Fred was one of the rare folks that one remembers meeting for the first time. When he walked in for his initial Minneapolis Arts Commission meeting in ’84 he had an expectant smile and carried an easy sophistication. Cultural initiatives endure that we worked on with the MAC two generations ago. I was pleased to learn that he was married to Maria who I knew from our days at The Minneapolis Institute of Arts. I have happy memories of a party or two on 2nd Avenue that this charming couple threw for commissioners.
Sharing friends’ enthusiasms is wonderful. Fred liked baseball – importantly, he understood the sport and we shared insights. Knowing that he had been in their organization, I fessed up one day, telling him I don’t like the Yankees. His response delighted me, neither did he! Not long after we met he gave me a couple extra Twins tickets. Years later we sat under a scorching Sun watching a Gophers game, having the same opinion about metal bats. A couple times recently, he and Maria joined Mary and me on drives to Dundas to watch the Dukes play town ball.
Baseball wasn’t our only shared interest. The arts and supporting the arts; joy in friendships; a ready sense of humor; meals with friends, and a willingness to share affection… these we valued in one another.
Fred’s kindness deepened our connection. I always will remember his calls as I recuperated from major surgery, my future not certain. Each chat was a lifeline.
The words of the baseball writer – and keen Dodgers fan - Roger Kahn may fit as we mourn the loss of Fred’s physical presence:
“…the world is never again as it was before anyone you love has ever died; never so innocent, never so fixed, never so gentle, never so pliant to your will. But these are afterthoughts. Generations vie and the young recover swiftly, or believe they do.”
Fred touched all the bases.