Latest news with #Freed
Miami Herald
an hour ago
- Entertainment
- Miami Herald
James McGraw: A Life Freed by Storytelling
NAPERVILLE, IL / ACCESS Newswire / June 4, 2025 / James McGraw: A Life Freed by Storytelling There's something disarming about James McGraw's honesty. Maybe it's how casually he reflects on hardship. Maybe it's the way he admits to things most people try to forget-like eating mud as a child, working for two pieces of bubble gum, or wearing the sleeves from a long-sleeve shirt on his feet, held up with rubber bands, just to feel like he fit in. This isn't a man interested in impressing anyone. He's not chasing a legacy. He's just telling the truth the way he remembers it. For McGraw, remembering is liberation. Born Into Struggle, Raised With Grit James McGraw grew up in Fairfield County, South Carolina, on land that still carried the scars of the past. He was born in a wooden shack near the old quarry, where his dad worked for wages that barely fed them. And yet, this wasn't "history" for McGraw-it was daily life. In his words: "Although I was not literally a slave, I possessed a mentality akin to that of a person who is not truly free." That idea of mental enslavement runs deep through his reflections. He speaks of riding in the back seats of white families' cars, eating from their porches, laughing at jokes that weren't funny-just to stay safe. He remembers the quiet weight of being tolerated, not welcomed. What makes McGraw's story resonate isn't just the hardship. It's the clarity with which he sees it and the humility with which he tells it. Ask him what got him through, and he'll tell you: prayers. Not loud ones. Silent ones. The kind whispered by parents who were too poor to protect him from everything but still believed in a God who could. "My parents are long gone," he writes in Slave No More II, "but I believe their prayers for me are still working in my favor today." This isn't a grand declaration of faith. It's quieter than that. More lived-in. Like so much of his story, it's more about endurance than certainty. Faith wasn't something he put on display-it was what kept him moving. The Weight of Being Seen If McGraw's childhood was shaped by survival, his early adulthood was defined by a kind of invisibility. He worked hard, but opportunities came slowly, if at all. He was dismissed, overlooked, and, in some cases, flat-out mistreated. One memory in particular stands out: a bounced paycheck, written by a white employer to his father for a week's wages. But when the check bounced, it was McGraw-not the employer-whom the police came to arrest. It was only thanks to the intervention of a local white woman his mother worked for that the arrest was avoided. "I started grinning from ear to ear," he recalls, "because I knew it was all over now. These were rich white folk, and when they spoke, everybody listened." Moments like that are scattered throughout his life-not just as reminders of injustice, but as markers of just how tightly woven those power dynamics were. James McGraw didn't set out to become a writer. In fact, he's the first to say he doesn't see himself as one. Slave No More, his first book, was more of a test than anything else. Would anyone care? But they did. Friends, family, and strangers told him his story mattered. They told him to keep going. So he did. Slave No More II picks up where the first left off, moving from his early years into adulthood. It's unvarnished, deeply personal, and sometimes jarringly frank. He writes the way people talk when they trust you-with no agenda, just memories that have waited too long to be shared. What's striking about the book isn't the prose or the polish. It's the feeling that someone is finally saying out loud what many have lived but never put into words. Life After the Plantation McGraw never strayed far from where he was born. He built his home on the very land he once called "the plantation." That's not a metaphor. It's the literal place where he once labored-and where he now lives freely. It's symbolic, sure. But it's also practical. He made a life where he could. And in time, he made that life meaningful. He worked at plants and factories, took supervisory roles, and lost jobs when the economy turned. Eventually, after a third plant closure, he invested everything-retirement savings included-into a franchise. It nearly bankrupted him. But a contract with a major university saved the business. From there, things changed. He later launched a janitorial company and became what he once never thought possible: self-employed, self-sufficient, and a mentor to others. McGraw's sense of success isn't about money or recognition. It's in the fact that his children are both business owners. That they come to him for advice. That he was able to provide something more than what he had. He writes about becoming a father, buying his first suit, and fixing up his car so it would stand out in town-not because he wanted attention, but because, for the first time, he felt like he had something to show for his struggle. And even in those moments, he never forgets the people still stuck in cycles he escaped. His concern about generational disconnect is palpable. He talks about how family reunions used to matter. How children once belonged to a village, not just a household. "It takes a village to raise a child," he says. "But that village starts with the immediate family. And without those values, the risks grow." Why His Story Matters Now James McGraw doesn't preach. He doesn't moralize. But read between the lines, and his story is a call to listen-especially to those who don't often speak in public. He's part of a generation that lived through change but didn't always benefit from it. His reflections carry weight because they're lived, not theorized. In an age where voices are everywhere, McGraw reminds us of the power of the quiet ones. The ones who observe more than they comment. The ones who survive more than they shine. His story isn't a lesson. It's a life. Not Just a Memoir, But a Mirror There are no perfect resolutions in Slave No More II. No dramatic triumphs. No clean break from the past. Just a man still reckoning with what it meant to grow up poor, Black, and unseen in the American South. But maybe that's what makes it powerful. McGraw doesn't try to wrap things up. He tells it like it was. And in doing so, he offers something rare: the sense that being heard-really heard-can be its own kind of freedom. So no, James McGraw isn't trying to sell you anything. But if you take the time to listen, he just might remind you of something you forgot you needed to hear. Disclaimer:This release has been produced by Evrima Chicago, a media syndication and newswire organization. The views expressed are solely those of the featured subject. Evrima Chicago constructs feature articles based on interviews and source material as provided and does not represent the personal or legal positions of the individuals involved. For editorial inquiries or interview requests, please contact: pr@ SOURCE: James McGraw
Boston Globe
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Boston Globe
Lynn Freed, South African writer with a wry style, dies at 79
'If Joan Didion and Fran Lebowitz had a literary love child, she would be Lynn Freed,' critic E. Ce Miller wrote in Bustle magazine, describing Dr. Freed's writing as 'in equal turns funny, wise and sardonic.' Advertisement Raised by eccentric thespians in South Africa, Dr. Freed immigrated to New York City in the late 1960s to attend graduate school and later settled in California. Her first novel, 'Heart Change' (1982), was about a doctor who has an affair with her daughter's music teacher. It was a critical and commercial dud. Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up Dr. Freed caught her literary wind in 1986 with her second novel, 'Home Ground,' which drew generously on her upbringing. Narrated by Ruth Frank, a Jewish girl whose parents run a theater and employ servants, the book subtly skewers the manners and lavish excesses of white families during apartheid. 'Here's a rarity: a novel about childhood and adolescence that never lapses into self-pity, that rings true in every emotion and incident, that regards adults sympathetically if unsparingly, that deals with serious thematic material, and that is quite deliciously funny,' Jonathan Yardley of The Washington Post wrote in his review. 'It is also the flip side of rites-of-passage literary tradition, for its narrator is not a boy but a girl.' Advertisement Writing in The New York Times Book Review, novelist Janette Turner Hospital praised the novel's keen point of view. 'Lynn Freed's guileless child-narrator takes us inside the neurosis of South Africa,' she wrote. 'We experience it in a way that is qualitatively different from watching the most graphic of news clips.' Dr. Freed returned to Ruth Frank in 'The Bungalow' (1993). Now it's the 1970s, and Ruth is married and living in California. After separating from her husband, she returns to South Africa to care for her dying father. Staying in a seaside bungalow owned by a former lover, she confronts past loves and past lives in a country that is, like her, in transition. In 'The Mirror' (1997), she told the story of Agnes La Grange, a 17-year-old English girl who immigrates to South Africa in 1920 to work as a housekeeper for a wealthy Jewish family and eventually finds her way into bed with her employer. 'The qualities with which Freed endows her heroine are fundamentally masculine, and through this comes a subtle but inescapable feminist message which makes 'The Mirror' more than a colonial family saga,' Isobel Montgomery wrote in her review for the British newspaper The Guardian. Lynn Ruth Freed was born on July 18, 1945, in Durban, South Africa. Her parents, Harold and Anne (Moshal) Freed, ran a theater company. They were certainly characters. Advertisement 'As childhoods go, it would be hard to imagine a better one for a writer,' Holly Brubach wrote in the Times, reviewing Dr. Freed's essay collection 'Reading, Writing, and Leaving Home' (2005). 'The youngest of three girls, Freed was born into a family presided over by a histrionic mother and a debonair father.' She graduated from the University of the Witwatersrand, in Johannesburg, in 1966. She moved to New York City the next year to study English literature at Columbia University, where she earned a master's degree in 1968 and a doctorate in 1972. Her books sold well, but they were never blockbusters. In 2002, she won the inaugural Katherine Anne Porter Award for fiction, among the most prestigious of literary prizes. She also won two O. Henry Awards for her short stories. In interviews, she was often asked how much of her fiction was autobiographical. 'When I am writing properly -- which, I might say, comprises only a fraction of my writing time -- I tend to disappear into the fiction,' Dr. Freed said in an interview with Sarah Anne Johnson for the 2006 book 'The Very Telling: Conversations With American Writers.' 'What is the difference between remembered experience and imagined experience? I don't know.' Dr. Freed's marriage to Gordon Gamsu in 1968 ended in divorce. Her second husband, Robert Kerwin, died in 2021. In addition to her daughter, Jessica, she leaves two stepchildren, Fiona Zecca and Killian Kerwin; a granddaughter; and four step-grandchildren. For many years, Dr. Freed taught writing at the University of California Davis. She was also a frequent -- and popular -- guest at writers' colonies. Friends said her readings were always packed. 'She was beautiful, and she was fun to be around,' writer Philip Lopate, a close friend, said in an interview. 'Her voice on the page was the same as she was in person. Her writing gave pleasure, just as she did in real life.' Advertisement This article originally appeared in
