Good evening, 919 Gang. Tributes to Don Freeman are pouring
in.
BONNIE ROGERS writes:
I write this with great sadness. Don
Freeman is gone. And so is my fantasy that someday our paths would cross again.
That we would talk and reminisce, and he would remember something that I had
forgotten and we would laugh together about the absurdity of it all.
We worked together daily for three and
a half years, not so long in the great scheme of things, but significant in its
timing. Don was just beginning his life as a columnist and was not yet
comfortable with the power of his voice. I was a blank slate. He was a perfectionist.
I was 17.
Our working relationship was not
exactly full of conflict, but it was replete with struggle. His for perfection.
Mine for survival. We were not friends. We did not share the ready office
banter I enjoyed with others in The
San Diego Union news room in 1953. But we came to share a common
purpose -- each doing our best.
He was able to convince me that
correcting the radio logs in 6-point agate was the most important job on the
paper. "Look," he said. "If there is a mistake on Page One it
may result in two or three Letters to the Editor. But if you list a popular
program at 9 p.m. and it was actually on at 8, what happens? Six hundred people
light up the switchboard wanting to know why they missed it."
"There is never any excuse for a
mistake," Don said. "There may be reasons, but there is never any
excuse."
My job was to see that his column was
perfect. I pulled the proofs, corrected them and read the corrected proofs to
him on the phone after he went home in the evenings. I was not a journalism
student and writing was not part of my planned career trajectory. All I learned
about writing, which did become my career, I learned from reading Don Freeman
every day for three and a half years.
I couldn't have had a better teacher.
Jack,
I am attaching a piece I wrote here six years ago about what it was like
working for Don. I hope you have room to run it again.
BONNIE
ROGERS wrote (in 2011):
I am
still savoring the many memories sparked by John Freeman's wonderful photo of
his father, Don Freeman, and Elvis. My memories are not of Elvis, however, but
of Don. April 1956 was during the time period I worked for Don. He seemed very
old to me then. I was only 17 when I started as his assistant in February of
1953. I think he was in his late 20s, or even (Heaven forbid!) 30. An enormous
gap. He was just beginning his long career as a columnist. I was just beginning
period. We both had a lot to learn.
I
believe Don had been a sports writer on a Chicago paper and on the rim as a
copy editor when he first joined The San Diego Union. When I was a copygirl in
the summer of 1952 a gal named Helen Zugelder did the radio and TV beat, but I
don't think she had a column. When I found myself without funds to pay for my
tuition for a second semester at San Diego State, I went right to the then city
editor (Cony Moulton?). Helen was gone, and Don now had the radio and TV slot.
Did I want to work for him? Great, says I. But let's be clear. Are you paying me
for my time or my productivity? The City Editor was startled. What do you mean,
he asked? Well, I replied, if you are paying me for my time, you tell me when
to be here and when to go. I do the best I can in between. If you are paying me
for my productivity, you tell me what I have to accomplish and what the
deadlines are and I do it, and I do it right, no matter how much time or
trouble it takes. (I think he was somewhat bemused at this smart aleck kid
challenging the work world.) But he said, he wanted my productivity, he didn't
care when I came or went and the only thing I had to do was make Don Freeman
happy. Seemed easy to me, until I got into it.
The
first several months of our arrangement were hell on wheels for both of us. I
couldn't afford to quit, and, I was later told, he couldn't afford to fire me.
Several years later those in the know told me that Don had become radio/TV
editor in January and had demanded an assistant to do the logs. They said he
drove away (fired? quit?) four girls in four weeks before I appeared on the
scene. They said he had been told if he couldn't get along with me he could
"do his own damn logs." I don't know how true any of that was, but
what I do know is that the copy desk wouldn't touch his stuff, neither would
the proof readers and that he had been black-listed by the stereotypers' union
from setting foot on the composing room floor. Thus, he was dependent on me to
perform some or all of those duties. Perfectly. And I didn't know a damn thing.
I
learned, and it was a pretty steep learning curve. I learned proof readers'
marks, how to clean up copy, where to go in composing and look for his column
(reading the metal galleys up-side-down without touching them) to get the proof
pulled. Then to call Don at home and read the corrected proof to him on the
phone, with meaning, no flat delivery allowed. I learned that good copy has
rhythm and cadence, that it flows. That it is written for the ear as well as
the eye. Years later I would have found the change from print to broadcast
insurmountable if I had not had this experience with Don.
As
he told me once, "There is never any excuse for an error. Sometimes there
are reasons, but there is never any excuse."
He
expected perfection. Of himself ... and of me. He was not a teacher, however.
