Outside of family and friends, the only thing Marshall Freedman really missed about his native Philadelphia was the food.
Thus, when Freedman’s parents, Jay and Susan, and older brother, Howard, arrived in Honolulu for a long-overdue visit two weeks ago, they made sure to bring along a few of his favorites: a double-size hoagie (a little soggy but more than edible), some “landjaeger” sausage, a block of American cheese and 3-1/2 pounds of scrapple, that congealed mass of pork scraps and trimmings that is to Pennsylvanians what Spam is to Hawaii locals.
The reunion was a rain check on a rain check. The Freedmans’ annual trip to Hawaii was scrapped last year while Jay Freedman recovered from treatment for cancer. Marshall Freedman’s own scheduled trip back to Philly was likewise shelved due to a work commitment.
Not a problem. The long Memorial Day weekend would prove more than adequate for the tightknit family to catch up and enjoy each other’s company.
They spent a day helping Freedman, a manager at The Cheesecake Factory in Waikiki, look for a new apartment in Kapolei, where he was to relocate for his new gig as manager of the restaurant’s soon-to-be-opened location. They then headed to the Big Island for a five-day stay at a vacation rental in Pahoa.
Freedman loved Hawaii for all the usual reasons — the weather, the diversity, the aloha spirit — and he urged his parents to join him when they retired. A former NCAA Division I water polo player, he hoped to teach the sport at a local school.
A natural at languages, he thought he might also help tutor students in Japanese. More than anything, Jay Freedman said, he hoped that he might one day find the right person, have a few kids and share the kind of life together that his parents enjoyed.
So many dreams. In the meantime, however, there was the matter of a day hike with a few friends from work to look forward to back on Oahu.
The Freedmans headed back home to the East Coast on Wednesday. A day later they received a call from police in Hawaii.
The group that Marshall Freedman was hiking with had gotten stranded on Castle Trail in Punaluu Valley after encountering high winds and heavy rain. No one knew where he was. Firefighters searched the area in the dark for hours.
They eventually found Freedman — his body — at the bottom of a 300-foot drop.
Mr. Cheesecake
Marshall Freedman had always been a good kid, not always an easy one.
“He was challenging,” his father said. But he was one who always followed the rules, loved animals and nature, and was his happiest when helping other people reach their goals.
He demonstrated the values of his Jewish heritage, particularly the concept of “tikkun olam” (“heal the world”), which informed his sense of stewardship for the environment.
“He loved Hawaii because it’s a spiritual place,” Jay Freedman said. “He had a deep belief in God, whomever he might be and however people might believe in him.”
Marshall Freedman also loved learning other languages as a means of better understanding other people and cultures.
At age 5, enamored of Godzilla movies, he persuaded his parents to sign him up for Japanese lessons so he could understand the films without subtitles. By the time he was an adult, Freedman was fluent in both Japanese and Spanish, had a basic grasp of Mandarin and could even exchange a few words in Korean.
After Freedman had spent a few less-than-challenging years in the public school system, his parents transferred him to the prestigious Germantown Academy. He went on to attend George Washington University on a mix of academic and athletic scholarships.
Unable to find work immediately after college, Freedman arrived at a plan to take up graduate studies in East Asian language and culture at the University of Hawaii. He took a job at the local Cheesecake Factory, which would allow him to transfer to the Hawaii location after six months, thereby securing him a source of income while he established residency.
But working at the restaurant turned out to be an end disguised as a means. By the time Freedman arrived in Honolulu as a server at the Waikiki location, he was already sold on the chain’s institutional culture and its promise for future opportunity.
“He loved that if you worked hard, showed commitment and followed the rules, your potential there was unlimited,” Jay Freedman said.
Thus Marshall Freedman’s new nickname: Mr. Cheesecake.
A father bereft
In six years with the company, Freedman rose to the rank of manager, a job that his father said suited both his by-the-books sensibilities and his nurturing instincts.
“I haven’t been able to read all of his Facebook page, but it’s filled with people who thank him for bringing out the best in them,” Jay Freedman said. “He wanted to help people perform better because he knew they had more to give. That’s who he was. It’s who his family is. It was woven into his DNA.”
A manager at The Cheesecake Factory in Waikiki referred inquiries back to the restaurant’s corporate office, which earlier released the following statement: “We are deeply saddened by the loss of our friend and manager, and above all else, our thoughts and prayers are with his family. He was a valued member of our team and will be sorely missed. Our focus also continues to be on supporting all of our staff members during this difficult time.”
Jay Freedman can’t help but wonder about the circumstances of his son’s death. How did he get separated? How did he fall? Was it the weather? The terrain?
“He wasn’t a risk-taker,” Freedman said. “I don’t think what happened was due to any lack of strength or athleticism. I feel that it was a senseless, tragic accident.”
Freedman said his son used to call home once or twice a week to update his parents on his day-to-day life in the islands and to share funny stories from his job.
“As his father, he was one of my best friends,” Freedman said. “I lost my dad when I was young, and one of the things I looked forward to was having adult relationships with my adult children. He had an interesting perspective on things, probably because of his age. For me it feels like part of my future has been ripped out. My thrill for getting older is gone now.
“I’ll never know what he would have brought to the world.”
