Ed Kelly at 100: Living Among Old Friends

Ed Kelly answers the door at his home in Lincolnwood.

“Let me show you a few things. Muhammad gave me this here,” he says, pointing to a clenched bronze hand. “This is his fist. He gave me that years ago. You were like a father to him. The twins are my nieces. We were close. I have pictures of him downstairs.

This is what he does. Many pictures. Being close to Ali, the greatest athlete of the 20th century, is the kind of thing a man can be proud of. As are photographs with the powerful and famous. Kelly, 100, a former Democratic Party list maker and Chicago Park District czar, in that order, has a lot to be proud of.

Readers may recall that we spoke on the occasion of Kelly's 90th birthday, when he rewarded me for my interest in planting a spear in the side of then-Mayor Rahm Emanuel.

“Ram is not a Chicago guy,” Kelly said at the time. “He will never be a Chicago man.”

I am the troublemaker, and my greatest hope for this visit is a repeat. I've been baiting hooks with the Mayors ever since. Nari nibble.

Kelly's centenary was in August, and he ignored media inquiries then. But his longtime press agent Bernie DeMeo convinced him to open up.

“This is Richard J., fishing with me.” Kelly says, of a photo with the first Mayor Daley. “He called me. He said, 'Get a boat; let's go fishing.'

This is not to say that the past is all in the hands of mayors – the tragedy will catch even the most connected insiders.

“This is my grandson who was killed in Texas,” he said. “Three Niles motorcycle police officers were trying to collect money. That's my Joey.”

Sgt. Joseph Lazo, 39 years old. His picture is everywhere – in frames, on pillows.

“Drunk driver…” Kelly says. “He was like a son to me. We raised him. I went to the grave for four and a half years for Joey and my wife. I go every Monday.”

Marilyn Kelly (94); 76 years of marriage.

“I lost Joey, and then two years later I lost my wife,” he says.

What's it like to be 100?

“It's hard to believe I've reached 100,” Kelly says. “Everywhere I go, doctors and nurses ask me: 'What did you do?' I can't say I lived differently. I'm not a food guy. I was never a drinker. “I never smoked.”

We go downstairs. The bar seats six people. A hundred pictures are hung on the wall if there are any, and we stop in front of many of them.

“Here's Daddy and with Janie,” he says, pointing to a photo of Bears founder George Halas and Gene Byrne. “This is Stevie Zucker. This is Gale Sayers. Jesse White – I've known Jesse since he was 15 years old.

I refer to the impossibly young Paul Simon, the former senator.

“One of the best friends I've ever had,” Kelly says as we make our way along the four walls.

“Pat Phillippe. A very good friend of mine. Mr. Lackman. Keith Magnuson” – Blackhawks player – “Here's Posinski. Cullerton… Bill Vick. What a man. We're at a Cubs game here. Bernie Hansen. “Here's Walter.” – Walter Payton, no last name needed. “Mitch Miller.” – Blagojevich – “I've known him since he was seventeen. Trouble. Here's a good friend of mine. Andre Kerr. “This is Cobb with his cigar. This is Bill Lee. And this is Sinatra, and this is Tito Francona.” – Football player – “Tito was a great friend of mine. Bill Curtis, Dave Kingman, The Cozy Corner Canteen, those are all my buddies, this place was across the street from Seward Park in Sedgwick Elm. That was my hangout.”

If you left Ed Kelly in his basement, pointing at pictures of his old friends, you might judge him for taking pride in knowing the famous and powerful. Although I thought of a poem by the Irish poet W. B. Yeats called “The Municipal Fair Revisited” where the Irish poet does the same thing, writing: “I thought: Perhaps my children will find here/Things deep-rooted.” In the end, Yeats almost put his friends on an equal footing with his poetry:

You are the one who will judge me, do not judge alone
This or that book, come to this holy place
Where pictures of my friends are hung and looked at…
Think of where man's glory begins and ends
I say, Magdy, I had such friends.