Remembering Freddie Crofford
Today is April 10th and I remember you, Pops.When he came into our lives, I was already 14 years old, rebellious, not ready to accept a father figure. My DNA dad had never been part of my life and I didn't see why I should accept this stranger that Momma presented from apparently nowhere and told me was my "new father."
At first, I called him 'Mr. Freddie.' It was calculated to give him respect and still keep our barriers intact. He never pushed at those barriers, but his very passivity seemed to explode them. When he found out I was smoking, he would buy me packs of cigarettes. "If he wants to smoke, he's gonna," he told my mother. "I'd rather have him doing it in his room, writing and drawing pictures, than with God-knows-who on the streets."
I didn't know whether he was crazy or just a sucker, but I kept him as an ally all through the time God let us have him. Years later I realized that the things he did to keep peace between my tempermental mother and her frequently delinquent son wasn't 'suckerism' but rather wisdom that made a lie of his humble 3rd-grade education.
Third-grade education? Haha! Pops was the smartest cat I ever met, bar none! If, before I die, I can master half the shit he did in life... yeah 'if.' He never made it to 4th grade because his own father died and he had to go to work so he, his mom and his baby brother could eat. Farm work, dry cleaning, roofing, even moonshine and numbers. Whatever it took, know what I mean?
Dirty Red, they used to call him, a calculating, ruthless brother with a reputation for consistent inconsistency. But Dirty Red was dead when I found a father in a man named 'Fred.' Pops was generous to a fault. Bums and panhandlers would get the rough side of Pops' grumble whenever they asked him for stuff, but then he'd give them whatever he could. The grumble was just an exterior.
After we grew closer, he started calling me "Big Dummy." Only in private though, and I recognized it as a term of endearment. Pops was a huge Sanford & Son fan and he only Mimicked Redd Foxx's fondness for fictional son Lamont with the Big Dummy moniker. Whenever he would introduce me to one of his cronies Pops would brag about 'how smart my son is - say something clever to them, son!' Always would I respond with a quote or some obscure geographical trivia so Pops would have his moment. Sometimes it was embarrassing, but by then I loved Freddie Crofford with all my heart, and apparently more than his own DNA son... (but that's another story, and not for mine for telling.)
The strongest bit of advice Pops ever gave me was ethical in nature. "I know you always try to do the right thing, son. And you can, too. Because The Right Thing is a little voice that lives inside you, and whenever you want to listen, just get quiet and The Right Thing will be clear to you." I put that right up there with "Choose your Battles Wisely" as the best advice I ever got - (Well, that and: "Make sure you have a condom!", but that, too, is a story for another time.) Man, that was the most thorough 3rd-grade education I ever heard of.
In October of 1993 my father, my 'Pops' - was diagnosed with brain cancer and they gave him six months to live. Pops did the token chemotherapy and then went on a farewell tour. He bought a van and drove to visit all his relatives in New York, New Jersey, South Carolina, Georgia and Florida. I had been out of the Navy for a year and I took three weeks vacation from my new job to join him; flew up to Rochester and did majority of the driving.
I remember Pops wanted to buy new tires for that van before we left Rochester. I wanted to strangle the tire salesman, who innocently (Shit! He didn't know!) asked my father if he wanted the 3-year warranty or the 5-year warranty. Pops listened intently to the whole pitch. "Well, from the sound of things, I'd be a fool not to take the 5-year deal." And that was all he said.
He was the first man (other than myself) that I shaved (I would later take a razor to the chins of my young charges at my current job, for their first shaves). It was a poignant experience, and I can't imagine the amount of pride he swallowed to ask me, to admit that his own shaking hands could no longer be trusted.
On April 10th, 1994, at the age of 67, Pops passed away, quietly in his sleep...
Hey, Pops - down here... Check me out! Big Dummy is doing his thang! Are ya proud, Pops? Are you proud?
posted by JahStorm @ 11:00 AM
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