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Vincent P. Falk is in his glory. On
the Orleans Street Bridge most afternoons around about
5 p.m. Today, he is in a tangerine-colored suit -- some
days it is gold, or red, or purple. A boat passes underneath
-- the Seadog, his favorite -- and he waves, then removes
his jacket to show off a bright aqua shirt. He twirls
the jacket over his head, half fashion model, half stripper.
From the bridge, you can hear the boat's
guide direct the passengers' attention to Falk. "There
he is -- Fashion Man!" Those on the boat smile and
applaud.
When no boats are around, Falk passes
the time by waving at pedestrians. A big, flapping wave,
angling his hand sharply at the wrist. A childish wave,
and it was that wave, coupled with his eyes -- deep-set
and unfocused -- that prompted me to initially pigeonhole
Vincent P. Falk. You walk around the Loop every day, you
see the same people, and form conclusions about them --
this guy's a junkie, that guy's a lunatic. Falk, I decided,
based on his wave and his eyes, was a mental defective
of some sort.
I imagined him a simpleton, led to the
bridge and standing there for hours, waving. The only
thing separating him from the average street person was
those colorful suits -- there had to be money somewhere.
A trust fund perhaps.
I made it a point to wave to Vincent,
as a kindness, every time I passed, and might never have
replaced the lazy, cliched first impression I carried
about him with the astounding truth had a person walking
right behind me not said, "Hello Vincent."
I wheeled around.
"Do you know that guy?" I asked,
after we passed him.
"That's Vincent Falk," said
the pedestrian. "He's a computer programmer for Cook
County."
***
"That guy's amazing,'' said Kurt
Kistinger, a co-worker at Cook County's Bureau of Information
Technology. "A phenomenal programmer. In my opinion,
he's a genius.''
"He's one of the top people we have
here," said Russ Dober, Falk's boss at the county's
real estate division's computer systems branch, where
Falk, 55, has been writing code since 1986. "What
amazes me is the complexity of the programs he's working
on over the years. When there's a problem, he knows exactly
where to go, where the code is in the program. It would
take me an hour to figure out where it is, but he's got
everything stored in his mind. It's unbelievable.''
Falk's eyes look odd because he's blind
-- legally blind, that is. He can read a computer screen,
if he holds his face an inch away.
***
Armed with a bit of background, I stopped
to talk to Falk. He was wearing an iridescent red suit
with a black shirt. I went up and introduced myself.
What, I wanted to know, was he doing
on the bridge?
"Giving a fashion show to the boats,"
he answered.
***
"The first time I saw him, I thought
he was some crazy man going to jump into our boat,'' said
Caitlin Daly, operations manager at the Seadog. "We
always wondered because those suits are so expensive.''
Actually, they aren't. They look custom-made,
but he buys them off the rack at Roberto's, on State Street
just south of Adams, a store that will not only sell you
a pink suit, but matching shoes and a hat to go with it.
Falk began wearing the wild outfits in
1999, during the Cows on Parade sculpture installation.
Before then, he favored vintage suits. But he began buying
suits to match individual cows, and posting the photos
on his Web site, www.vpfalk.net.
***
I had seen his slick, aptly colorful
Web site, with its views from his condo in Marina City,
before I met Falk. But I must have clung to the notion
that there was something "wrong" with him. Because
as we began to talk, and the quirky, witty, quick personality
of Vincent P. Falk emerged, it was like a man forming
out of thin air. I was taken aback, ashamed at how easily
I had assumed he was something else.
He loves puns -- when you tell him to
take care, he asks you what he should do with it -- and
tends to be vague on certain subjects, such as his eyesight,
or his suits.
"How many suits do you have?"
I asked.
"A bunch," he answered.
Could he be more specific?
"A big bunch."
Passersby continually paused to shake
his hand, to compliment his suit, or to say hello.
I had assumed he changed into those suits
after work -- again wrong. He wears them to the office.
I left more puzzled than ever. Why does a man wear ice
cream color suits and stand on bridges waving at boats?
Nor is Orleans Street his only bridge. He also likes the
State Street Bridge.
***
"My day job is at Smith & Wollensky's,''
said Jennifer Burns, an actress. "So I look at him
every day and have for seven years.'
Burns has decided to become a documentary
filmmaker and is producing her first film -- about Falk.
I told her I was intrigued at how boldly he projects himself
in public, while most people cringe in the shadows and
hope not to get noticed. What is it about him?
"This is the great mystery to me,''
she said. "This is the reason why I decided to make
a documentary about him. I was looking out at him. There
was a function at the House of Blues Hotel, and Clinton
and Carter and Ford were going to be there. Vincent must
have been home for lunch. And I saw him tearing along
the bridge, running, to get there in time to wave to the
boats on the river. He just had the biggest smile on his
face.
"Whatever you think of this guy,
he has figured out what makes him happy, and he just does
it. If only the rest of us could be so lucky. He's a very
intelligent guy who has a good job and owns his own home.
What propels a man with a seemingly normal life to do
such extraordinary things? The more I learn about him,
the more interested I become."
The film is tentatively called "Vincent:
A Life in Color" and will be shot along the Chicago
River this summer, with release planned for next year.
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