Nobody was going to tell Corinne Reid Owens it was a formality.

It was, of course. Sen. Barack Obama's acceptance speech Thursday night just dotted the I's on a deal that was sealed months ago.

For him to turn down the Democratic nomination for president at that point would've been a more massive upset than the Brewers taking the World Series. Twice. But calling something a formality makes it sound easy.

That would be an insult to Owens. Without trailblazers like her, this path wouldn't be open to Obama. And hacking through the thick underbrush of prejudice that clogged the path was anything but easy.

So many little steps had to be taken by so many before this massive leap could even be conceived. Sit-ins. Marches. Meetings with people in high places.

"When I was a little girl, I didn't think about being president," Owens said this week, "but I wanted an education so bad."

After she arrived in Racine in the 1950s, dreams of moving into the White House were far off for African-Americans. There were enough barriers to owning a decent home.

Until she and other local activists convinced real estate types it was wrong, Owens' family had to settle for one of the few homes set aside as "colored purchaser invited." Located at what's now 13th Street and South Memorial Drive, it was the ultimate fixer-upper.

Before the nation's top job looked attainable, African-American residents had trouble getting hired for even entry-level government gigs. The pioneers changed that, too.

The stories that earned her the unofficial title "mother of civil rights" in Racine aren't new. So many groups have honored her that plaques and trophies cover every available living room surface.

She's tapped in enough to the national scene - she marched with Martin Luther King Jr. and called Rosa Parks a friend - that she probably could've secured a prime seat for the big speech at Invesco Field. At 95, Owens left that to the delegates, bloggers and other face-painted revelers at the Democratic shindig.

She kept up with regular phone updates from friends in Denver, and by watching bits of the endless coverage on her kitchen TV. It was a thrilling week for her.

"Sometimes I holler by myself," she said, "but I holler."

Thursday night, she was the featured guest at a speech-watching party next door to the local campaign headquarters. As Obama thanked the cheering crowd in Denver, Owens shouted back "Thank YOU!"

The formality ends here for her candidate. Sen. John McCain, who knows as much as Owens about the high price of freedom, should be a strong opponent over the next couple of months. And Obama's resume is lighter than many voters would like.

Owens has faith he'll win.

"But I'm so afraid," she said, the old sting of King's assassination revived by reports of three gun-toting white supremacists arrested not far from the convention.

Whether or not Obama completes the rise to become the first black president, the real triumph is opportunity. There was a time when qualifications were meaningless.

Like when Owens, on track to teach, could only mop the floors at educational facilities. Years later, she headed the Gateway Technical College board.

"I've given my life to come this far," she said. "How come we can't let it go on?"

Mike Moore can be reached at (262) 631-1724 or

mike.moore@lee.net