News & Record, Greensboro, N.C. Jeri Rowe/news & Record column

May 09--GREENSBORO -- The resemblance is uncanny.

It's the gap-tooth smile, the curve of the chin.

David Small does look like his mom, T. Dianne Bellamy-Small.

You know her. She's the activist, teacher and longtime local politician who spoke her mind and made enemies because of it. She has this stare that can make your knees weak, and she never was afraid to use it on anyone, particularly the powerful and politically aloof.

So for David, being his mother's son has been a blessing -- and a curse. He does have her spirit. He also inherited her political enemies.

That didn't stop him.

Over the past three months, he campaigned. He wanted to go to Raleigh and be a state representative to champion the needs of District 60, 31 precincts that stretch and bend like a snake from Jamestown to where he grew up in southeast Greensboro.

And everywhere he went, like Tuesday outside Allen Middle School, he campaigned for himself as well as his mom.

"It's a family affair,'' a voter told him Tuesday, walking in to vote.

"Yeah,'' he responded, handing her a campaign flier. "We got to make something happen.''

It didn't happen for David. His mom either. They both lost during Tuesday's primary.

His mom lost her bid for a seat on the county's Board of Commissioners. And now, after decades on the political scene, including 10 years on the Greensboro City Council, this could be her last campaign. At 61, she says she's done.

But not David, her youngest son. He'll run again for something. But why? He'll explain.

But first, look what happened Tuesday. David Small got pummeled.

He received 382 votes out of the 4,159 votes cast, or 9.2 percent. The winner was Cecil Brockman, the 29-year-old legislative aide for former state Rep. Marcus Brandon who last held the District 60 seat. Former state Rep. Earl Jones, 64, a longtime politician, came in second. David was a distant third.

That shouldn't surprise anybody. David was a real long shot.

He spent four years in prison for robbing hotels and restaurants as a teenager. He was, as he says today, a "knucklehead.'' It broke his mom's heart. But his jail time saved his life.

He got out on his 22nd birthday. David is now 28. He has two businesses. He repairs computers and spins tunes as a DJ for any kind of get-together.

He calls himself "DJ Justice.'' He's single, and he has three sons, ages 10, 5 and 4. He tells them all the same thing.

"Daddy did something stupid,'' he says. "So, you have to take responsibility for all your actions. I have now.''

If someone would've told him, "You're going into politics,'' he would've told them, "You've lost your mind!''

But he looked around and saw what his generation faced. He saw what he faced: no health insurance and the constant struggle for money, concerns that hit so many people his age.

His generation needed a voice, a say in what happens. So, after talking to a handful of people, he knew he had to move.

"If not me, who?'' he says. "If not now, when?''

He had no kind of budget. He raised only $600. He had no kind of campaign manager. He simply had volunteers, a website and this idea that he wanted to make his local world a better place for his sons and the people from his own backyard. That includes people now in prison.

He has started helping his mom with her nonprofit organization, Transition Network, which helps ex-felons get their life in order. He answers the phone. He knows why he's there. She created Transition Network because of him.

So, during his campaign, he shook hands, he spoke to groups, he went on local radio and spoke to churches. He didn't shy away from the prison questions -- "I'm a changed man,'' he told them -- and he wore more suits in two months than he had in six years.

And still, he lost.

He walks away with a few lessons learned: It takes money to win in politics and it takes gumption to fight "Oh, he'll be back,'' the frequent echo he heard in his head about prison and a potential return.

"To hell with proving everyone else wrong,'' he told himself. "Prove yourself right.''

He believes he has.

Contact Jeri Rowe at (336) 373-7374 or find him @JeriRoweNR on Twitter or www.facebook.com/jeriroweNR.

___

(c)2014 the News & Record (Greensboro, N.C.)

Visit the News & Record (Greensboro, N.C.) at www.news-record.com

Distributed by MCT Information Services