New York George turtles around downtown in the black fedora he got in a swap for two Bullets tickets.
Give me some cash. Give me some night money. I'll give you a story to put in The Sun, that mojo paper.
Maybe you've seen the old man sitting at a Burger King or downtown bar, overheard him hustling someone or something. Maybe you've passed him on Pratt Street and wondered what Jimmy Cagney movie he fell out of. Or maybe he sold you an Orioles ticket.
I laid down one on the Indiana-Penn State game. We got the gee whiz -- a $1,000. You like that? The gee whiz?
Yeah, you like New York George.
George Edward Miller has a face that doubles for Citizen Schaefer but the body of Orson Welles. He ambles from downtown restaurant to bar to hotel on his strategic routine. In all these old familiar places, he small-talks with his extended and only family -- his Baltimore sons and daughters, he calls them.
There's Bob the Cop, Charlie at the Days Inn, the Lawyer, "Burger King" John, Rose at the Calvert, and Marty "the best bartender in Baltimore" at Tello's, where George sits until the karaoke noise drives him away.
New York George is always waiting for a tab, always smoking fat cigars and drinking Miller beer, and always working on the fringes of this town. The harmless hustler knows everybody's business and he's in everybody's business.
Born in Yankee pinstripes in Manhattan 70 years ago, New York George is all Baltimore now. And he's ours for life.
Maybe you'll make a series of this? Do this in, whaddya call it, installments?
There's only one way to do this story, New York George keeps saying. Spend the day with him.
Anything I tell you is the truth. Put that down.
At 9 a.m. on a typical Tuesday, New York George is drinking free coffee at the Burger King on South Charles Street. He woke up at 4:30 a.m. at his Bolton Hill apartment, took his water and arthritis pills, and watched Channel 13 to get the night's scores. Around 6 a.m., he walked to the Rite Aid and picked up his free copy of the New York Post to check the sports schedules.
"George doesn't pay for anything," says John Ginter, grinning wide and meaning no disrespect.
"Burger King" John, 48, owns this particular Burger King. He's known New York George for about eight years -- ever since this man appeared in his Burger King, fired up a conversation that would develop into a friendly business between the two men.
New York George calls John "Burger King" and keeps a wad of Mr. Ginter's business cards in his coat pocket. New York George doesn't carry a wallet -- just business cards and life insurance policies and pieces of paper scratched with phone numbers and words such as, Indiana-Penn State, -1. $1,000.
They get together at the track and maybe go into Philly or meet a couple times a week to have a beer, to confer, and to place a few phone calls.
Burger King's my Baltimore son.
Steve Mooney, who works at nearby NationsBank, comes in for coffee. He also met New York George here. "I forgot what he was selling, little teddy bears or something."
Taking care of business
Among other pursuits, New York George sells trinkets Mr. Mooney picked up in the Philippines. Just a little business, no big deal. Mr. Mooney loves shooting the bull with the old man. "He's the only character in Baltimore," Mr. Mooney says.
New York George walks into the kitchen; seems like he's always coming through the back of places. He stuffs a Burger King bag with bread rolls. The plan (he always has a plan) is to drop by the Calvert and give Rose the rolls. A little something for Rose Herrin, the long-time owner of the Calvert House. An old war horse, a good woman, he says.
New York George loves the way the Burger King bag looks in his hand. Good publicity for his son, "Burger King" John. New York George's apartment in a senior citizen's building features two Burger King chairs, salt and pepper shakers, napkins -- the whole line of fine BK home furnishings. (He doesn't own a phone or car.)
Before he leaves Burger King to make his rounds, New York George says hi to three women having breakfast. He knows them by their first names. He's lousy with last names. He remembers their hometowns, their divorces, their jobs, their ailments, and he probably knows whether they have any money. The man's encyclopedic.
Next stop is the downtown Days Inn. New York George, in his navy blazer and vest and overcoat, plods toward the hotel where he can sit, have free coffee and kibitz with an old friend from New York.
