A 62-year-old retired clerical worker and part-time seamstress, Haywood has waged her campaign for years, patiently sharing her trove of documents that she says proves her lineage to Johnson, giving community talks and news media interviews.

For her and others who have campaigned for a pardon, President Trump’s mere mention of the possibility was intriguing.

“This really could happen, and all it would take would be a presidential signature,” said Burns, who produced the 2005 documentary “Unforgivable Blackness: The Rise and Fall of Jack Johnson.” “What we don’t know is about the sincerity or the spontaneity of it.”

Still, the bar for a posthumous pardon is high: Only two have been given by presidents.

Haywood discussed her campaign on a recent afternoon at her two-story brick home on the South Side of Chicago, showing a ribald sense of humor and a gift for gab. Her stories unspooled slowly, with winding tangents. The answer to a question about her family’s connection to Johnson included a 20-minute detour through the tale of a physically disabled cousin and discussion of an article she read that said Prince learned to play 27 instruments on his own.

“And what again was your question?” Haywood asked when she was done.

She said she first heard of Johnson and her connection to him through an uncle when she was 12 and growing up in the Robert Taylor Homes, a high-rise housing project here.

She was play boxing when her uncle told her the story of how Johnson used to drop in, shower the family with treats and leave. The story set off a fascination that led her to a library and a biography.

“You’re supposed to check books out of the library,” she said, chuckling and taking a sip of her ice water. “Honey, please. I took that little book up under my arm and politely walked my black so-and-so out the library and they have not seen it from that day to this.”