Remembering Fredrick

I will never forget the first time I met Fredrick Baker.  I had been working at Calvary Episcopal Church for less than 2 weeks, the bell rang, and I went to answer the door.  "Hey Preacher Lady," this elderly gaunt man with a smile on his face that could light up the night shouted, "I've come to get my sardines."  I must have looked confused (I'm pretty sure a common look for me), so he added, "Just ask Anita.  Tell her Freddie is here. She'll know where they are."  And he was right.  I handed him his sardines as he explained to me that because of his chemo it was all he could eat.  "I've got cancer," he told me. As he turned to go holding his pants up with one hand and the sardines in the other, he said, "I'll be back tomorrow Preacher Lady.  I've got to get some new pants."

Sure enough, Freddie was back the next morning and Miss Bonnie helped him find some new pants. "Preacher Lady," (Yes Freddie was the one who bestowed that name upon me--a name many of my new friends in downtown Louisville still use.  A name I treasure as much as my name given to me by the youth of All Saints--Mama Doyle.) Freddie said to me, "I have to come every week or so to get new pants because I keep losing weight."  And sure enough, he did.  Sometimes we wondered if we were going to have to start altering them ourselves he was losing so much weight.

Over the next 2 1/2 years I learned so much about Freddie (or Skippy as some people called him). I loved talking to Freddie and was always amazed at his vocabulary.  One day one of my sons was with me at work when Freddie walked in, "Is this your boy Preacher Lady?" he asked.  "Yes Freddie," I responded and introduced them.  As Freddie shook my son's hand with that room lighting smile on his face he said, "Listen to Preacher Lady, stay in school, don't do drugs."  As he walked away my son asked me about Freddie and I told him what I knew.  "Freddie had a full life," I began, "He had a Masters in Social Work but he got involved in drugs and lost everything.  Now he's dying from cancer.  It's really sad."  My son turned to me and said, "He doesn't look sad to me--just looks like he needs to put on a little weight."

After that day I started looking at Freddie differently.  I started seeing what my son saw--a man who despite his life was indeed happy.  Every day wasn't perfect for Freddie.  There were times he was agitated, angry and argumentative.  But he always came back later and apologized.  "Preacher Lady," he would say, "Sometimes I just get mean. I'm sorry."

One Sunday I was celebrating the Eucharist at the 8 am service.  I saw Freddie come through the doors of the church and sit in the last pew.  I was so relieved as it had been weeks since I'd seen him. When the invitation was extended I watched as Freddie made his way down the aisle.  I wasn't sure he was going to make it, but slowly and stopping frequently he continued.  He knelt in front of me; I leaned over and kissed his cheek (not a liturgical act but one I always did with Freddie), "I'm glad to see you," I whispered, "I've been worried."  "Just got out of the hospital this morning Preacher Lady." he whispered back as he pulled his shirt up to show me his new tumor on his side.  "This one hurts," he told me.  "The Body of Christ," I said as I tried to hide the tears that sprang to my eyes.  I moved on but kept looking back at Freddie.

He was struggling to get up.  I tried to get the attention of someone, anyone with my eyes--apparently the eye focus only works with my children--I sat the paten on the altar, stepped through the gate, took Freddie's hand (his other hand hitching up his pants) and together we walked down the steps.  When we reached the bottom of the steps he whispered, "I can make it from here."  He leaned over, kissed my cheek and said, "I like you Preacher Lady."

As I returned to the altar, I could no longer hide my tears thinking, "I like you too Freddie."  I was distracted as I was cleaning up wondering what would happen to Freddie and how we would know if he needed us.  To be honest, I wondered how we would know when Freddie died as was inevitably going to happen.  I worried that he would be scared and alone.

Last week I learned that Freddie did indeed die, and he wasn't alone.  He was with a person or people who chose for whatever reason to beat him and then to toss his body like he was worth nothing. (Freddie's Homicide)  He was with a person or people who didn't see that wide bright smile because they were too busy treating him like he was worthless, and as I read the article I cried because my worst fears seemed to be true--Freddie died not alone but he was probably afraid.  I don't know who you are who were with Freddie at the end, abusing him like he was a rag doll, but I do know he was worth something--he was worth everything.  He was and is a child of God and he was and is loved.

I can't stop thinking about Freddie.  I can't stop thinking about his life and his death.  I can't stop thinking about how he changed the world--not through or rather just through his professional life of social work--but in how he faced his trials with a smile on his face.  I want to see him one more time; I want to kiss his cheek and whisper, "I like you Freddie."


Tonight there will be a vigil on the library steps at 5 pm for all those who have been victims of violence in Louisville. Freddie's viewing will be at Calvary Episcopal Church tonight from 5-8 with his funeral on Saturday at 11 am.  May Freddie's soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace.