When I was the sports editor of the Livingston County Press in the mid-1980s, I got to cover some excellent football teams at Howell High School. The Highlanders went 8-1 in both 1984 and 1985, winning the Kensington Valley Conference championship both years. I haven’t seen them all, but I’m willing to wager that those were some of the best high school football teams Livingston County has ever had.
One of the best players on Howell’s team back then was a guy named Rusty Frever. He wore No. 35, and he was a big, strong kid who played both running back and linebacker. It’s been nearly 30 years, but I can still remember the way he used to almost glide through the line when he ran the ball. He made everything seem effortless, and he was one of the best players I’ve ever seen in our county.
Rusty went on to play at Eastern Michigan (along with another Howell player, Joe Moorman), and I think the last time I ever saw him was when I went to Ypsilanti to do a story on both of them, probably in 1988 or so.
I hadn’t thought much about Rusty Frever since then. He graduated from EMU and eventually got married and had a baby girl. He ended up in Arkansas. And somewhere along the line, he dropped the “Rusty” and became “Russ.” But to everybody he knew from high school, he was still Rusty.
I know all this, because a couple weeks ago, I saw on Facebook that he had gotten sick. Very sick. Rusty had cancer, and it had spread to his heart. So a friend of his started a Facebook page, to spread the word and to encourage people to send a “thinking of you” note to him.
The outpouring of support and love was unbelievable. Dozens of people started posting messages for Rusty, and I would say that roughly 95 percent of them were from people he went to high school with. And as I read through all the messages, I got to know the real Rusty Frever.
Back in the 1980s, I saw Rusty play football and basketball a lot, and I interviewed him quite a few times, but I wouldn’t say that I really knew him. But after reading all those messages on Facebook, I can say that now, I do know him.
If you want to know who someone REALLY is, talk to the people he went to high school with. A person’s character is usually revealed back then, and in Rusty Frever’s case, it revealed a young man who was obviously raised right.
Back in 1985, Rusty Frever was the prototypical Big Man On Campus. He was a star athlete with movie-star good looks and a smile straight out of Hollywood. In the movies, this is the kind of person who usually ends up being a jerk. Rusty Frever – as it turns out – was anything but a jerk.
From the postings on Facebook, I learned that Rusty made time for everybody, smiled at everybody, was nice to everybody, and never thought he was better than anybody. Whether you were a senior who was a teammate on the football team, or a freshman trumpet player in the band, Rusty Frever was your friend. In the end, the best we can hope for as parents is that we raise our kids to be nice people, and Rusty’s parents obviously raised him right.
Sadly, though, this story doesn’t have a happy ending. Rusty passed away on Sunday morning. He leaves behind a wife and daughter, and more friends than he probably knew he had. Whether you knew Rusty or not, I’m sure his family could use your prayers right now.
Personally, I’ve learned a lot in the last couple weeks. I’ve learned that Rusty Frever – a kid I knew 30 years ago as a great football player – was an even better man. And I’ve learned that when a Highlander goes down, there will be hundreds of friends there to pick him up.
I’ve also thought about what this all says about Howell as a community. You might have seen a couple weeks ago that Howell’s reputation took a hit when some kids at the high school tweeted out some stupid racist stuff after a basketball game. Only a handful of kids were involved, but it became big news, and it gave everyone around the state a chance to say, “Well, that’s Howell for you.”
Well, no. That’s not Howell for you. You don’t judge Howell based on that. If you’re going to judge Howell, judge it on the way it responded when Rusty Frever got sick. Judge Howell on the way it produced a great kid like Rusty, and judge it on the way his classmates rallied behind him 30 years later.
That’s the real Howell. Trust me.
Rest in peace, Rusty.