Sometimes I would write something three or four times, only to have it flung in
my face (once with such vigor and lack of aim that it knocked my glue pot off
the table so it smashed on the floor). Just tell me what is wrong with it? I
would plead. No dice. I had to figure it out. I also ran errands. Feed the
nickels in the parking meter when he parked on the street. Run over to the deli
below Third and E St. for his favorite peppered pork sandwiches. One time he
sent me to retrieve a large framed mirror from a furniture store at Ninth and
Broadway. I almost had heat stroke carrying the thing back to Union Editorial,
and the city editor sent me home in a taxi to recover. Don was told not to use
me for "non business" errands in the future.
In
my teens I was subject to severe migraine headaches, and navigating those logs
in 6-point agate when I could hardly see was a sometime agony. Don was truly
supportive in those instances. He told me he had left Chicago for San Diego
because he had headaches, too. When mine were really bad he would weigh in on
the logs until I could handle them again.
It
was clear to me that I had to teach him how to be a boss. He had to teach me
how to really work. I think we both became good at it after a while and very
comfortable with each other, but the beginning was truly rocky. He would scream
at me "Get your g.. d... keister back here!" on the phone. And I
would scream back, " I'll have you know, Mr. Freeman, that girls don't
have keisters, they have fannies. And if you want mine, you better say please!"
Sometimes, after a particularly difficult exchange, I would flee to the ladies
room, lock myself in a stall and pound on the metal partitions while screaming
every swear word I knew. (The list was considerable, as previous messages in
this Rebergram will attest.) Then I would walk calmly back into Union Editorial
and go on about my work as if nothing had transpired.
Don
also wrote a column in Downbeat magazine. I had nothing to do with that,
but Don was great about sharing passes to various musical events. In the 1950s
there was a famous tour called Jazz At The Philharmonic which played at San
Diego High's Russ Auditorium when it was in town. I got to see Ella Fitzgerald,
Cab Calloway, the Red Norvo Trio, Red Nichols and the Five Pennies, Woody
Herman, Harry James. As a starving student, this was simply wonderful.
I
also had some wisdom to share. I recall when reading one of his columns to him
I encountered a word which I had never seen before. What does that mean, I
asked. He told me. "Well, you should pick a different way to say what you
mean or your readers won't get it," I told him. He became apoplectic. Who
was I to challenge his writing? Who do you think reads the TV column in this
newspaper? I retorted. I am a college student in the 99th verbal percentile,
and if I don't understand it, who will? He changed his copy.
But
the scope of my ignorance was also immense. Our style in the logs was to list
programs on the hour, quarter hours and half hours. Thus 11:00, 11:15, 11:30,
11:45, etc. I would check the pasted up dummy against the lists sent to me by
the radio and TV stations. Only for very important singular programming would
we insert a listing at 11:35 for instance. One afternoon as I walked toward my
desk Don was practically jumping up and down and beet-red in the face. He was
really mad about something. What's wrong? I ventured. When he finally became
coherent enough for me to understand that I had left one of those stray
off-the-quarter-hour listings in the logs for three weeks, I was still puzzled.
"Nobody told me to take it out," I said. "How do you know it
isn't still running?" Don slumped back in his chair, rolled his eyes and
laid his head down on his desk in defeat. It was the World Series.
KEN STONE writes: John
Freeman graciously gave me permission to post a version of his obituary for Don
on Times of San Diego:
John is a magnificent writer himself. His rich and
revelatory account of a great life deserved wider dissemination.
I'm sorry I didn't know Don better during my U-T years.
ALAN MILLER
writes:
Don
was a consummate gentleman with a gimlet eye for detail. He was also one of the
nicest guys I have ever encountered. He routinely stopped by my fourth-floor
office on the way to lunch and howled whenever I would cite a salty military
phrase to describe a situation at the paper or the world in general. His
personal stories were choice, but he never made himself the focal point when
discussing the many celebs he met. He would patiently listen to me rant about
the Spanos family heist over the football stadium seat guarantee and how the
U-T shilled for that scam. Rather that counter with an incisive argument, Don
would simply smile and say, "I like football." God bless this good
and gentle man.
NICK CANEPA
writes:
I don't know exactly when the cows come home, but I could
talk Don Freeman until then. A great man. A gifted man. An inquisitive man. A
friend. A marvelous teller of stories. We probably had too many things in
common, so we had a billion conversations. Sports. Music. Old movies.
Fascination with old Hollywood. I can't say I've known anyone who loved our
business more. He loved the newspaper game, enjoyed coming into the office,
where he'd move around and gather inspiration for a column "subject."
I'm sure he'd hate it today. Our office is like a ghost town.
It's hard to think of
any Hollywood great he didn't interview. He was at Bob Hope's home for Bob's
100th birthday party. He was not a fan of Danny Kaye and Dick Clark, I know.