We used to drive cabs together in New York. They used to call us the salt and pepper bandits.
Charles Powell, the 63-year-old hotel concierge, comes out from behind the front desk to sit a spell.
"I went to New York and naturally you got to know the people who knew the streets," Charlie at the Days Inn says, smiling at his friend. "You're doing a story on a dying breed."
They lost touch when Charlie moved to Baltimore in 1973. But eight years ago -- after New York George came to Baltimore to see the Hopkins doctor about his bad feet -- Charlie at the Days Inn came to work and saw his old friend sitting in the lobby waiting to see him.
New York George never left Baltimore, by the way. He dearly misses New York's race tracks, but says he can't afford to live there.
Put this down. New York George is a guy born in New York who's going to die in a nickel town.
He loves to tell stories. Many involve growing up in New York in the same poor neighborhood with Yankee Whitey Ford. The great pitcher always remembered New York George, he says. George would later sell his Whitey Ford autographed baseball.
It was collecting dust.
The boy loved his Yankees, the Spalding bat and glove he got for Christmas and his family's dog, a boxer named Porky. And New York George loved Madison Square Garden. He worked there as a young man, hauling hockey equipment and cleaning up the locker room. George Miller was a pretty good young baseball player. Outfield. Good arm from all those days throwing snowballs over the electrical wires in his neighborhood.
George Miller was in the Navy from 1940-1943, working in the steamy, dank bilges of ships, acquiring a loathing for small places he still harbors.
He never went to college.
Went to MSG.
OK, Madison Square Garden. Where he wants his ashes dumped.
George Edward Miller was named after his father, a New York cop who did a little bookmaking on the side, his son says. He got his love of cigars, beer and betting from the old man. They lived in a five-bedroom house, and rent was $47.50 -- a price negotiated between George Miller Sr. and the landlord.
Young George would take the rent down to the landlord every month. My dad would say, "Don't drop the quarters." I'll never forget that.
George's sister died when he was very young. His only other sibling, a brother, died in World War II. His parents died years ago. Two marriages died years ago for George. And he has no children, just his Baltimore sons and daughters.
A stop and a smoke
The Days Inn feels cozy today. Cold outside. New York George and his Burger King bag of rolls are warm inside the hotel. A young man appears and brings George a gold-plated ashtray for his cigar.
John Poliks, a Baltimore police detective, has a summer memory of New York George in a downtown hotel. The Orioles were playing and Detective Poliks was working overtime -- the ticket-scalping detail.
"I walked into the lobby of a downtown hotel and there he was, big as life, puffing a big cigar," Detective Poliks remembers. Usually, scalpers are younger and dress and operate differently.
"He was way out of place," Detective Poliks says. "He had quite a few tickets on him. As soon as he saw the gleam in my eyes, came over."
New York George was arrested for selling Orioles tickets above face value. From the hotel he was taken back to Camden Yards in handcuffs. As he was led away, someone asked New York George for two Orioles tickets.
He pleaded not guilty, but wound up paying $350 and receiving a suspended 30-day sentence for the misdemeanor.
"Yes, he broke the law, but I would not characterize him as a criminal. He's basically a harmless guy dealing in victimless crimes," Detective Poliks says.
"I'm sorry he had to be locked up, but it was an interesting event."
New York George doesn't tell this story much.
When the Sunpaper gets through with me, I won't be able to sell nothing in this town. I'll be in jail on Opening Day.
Beer and embraces
Next stop is Burke's restaurant. New York George gets a Miller beer and verbally embraces Jerri and Josie and the rest of the cast here. This is a special occasion. New York George rounds everyone up to get their pictures taken for the newspaper. They even get him a good cigar, a skinny one. New York George winces.
No, I can't smoke that.
Someone asks him how to bet on the O. J. trial. You pick 'em, says New York George, the man who made $200 off President Clinton's win and made a little dough when Gov. Glendening won by a nose.
