Last man at the shoeshine stand in downtown Chicago
Magic Johnson’s size 14 wingtips. Former Mayor Lori Lightfoot’s size 8 brogues. Perennial mayoral candidate and gas-giveway millionaire Willie Wilson’s size 11s.
Forty-dollar shoes. Thousand-dollar shoes. And everything in between.
Steve Fullerton has cared for them all, the snap of his buffing rags echoing beneath the vaulted marble ceiling of the Cook County Building for the past 20 years.
You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat their shoes, says the 57-year-old West Sider.
“If you don’t care for your shoes, what other parts of your life aren’t you taking care of?" Fullerton says. "You only live once. God gave you two feet. Be good to them. They take you all over. They walk for you. They help you dance."
By that analysis, the world might be in serious trouble.
On a weekday morning, snowmelt still crusted the sidewalks beneath the looming Corinthian columns adorning the County Building. But the wooden benches where Fullerton scrubs away salt, mud and other unsightly muck remained empty.
Blame the pandemic and changing tastes in footwear. When he first started, Fullerton might polish 50 pairs of shoes in a day.
“Now, you’ll be lucky if you get 10,” he says. “Younger people wear gym shoes and sandals. They don’t have the same enthusiasm about dressing up nice.”
Standalone shoeshine guys like Fullerton are an endangered species.
Still, Fullerton shows up each morning at 8:30 a.m. sharp, with a pack of Newport smokes, a can of ginger ale and a White Sox cap on his head. He keeps his gear locked up in a tall wooden box that looks like something a magician might use to store wands, top hats and the like.
R&B oldies crackled from a dusty radio.
“Is chivalry dead when it comes to dating?” the radio host asked.
Fullerton has never been married, has no kids.
“Women like financial stability,” he says.
But he has no shortage of admirers.
“Steve’s a wonderful person. He’s been in the building forever. He’s just like family,” says Charlotte McGill, 63, who works in the county’s property tax department and has Fullerton shine her shoes once a month.
Among those passing by to say hello but not stopping on this day is Cook County Commissioner John Daley.
“Commissioner, how are you?” Fullerton says.
“Great conversations, and he always gives great advice!” Daley calls out when Fullerton explains that a reporter is interviewing him.
Lightfoot was a customer. When she was a kid, Lightfoot’s father shined shoes as a side gig.
“I learned from a very early age how to shine shoes and the importance of it,” she says. “I appreciate how hard it is to make your money that way.”
Sitting in Fullerton’s chair offered a brief escape from her grueling job.
“I like getting my shoes shined,” Lightfoot says. “It feels very therapeutic.”
She and Fullerton would “chitchat,” but he never grilled her about her policy decisions.
“That’s not a good recipe for repeat customers,” Lightfoot says.
* * *
Half an hour after Fullerton arrives this day, and after hundreds of people have streamed into the building, Fullerton gets his first customer: a lawyer on his way to court. Smartly dressed, he's wearing chocolate-brown dress shoes, but they could do with a shine.
Fullerton lathers up the shoes with a frothy layer of saddle soap, while the man checks his phone. What Fullerton does next, he asks not to be revealed. He's is very protective of his secret “recipe.”
“Do you know how many years it took me to learn to shine shoes!” he says, aghast that anyone might even consider making his technique public.
Suffice to say that Fullerton applies a dark brown polish — Angelus Brand Perfect Stain Shoe Wax Polish — multiple times. Then lots of rubbing and buffing, a procedure lasting about 15 minutes.
When he's done, the gleam would make a Marine Corps drill sergeant proud. Fullerton charges $10 — whether the shoes belong to the giant feet of an NBA player or those of a diminutive mayor.
“Most people tip," Fullerton says. "My work is superb — one of the best shines in the city."
And one of the last.