to the future of American politics and the roles people of color will play in it.