Business Insider
18-05-2025
- Health
- Business Insider
We built an AI assistant to give doctors something they rarely have: time
This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation between Erez Druk, the founder of Freed AI, an AI assistant for clinicians, and his wife, Dr. Gabi Meckler, a family physician. This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity. Gabi Meckler When I was in residency, I really began to feel the weight of notes. I would stay in the hospital until midnight, writing notes. You'd come home and still have notes to do. They were constant — a fact of life. Some people suffer. Some even quit. One day, my husband, Erez, asked me what would make my life easier. I jokingly said, "Can you just write my notes for me?" Erez took the idea seriously. He started building something. Erez Druk I built a simple proof of concept using GPT, a customizable version of ChatGPT, over the course of a few hours. It was a bare bones version of Freed that allowed for patient instructions, which are what clinicians send to patients post-visit, and subjective notes, which clinicians use to document patients' experience of their condition. I showed it to Gabi. She said "interesting," but told me it still needed a few improvements. It would break at times, it didn't know the names of several medications, and wasn't attuned to different specialities. I knew I needed another data point beyond my wife, so I solicited the opinion of our friend, another clinician. She came over for dinner, I showed her the product, and her response was very different — one of immediate excitement. She texted the next day asking to use it. I knew we were on to something. We moved fast from there. It took some work to make it HIPAA compliant. I wanted to get a beta version out quickly. We got some clinicians to test it. We asked them for feedback constantly. Building Freed isn't just about vision or strategy — it's about listening to users and iterating based on what they need. Meckler When I started working at a clinic, after residency, I began using Freed every day. I could finally finish my notes before leaving the office. One time, I forgot to send a referral for a patient, but Freed reminded me. That moment made me realize how much Freed was helping, not just with time, but with the details that I might have missed otherwise. Other doctors at the clinic noticed, too. They'd come to me and say, "Your husband? He saved me hours of work." That was rewarding. One thing I love is that Erez takes my input seriously. He really understands the nuances that matter to clinicians, and the team is learning too. Druz Gabi holds a weekly office hour with the product managers and designers where they share their work with her. She offers her perspective on what's useful and what isn't. It's surprising — or maybe not — that even after spending a lot of time with clinicians, there's always more to learn. We can never truly be in their shoes, there's a constant depth and nuance to uncover. That's why this setup is so valuable: It helps us get closer to understanding how they think and what's genuinely useful to them. Meckler Freed, as the name suggests, is all about freedom. Our goal wasn't to tell clinicians how to use their time — we simply wanted to give it back to them. That mindset really influences our marketing. We're very intentional about not telling clinicians what they should do — they know better than anyone else. We don't tell clinicians to be heroes or push messages like maintain "eye contact" or "spend more time with patients." You probably already make enough eye contact. And if you want to Netflix and chill, great. We're not here to tell people how to be better doctors. Druz Managing the relationship between husband and wife, founder and consumer, innovator and advisor — isn't always easy. It's definitely annoying sometimes to get feedback that is correct. Meckler I think we do it well, though, I don't know how we do it. I try to be specific about feedback. Like, this is something you absolutely have to change before moving forward, versus this would be nice, or it's a bit iffy. I told Erez that we needed to incorporate patient instructions. They include a summary of the visit and clear instructions based on the action plan created during the appointment. The goal is to make them easy for patients to read, understand, and follow. It's now one of the most loved features of Freed. We're building a document analyzer now at the request of users. It will take any clinical document and give the clinician a summary. Users can also ask questions, and it will provide short responses with references from the document. This whole time, since we launched in January 2023, Erez has been learning about medicine, and I've been learning about startups. So, I know he has to move fast. That's why I focus only on the most important things, and I push really hard when it matters. I've loved being involved as part of our relationship. Work is really my second obsession after Gabi — and I'm obsessed with work. So the fact that we can talk about everything, and she knows the people in the team, and what we're working on, is really fun. We created Freed together. It's a love letter from us, our team, to all the clinicians out there.
