Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
Frankie Freeman was named after her grandfather, a Virginia tobacco farmer who did very well for himself and resisted any suggestion that he shouldn’t. Her family told and retold the story of how, when the Ku Klux Klan showed up, Frank ran them right off his land. And they told Frankie she was just like her granddaddy.
Now 96, she practiced law for nearly 60 years. She started in criminal law (and even though her first client was caught dragging a stolen bathtub downstairs, she managed a plea bargain). When 3 a.m. calls from clients started to interfere with her life as a wife and mother, she switched to civil law, which soon became civil-rights law. She was on the legal team that filed suit against the St. Louis Board of Education in 1949—well before the landmark Brown decision in Kansas—and she was lead attorney in the 1954 case Davis et al. v. the St. Louis Housing Authority, which ended legal racial discrimination in St. Louis’ public housing. (The housing authority promptly hired her as its staff attorney.) Freeman was the first woman appointed to the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights, back in 1964, and she served through four presidents.
Why settle here? What did you like about St. Louis?
That I was married to a man that I loved, and his family was here. [Her eyes twinkle.] I had to learn St. Louis. I was not able to join any law firm, black or white. So I decided to open my own, on the second floor of the Jefferson Bank Building.
Why didn’t the black law firms want you?
The only other black woman lawyer was Margaret Bush Wilson [former head of the NAACP board of directors], and she and her husband had a practice together. Oh, they all would have let me do the typing, but I wanted to be a trial lawyer. There wasn’t anything not cordial; I made the decision. No, thank you.
How did it feel to be invited to meet with President Lyndon Johnson in his suite at The Chase Park Plaza?
I got the call in my office that morning. I wrote down what they were telling me—which was a good thing, because I had to show that note to a police officer so he would let me pass.
He was surprised a black woman had a meeting with the president. Did that offend you?
No, it didn’t. It was a surprise to me, too! See, it was out of my mind. On November 17, I had been at the White House because President [John F.] Kennedy had announced that he was going to appoint more women to positions. So when the assassination happened, I thought that was all over.
What was your first impression of Johnson?
He was very friendly. I was all dressed for the Democratic dinner that evening [she wore a silver evening coat], and I hung on to the lapels—I was so nervous. He sensed that, so he talked until I relaxed.
The Rev. Theodore Hesburgh, former president of the University of Notre Dame, headed the Commission on Civil Rights, and four other commissioners were college deans or presidents. Then there was you.
President Johnson said, “Oh, Mrs. Freeman, I think you can handle all those deans.”
Hesburgh stood up for you when, after criticizing one of St. Louis’ big corporations for violating the Civil Rights Act’s equal-opportunity clause, you lost your job as a lawyer with the city. Weren’t you tempted to file a protest?
Oh no. A lawyer represents a client who wants you to represent them. I said to myself, “No way am I going to complain. I’m going to go into practice for myself.”
You’ve chosen your battles carefully. How do you decide when to fight and when to sit back?
Through the years, I’ve often decided, “Later for you.” I remember an incident when I was taking the bus—I’d been invited to speak in Hayti, Mo. At the first stop, I went to the ladies’ room. There was a sign—it was segregated—but I was going to go anyway. A woman, a customer, stood in my way, and another woman, an employee, said, “You go in the back.” When I was figuring, “Do I go?” I decided that would be a confrontation, but my mission was to speak in Hayti. So I went back and used the bus’s restroom. You decide at the time.
On your way to your mother’s funeral, though, you refused to leave a restaurant after a waitress said she couldn’t serve you.
I didn’t treat it as a confrontation, because I was just going to sit there. They closed the restaurant, and everybody had to leave. I made a telephone call to an NAACP lawyer I knew, and he did whatever was necessary, and within weeks they’d desegregated that restaurant.
The FBI had a file on Margaret Bush Wilson. Did the FBI keep a dossier on you, too?
Oh, of course they did. They had to have one. I’ve been before the Senate twice for confirmation.
You served on the civil-rights commission under Presidents Johnson, Nixon, Ford, and Carter. Who was your favorite?
Johnson. When he had me checked out, he didn’t tell them the position because he knew they’d recommend a man, and he wanted to be sure a woman had the opportunity. President Johnson talked not only about civil rights, but also about the war on poverty. There’s no president who has planned and done as much, in terms of trying to eliminate poverty, as Johnson.
