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By Alex CoffeyThe Philadelphia InquirerPHILADELPHIA — Kelly Davis is at every Phillies game, home and away, and is almost always in the background. Sometimes, he’ll sit on a stool behind third base coach Dusty Wathan. Other times, he’ll stand at the bottom of the dugout steps, not far from manager Rob Thomson. But he is never, ever the focal point — which is exactly how he likes it.Despite his preference for anonymity, Davis has an incredibly important job. Since 2020, he has been the Phillies’ manager of team security. Whenever they’re at work, he’s at work, making sure the players, coaches and their families are safe.While this is what they pay him to do, it is not the only thing he does. Over the last five years, Davis’ role has evolved. He’s become something akin to a team therapist. Players have turned to him for personal and professional advice, and more than a few have asked to hear stories from his surprisingly colorful past.The 62-year-old Chicago native spent 28 years in the Chicago Police Department, first as a uniformed officer, and then undercover in the city’s housing projects. He transitioned to narcotics, where he would make deals with local drug traffickers. That was his day job.Beginning in 1995, he found the rowdiest side gig in sports: serving, for four years, as Dennis Rodman’s personal security guard. He accompanied the Bulls star to games and nightclubs, on trips to Vegas and wedding dress-themed book signings.“When I heard that, that definitely made me feel … safe,” said outfielder Brandon Marsh. “Because I know Rodman has been through it and done some stuff. So I know we’re good with Kelly. This is vacation for him.”Davis laughed at Marsh’s comment. It’s true that his job is not as chaotic as it once was. He is no longer dodging bullets as a street cop or keeping watch over one of the most controversial stars in NBA history. But through it all, he has kept the same calm demeanor.His boss, Sal DeAngelis, calls it “Zen-like.” “We have compared him to Phil Jackson in the past,” DeAngelis said, referring to the former Bulls and Lakers head coach.Right fielder Nick Castellanos has another word for it.“Centered,” Castellanos said. “Whether we’re on a crazy win streak or in a pretty tough time, he’s always the same.”Calm amid chaosDavis has always been unflappable, even amid the bigotry he faced as a child. His parents, William and Adele, were born in the South. They met picking cotton in North Carolina and moved to Chicago in 1955.The family of six — three sons and one daughter — lived in a small apartment in Uptown, a predominantly Black neighborhood on the north side. Davis and his brothers, Eric and William Jr., shared a room. In 1968, Davis’ father attempted to relocate the family to Ravenswood, a middle-class community not far from Uptown. A nearby bank refused to give him a loan. “They told him, ‘You can’t live here,’” Davis said. His father’s boss, Robert Anderson, who was a top executive at Sears, Roebuck and Co., stepped in.“Mr. Anderson said to go back to the same bank and speak to the same loan officer,” Davis said. “And as soon as my parents got there, the door swung open. The bank people said, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Davis, the paperwork is ready for you.’”Things didn’t get easier from there. Theirs was the only Black family in Ravenswood. People would throw debris at their house and damage their car. One time, someone dropped a makeshift bomb onto their porch.He learned to time his walks to school so he wouldn’t have to wait at a red light. If he stopped for too long, passersby would spit on him or chuck drinks from their cars.“I was 10 years old,” Davis said. “I’m like, ‘What’s going on? I don’t understand this.’” It didn’t take long for him to gravitate to a career in law enforcement. After graduating high school, Davis studied criminal justice at the University of Northern Colorado. In 1988, he was hired by the Chicago Police Department.He began work as an undercover cop in the narcotics unit in 1995 and stayed in that role for 15 years. It was harrowing, dangerous work, but Davis’ temperament was perfect for it.“When you’re in a shootout, that adrenaline is flowing through your body at its peak,” he said. “And it’s easy to kind of lose yourself, but you do have to remain calm. Luckily, I can definitely remain calm.”(Davis said he has been shot at “multiple times.”)About a month before the start of the 1995-96 NBA season, he received a call from a childhood friend, George Triantafillo. Triantafillo worked as a security guard at the United Center, the home of the Bulls, and had interacted with Rodman a few times. Now, Rodman and Triantafillo were out at a club, and Triantafillo wanted Davis to join them.“I’m like, ‘I don’t want to hang out with him,’” Davis recalled saying. “He pushed [Bulls star] Scottie Pippen into the [stanchion] in the [1991] playoffs. And he cut his chin. I’m like, ‘[expletive] that guy.’”After some persuasion from his friend, Davis ended up going to the club. He drove Rodman home that night. They exchanged phone numbers and continued to meet up.Davis and Triantafillo began looking out for Rodman in an unofficial capacity, by helping to manage crowds that formed around the Bulls star. Rodman’s agent soon hired them as his personal security team.It was the beginning of one the most chaotic periods of Davis’ life. “There were so many stories that Dennis and I had an imaginary book,” he said. “Every time something crazy would happen, we would say, ‘That’s Chapter 80.’”Protecting Rodman — from himselfDespite Rodman’s aesthetic — the hair dye, the piercings, the makeup — Davis described him as an “introvert.” But the power forward was prone to reckless decision-making, so Davis’ job was to protect him from himself.They set some early ground rules. Rodman wouldn’t carry a gun. He wouldn’t…ЗАКРЫТЬ ▲