Global News
15-05-2025
- Business
- Global News
Winnipeg company ‘will never forget' history making Hudson's Bay striped items
For four generations, the family behind Winnipeg garment maker Freed & Freed International has worked with the fabric of our nation, crafting police regalia like the scarlet tunics worn by the RCMP and uniforms for Canada's Olympic teams. But there's another sliver of Canadiana the family considers itself lucky to have handled: the Hudson's Bay stripes. Freed & Freed is one of a few companies that has made products bearing the Bay's iconic green, red, yellow and indigo motif that dates back to 1779. Its creations include full-length wool coats, puffer mittens and sleeping bags. 'It's a prideful moment to be able to say that we got to be a part of true Canadian history because that's what we consider it to be,' said Marissa Freed, president of the company her great grandfather started in 1921. 'They've just been around forever and we got to touch that and be part of it and it's a huge feather on our hats that we will never forget.' Story continues below advertisement Freed has been thinking about her family's journey with Hudson's Bay a lot since the 355-year-old retailer announced in March that its finances had become so strained it had to file for creditor protection. The liquidation of all 80 Bay stores and 16 run under its Saks banners followed as did a search for buyers to keep some semblance of the business alive. With often broken escalators, quiet stores and a succession of staffing cuts, the moves were not entirely unexpected but Freed was still 'shocked' when the news broke because her company's dealings with Hudson's Bay seemed to be moving along as they usually did. She had even received purchasing orders from the business for Stripes products she designed for this upcoming fall. Get breaking National news For news impacting Canada and around the world, sign up for breaking news alerts delivered directly to you when they happen. Sign up for breaking National newsletter Sign Up By providing your email address, you have read and agree to Global News' Terms and Conditions and Privacy Policy 'On their side, their team was told to continue to move forward, so they were really pretty much left in the dark as much as we were,' Freed said. 'When someone is going to file (for creditor protection), they don't go around telling everybody.' Freed imagines her business will take 'a bit of a hit' because of the Bay. Court records show the company is owed $12,295 from the retailer. But Freed & Freed has plenty of other contracts to tide it over. It makes many government uniforms and produces items for 'a lot of the well-known high-end outerwear brands that you'd be familiar with,' Freed said, declining to name them. Story continues below advertisement The company first brokered ties with Hudson's Bay in the '70s, when Freed & Freed was making London Fog apparel sold by the retailer. When Freed took the helm of the company about 16 years ago, she started cold calling clients, including Hudson's Bay, to find ways to drum up business. 'Shockingly, I got an email back,' she recalled. 'I think they had just got the first Olympic contract and if I'm not mistaken, at that point in time, they were looking for somebody to domestically produce their wool jacket that they were giving … the athletes. I, obviously, was very interested.' Despite Hudson's Bay losing the Olympic contract in 2021 to Lululemon Athletica Inc., Freed & Freed's relationship with the department store blossomed and it started making striped merchandise. There were striped mittens, snowsuits and even baby bunting bags. Many of the items were designed by Freed & Freed, others came with direction from the Bay. Most took more than a year to make it to shelves. While the Hudson's Bay wool point blankets produced by A.W. Hainsworth & Sons Ltd. subsidiary John Atkinson in England remained the most famed products, many of Freed & Freed's creations sold out or made the pages of fashion magazines. Even with Hudson's Bay collapsing, Marissa Freed is hopeful this won't be the end of her family's connection to the brand. Story continues below advertisement She wants to see Hudson's Bay find a buyer for the stripes amid the 17 bids for assets it recently received. If a new custodian for the motif is secured, she's willing to help return the stripes to shelves. 'I don't know if that's wishful thinking … In a dream world, somebody does intervene and somebody realizes the stripes could be sort of this diamond in the rough, if you will,' she said. 'It's a real loss in history if we don't see it through.'