Don was great friends with Ed Sullivan, and on his annual trip to New York they
would visit. On three occasions Ed introduced Don at the beginning of his show
on national television. Once, Sullivan asked Don what he had planned, and Don
told him he was headed over to Philly to interview Dick Clark. Sullivan didn't
like Dick, which surprised Don. Upon his return to New York, Don went to see Ed
and was asked how the interview went with Clark. "He worked on his
fingernails and didn't look at me the entire time."
He loved Dean Martin.
He asked Dino if he ever took a singing lesson. "F*** no," was the
reply. I asked him who was his favorite interview. "Sinatra."
Don used to travel with the Chargers in the old AFL days
and of course was great friends with Jack Murphy. I'm sure a lot of people
don't know this, but Don told me that, after Jack passed away, Herb Klein asked
Don if he wanted to be the Union's sports editor and lead columnist. Don
declined. He would have been a great sports editor.
Following ever road
trip I went on, Don would come up to my desk. First question: "Where'd you
eat?" Food was a favorite subject. We loved George Pernicano and lamented
his closing of Casa Di Baffi. I would regale Don with Pernicano road stories
from Chargers trips. He took me along for a lunch with Frankie Laine in Little
Italy. Fascinating.
Don had a strange
affinity for the South. He loved "The Music Man." I told him quite
often that he liked all things hayseed. It's amazing, but we hadn't talked much
until the merger. We often talked columns. We determined, and I think we were
right, that being a great writer doesn't mean you can write a column. Column
writing is a knack. You've either got it or you don't.
Anyway, I could go on but I won't. He called me
"pro," and I called him "Maestro," which he was. How he
never won a Pulitzer for his incredible body of work remains a mystery. If he
worked for the New York Times or Post he might have won three. He basically
invented the media column after being brought in from Chicago to work the copy
desk. If they named a stadium after Jack Murphy they could name a theater after
Don Freeman.
Damn, I loved this man. So many stories, so many laughs.
Newspapering was a joy. Ciao, Maestro. RIP.
NINA GARIN
writes:
I was saddened to read about Don
Freeman's passing. He was such a nice man with wonderful stories and
encouraging advice for young writers. I remember he always brought Christmas
chocolates specifically for the news assistants.
About 10 years ago, I did a phone
interview with Regis Philbin. I asked Regis about his time in San Diego, and
all he wanted to do was talk about Don. Regis said there was no one more
glamorous in San Diego, and he remembered being in awe when he'd see Don
walking around downtown in a sort of cape. To Regis, success meant getting into
Don's column.
I did have a chance to share the
anecdote with Don, but I wanted to also share it with his friends and family.
BASIM SHAMIYEH
writes:
Very sad about Don’s passing. He was a kind, soft-spoken
gentleman. I really liked Don and enjoyed the desk calls to help with his
computer needs, always enjoying conversations with this very pleasant man. He
sure knew a great deal about those old-time celebs. My deepest condolences to
his family.
MICHAEL GRANT writes:
I always wanted to go to lunch with Don Freeman, because it
never was just Don Freeman. I doubt Don ever lunched with just one other
person. He was a person who several people wanted to go to lunch with every
day. Every day, word got out, and there were usually six at the table. Don
didn’t hold forth, but he was the reason those people were there.
GLENN GRANT
writes:
My lasting memory of Don Freeman from
the ’80s:
The veteran newsman standing outside
his office, dressed in neatly pressed slacks, long-sleeve shirt with tie,
pencil in hand, holding a printout of his next day’s column. He’s looking it
over, barely noticing the newsroom activities around him. The only people he
would seem comfortable talking to in that moment were other legends in the room
like Al Jacoby, Tom Blair, or Gerry Warren.
If necessary, he’d make a pencil
scratch here and there, then go back to the computer and save the final draft
in the system. He probably would have preferred a typewriter. Maybe he did type
it on paper and then have someone else enter it in the system. I never was
invited into his office, so can’t be sure.
We on the Currents copy desk would
randomly grab stories to edit, and I frequently ended up with Don’s column. As
a whippersnapper in my late 30s, I knew better than to quibble with something
written by the master, and Don’s copy was always very clean. But one time, I
found either a fact or grammar usage that I felt needed to be verified. I
showed it to Gene “Chick” Ciechanowski, the slot, and he advised me to let it
go. But I didn’t, and timidly approached Don in his “moment” outside his
office. I told him about my concern. His response was along the order of “Oh,
it can’t be.” I was ready with backup, and demonstrated to him why I thought
the potential offending facts or words needed to be modified. He asked me to
give him some time and he would get back to me.
He eventually did and, amazingly,
agreed with me. He thanked me profusely. Even gave a nod to Chick and looked my
way. In my seven years at The San Diego Union, that was the only time I found
something that needed fixing in Don’s copy. At the time, I guess I thought he
was being a bit of a prima donna, but I realize now that nothing was more
important to him than having an absolutely perfect column.
