Good-bye to a great journalist, but an even greater human: Rich Freedman

Me and Rich enjoying an amusement park.

A newspaper man I worked with died recently, which is a great loss for not only his family and friends, but for the communities he covered. Because Rich Freedman was not just the hardest-working reporter I’ve shared a newsroom with, he was also the kindest — someone who cared deeply for the people and places he wrote about.

That was cool.

And while there are many hundreds of people who could give you far more consequential examples of his generosity as both a writer and a person, I’d like to share a small interaction that made me love him. And though I didn’t witness the exchange, it showed me more about his character than anything I saw firsthand.

It happened 25 years ago, when my husband and I were still dating, and still working at the newspaper where we met: the Vallejo Times-Herald.

We had just moved in together, and didn’t have much money. So little, in fact, that I asked my grandmother to help us pay the deposit on a house, and to help pay the rent, my husband Chris got a second job delivering pizzas.

Chris was ashamed of this and hoped our co-workers would never find out about it. Every time he drove up to a house, he prayed that someone from the Times-Herald was not living there.

Then one night, the moment he dreaded came true as the last person he wanted to see from the newspaper opened the door: Rich Freedman.
 
Why Rich? Because like many smart and sensitive people, Rich could also be snarky. With one of quickest wits I’ve known, he could easily eviscerate anyone he cared to with his tongue or keyboard when provoked. And Chris feared Rich might relish this chance to make him feel small.
 
Especially since another customer had humiliated Chris just the night before. Delivering to a graphic design start-up business, he peered into the hip office space full of guys his age and mentioned that he was also a graphic artist. “Oh really? A graphic artist who schleps pizzas, huh?” replied one of the guys with a derisive smirk as he shut the door.
 
Rich had the perfect opportunity to send Chris away with his tail between his legs yet again. But he did the opposite. Recognizing the embarrassment on Chris’ face, Rich simply said with a reassuring chuckle, “Hey, we all gotta make a living, right?” Then gave him a nice tip.

That was very cool.

Many believe that the best way to judge someone’s respect for others is to watch how they treat a person serving them food. I agree, and think even more is revealed by how someone reacts when a peer is suddenly serving them food.

“After that, he was always aces in my book,” Chris said.

Even more cool? We never heard one word about that night again, not from Rich or anyone else who worked at the newspaper.

What isn’t cool, however, is that I didn’t make more of an effort to see Rich again in the decades since I left the paper. We exchanged messages, but not recently enough for me to learn that he was sick, and make sure I saw him again.

Because I so wish now I could have given him another hug, and maybe even heard one more giggle. Because Rich gave great hugs, but even greater giggles.

So please learn from my inaction — if there’s someone in your life you want to see again, check in with them. Now.