King Kenny

The second thing you notice in Kenny Gamble’s office — after the enormous purplish painting — is everything else.

The cream-colored, thick-pile shag carpet, shot through with a chocolate-colored geometric design; the leather furniture; the enormous portrait of Gamble and Huff; the painting of the kings of Africa. And, of course, an elaborate copy of the Koran.

In the 1970s, Gamble converted to Islam, and ultimately made the hajj to Mecca. Islam, he said, is a “constant remembrance of the brotherhood that should be among people. Whether or not Islam has been able to produce this in reality, it’s a lofty goal.”

As Gamble talked about his plans for Philadelphia — the music, the land, the people — it became clear why Islam appeals to him in this particular way. He’s a man for whom only the lofty goal is worth the effort; he reaches for the greater good, even if it means climbing over smaller, more immediate concerns.

Sometimes that works. Barney Richardson, the childhood friend who grew to become one of Gamble’s critics, has changed his mind again. He has watched his neighborhood blossom, he said, and although he owns just two properties instead of five, one of them is worth more than a million dollars. And somehow, he said, Universal has managed to make sure old-time residents aren’t shoved out by new money. “Kenny stood up against criticism from his own people, including me,” Richardson said, chuckling. “And now I have to eat crow.”

As for other neighborhood residents who still feel overrun by Universal’s projects, Gamble is unflinching: “The welfare of the community overrides any individual.”

A community, of course, is made of individuals, and talk of “overriding” people makes them nervous. But Gamble, in his most kingly mode, casts his gaze so far into the distance that he doesn’t see the rabble at his feet. He doesn’t weigh his words for effect; he just lets them tumble out as they please.

For instance, I asked Gamble about some residents’ concern about racial segregation or supremacy. I expected a tidy denial. But his response was unfiltered: “It’s like cats,” he said. “They’re all cats. But you don’t see the lion with the tiger. You don’t see the tiger with the panther.”

I didn’t know how to respond. He continued: “It pretty much boils down to mating. Every now and then you’ll see a tiger and maybe a lion copulate, and you’ll get a tiger-lion, or something strange.”

I told him that sounds a lot like segregation. It’s not, he said; it’s consolidation. Consolidation of jobs, money and influence. In his neighborhood, he argues, black people make up the vast majority of the population, but own only a small percentage of the businesses. He said he admires other self-sustaining and culturally insular neighborhoods: “There’s nothing wrong with the Chinese having Chinatown,” he said.

Gamble’s views, strange though they may be, aren’t quite the threat some of his opponents fear. It’s illegal, for instance to sell land or businesses based on race. So chances are slim that he’ll build an exclusive “Africatown” to rival Chinatown. But he does seem to hope for it: “You don’t have people selling goods and services in the Irish community from some other community,” he said. “In the Russian community, you don’t have people from other communities. In the Puerto Rican community, the Puerto Ricans have their own economy, they have their own stores.”

Race can only be understood by taking the long view, Gamble said. He described the whole history of the black community in America, then applied the same sort of long view into the future: Sure, his efforts in South Philly may take 100 years to fully succeed, but really, what is one century in the face of all history?

His personal aims are so big and sweeping that during regular conversation, he seems to be extemporaneously composing lyrics: “The saving of America. That’s the underlying thing here,” he said.

At one point, he walked across his office and placed a hand on his throne. It was an honest-to-goodness throne, with a wraparound back of carved wood and a seat of golden fabric. Its arms were just that: literally carved as human arms. Anytime Gamble sat down, he would rest his hands on the chair’s fists.

It seemed fitting, somehow, for a man of such grand stature, distant vision and staggering hubris.

“My whole thing is Philadelphia,” he said. “This was the city that gave birth to America. The spirit of Philadelphia is still here, and we have an obligation to make that idea last.

“That’s the saving of America.”

E-mail: mteague@phillymag.com