Good Ole Daniel

Good Ole Daniel, by Frank DiBona

Both the doctor and the patient were excited about the upcoming appointment. Dr. Riggio had heard about Daniel Coleman almost as soon as he opened his practice in South Carolina. One of his first dialysis patients, Queen Coleman, Daniel's niece, spoke so glowingly about him. A few years later Riggio hired a physicians assistant, Darius Singleton, who was Daniel's nephew. Darius told the doctor that his uncle would be his patient "very soon." He was currently a patient at the Veteran's Hospital outpatient clinic and he was showing signs of advancing kidney failure. Darius also told him that there were five other family members with various degrees of kidney disease. "You're going to be the Family Nephrologist."

Likewise, Daniel Coleman had been hearing about the "great" Dr. Riggio for years. At Queen's funeral he noticed the doctor, one of a handful of whites, of the hundreds in attendance, conversing with many of the mourners, some of them patients of the doctor, others family members. He heard that Dr. Riggio had referred Queen to the Medical University of South Carolina for a kidney- pancreas transplant, the first referral for the two-organ transplant for the doctor, and one of the first referrals to that program. Queen's kidney failure was well controlled by dialysis but her diabetes had always been uncontrolled. A pancreas transplant, Riggio had told her, would cure the diabetes and end the roller coaster swings of her sugar; a kidney transplant would end her three-times a week sessions on the dialysis machine. Queen was accepted onto the transplant list but, unfortunately, died before a suitable donor was found.

As the doctor enter the examination room, Daniel Coleman and his wife Claudette, stood to greet him. He was a big man, well over six feet tall and 265 pounds. He wore his weight well so that he did not appear so much obese as just large. He had a slight limp which Riggio judged was an old football injury. Claudette was nearly a big as her husband. Dr. Riggio's wife, Kim, often remarked how unfair it was that a black woman could be a hundred pounds overweight and still look good, feel attractive, and command the room. If a white woman had five pounds extra on her she felt ugly and wore sweat clothes all day.

Daniel wore a white-on-white dress shirt, open at the collar, with French cuffs and cufflinks bearing the seal of the NAACP. His trousers were black striped, cuffed dress pants, his wing-tipped dress shoes black and recently shined. He had a gold watch and a solid gold ring with the seal of some fraternal organization. Dr. Riggio, in his tan khaki slacks, casual walking shoes, GAP shirt with no tie, and his rumpled white lab coat, felt underdressed.

"Hello, I'm Vince Riggio," he said, extending his hand to Claudette then to Daniel.

"So, you're the great Dr. Riggio! Queen and her mom bragged on you forever. I'm Daniel Coleman and this is my wife, Claudette."

They were on a first name basis from then on, at least when alone. With others around, Daniel generally called Riggio, "Doc" or "Dr. Riggio."

"Queen passed three or four years ago, I think," said the doctor.


"It was six years ago," Claudette corrected him.


"Wow, time flies. I think of her all the time. She was special to me, to a lot of people."


"She sure loved you, Dr. Riggio," Claudette said.


Daniel Coleman had a personality as enormous as his body. He had a self-assurance that did not need bravado. He was not someone who had to "find" himself. He never knew what that meant.

He was the grandson of a slave. His grandfather, Noah Coleman, born in 1860 on a farm less than ten miles from where the Coleman's now lived, was a blacksmith, a much needed skill. He turned his blacksmithing know-how into a successful wrought iron fence business, his artistic, elaborate, front gates treasured throughout the area. His son, Aaron, Daniel's father, expanded the fence business, adding barbed wire, chain link, split rail, and picket fences to the repertoire. Aaron's calm and relaxed personality, his honesty and his competency, allowed the business to thrive. By the time his fourth son, Daniel was born in 1926, the Coleman family was as close to prosperous as a black family in the Deep South dare dream.