George Altman is 76, but he has the appearance of a man who could still run down a ball in the gap. He's 6 feet 4 and rangy and looks as if he could fit into the Chicago Cubs uniform he wore with distinction from 1959 until 1967.

If you want to be precise, he did not play with the Cubs in 1963 or 1964. He spent the first of those two seasons with the Cardinals. A true-blue Cub, Altman does not speak of that time often. For the record, he and Don Cardwell were traded to the Cardinals for Larry Jackson and Lindy McDaniel. The Cardinals then traded him to the Mets for Roger Craig. After a year with the Mets, he returned home to finish his big-league career with the Cubs.

He then played in Japan for eight years before going to work at the Chicago Board of Trade. Upon his retirement, he and his wife, Etta, moved to her hometown of Jefferson City.

He volunteered at Jefferson City High School to be a mentor for troubled kids. He was also involved in a similar program at his church.

One of the kids at the high school was Mikel Brice, who was a recent arrival from Los Angeles. He cultivated a gangster image. At first, Brice was openly skeptical of this man who claimed he wanted to help him. Brice had never had a man in his life. Not in a positive way, anyway. His mother had had a boyfriend in LA, but he was abusive and was, in fact, the reason his mother had taken him and his sister to Missouri.

Altman, meanwhile, saw something in the youngster.

"I just thought he had potential. He had an engaging personality. He wasn't doing well in school, but he seemed bright and basically a decent kid," Altman said.

Not too long after the mentoring had begun, disaster struck. In November 1996, Brice, who was then 16, was arrested in a crime almost unimaginably heinous. He was accused of injecting a pregnant woman with a mixture of cocaine and antifreeze.

As laid out by the state, the story was bizarre. It involved a 38-year-old woman whose husband had left her for another woman. The other woman then became pregnant. The wife thought she would have a better chance of getting her husband back if the other woman weren't pregnant. So she recruited a young woman and two young men to assault her rival. Brice was one of the young men.

Altman visited Brice in the county jail in the months leading up to the trial. He was amazed at the youngster's cheerful demeanor.

Brice pleaded not guilty. He claimed he had gotten drunk the night of the assault and passed out on a couch. The assailants had worn ski masks and the victim was unable to identify them. But there was enough other evidence, including the testimony of the young woman who said she drove Brice and the other young man to the victim's home, that the jury took only an hour to convict Brice of two counts of first-degree assault.

If there was a positive note to the case, it was this: the victim recovered and the baby was born without complications.

Brice received 15 years on each count.

Altman has stayed in touch over the years. Mostly through letters but also with occasional visits. A couple of years ago, he called the parole board to inquire when Brice would be eligible for parole. He learned that the sentences are consecutive, not concurrent, and Brice will have to do 85 percent of 30 years before he can be released.

So Altman began a one-man campaign to win Brice's release. "People get less time for murder, don't they? And he was only 16," Altman said.

The campaign has not been very successful. What public official wants to help a man who injected a pregnant woman with antifreeze?

Still, no matter how you feel about Brice, you have to admire Altman. He is a strong Christian and he believes in redemption, and he says with great feeling, "He was 16. Doesn't that mean something?"

Brice is in the Jefferson City Correctional Center. Altman visited him last week, and I was there. Brice is currently in administrative segregation because of an assault. "A long story," he said.

Altman talked about the importance of choosing friends. "I didn't do that so well. I wish I would have listened to you," Brice said. He said he had no friends anymore. Just "associates" and "loved ones." "You're a loved one," he said to Altman. "You're a great man."

Brice said he was going to file a motion asking the trial judge to modify the sentence and run the two terms concurrently. Brice said he had learned to read in prison, and he had grown up. "I'm ready to get out," he said.

"I'll help if I can," said Altman.