Robert A. Heinlein, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, Chapter 1 (short excerpt)
I was about to answer politely when I saw Shorty Mkrum inside. Shorty was a big black fellow two meters tall, sent up to The Rock for murder, and sweetest, most helpful man I've ever worked with -- taught him laser drilling before I burned my arm off. "Shorty!"
He heard me and grinned like an eighty-eight. "Hi, Mannie!" He moved toward us. "Glad you came, Man!"
"Not sure I have," I said. "Blockage on line."
"Doesn't have a ticket," said doorman.
Shorty reached into his pouch, put one in my hand. "Now he does. Come on, Mannie."
"Show me chop on it," insisted doorman.
"It's my chop," Shorty said softly. "Okay, tovarishch?"
Nobody argued with Shorty -- don't see how he got involved in murder.
Just a minor fictional character? Maybe. And maybe not. It happens that there was a Big Name Fan in the New York area answering very closely to that description (except for murder, of course), about the time Heinlein was polishing up his magnum opus. And Heinlein had already established a habit of writing friends and acquaintances into bit parts in his fiction.
His name was Elliot K. Shorter, and he cast a giant shadow everywhere he went - fandom, folksongs, the SCA, just...everywhere.
I met him at a Boskone mumblety-umble years ago, and he was very kind to a rank neofan - he was kind to nearly everyone. That is how I wish to remember him: very large, very impressive, very gentle, very kind.
I left the Northeast, and slipped out of contact with almost everyone - including El. I wish I had made more of an effort not to.
The last few years were not good to him, with failing health and loss of independence - but, fortunately, not loss of friends. At least he still had those, right to the end.
I'll let File 770 tale it from here. http://file770.com/...