New York George leaves Burke's and walks to the Keyser Building on Redwood Street. He drops names on the street like candy wrappers. There's the Tony Bennett story from the '68 World Series. Jimmy "The Greek" Snyder is a good man. Charlie Eckman, the former Maryland sportscaster and basketball official, is a prince of a man. New York George also mentions a friend of his -- Jimmy Hoffa's former bodyguard. "Former" being the key word here.
Another good friend, Bob the Cop, runs the Lobby Shop in the Keyser Building. Sells newspapers, gum, etc. Robert McCulley is a former police officer who met New York George while on foot patrol in Bolton Hill.
"Trust me, he's not a bag man," Bob the Cop says, staring at George in his overcoat and with his Burger King bag of rolls.
New York George empties all the cigarette lighters from a box on Bob the Cop's counter. Someone else pays for them. He keeps lighters on him because he's always re-stoking his cigar. Then, he gives the lighters to poor people, he says.
New York George is now ready to go to his office: the Calvert House. On the walk over to the restaurant, he answers a few questions:
Have you ever been in love?
With Citation.
Ever been married?
Yeah, to the Knicks, the Jets, the Giants, and all the racetracks.
What's your favorite sport?
Fishing.
Ever written anything?
A bad check.
You have any girlfriends?
I got widows. They got money. Might marry one and move to Florida.
That romantic devil. Ol' Blue Eyes. Oh, he's going to hate reading that. Imagine a retired cabbie/bartender/mail handler/God-knows-what-else picking up two government checks but always looking to hustle. Imagine this Dangerfield-voiced, spot-bettor reading about the color of his eyes.
What kind of question is that, ya dope.
Sometimes New York George drops by the St. Ignatius Catholic Church on North Calvert Street. He gets a free cup of coffee and visits with the folks who run the church's social services. He might look at a large pair of pants or two for his thin wardrobe.
'A very nice man'
"He doesn't like to take things, even if he might need a sweater or something. He would never ask for anything," says 68-year-old Thelma Foreman, who's known him for many years.
"You can always count on George to make you feel good and make you laugh. Nothing ever gets him down," Ms. Foreman says. "He's just a very nice man."
Finally, New York George and his Burger King rolls reach their destination. He comes through the back of the Calvert, then takes his seat at the bar and greets the bartender. New York George ticks off the man's situation. From Philadelphia. Greg's the bartender here. He likes it, he don't like it.
Greg the Bartender smiles and New York George hands him a lighter. He gives another lighter to the woman at the end of the bar who works for a lung specialist across the street at the hospital. She puts down her cigarette and takes the lighter.
New York George orders a Miller -- not any of this micro-brewery nonsense. (And he likes his beer on the rocks.) Rose appears. He gives her the rolls -- the moment he planned all day. His gift to her.
He's always doing stuff like this, she says. "He's always loaning money to the help. All you got to do is tell him a sad story," she says. "He also takes extra food from here at night and gives it to the old people in his building."
The man even found a golden retriever named Cindy wandering Bolton Hill. He can't have pets where he lives, so New York George pays a man a little money to take care of Cindy. George is a sucker for dogs.
Mention Calvert, Calvert. Maybe I'll get a free beer, says New York George, getting back to business.
If you need a dentist, he knows a good one. Also, a man gives him $100 a month to bring him customers for a long-distance service. When is this story going to be in that mojo paper of yours? New York George then orders another Miller and strongly suggests a tab. He'll be here all afternoon, waiting on a friend.
Four times, he mentions his schedule for tomorrow. Burger King, Mount Washington Tavern, then the track. Top off the night at Tello's in Little Italy. Maybe drop by the Calvert in the late afternoon, after the lunch crowd. See Rose.
That's where we leave George -- at the Calvert with Rose, Greg the Bartender, "The Young and Restless" on the tube, and with a tab that's just closed.
Come on, give me some night money.
' Give me some cash.