Hamilton Spectator
15-05-2025
- Business
- Hamilton Spectator
Winnipeg company ‘will never forget' history making Hudson's Bay striped items
For four generations, the family behind Winnipeg garment maker Freed & Freed International has worked with the fabric of our nation, crafting police regalia like the scarlet tunics worn by the RCMP and uniforms for Canada's Olympic teams. But there's another sliver of Canadiana the family considers itself lucky to have handled: the Hudson's Bay stripes. Freed & Freed is one of a few companies that has made products bearing the Bay's iconic green, red, yellow and indigo motif that dates back to 1779. Its creations include full-length wool coats, puffer mittens and sleeping bags. 'It's a prideful moment to be able to say that we got to be a part of true Canadian history because that's what we consider it to be,' said Marissa Freed, president of the company her great grandfather started in 1921. 'They've just been around forever and we got to touch that and be part of it and it's a huge feather on our hats that we will never forget.' Freed has been thinking about her family's journey with Hudson's Bay a lot since the 355-year-old retailer announced in March that its finances had become so strained it had to file for creditor protection. The liquidation of all 80 Bay stores and 16 run under its Saks banners followed as did a search for buyers to keep some semblance of the business alive. With often broken escalators, quiet stores and a succession of staffing cuts, the moves were not entirely unexpected but Freed was still 'shocked' when the news broke because her company's dealings with Hudson's Bay seemed to be moving along as they usually did. She had even received purchasing orders from the business for Stripes products she designed for this upcoming fall. 'On their side, their team was told to continue to move forward, so they were really pretty much left in the dark as much as we were,' Freed said. 'When someone is going to file (for creditor protection), they don't go around telling everybody.' Freed imagines her business will take 'a bit of a hit' because of the Bay. Court records show the company is owed $12,295 from the retailer. But Freed & Freed has plenty of other contracts to tide it over. It makes many government uniforms and produces items for 'a lot of the well-known high-end outerwear brands that you'd be familiar with,' Freed said, declining to name them. The company first brokered ties with Hudson's Bay in the '70s, when Freed & Freed was making London Fog apparel sold by the retailer. When Freed took the helm of the company about 16 years ago, she started cold calling clients, including Hudson's Bay, to find ways to drum up business. 'Shockingly, I got an email back,' she recalled. 'I think they had just got the first Olympic contract and if I'm not mistaken, at that point in time, they were looking for somebody to domestically produce their wool jacket that they were giving ... the athletes. I, obviously, was very interested.' Despite Hudson's Bay losing the Olympic contract in 2021 to Lululemon Athletica Inc., Freed & Freed's relationship with the department store blossomed and it started making striped merchandise. There were striped mittens, snowsuits and even baby bunting bags. Many of the items were designed by Freed & Freed, others came with direction from the Bay. Most took more than a year to make it to shelves. While the Hudson's Bay wool point blankets produced by A.W. Hainsworth & Sons Ltd. subsidiary John Atkinson in England remained the most famed products, many of Freed & Freed's creations sold out or made the pages of fashion magazines. Even with Hudson's Bay collapsing, Marissa Freed is hopeful this won't be the end of her family's connection to the brand. She wants to see Hudson's Bay find a buyer for the stripes amid the 17 bids for assets it recently received. If a new custodian for the motif is secured, she's willing to help return the stripes to shelves. 'I don't know if that's wishful thinking ... In a dream world, somebody does intervene and somebody realizes the stripes could be sort of this diamond in the rough, if you will,' she said. 'It's a real loss in history if we don't see it through.' This report by The Canadian Press was first published May 15, 2025.
