BLACK SOCIAL HISTORY
Fred Rice, 84, city's first black superintendent
by Pat Somers Cronin
It was a privilege to attend the Mass of Christian Burial for Fred Rice, Jr., on Jan. 15 at Holy Name Cathedral. And it was overwhelming to watch— both inside the warm church and outside in the cold—long lines of people waiting patiently to greet his family.
Rice, a Beverly resident, was Chicago’s first African-American police superintendent, appointed by the city’s first black mayor, Harold Washington. He served from 1983 until 1987.
In 2001, he was diagnosed with lung cancer, which he fought until his death on Jan. 10 at the age of 84 at Manor Care Palos Heights East. He approached his illness with the utmost courage, integrity and strength.
Thelma, his beautiful wife of 55 years, was obviously sad but also radiant, her broad black headband accenting her perfect features as she stood again and again to embrace so many friends, all determined to personally offer their love, prayers and sympathy. She truly seemed tireless but also content, especially with her daughter, Judy, nearby—and still the lines continued.
Finally, from the altar—I think from the pastor, Msgr. Dan Mayall—came a request to please be brief so the service could stay on time, especially with the Chicago Police Department Honor Guard standing by. In due time, everyone was seated, and silence reigned. That was the signal for members of the funeral home staff to step forward and gently, reverently, close the casket for the last time.
Honor guard officers immediately flanked the casket on either side, leading it to the altar where Mayall waited, incense in hand, for the Blessing of the Body, the fragrant scent filling the church and wafting heavenward with prayers of the entire congregation. It was a moment to remember and cherish, especially the military precision and bearing of the honor guard. One had to be proud of the Men in Blue.
In the homily that followed, the Rev. Dan Mallette, the beloved pastor of St. Margaret of Scotland Roman Catholic Church and Rice’s good friend for many years, made the important point that as busy as Rice was, he was also a devoted husband and father. Mallette also said that Rice would do whatever he could to help the Bears in their quest for a Super Bowl championship.
Why was I so fortunate to be sitting in front, with my thoughtful son, John, on one side and our neighbors, Helen and Chris Dimas, on the other? Because Vito Tito, whom we all first met as one of the band of dedicated, often laughing but always competent garbagemen who operate in our neighborhood every Tuesday morning, was directing traffic. It’s easy to see that Rice spotted an entrepreneur in the making—Vito is now a Beverly homeowner—and as the always vivacious Judy (Mayor Richard M. Daley’s former treasurer) told me later, “He’s my dad’s adopted son.”
So Vito gave me a big hug, telling me who he was—not necessary—and inviting me to sit with him, which I was very happy to do. He also rounded up my neighbors, and still later my son, so we were all together and keeping a close eye on Thelma just across the aisle. I was delighted to see Vito listed as an honorary pallbearer, as was Terry Hilliard, the former superintendent who served under Rice.
May I digress for a moment?
For those readers who may have missed the Chicago Tribune obituary (Jan. 11) here are a few quotes about Fred Rice. “‘He was the superintendent for the entire Chicago Police Department,’ said Hilliard. Hilliard, the department’s third black superintendent, said he witnessed Mr. Rice’s willingness to stand up for his beliefs to Mayors Washington and Jane Byrne, as well as his former boss, Richard Brzeczek. ‘If he had something on his mind you were going to know about it,’ Hilliard said.”
“Leroy Martin, who succeeded Mr. Rice as the second black superintendent, said his predecessor was a tough, fair boss who commanded respect. He wasn’t there to be your friend, Martin said. ‘He was there to be your boss and your leader.’ Officers wanted to please their ultimate superior ‘almost like your father.’ Martin felt Rice was a visionary in law enforcement who saw that heavy drugs were becoming the norm on the streets. In response, he beefed up the narcotics unit, Martin said. ‘As a forward-thinking police officer, he could see it coming.’”
I’m happy to quote Hilliard (a former Marine) because I had the great pleasure of meeting him a few years ago at a downtown party to which my former Marine and Viet Nam veteran son, Jim, had invited me. Somehow Marines always find one another, and you can rely on them for the truth.
Having digressed at length, here is how the Mass ended, in a dramatic fashion with three excellent speakers: Daley, Martin and current Superintendent Jody Weis.
Daley pointed out that Rice, having come through the ranks in a racially tense city, overcame many obstacles on the way up, and his reaction, as superintendent, was to make sure those same obstacles were eliminated for his men.
Martin got the biggest laugh when he said that when a problem came up he just pretended to be Rice and then he knew what to do.
Weis, in a generous and particularly thoughtful gesture, thanked Rice and his family for all the times he missed graduations, birthday celebrations and numerous family events because he was out protecting Chicago and its citizens.
The honor guard led the casket down the aisle, out the front door and down the steps to State Street where, on the opposite side, 26 officers, in unison, lifted their particular division flag in a final glorious salute to Fred Rice, Jr.
Entombment followed at Oak Woods Cemetery on East 67th Street where Omega Psi Phi Fraternity members sang their final farewell. The funeral cortege left immediately for Cooper’s Hawk in Burr Ridge, Ill., for an elegant repast, family and friends knowing that Rice had already found St. Peter and was probably discussing improved methods for crowd control.
Rice is survived by his wife, Thelma; his son, Lyle; his daughter, Judy; his sister, Beverly Jones; and two granddaughters.
