It's March 28th, 2005, the Monday after Easter.

This afternoon, it'll mark a full 10 days since Terry Shivo's had any food or water.

A white-stretched limousine cruises within a block or so of hospice, then parks.

A tall, distinguished-looking man climbs out.

He's an icon of the civil rights era and a lightning rod of contemporary politics, the

Reverend Jesse Jackson.

As Jackson marches up the street, Mike and CB Tamarro watch from their hideout in the shop

across from the hospice.

They're hunkered down with their sister and brother-in-law, Bob and Mary Schindler.

From the moment he was let out at the end of the street because there were so many cars,

they were not letting anybody park in there.

He and his entourage of probably 15 to 20 people walked down the center of the street that, you know, now we were

set because they were all there. I'm here and everything, you know, is good now.

Camera operators walk backwards down the street in front of Jackson as he leads his

procession right up to the Schindler's refuge.

He came into our little room there, bigger than life.

I don't think he knew I was there.

Well, he came in that place and he sat down on the couch, and he asked if he could pray, remember?

It was so, I don't know, he definitely had a plan for his entrance.

Still, the reporters outside lap it up.

Just a short while ago, the Reverend Jesse Jackson emerged after meeting with the family

and various officials.

...