I met Fred in the fall of 1971. In our freshman year at Biola University, his dorm room was a few doors down from mine. We discovered we shared many interests, including old movies, especially monster movies and the Marx Brothers.

Next year, we became roommates. We never had a moment of conflict. He never borrowed my albums of The Who and The Doors, and I didn’t wear out his Gilbert and Sullivan collection.

I’ve always marveled at Fred’s nimble, high-octane wit. He could rattle off a patter song from HMS Pinafore or free-associate a string of off-the-cuff one-liners. I struggled to keep up with his riffs.

Fred’s pranks and jokes were a big part of my college life. Fred had a jar of very realistic Max Factor movie blood. He once filled his mouth with it, went to a dorm room of a fellow student—someone he’d never met—and staggered into the room, fell on the floor, and let the movie blood gush from his mouth.

His victim ran out of the room, shouting for help. Fred got out of there—pronto!

A few weeks later, Fred and I were having lunch across from each other in the cafeteria. Suddenly, Fred got the most astonished expression. He said, “How did you do that?”

I said, “How did I do what?”

“Make your nose bleed like that.”

I grabbed my napkin and he was right. He thought I had pulled off one of his movie blood pranks. Nope, just a nosebleed.

After college, Fred pursued his love for movies and filmmaking. I never tired of hearing of his adventures in Hollyweird.

I was shocked in 1998 when I heard that Fred was battling leukemia. He later told me that his doctors didn’t expect him to survive the chemotherapy. During the worst of it, he couldn’t remember what he did for a living or even how to turn on a computer. Fred went through it, determined to be there for his family. As I told Fred more than once, he’s one of the most courageous people I’ve ever known. He told me he could feel the prayers of hundreds of people during that time.

A few years later, I visited Fred at the Sunset Gower Studios in Hollywood. He showed me around the historic studio where Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Caine Mutiny, and the Three Stooges shorts were filmed. I sat in on a mixing session, then he showed me the set of the show he was working on for Dick Clark, American Dreams. In years that followed, he gave my family behind-the-scenes tours at other sound facilities at Universal and Paramount—always fascinating. My grandkids got to know him as “Uncle Fred.”

Though Fred had the most uninhibited, hilarious spirit I’ve ever known, he had a thoughtful, philosophical side. He was totally serious about his relationship with God. Jesus was his Lord and his friend.

He was also serious about his family relationships. He took his mom, Velma, into his home in the last few years of her life. Sometimes, when Fred and I would talk on the phone, he'd put Velma on the line and we had some great conversations.

He deeply loved his two sons and their families. He often spoke fondly of the time he spent with his two sons, their wives, and his grandkids.

Over the years, Fred and I would get together for coffee or have phone conversations about TV shows (I shared Fred’s enjoyment of Perry Mason and Peter Gunn), movies, current events, and family events. All of our conversations ultimately revolved around our shared faith in Jesus Christ.

In September 2016, Fred, my wife Debbie, and I spent a wonderful day in Disneyland and California Adventure. What better Disneyland companion could you have than Fred?

In November 2017, Fred and I attended a Three Stooges film festival at the Alex Theater in Glendale. Again, can it get any better than to laugh at all the boinks and nyuk-nyuks with Fred?

I last saw Fred on October 14, 2018, at the Celebration of Life honoring Cedars-Sinai cancer survivors at the Skirball Cultural Center in Los Angeles. Fred celebrated 20 years of being cancer-free, and it was a grand celebration, with good music, good food, testimonials, and many of Fred’s friends (including his brother John).

Soon after that, Fred moved to Colorado, but we continued to keep in touch by phone. Fred’s passing has left a big hole in my life. He has been an irreplaceable and unforgettable blessing for me and my family.

Dearest Fred, 

I shall miss you very much. I will remember our times on the adr stages, your kindness and generosity, your spirit that always lifted everyone in the room.  I shall remember our conversations, our lunches, your laugh.  You are one of a kind and I thank you for your friendship.  My deepest sympathy to your family.  I'm glad you were able to spend time with them. God's speed my friend.