Fond farewell, dear friend and neighbor, and thanks for a job well done.
by Pat Somers Cronin
It was a privilege to attend the Mass of Christian Burial for Fred Rice, Jr., on Jan. 15 at Holy Name Cathedral. And it was overwhelming to watch— both inside the warm church and outside in the cold—long lines of people waiting patiently to greet his family.
Rice, a Beverly resident, was Chicago’s first African-American police superintendent, appointed by the city’s first black mayor, Harold Washington. He served from 1983 until 1987.
In 2001, he was diagnosed with lung cancer, which he fought until his death on Jan. 10 at the age of 84 at Manor Care Palos Heights East. He approached his illness with the utmost courage, integrity and strength.
Thelma, his beautiful wife of 55 years, was obviously sad but also radiant, her broad black headband accenting her perfect features as she stood again and again to embrace so many friends, all determined to personally offer their love, prayers and sympathy. She truly seemed tireless but also content, especially with her daughter, Judy, nearby—and still the lines continued.
Finally, from the altar—I think from the pastor, Msgr. Dan Mayall—came a request to please be brief so the service could stay on time, especially with the Chicago Police Department Honor Guard standing by. In due time, everyone was seated, and silence reigned. That was the signal for members of the funeral home staff to step forward and gently, reverently, close the casket for the last time.
Honor guard officers immediately flanked the casket on either side, leading it to the altar where Mayall waited, incense in hand, for the Blessing of the Body, the fragrant scent filling the church and wafting heavenward with prayers of the entire congregation. It was a moment to remember and cherish, especially the military precision and bearing of the honor guard. One had to be proud of the Men in Blue.
In the homily that followed, the Rev. Dan Mallette, the beloved pastor of St. Margaret of Scotland Roman Catholic Church and Rice’s good friend for many years, made the important point that as busy as Rice was, he was also a devoted husband and father. Mallette also said that Rice would do whatever he could to help the Bears in their quest for a Super Bowl championship.
Why was I so fortunate to be sitting in front, with my thoughtful son, John, on one side and our neighbors, Helen and Chris Dimas, on the other? Because Vito Tito, whom we all first met as one of the band of dedicated, often laughing but always competent garbagemen who operate in our neighborhood every Tuesday morning, was directing traffic. It’s easy to see that Rice spotted an entrepreneur in the making—Vito is now a Beverly homeowner—and as the always vivacious Judy (Mayor Richard M. Daley’s former treasurer) told me later, “He’s my dad’s adopted son.”
So Vito gave me a big hug, telling me who he was—not necessary—and inviting me to sit with him, which I was very happy to do. He also rounded up my neighbors, and still later my son, so we were all together and keeping a close eye on Thelma just across the aisle. I was delighted to see Vito listed as an honorary pallbearer, as was Terry Hilliard, the former superintendent who served under Rice.
May I digress for a moment?
For those readers who may have missed the Chicago Tribune obituary (Jan. 11) here are a few quotes about Fred Rice. “‘He was the superintendent for the entire Chicago Police Department,’ said Hilliard. Hilliard, the department’s third black superintendent, said he witnessed Mr. Rice’s willingness to stand up for his beliefs to Mayors Washington and Jane Byrne, as well as his former boss, Richard Brzeczek. ‘If he had something on his mind you were going to know about it,’ Hilliard said.”
“Leroy Martin, who succeeded Mr. Rice as the second black superintendent, said his predecessor was a tough, fair boss who commanded respect. He wasn’t there to be your friend, Martin said. ‘He was there to be your boss and your leader.’ Officers wanted to please their ultimate superior ‘almost like your father.’ Martin felt Rice was a visionary in law enforcement who saw that heavy drugs were becoming the norm on the streets. In response, he beefed up the narcotics unit, Martin said. ‘As a forward-thinking police officer, he could see it coming.’”
I’m happy to quote Hilliard (a former Marine) because I had the great pleasure of meeting him a few years ago at a downtown party to which my former Marine and Viet Nam veteran son, Jim, had invited me. Somehow Marines always find one another, and you can rely on them for the truth.
Having digressed at length, here is how the Mass ended, in a dramatic fashion with three excellent speakers: Daley, Martin and current Superintendent Jody Weis.
Daley pointed out that Rice, having come through the ranks in a racially tense city, overcame many obstacles on the way up, and his reaction, as superintendent, was to make sure those same obstacles were eliminated for his men.
Martin got the biggest laugh when he said that when a problem came up he just pretended to be Rice and then he knew what to do.
Weis, in a generous and particularly thoughtful gesture, thanked Rice and his family for all the times he missed graduations, birthday celebrations and numerous family events because he was out protecting Chicago and its citizens.
The honor guard led the casket down the aisle, out the front door and down the steps to State Street where, on the opposite side, 26 officers, in unison, lifted their particular division flag in a final glorious salute to Fred Rice, Jr.
Entombment followed at Oak Woods Cemetery on East 67th Street where Omega Psi Phi Fraternity members sang their final farewell. The funeral cortege left immediately for Cooper’s Hawk in Burr Ridge, Ill., for an elegant repast, family and friends knowing that Rice had already found St. Peter and was probably discussing improved methods for crowd control.
Rice is survived by his wife, Thelma; his son, Lyle; his daughter, Judy; his sister, Beverly Jones; and two granddaughters.
Fond farewell, dear friend and neighbor, and thanks for a job well done.
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