For ABC/7, he stands outside the big windows of the news studio, which open onto State Street. You can't miss him. For NBC/5, he's worked his way up to regular Friday morning appearances. The station's news studio overlooks Pioneer Court Plaza, and when the anchors go outside to chat with people, there's Vincent. He's agreed to appear exclusively on the Channel 5 early news, where I have never seen him, because his usual spin on Fridays is just before the 6 a.m. sign-on of the Today show.

He also does radio; WGN talker John Williams, interviewed in the film, does his show in a Tribune Tower studio with a window on Michigan Av. "I make it a point to not interact with people who try to get my attention," he says, "but Vincent..." It's possible Vincent's eyesight is so bad he can't even see Williams behind behind tinted glass in the daytime, but he knows the studio is there, just as he seems to know a lot of other things.

He's well-informed on the personnel of the TV news operations, for example, recently writing me: "For months, Channel 7 has been cutting me out of the crowd shots. But, recently, I've been getting in the shots on weekends. This is when Michael Wall is usually the director. But I'm still being cut out of the shots all the time on weekdays, when Jef Kos is usually the director." How many viewers with 20/20 vision know those names?

You might be forgiven for suspecting that Vincent is a few doughnuts short of a dozen. I know I did. Then I saw a remarkable new documentary by Jennifer Burns named "Vincent: A Life in Color," which unfolds into the mystery of a human personality. His life is one that Oliver Sachs, the poet of strange lives, might find fascinating. Considering that Vincent has been showing up for years and performing his "show" with flamboyant new suits, would it surprise you to learn that he is a college graduate? A computer programmer? A former deejay in gay North Side discos? Owns his own condo in Marina City? Buys his own suits? Legally blind?

All of these things are true. I can easily believe he buys his own suits. What I can hardly believe is that they are sold. We accompany him on a visit to his customary clothing store, which perhaps caters otherwise to members of the world's second oldest profession. Surely he's their best customer; I don't recall ever seeing the same suit twice in the film.

Jennifer Burns, who both produced and directed the film, says that like most Chicagoans, she'd seen Vincent and his colorful suits around for years. How could she not? Then one day she was looking out her office window, watching him performing for a tour boat, "and I was struck by the look of sheer joy I saw on his face. I thought to myself, whatever else you have to say about this guy, he has figured out what makes him happy and he does it, regardless of what anyone else thinks." She approached him, and he agreed to be the subject of a film--not surprising, since his pastime is drawing attention to himself. The subtext of the film is how differently life could have turned out for Vincent.