You were combining career and family in the 1940s—and women are still trying to figure out how to do that. What’s the secret?
It’s not a secret. You decide. I’m blessed because Shelby, my husband, accepted it; my family supported it. The last few years I was in private practice, we bought a home off Grand [Boulevard] where I could have my office on the first floor. You have to make the adjustment, but you can’t do it all by yourself.
You made it a point to cook dinner every night…
Well, I love to cook anyway. And that was how I was brought up. There was no either/or. I’d say, “Lord, help me through this day” or “Help me through this hour.” I knew I had to get up at 3 a.m. if I was going to work. You have to be determined.
What’s shaped you?
The things I learned from my grandfather and parents. Those are the things I still think of each day: Do your homework. Be of service. Make a difference. And take care of yourself.
I love that when you got fired by the city, you went out and impulsively bought yourself a full-length mink coat.
It was not an impulse. I said, “Well, I have to do something for myself.” And Shelby understood.
What went wrong with the Pruitt-Igoe housing project?
The first idea about building low-income housing. Even the architecture—how do you get an elevator that doesn’t stop at all floors? That was the attitude people had: They were going to do something for the poor people. But you have to have an understanding of what you’re going to do.
Are there any bits of wisdom you’ve gleaned over the years?
When somebody would want to run for office in Jefferson City, one of the things that [former St. Louis Democratic Committeeman] Jordan Chambers would say—in terms of whether they would be independent or somebody could buy them—was “Don’t send a hungry dog to market.” I’ve used that my whole life. It’s not just limited to politics.
Chambers was a St. Louis kingmaker who made sure blacks had political power. Who plays his role today?
I don’t know of any person who has that kind of power now.
Your mother once wrote in a letter, “Daddy has not finished swelling over you yet.” But even though they were proud, your parents had really high expectations of you from the beginning.
Of everybody, not just me. Everybody in our family has a graduate degree—the only one who didn’t became a banker.
You weren’t serious in college, though. You loved parties and pretty clothes.
I still love the pretty clothes. I just always did. When we grew up, you didn’t try them on; we had dressmakers, or family members would send dresses from New York. It wasn’t that you had that many. But I see nothing wrong with looking pretty. It’s how you feel about yourself.
You’ve got a pretty easygoing attitude toward people whose ideas are different than yours.
After fighting so many ideological battles, how do you manage to be nonjudgmental?If you’ve done your best—“Help me to be of service; help me to make a difference”—if you’ve done your best, don’t sweat the rest.
How has racism changed over the past nine decades?
Well, it varies with the enforcement. I think there is less, of course. Less. But because we don’t know each other—I think it’s very important that you begin to know each other. Education is important, housing is important, and fighting poverty is very important, and they’re all related. When you get to know people of different races, different cultures, and you get the opportunity to see them as neighbors or work with them or go to school with them, you can understand much more than you can when all you know about somebody is what somebody else has told you.
What needs to happen next?
I think we all have an individual responsibility. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men—of course, I’ll say “and women”—are created equal. Act on that. Believe it.
What was it like going to Africa?
The first time, 41 years ago, I went as a delegate. That was an honor and quite an experience. I went to the United Nations conference in Togo, and then, because I’d been working in housing, I was assigned to go to six other countries: Liberia, Ghana, Tunisia, Senegal, Kenya, Ethiopia. It was overwhelming. The first time that plane hit on African soil, I got off the plane. I’m not sure what that first stop was, but I got off just to stand on the soil.
What impressed you most?
When I went to South Africa in 2003, the fact that instead of animosity and hatred because of what had happened, there could be this feeling of compassion and peace…
People always say it’s hard getting old.
Well, I don’t see myself as old. I’m still here.
What interests you most these days?
Education. Everybody needs an education, because first of all, you have to know what you’re doing. It’s basic. And I think the community should be much more involved. The commitment to free education for our children should be there—which means they need more resources and commitment, not just at the government level, but from individuals and families. Not just money—you can give personal tutoring, mentoring.
Why pick education over, say, poverty?
If you have more education, that in itself helps to eliminate poverty. The poverty will be eliminated when everybody recognizes that they have an individual responsibility. There are some people who are poor who could do more for themselves. There are some people who are homeless who could do more for themselves. And if there are people who are in need and they can’t do anything about it and you can help, you should.
Can you teach responsibility to adults if their parents didn’t teach them earlier?
Well, I think we can all learn something.
