About A Man
an excerpt

Chapter 1

My editor wanted me to get some background for an article that would appear in tomorrow’s paper. Another crap assignment. I shrugged my shoulders, took the name from him, and went back to my desk. A quick check of AT&T’s Anywho online directory gave me his phone number.
Taking a quick slug of Diet Coke, I wondered where I had gone wrong. I mean, really, I must have screwed up somewhere! I was a good student in high school and in college. Good enough to get my Bachelor of Arts degree in Journalism – with honors – from the College of Communications at The Pennsylvania State University. That’s right – I went to J school at Penn State. But here I am, writing background for pieces that will appear under someone else’s byline. I’m better than this!
I yawned as I dialed the number. The phone rang. I counted five rings; normally I hang up after six because the odds are there’s no voice mail or answering machine if it’s rung that many times. Just as the sixth ring began, he answered.
“Hello?” He answered the phone tentatively, like someone unused to receiving phone calls.
“May I speak with Mister Fred Miller, please.” He was an elderly man, I knew from the assignment file. I would be as polite as I could be.
“You are speaking to him, young man.” I could sense he was smiling as he spoke. “Who am I speaking with?” His voice was a comforting baritone, if a little raspy. There was a distinct accent; clearly Fred Miller was an older African-American man who had spent much of his life in the South.
“My name is Jim Caputo, sir. I’m with the Sun-Times. I’d like to talk with you about the award the mayor is presenting to you tomorrow.”
“Oh, that,” he deadpanned. “Not much to tell, really.”
“Mr. Miller, I only need about ten minutes, but I’d like to ask you some questions.”
“Alright, young man,” he sighed tiredly. “I’m leaving right now to run some errands. Can we talk tomorrow?”
I had a deadline. The paper was covering the award ceremony, so I needed to get the background on this guy to the Metro & Tri-States editor by first thing in the morning. “You know, Mr. Miller, I have a deadline on this. Is there any way you can talk to me now? It’ll be quick.”
“I’m sorry. I have to leave now or I’ll be late. Tell you what, though. I’ll be stopping into the Roosevelt Avenue Sandwich Shop for lunch around one o’clock. Do you know it?”
“No,” I told him. This guy was angling for a free lunch!
“It’s near the downtown public library.” OK, I guess he had me trapped. “You come and we can talk there.”
“Alright, Mr. Miller, I’ll see you at one.”
“Good! You just ask for me at the counter. They know me. Bye now!”
Well, I had a couple of hours before I had to leave, so I decided to read the small assignment file. In it, there was a police report of an incident that had happened at The Delaware – a ritzy condominium building on the Gold Coast – a couple of weeks ago, and our coverage of it. There was also a press release from the mayor’s office about the award ceremony. Finally, there was the award citation.
It seemed Fred Miller was a doorman at The Delaware. One of the residents there – a guy named Michael Kelly, who has been in the news a few times lately because of this – had tangled with the Russian Mafia. They kidnapped his girlfriend, so Kelly took on the Russians and got her back. As I see it, that makes him ballsy, but not necessarily smart. The police have made him out as a hero. Some see him as a knight in shining armor. Some just see him as a vigilante.
Anyway, a couple of the Russians ambushed Michael Kelly at The Delaware while Fred Miller was working as the doorman. They cold cocked Miller; he suffered a concussion. I guess they thought he was down for the count. Kelly killed one of the Russians, but the other one had him cold: Kelly was wounded and unarmed. Then Fred Miller – who came to and got a gun from his desk drawer – blows this Russian away before he kills Kelly. So now the Honorable Richard M. Daley – the mayor – was giving him award for heroism.

I walked into the Roosevelt Avenue Sandwich Shop a couple of minutes after one. Customers were seated at a few of the worn formica tables. An older man waved to me from a table near the window. He stood as I approached.
“You the reporter?”
“Yeah, Jim Caputo. Are you Mr. Miller?” He nodded and waved me to a seat. Fred Miller was a fairly tall man. Very trim and erect, he had a proud and confident bearing. He was mostly bald, but what hair remained was close cropped and gray. The police reports I’d read said he was 76 years old. He looked it. Still, there was a discernable youthful quality about him.
I was curious. “How did you know it was me?”
“I thought reporters were observant folk.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You’re the only white man in here, Jim. And you walked in here right at one o’clock.”
I looked around. There were a couple of white girls from one of the nearby colleges at a table. Roosevelt University and Robert Morris College, were both just down the street. There was an Asian man eating at the counter. The other four customers were African-American. Again, probably students. I smiled sheepishly. “You got me.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I already ate. Have you had lunch?” I shook my head no. Actually, I was starving and the food in here smelled wonderful. He passed a menu to me and waved a waitress over at the same time.
“Hello, Mr. Fred.” She was about eighteen – probably also a student. She was a petite, energetic African-American woman “What can I get for you gentlemen?” I ordered a sandwich and a Diet Coke. He had coffee and a slice of lemon meringue pie. Then we talked.
We talked for almost two hours. Fred Miller answered my questions about his background. He spoke quietly. As we talked, I realized that there was much more here than just a background piece for the coverage of tomorrow’s award ceremony. There was a real story here. This man had lived through some of this nation’s most contentious years. But Fred Miller was not a witness to history. He was a participant.
After I left him, I realized I wanted to tell that story. I don’t want to write some huge sociology treatise about America coming of age. While he lived through that, that’s not the story. It’s a story about a man.