• Reverend Freeman was the fifth of seven sons of James and Ollie Watts Freeman, born in Atlanta, Georgia, on June 11, 1914. He was educated in the Atlanta public schools, and received an A.B. from Clark College in Atlanta. After attending U.S. Army Chaplaincy School and Harvard University, he received his bachelor of divinity, master of theology and doctor of theology degrees from Central Baptist Theological in Kansas City, Kansas. His doctoral thesis was published as a book, ``Epoch of Negro Baptist and the Foreign Mission Board'' in 1953, and remains a standard textbook for teaching religious progress from the earliest beginnings of African-American life in the United States. After his early career as principal of Austell School in Georgia, Reverend Freeman served as pastor of two churches and as a U.S. Army chaplain from 1942-46, attaining the rank of major. After discharge from the Army, he was called to pastor the First Baptist Church in Kansas City, Kansas, where he served our community for fifty years.

• Reverend Freeman, simply put, was a leader in local, national, and international communities. He was a visionary who was driven to assist and empower people, fighting as a civil rights activist, community leader, and president of the Kansas City chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Additionally, he served on the Kansas City, Kansas, Planning Commission from 1955 to 1995 (as its chairman for 29 years), and served on the Kansas City, Kansas Crime Prevention Council. He also was a leader in church affairs, serving as: president of the Missionary Baptist State Convention of Kansas; president of the Sunday School and Baptist Training Union Congress of the National Baptist Convention, U.S.A.; first vice president of the Baptist World Alliance for five years in the 1980s; and as adjunct professor and member of the board of directors of Central Baptist Theological Seminary for many years.

• In addition, we must note the numerous awards Reverend Freeman won throughout his career which reflect his dedication to dialogue between different faiths, races and cultures, such as the Meeker Award from Ottawa University, which is given to individuals who have demonstrated a life of sacrifice, service to the disadvantaged, profound stewardship of life, unrelenting humanitarian services, and worthiness as a role model; and the Martin Luther King, Jr., Citizenship Award for Community Service, which embraced the philosophy of Dr. King and was presented by the Kansas City Kansas Martin Luther King, Jr., Holiday Celebration Committee.

He was a man of God, and a man of his word. When the Rev. E. A. Freeman put his weight behind a cause, things would happen.

``If he said he would do something, you could count on him to do it,'' said the Rev. C. L. Bachus, a fellow minister and longtime friend. ``Only the Lord could stop him.''

Freeman, 84, a longtime religious and civic leader, died Tuesday at the Alzheimer's Center of Kansas City in Kansas City, Kan. He had been pastor of First Baptist Church of Quindaro for 50 years before retiring in 1996.

The Rev. Jesse Jackson, long a friend of Freeman's, will deliver the eulogy at the service Tuesday.

``He was a very well respected member of our community,'' said Carol Marinovich, mayor of the Unified Government of Wyandotte County/Kansas City, Kan. ``He was a gentleman, and a gentle man, very committed to all the people of the community.

``Freeman's influence extended beyond Kansas City. He was first vice president of the Baptist World Alliance, a worldwide organization of Baptist churches, for five years in the 1980s. He worked with people of different races, ethnic backgrounds and cultures around the world.

During the Iranian hostage crisis in 1980, Freeman was among African-American ministers who went to Iran to try to open lines of communication between Islamic and Christian leaders.

``I had a great respect for him.'' said the Rev. Stacey Hopkins, pastor of First Baptist. ``Everybody respected him. He was always willing to help the younger preachers. Many of us tried to pattern ourselves after him. ...... He always wore a shirt, tie and jacket. Always. He was a good example.''

The Rev. Nelson Thompson said he worked with Freeman on several projects and admired his longevity.

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``He was a mentor for me,'' said Thompson, president of the Greater Kansas City chapter of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. ``He was a rare individual. Not many people can pastor a church for 50 years.''

Freeman was a past president of the Sunday School and Baptist Training Union Congress, the Christian education arm of the National Baptist Convention U.S.A. Inc. He also was a past president of the Missionary Baptist State Convention of Kansas. He had been president of the Kansas City, Kan., chapter of the NAACP; a member of the Kansas City, Kan., Planning Commission from 1955 to 1995, serving as chairman for 29 years; a member of the Kansas Board of Probation and Parole; and a member of the Kansas City, Kansas, Crime Prevention Council.

When Freeman retired, he said his greatest desire had been to help people. He recalled speaking with city officials about problems that minorities faced and riding with police during the riots after the death of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., ``trying to keep everybody calm.''

Alvin Brooks, a former assistant city manager in Kansas City, said that his friend of more than 45 years had few peers, either as preacher or prompter of social change.

``He could really preach a sermon,'' said Brooks, ``But he wasn't just a preacher. He could walk into a room, and he had such a presence. ...... He was a great role model for young African-American men and young men aspiring to be ministers.''