San Diego and the craft of journalism
have lost a star with Don’s passing. I’m sure when the Man Upstairs interviewed
him, Don gave as good as he got.
BOB LAURENCE writes:
I
count Don as one of my best friends in all the years I spent at the U-T. He
played a key role in getting me assigned to the TV beat, where I found my
natural home. TV, I discovered, was the best, most varied, beat on the paper,
ranging from sitcoms to Shakespeare, sports to politics to crime to science. TV
covered it all, and through TV, so could I. And my timing was fortunate — I
latched onto the beat in the mid-1980s, just as cable was coming into its own.
I
was still deciphering the ins and outs of the TV industry when I walked into
Don’s office one day, steaming mad. A network functionary had made promises, I
thought, but things worked out differently, and I was righteously indignant.
Don listened patiently until I was done. Then he said, “Are you saying a press
agent lied to you?”
Thank
you, Don.
PRESTON TUREGANO
writes:
As John Freeman pointed out about his father, Don, who died
Wednesday, the man knew an army of celebrities. His desk Rolodex was a gold
mine of home numbers of entertainers and other famous people, many of them
deceased. As John’s successor as TV and Radio writer, I once had to get a
number for pioneering TV sitcom creator Norman Lear for reaction to adult
themes/topics in some cable TV shows aimed at juvenile viewers. Of course, Don
had the number. And yes, Don and the late Neil Morgan were almost neck-and-neck
in U-T longevity. Unfortunately, neither journalist was allowed to have a swan
song column in the paper, where the Copley-era powers that be often chewed up
long-time dutiful employees before the end of their careers and spit them out
without at least a farewell cake-and-coffee reception. Neil – in his own words
– was “fired.” Don, who was not fired, didn’t even get a retirement, or
departure, story. (Let me know if I missed it.) As of 3:30 p.m. today, there
was no U-T website story about Don’s death. The TimesofSanDiego.com had an obit
story by John Freeman. I hope Don’s family doesn’t have to pay tronc U-T for a
Life Tributes notice. Don was once a U-T institution, and to many who knew him,
a legend. His passing is news.
REBER: Preston, a notice
of Don’s death was on the U-T web site by at least 7:45 Thursday night. Today a
U-T writer asked me to put him in touch with someone who could supply info for
an obit. I passed that to John Freeman. Point is, apparently there will be a
news obit – and it certainly is called for.
JACK REBER
writes:
It’s my loss that I worked at the U-T 31 years before I
ever met Don Freeman. Once I did, we clicked. There were two things that
brought us together.
First, we were old-timers, each going back to the Jim
Copley era.
Second, I was the newsroom computer “expert” and Don was …
well, Don wasn’t.
Two or three times a week he would show up at my door and
say “Help.” That meant I should follow him to his computer. Invariably, he
would say “Walk this way” and then do a very fine Marty Feldman imitation. I
would follow suit, and no doubt the youngsters wondered about those two old
coots clumping through the newsroom. Awww, to heck with the kids. We were
having fun.
Other times Don would come into my office and sit by my
desk. If I was on the phone he would sit quietly, and when my call ended he
would say, “Hi, just hi.” That meant he did not have a computer problem, he
just wanted to talk. After a few of those episodes I figured out that Don wasn’t
socializing so much as looking for column ideas, but he never mentioned that to
me. Our conversation involved throwing the names of sports and entertainment
stars back and forth. If I saw that one of those names had caught Don’s
attention I would turn to the internet and retrieve some information. If Don
was interested, he would ask “Can you print that?” and I did. When he left my
office, he NEVER headed back to his desk. I knew where he was going; he was
headed to the library to research that column idea.
Lunch in the fifth-floor cafeteria was always fun. I wanted
to hear stories about celebrities, but Don was never a name-dropper or someone
who would brag about his career. He was too secure to need any bragging. I
think I learned something of his interview technique. To start with, he was a
good listener. As the conversation went along I might make some half-baked
comment such as “I think the Chargers are going to win Sunday.” And Don would
come back, not with his opinion, but with “Why do you say that?”
I’ll share one story Don told me, and frankly I’ve always
wondered if it was true. He said that in his earliest days at Northwestern, his
major was business. He said it was tough. “Oh, those numbers” and he slapped
his head. And the accounting class was the worst. “Oh those numbers.” Slap! So
one day he was studying in the library, and he wasn’t getting anywhere. “Oh
those numbers.” Slap! His mind was in a daze as he staggered out of the
library, and snow was falling. Those numbers and the snow blinded him and he almost
knocked down the journalism dean. As Don said, one thing you don’t do at
Northwestern University was knock down the dean of the school of journalism. The
dean invited Don to his office to talk about his problem.
Don said when he walked out of that office he was a
journalism student, not a business student.
And the world became a better place.
P.O. Box 2239
Ramona, CA 92065
U.S.A.
