Back in the mid-1990s, I lived in Chicago's Hyde Park neighborhood. My wife was a medical student at the University of Chicago and I worked as a newspaper reporter.
I didn't know it, but also living in Hyde Park a few blocks away was a fellow just a couple years older than me named Barack Obama. At the time, he was a part-time lecturer at the University of Chicago Law School, and I'm sure that at one time or another we crossed paths. I had no idea who he was, and unless he was a regular reader of the Chicago Daily Southtown, I'm pretty certain he had no idea who I was.
During that time, another reporter and I decided we wanted to write a non-fiction book about aging super-jocks--men and women in their 60s, 70s and 80s who could still sprint or do an Ironman or play baseball.
So we searched long and hard for a literary agent, and finally we found one who liked our material. Her name was Jane Dystel, and she worked in New York City.
A few years earlier, Jane Dystel had agreed to rep another client: my neighbor, Barack Obama!
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