2007-10-06
Freem.
Sometimes, there just aren't any words.
Freeman Frank passed away this week. How I miss him.
Over the last ten years or so, since the houseboy and I have been together, Freem has been such a source of joy and inspiration for me. When Kev and I had been going out for a little while, I was invited to go to "pizza and movie night" at the Franks' house. This was a big deal. For I don't know how many years, the Dethmuffens would gather for pizza, ribald conversation, and a movie. I was nervous as HELL that first time, but I was welcomed so heartily by Freeman and Sally that I immediately felt at home. And over the ensuing years that connection only deepened.
Freem was one of those people who knew a little bit of everything about everything. He could connect with anyone on any level. I remember one of our last conversations so vividly, standing there in the hallway, when he realized that we were both in recovery. He told me a great story about how one of the early AA clubhouses in Boston raised the money to buy a television set -- an extravagant purchase in those days -- so that folks could watch the ballgame without having to go to a bar. He was just so elated at being able to tell me this, and I was just as happy to hear it.
For so many reasons, my life has been enriched by having known Freem, even though the pizza/movie nights grew fewer and farther between as his health declined. I see him in his recliner in the dark living room, illuminated only by the television's glow. I hear the slight lipsmacking noises he'd make as he was watching the movie, occasionally asking "What'd he say, Sal?" when he didn't quite catch something. I think of the low growl his voice would take on when he'd refer to some sonofabitch in a story he was telling, and the delight he took in embarrassing the hell out of Ad in front of us.
I am but one of countless people who've been changed for the better by Freeman Frank, and yet he had that remarkable gift of making you feel like you were the brightest, most fascinating person in the room, if not the world. My heart breaks for Ad and Cal, for Sally, for his grandchildren....for all of us.
For in the peopled forest of my mind
A tree made leafless by this wintry wind
Shall never don again its green array.
Chapel and fireside, country road and bay,
Have something of their friendliness resigned;
Another, if I would, I could not find,
And I am grown much older in a day.
But yet I treasure in my memory
Your gift of charity, and young hearts ease,
And the dear honour of your amity;
For these once mine, my life is rich with these.
And I scarce know which part may greater be,--
What I keep of you, or you rob from me.
--George Santayana
lisamcc at 7:04 p.m.
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