My Man Bill

Before my husband’s retirement as one of Chicago’s finest, he was often assigned to President Clinton’s entourage during Chicago appearances. The police would clear the streets in front of the building where the President was appearing until he entered the building. They would then sit around and wait until he was finished to do it all in reverse. Cliff never failed to remark on what an amazing “people person” Clinton is. No matter how late they were running, no matter who was trying to hurry him along, he would shake everyone’s hand and thank them for protecting him, often calling the police officers by name. And, he’d talk to everyone and anyone else who happened to be in the general vicinity. And, of course, Cliff and his buddies always got a big laugh telling stories about his roving eye. “Man, when a good lookin’ broad walked by . . . ”

One evening, after speaking at the Hilton, instead of parking near the front door, the limo pulled up on a side street to pick up the President. The only people around were his security people and the Chicago police . . . and a bum, sitting across the street on the grass. When the bum saw President Clinton come out the door, he went nuts, yelling, “Hey, Bill, my man, we wish you was still president, come on over here, man, and let me shake your hand.” Even though Clinton was already getting in the limo, he climbed back out, went across the street, put his arm around the man, shook his hand and stood and chatted with him for a minute. No one was around to see him do it, no one to impress, just Bill and the bum.

Say what you like about Bill. He may have his faults. But whenever I see people mistreat “the least of these,” I think of Bill.