Big as Life

"You miss the little things," he says. "Like fishing. Church. Being able to walk into a place and play keno. The stupid stuff, like going shopping. . . . I miss walking around a park at night. Just the little stupid [stuff]. Carnivals. . . . But the biggest thing I miss is being able to take care of my own problems. And when I am done, I will take care of problems."

Keitz holds his fork and spoon with the incongruous daintiness of large people. He takes his time. He sips the stew, discards the skin from his chicken, eats only one breast, pronounces the rice overcooked.

The guest cleans his plate: very good. He regards his host, whose appearance is not so shocking anymore. You see how it could become normal.

Keitz asks, "For cooking from a bed, how do you think I did?"

Living Large

He was always a big boy: 100 pounds in first grade, 165 in fourth. The kids used to call him Fat Albert. Beluga Whale. Blimp.

So he became a fighter. "Big boys didn't cry, they kicked ass," he says. "If you lined up everybody I hit in a row, you could probably go from Dundalk to New Jersey."

He is the youngest of six children. His five sisters are between nine and 20 years older than he, and he is estranged from all but Jessie. Two declined to be interviewed; two could not be reached. Before ending a brief conversation, one sister said, "If Johnny got as big as he is, that's on him. Nobody put the spoon to his mouth."

His parents were first cousins, Keitz says. His father, who died in 1999, worked in a steel mill at Sparrows Point. He stood 5 feet 9, an inch shorter than his son, and weighed 240 to 260 pounds, Keitz recalls. His mother, who died in 1994, was shorter and had a gut.

As Keitz tells his life stories, the rites of passage of a boy growing up, food is often present, in the background of the anecdote, if it is not the point. He recalls a happy childhood as the baby, getting the most attention when his sisters had grown up. His mother and great-aunt taught him how to cook, and he revered his "awesome pop." John Sr. and John Jr. liked to take weekend drives together or go shoot pellet guns, and often stopped at McDonald's for lunch. One Saturday, they placed their regular orders -- Big Mac, fries, chocolate shake for the old man; Quarter Pounder with cheese, fries, strawberry shake for the 16-year-old. Keitz had in his pocket the proceeds of his first paycheck, from another McDonald's. As his dad was pulling out his wallet, the boy insisted lunch was on him.

"You had to be there to see his face," Keitz says. "He got this grin, as if to say, 'That's my boy.' "

His father was about the only person Keitz tolerated criticism from over his weight, because he figured the old man was just trying to help. "He'd say, 'For you to lose weight we gotta break your arm so it don't bend,' " Keitz says.

He won second place in a chili-cooking contest. Several of his jobs were in restaurants: Wendy's, Bojangles', Popeye's. He also worked in a gas station and a bowling alley and was a bouncer in a strip club, sometimes holding three jobs at once. He catered his own parties and charged admission. He dreamed of opening a restaurant.