The reserve officer for the Indianapolis Police Department has Lou Gehrig's disease. He can no longer walk.
"Helping out people was my big thing," Preddie says, catching his breath as he sits in a recliner at his home in Pike Township. As a reserve officer, he picked up tasks such as overnight shifts after a storm and extra patrols during holiday weekends -- all voluntary and unpaid since 1984.
Preddie, who retired in 1999 after 24 years in the Army National Guard, lives on a military pension.
He volunteered an average of 40 hours a week last year and is regularly in the top third among IPD's 34 reserve officers. He earned a promotion to sergeant in 2001.
Since last fall, he has been one of about 30,000 Americans diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, a disease that most associate with its best-known victim, Hall of Fame first baseman Gehrig. The progressive condition attacks nerve cells in the brain and the spinal cord, leaving people paralyzed in its later stages.
The life expectancy after diagnosis is usually from two to five years, but a small number of patients have survived for more than a decade.
"ALS is not necessarily a terminal sentence," said Richard Brooks, a columnist for the Sarasota (Fla.) Herald-Tribune who has chronicled his own fight against the disease for more than six years. "Researchers are close to developing a cure. Hang in there."
It has taken a heavy toll on Preddie, 58, who prides himself on staying busy. Besides his work as an IPD reservist, he spent about 10 years as a Pike Township volunteer firefighter.
Preddie's knees gave out about eight months ago, his first symptom of a disease that has moved rapidly.
He can't hold a pen or easily clear his throat. He recently was hospitalized for respiratory problems.
He has no desire to get inside the famed oval track. His main wish is less glamorous: to go to West 30th Street for traffic detail, so the native of Trinidad can listen to his buddies tease him about his accent.
"That's what has been hard to take," he said. "To sit here, and know I can't get there."
He wants his old life back. The feeling is mutual.
"He is going to be missed," said Lt. Mark Bennett, who commands IPD's reserve unit. "He was always good for morale.
"I'd like to think any one of us isn't replaceable, but we all are.
"But it will make it a longer day without him."
Preddie's view through a second-floor bedroom window is a constant reminder of his limitations.
He can see the weeds and grass that have taken over a backyard garden that would grow flush in summer with tomatoes, peppers and cucumbers.
He relies on family -- his wife, Jacqueline, three sons and eight surviving siblings.
"One of my brothers is a deacon in the church," Preddie says. "He tells me whenever I am going to do anything, always say, 'In Jesus' name' and grab whatever part to move it.
"That's what I do in my mind."
He has developed a kinship with a next-door neighbor, John Wesley Methodist Church. He waves to the congregation as it arrives on Sunday mornings.
Preddie remains on the reserve officer schedule. He recognizes he can still give something back to the community, in a different form.
"I can speak to people. I can give advice," he said. "People still call me for advice. As a matter of fact, since I've been sick, I've been called several times from people who got arrested and wanted to know what to do."
"I'm still alive," he said. "I thank God every morning that I get up."