I’m the first to admit I’d already made up my mind about Geraldo.

To begin with, there’s this whole “Print vs. Television journalism” thing among news professionals, although admittedly that estrangement has evolved by leaps and bounds in recent years. And there’s the celebrity element. We’ve all heard stories about encounters with celebrities in real life, and many of those stories are not pretty. But his Fox News affiliation topped the list. I’m not a Fox fan and for me the pairing of the words “Fox” and “News” is an oxymoron, with an emphasis on the last part of that word.

But I am smart enough to know that one doesn’t become hugely successful in any profession without being good at said profession.

Turns out, Geraldo’s a pretty good guy: Respectful. Professional. A gentleman.

I had e-mailed the O’Reilly Show requesting an interview with Geraldo Rivera or Bill O’Reilly after they took a local judge to task on national television. The judge had handed down a sentence in a story I had covered that was evidently picked up by state and then national news organizations.

A couple of days later after my e-mail, Rivera replied that he was coming to town and asked if we could meet for coffee. So on Thursday, we met at the local coffee shop.

He had a photographer. I had a photographer.

He had a PDA in one hand, I had my trusty Blackberry.

He wielded a Fox microphone in his other hand. Mine held a recorder.

Coffees were ordered, the microphone and recorder were laid on the table and we sat facing each other. I braced myself. After all, I was about to interview a man whose name is a household word. (In some households, anyway. My 21-year-old daughter is not impressed.)

Then he smiled, said some wonderful things about McAlester and answered every single question I asked. We disagreed on some points, and he was professional and respectful about it. When his phone rang (he was working on a story, after all), he politely excused himself before answering.

We wrapped up our interview, thanked each other for the time, and he shook some hands on his way out. I came back to the office to work on our new NCommon magazine — deadline is next week! — and he went off to who-knows-where.

A couple of hours later, I received a text from Geraldo. Lunch?

I didn’t want to accept. Really. I was already pushing a deadline on the magazine, and my coverage of his coverage of a story I broke was already wreaking havoc on my carefully charted calendar. But I was sitting next to our magazine designer, who was mad because I hadn’t brought him back an autograph, and we both had to eat anyway ...

Geraldo and Craig, his photographer/assistant person, met up with Eric and I at Roseanna’s, sans recorders. I sat next to Geraldo at the back of the restaurant and have never seen so many camera phones pointed in my direction in my life. There was Joe with his crew from ABLE at one big table. There were the advertising folks from our office at another. At least one guy came in off the street — “My wife said I had to come in here and get your picture,” he told Geraldo — and a handful more before, during and after our meal.

He was gracious to every single one.

Here’s a guy who’s recognized everywhere he goes. I imagine that whenever he leaves his home or office he’s asked to pose for photos, to sign an autograph, to listen to a tale of corruption or heartache or deprivation.

We talked about life in New York City. Actually, he lives in New Jersey but works in Manhattan. He answered questions about his children, his tattoos, and his work on My Name Is Earl. (“The guys on the crew were really cool to work with.”) I asked about the competition for nursery school slots in the Big Apple — he knows of a guy who donated $1 million to a school for his toddler and was still wait-listed — his books and magazines, and his Peabody. He talked about chasing Bin Laden, he asked about our magazine, he talked about sailing with his buddy Charlie Komar.

Not once during the couple of hours we spent together did he decline a request or heave a sigh of indignation. He never seemed arrogant. He never seemed entitled — Liz wouldn’t let us pay for our lunches, even though he really, really tried to convince her otherwise. (Eric and I tried to pay for ours, too, but she was pretty insistent.) Instead, she took Geraldo into the kitchen for a bit of cheesecake and more photos.

And Eric got his autograph on a dollar bill. It was the only piece of paper he had.

Kandra Wells is a staff writer for the McAlester News-Capital. She can be reached at at kwells@mcalesternews.com.