Headline: A TRUE FRIEND
Reporter:

Publication: ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
Last Printed:  Wed., Jan. 1, 2003
Section: EDITORIAL, Page: B6, Edition: FIVE STAR LIFT

GREGORY B. FREEMAN 1956-2002

EVEN seated in a wheelchair, as he was so often forced to in recent years, Greg Freeman was a physically imposing man -- tall and wide, with big powerful mitts that would envelop yours when you reached to shake his hand.

But Greg, who died early Tuesday morning at the age of 46, was more than that.
    He had a rare form of muscular dystrophy that gradually robbed him of his mobility. First to go was the unmistakable side-to-side bounce in his step. Then his balance. Finally, the strength to walk. His kidneys slowly shut down until, just over a year ago, he required a transplant. But he never complained. Greg was more than that.
    
He loved Superman comics, and campy television shows like "The Munsters." He had an endearing humility and infectious, enormous grin. He laughed a lot, but never ever at anyone else's expense. He had a dynamite singing voice. After a beer or two, and much coaxing from his cronies at the annual office holiday bash, he'd bring the house down with his seismic rendition of the '60s party anthem, "Shout." But Greg was more than that.

Greg was a true believer. He loved St. Louis for all its quirks, and in spite of its flaws. He truly believed that downtown St. Louis could again become the kind of vibrant place it once was. He truly believed that blacks and whites could resolve many of their problems, if they would only listen to one another. No matter how disappointing the present might be, he truly believed that things would be better tomorrow.
    
Although Greg tackled some of the toughest issues in contemporary American society -- racism, poverty, violence, ignorance -- the battles never hardened him. His style was not confrontational, but decent and civil and approachable. It earned him a special place in the hearts of St. Louis readers, and fans of his regular KWMU-FM broadcasts, and his television shows. His even-handed, persistent prodding often worked better than 1,000 angry screeds.

Out of a column he wrote nine years ago came a program called Bridges Across Racial Polarization, which brings people together over dinner for frank conversation. Earlier this year, the Pew Charitable Trust chose it as one of just 19 across the nation worthy of being designated a "Solution for America." Three years before, it had been named a "promising practice" by the President's Initiative on Race.
    A year-long Post-Dispatch public awareness campaign on organ donation, which featured a first-person account of Greg's kidney transplant -- his sister was the donor -- resulted in hundreds of local people signing up to be organ donors.

For a gentle man who wrote with such compassion and respect, Greg received an inordinate amount of hate mail. Unfortunately, it went with the territory.
   He was asked not long ago how he maintained his positive spirit in the face of such venom. "Oh, I don't pay any attention to that, " he said.
   
That was Greg Freeman.

Perhaps more than it knows, St. Louis will miss his healing words, and his hopeful heart.


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