Remembering my grandfather and role model
Freddie Isreal Sr., affectionally known as “Tito,” was my grandfather. With just a third-grade education, he taught me the importance of hard work and the value of education. Through his personal and professional interactions, Tito taught me about people, business, and life. With an observant eye, I learned how to face and overcome challenges. Most importantly, my grandfather taught me the importance of commitment, dedication, and resilience — necessary characteristics for any Black kid who aspires to be successful.
Tito was a successful businessman, who worked in the automobile industry. Along with occasionally purchasing and selling used cars, he transported cars throughout Florida for many of the most successful and well-known automobile dealers. People adored, liked, and respected Tito. As a WWII veteran and proud Black man, he was legendary in his ability to overcome racism and discrimination to build a successful business — supporting his family, as well as numerous people and organizations in the community.
Unfortunately, my grandfather was murdered in 1986 (my senior year in high school). In a case that remains unsolved, Tito was the victim of gun violence — a traumatic experience that I’ve managed to suppress and reminisce about as a teen, adult, and now grandfather, myself. Still today, I struggle to make sense of the situation — even following a visit to the location where Tito was killed in Jacksonville, Florida. Never since 1986 had I been there — until recently.
Upon arriving, I nervously explained the purpose of my impromptu visit to a man who now manages the property where Tito was killed. Initially, the visit felt awkward as I introduced myself. In fact, my search for words was difficult. The property manager, who has only worked at the site for the past four years, looked at me with caution and confusion. We didn’t begin to develop a rapport until I said: “I’m the grandson of a man who was killed here years ago.” To my astonishment and with a strong ascent representing his native country of India, the man said: “I heard about that story. The property owner told me about a man who was killed here years ago. Yes, I know about that.” With caution, he seemed excited to talk about the incident — while also appearing surprised by my visit or that anyone still cared after so many years.
During the conversation, I described Tito as a “good man.” The property manager conferred: “The owner and everyone who knew him said he was a great man.” Though he had only heard about the incident, the property manager offered his sincerest apologies. With appreciation I said it was unnecessary and that I was only taking a moment to visit a part of my past.
I learned a lot during my brief visit and conversation. I wouldn’t describe the experience as closure because I live knowing that I’m among the disproportionate number of Black Americans who have been impacted by gun violence. It’s an unfortunate reality I’m reminded of regularly — such as when I made the spontaneous decision to reconcile with Tito’s unexpected death on Friday, Dec. 5, 1986. In reflection, I’m proud and perplexed, honestly, by the fact that a man (the property manager) who never met Tito recognized the value/importance of his life — approximately 35 years after his death. I’ve concluded the chance encounter speaks volumes about my grandfather’s personality and character — which brings tears of joy. More than ever, Tito remains my role model.