The funeral service will be at 11 a.m. Tuesday at First Baptist Church, Fifth Street and Nebraska Avenue, Kansas City, Kan. Visitation will be from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. Monday and from 9 to 11 a.m. Tuesday at the church.

It was Freeman's wish that Jackson deliver his eulogy. Jackson spoke at First Baptist several times. Religious leaders from throughout the community and various parts of the country are expected to attend the services.

He leaves his wife, Ruth Anthony Freeman; his children, Edward A. Freeman Jr. of San Diego, Calif., Constance M. Lindesay and William N. Freeman, both of Kansas City; a son-in-law, Horace B. Lindesay Jr.; six grandchildren; and a great-grandchild.

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The first indication that the Rev. E.A. Freeman could be a persuasive force in his adopted home of Kansas City, Kan., came in the spring of 1946.

Then a 32-year-old Army chaplain and major about to leave the service, Freeman arrived at the invitation of a friend. The First Baptist church, at Fifth Street and Nebraska Avenue, was between preachers. Freeman agreed to give a guest sermon.

He proved quite up to the task. This was, after all, the Edward A. Freeman who at the age of 16 had won an oratorical contest in his hometown of Atlanta.

Well, the short version of the story goes, Freeman so impressed the leaders of First Baptist that they had a little problem. They quickly solved it by withdrawing an offer made to their pastor-to-be and giving the job to Freeman.

It turned out that Freeman was not just taking on a job when he moved his wife, Ruth, and three children from Atlanta that June. He was taking on a way of life.

Over the next 50 years, until his retirement in 1996 and his death a week ago today, Freeman's way of life was commitment. As most people who knew him put it, he embodied the idea of commitment, not only to his God and to his church, but to his community.

Preacher, pastor, minister to those in need. Bridge builder, conciliator, a quiet civic giant. Husband and father. Orator and scholar. Advocate for social and economic justice.

Freeman's accomplishments were many and his influence vast.

The Rev. Jesse Jackson--civil-rights leader, activist and presidential candidate--will deliver the eulogy at Freeman's funeral today. Jackson said that, after Martin Luther King Jr., the most important person in his political life was the Rev. E.A. Freeman of Kansas City, Kan.

``He was a real freedom fighter,'' Jackson said. 

CIVIC, RELIGIOUS PILLAR

Leon Lemons, a retired banker, an old friend and a trustee of First Baptist, noted how important Freeman was to the city when he recalled what H.W. Sewing, a founder and president of Douglass Bank, told him some 40 years ago.

``We should not let Reverend Freeman get out of this city,'' Sewing told Lemons. ``He's a man with vision, a man with integrity. He's a man who can get things done.''

By that point, after a little more than 10 years in Kansas City, Kan., Freeman had run for the school board and the state Legislature. Although unsuccessful, those campaigns gave him a public forum to speak up about social welfare and segregation.

But he didn't need a political campaign to raise his voice: In 1949, he excoriated the Wyandotte County chairman of the American Red Cross over a racial affront at a ``Victory Dinner,'' threatening a boycott of the agency's fund drives. The next year, he helped bring pressure on the owner of two local movie theaters, which until then had denied admission to blacks.

In the years to come, he would spearhead housing developments and become involved in many improvements in Kansas City, Kan., as a member of the city's Planning Commission for 40 years and its chairman for 29. There were disappointments, too, and failures amid the long economic decay of his city, but he never stopped fighting for what he believed was right.

In the 1970s and '80s, he helped establish some of the first homeless shelters in the community, said Mary Sue Severance of the United Way of Wyandotte County.

``He seemed to be everywhere in the community,'' Severance said.

In civic dealings, Freeman's trademark was his tranquil demeanor. He often was a peacemaker. The Rev. Nelson Thompson, president of the Greater Kansas City chapter of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, used code words for the white and black communities when he said Freeman ``had great influence uptown, yet he could work in the northeast and everybody respected him.''

In ministerial dealings, his tenure produced Sunday services that usually lasted two hours or more. He was prone to offering two sermons, a spiritual one and a political one. He gave his congregation political advice on issues of the day. Although he never told them how to vote, he gave strong hints, said his daughter, Connie Lindesay.

Freeman had a legendary amount of energy and drive. Arieta Mobiley, a former church deaconess, said it wasn't unusual to drive by and see Freeman's car parked outside the church at 1 or 2 in the morning.

Even after he retired, Mobiley said, Freeman went to the church every day for two years.

``There weren't many people who had the energy he did,''

Lindesay said. ``His persistence, his vision, that will, that drive. To him, it was, `I'm going to get to that goal,' and that goal had to do with the commitment to and investment in the people around.''

He was humble about his accomplishments but had the courage essentially to start his own civil-rights movement in Kansas City, Kan., said Kansas City Mayor Emanuel Cleaver.

``When he came along,'' Cleaver said, ``times were really dangerous for a black man who would stand up and declare his somebodyness.''

