For Harry Belluomini, working security part time at the Dirksen Federal Building was one step closer to a dream of long afternoons spent floating on a Wisconsin lake.
The retired Chicago police officer had worked in law enforcement for more than three decades. He was eager to leave it all behind.
But when Jeffrey Erickson approached him Monday on the final leg of a violent escape attempt, Belluomini`s police instincts were called upon one last time. Erickson had fatally shot U.S. Deputy Marshal Roy Frakes and was running to the exit ramp of the Dirksen Building`s underground parking garage, 219 S. Dearborn St.
Erickson tried to distract Belluomini by pointing back toward Frakes`
crumpled body. But Belluomini didn`t buy it. When the two were 4 or 5 feet apart, they simultaneously opened fire, police said. Belluomini was struck in the chest and back.
As Erickson charged toward rush-hour traffic on Jackson Boulevard, Belluomini fired his .38-caliber revolver three more times, striking Erickson once in the back. When the shooting was over, Belluomini and Erickson lay dying a few yards apart on a grimy concrete ramp.
Frakes` law-enforcement experience was as fresh as Belluomini`s was seasoned. Only 30 years old, Frakes had been with the marshals service for just nine months.
On Tuesday, in his hometown of Avon, Ill., where he was known as
”Bill,” there were, in his mother`s words, ”just silence and prayers.”
Belluomini, the veteran, and Frakes, the rookie, were remembered by family, friends and colleagues in the stark, aching and bitter language reserved for tragedy in the line of civic duty.
”Harry Belluomini was a hero in this situation,” said William Clancy, assistant special agent in charge of the FBI`s Chicago office. ”We can only begin to speculate as to what kind of mischief Erickson might have caused had he succeeded in getting up the ramp.”
”He smelled a rat,” said John Stibich, Chicago police chief of detectives. ”He took a step back, and he tried to pop him.”
Frakes, a weightlifter, did not have a chance to defend himself, according to police. Erickson shot him twice, first in the forehead, then at point-blank range in the left side of his back.
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Belluomini had spent a career chasing down mostly burglars and thieves, working out of the Grand-Central Area on the Northwest Side. He joined the Police Department in 1957 and was promoted to detective four years later.
”What a good policeman, a street policeman,” said George Ruckrich, deputy superintendent of investigative services and Belluomini`s onetime partner. ”He had a phenomenal memory for criminal histories. When we worked burglary together, he would remember license plates and which cars certain burglars were using. He was very good at questioning people and stopping them.”
In 1989, six months after retiring, Belluomini passed on his officer`s star to his daughter, Karen, who is an officer in the Wood Street District. On Tuesday, she was left to contemplate the ultimate sacrifice sometimes demanded by her profession.
”It makes me sick that a piece of garbage killed my father,” she said.
”It shouldn`t have happened. They should have had more security. They knew Erickson was nuts.”
It was the type of reaction her father might have had to such a crime, as his approach to police work, she said, was guided by simple principles.
”After I graduated from the academy, he took me out to dinner at the Rosebud on Taylor Street,” she said. ”The advice he gave me was, `Be careful.`
”He was sharp. He knew the job was about common sense.”
Harry Belluomini was looking forward to retirement. He and his wife, Milly, who recently celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary, were spending more time in their cabin in Mercer, Wis. There in the woods, Belluomini lived out his fantasy, playing canasta or 2-cent limit poker, preparing his signature dish-fettucine alfredo with garlic bread-and fishing, though he never caught many fish.
While Belluomini was approaching the end of his career, Frakes was just embarking on what had been a long-held dream.
”He always wanted to be a marshal,” said Carl Fanth, Frake`s father-in- law, as he loaded a few boxes of his daughter`s clothes into a truck outside the couple`s Forest Park apartment. ”Now I wish he hadn`t.”
Wendy Frakes was leaving the apartment Tuesday, just three months after she and her husband had moved to Chicago.
Frakes joined the U.S. Marshals Service in October 1991, said a spokesman for the service. His relatives said he had waited for an opening for three years.
”When he found out, he was in seventh heaven,” said his mother, JoAnn Frakes. ”He said, `I know you guys thought I would never make it, but I did.` ”
Though the young couple had been married since September 1990, they had not had a chance to spend much time together. Frakes had worked for a time in New Jersey, with a high-tech security firm. His wife stayed in her hometown of Davenport, Iowa, in a computer operator`s job. They moved to Chicago after he was assigned to the federal court building.
”This was really their honeymoon,” Fanth said.
The couple busied themselves decorating their new home, hanging a plaque of kissing geese on the front door.
As investigators were determining that Erickson`s rampage began after he used a key to escape his handcuffs, Fanth reflected on what had been lost.
”Whoever handed that (handcuff) key to (Erickson) will have to live with this for the rest of his life. He destroyed a beautiful couple`s plans for life, for their future and for a family.”