Freeman well knew that the fight for social justice and equality for African-Americans involved not only overcoming racism but also, in the words of his friend and colleague, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., ``its perennial ally--economic exploitation.'' 

A JACKSON MENTOR

Jackson and Freeman first met in the 1950s. Jackson was a King disciple; Freeman was a leader in the National Baptist Convention. By 1959, however, the convention had become increasingly uncomfortable with King's high-profile activism. A rift developed, but while Freeman actively stuck with the convention, he never lost contact with King or Jackson.

After King's assassination in 1968, Jackson stood alone. Freeman reached out to him, inviting him back and re-introducing him into powerful circles within the National Baptist Convention.

``He took that risk and adopted me in a spiritual sense,'' Jackson said. ``I feel so indebted to him.''

Jackson returned to Kansas City several times, and in 1976, at his first revival, he chose Freeman's First Baptist as the location for the week-long spiritual event.

Jackson said his speeches for students from two area high schools helped him form the National Rainbow/PUSH Coalition, his long-running, grass-roots organization promoting social justice.

Thompson said Freeman was a model of a minister who became involved in politics. Along with two other titans of the black community, the Rev. Wallace S. Hartsfield and the Rev. A.L. Johnson, Freeman inspired and mentored a younger generation of political-activist preachers--Thompson and Cleaver among them. To them, he advocated action over political posturing.

``He used to tell me, `Reverend, talk will kill anything. You've got to just keep it low. Get it put together before you talk about it too much.'

``He really wasn't quiet, but he didn't do a lot of talking about what he was doing until it was done.''

Talk is one thing. Public speaking is another. And Freeman was a master at oratory.

He filled his many speeches and sermons with scholarship and poetry. Not only did he make the scripture sing, but he also quoted extensively from Shakespeare and Tennyson, from Keats and Browning and Kipling. ``And he didn't just read it,'' his daughter said of his great capacity for recalling classic poems from memory, ``he spoke it as if he himself had written it.''

``Once you heard him deliver a sermon,'' Cleaver said, ``you would know quickly that this was no ordinary man. He was touched divinely in ways many can only imagine.''

``He was academic and educational, yet he could be right down to earth,'' Thompson said.

In the late '70s, Thompson heard Freeman deliver a speech on the steps of the Kansas Capitol. His topic was the Exodusters, the black migrants who settled in Kansas after the Civil War. Thompson had been unaware of the depth of Freeman's scholarship or his capacity for research and history. And he was moved.

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``It was a profound historical address,'' Thompson said. ``I shall never forget it.'' 

THE POWER OF EDUCATION

Education was extremely important to Freeman and his family. He sacrificed so his children could go to college. He long remembered how difficult it had been to pursue his own education.

In the late 1930s, Freeman desperately wanted to go to college. But his widowed father was struggling to support seven sons.

Freeman interviewed with the president of Clark College in Atlanta and begged to attend classes there. He succeeded, working his way through as a custodian, and eventually graduated with a degree in education.

After his arrival in Kansas City, Kan., he earned advanced degrees, including his doctorate in theology from Central Baptist Theological Seminary in 1953. At the time, the opportunity to earn such a degree was rare for a black minister.

Education remained important throughout his involvement in the National Baptist Convention, USA. Freeman became president of the organization's Congress of Christian Education (as it's now called) in 1968.

His influence was almost immediate. His dynamic leadership and speechmaking helped increase attendance at its annual meeting by the thousands over his 15-year tenure.

``It's his personality,'' said the Rev. Ellis Robinson, Freeman's successor at First Baptist. ``He knew how to get things done.''

In his work for the National Baptist Convention and other programs, Freeman traveled extensively--all around the world--often at a moment's notice.

But his first priority was always his church. He always made sure that things would get done in his absence.

``Ministers and clergymen play a lot of different roles,'' said Thompson. ``The pastoral role is one of shepherding, caring for and protecting and watching over the flock. ..... Nobody I know of played that role as well as Rev. Freeman. He was just a rare individual. He could make you feel good when you felt bad; he was very inspirational and uplifting.''

There's something else about Freeman that people talk about. He loved to tell jokes. Every time he spoke, people could expect to hear two or three jokes along the way.

Of course, he had two kinds of jokes: those he could use in sermons and those he couldn't.

One of his very popular jokes dated from the days of ``streaking,'' when college kids would dash through public places in the buff. Freeman's joke had to do with some older women in a nursing home. The punch line: One fellow goes, ``What was that?'' And the other goes, ``I don't know, but it sure did need ironing.''

Even in his last days, that joke was still able to touch people in unexpected ways. One former church member was visiting just a couple of weeks ago. Sitting at his bedside, this person said, ``Reverend Freeman, I'll always remember that old joke about the senior citizens.''

And, as his daughter Connie Lindesay tells it: ``He just beamed. His eyes just twinkled.''