Bob Freeman

By AM Thursday, January 1, 2026

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Punk rock doyen, trade unionist, esoteric thinker, genealogist  

Carrie Twomey 🏴 remembers Robert Freeman 

Robert Freeman (O’Seery), southern Californian legend of the original north Orange County punk rock scene, died unexpectedly at his home in late May, 2025. He was preceded in death by his older brother, Bill, his mother, Bea, and is survived by his brother Rick, his nephews, great-nephew, and his beloved aunt Margaret. 

Born in Kansas City, Missouri in 1961, Bob had a somewhat idyllic, Tom Sawyer-esque early childhood that left a strong impression on him. His relationship with his grandmothers and extended family led to a lifelong passion for genealogy and tracing family history and lore, alongside a deep respect for manners. He loved to share the stories he discovered and had a great gift for treating history – whether it be his own family’s history, or the Tudors (another passionate interest) – as gossip, imparting tidbits with salacious relish. Gossip for its own sake, too, was a favoured pastime of his. 

The young Freeman brothers at the Grand Canyon en route to California

His mother moved her sons to California at the close of the 60s, after leaving a tumultuous marriage, becoming one of the first single mothers to obtain a mortgage at a time when women’s rights were very restricted. Her life experiences and pioneering ways helped to form the basis for his radical political outlook. 

The Freeman brothers

His brothers's musical tastes and circle of friends contributed to his eventual exploration of the then nascent emergence of punk rock. 

He loved the Sex Pistols, Pogues, Patti Smith, and Yoko Ono, at a time when few knew who they were and their music carried a real threat to society. Spiking his hair and dressing outrageously, he was often stopped and harassed by local cops and jocks. He hung out at an artists’ collective, Sherpa Studio, and was friends with many of the musicians, poets, and freaks that formed the underground scene of 80s southern California. 

With his dear friend Anna

He was also politically active and was a dedicated Communist – one of his talents was mastering the absurd language of the Soviet influenced vanguard left – cultivating a deep knowledge of the history of the Communist Party in America. Angela Davis was one of his heroes. He was a staunch Irish Republican; Bernadette Devlin was another hero of his. His activities led to the FBI tapping his phone and parking outside his mother’s house at one point. 

This political background led him to join the Hotel Employees and Restaurant Employees and Bartenders International Union while working as a room service waiter at the Hilton. He became a shop steward and worked with Angela Keefe, a woman he deeply admired, who was then “the youngest head of a large union local in Southern California and one of the few women to hold such a job”.  This period of his life, working within the union to make it one of the strongest and most radical trade unions in the area, was an intense and magic time for him. He loved being on the political battlefield. 

With his former room service manager, Carl

He worked at the Hilton for decades, becoming an institution himself in food and beverage. He was infamous for his smoke breaks, and ability to clock out early at nearly every opportunity. He had a deep love for his co-workers which was evident in the way he made characters out of them in the stories of his life, and how many friends he left behind. 

He had an interest in the occult, belonged to a coven at one point, knew all the esoteric bookstores, could read tarot cards, and enjoyed his reputation as an effective practitioner of witchcraft preceding him in social situations. Some might wryly suggest he cultivated that perception. 

With all the interests he pursued, it was amazing he remained his whole life without a driver’s license. He took the bus daily to work, becoming friends with the various drivers on his route and the fellow passengers. From the bus window he watched the deterioration of society as neo-liberalism and the vestiges of Reaganism destroyed the middle class that once enabled his mother to purchase a home with a pool on her single salary, leaving more and more people homeless and without health care. 

He loved the BBC production of I, Claudius and often quoted Livia – “Don’t eat the figs”. The Godfather movies were a lesson in strategic politics for him. The backroom, having secret knowledge and pulling strings, was his natural milieu. 

He was catty to a fault – Queen Kitty – and wielded a sharp tongue that could wound. But he loved deeply. Even if he didn’t come out and say it, it was demonstrated in his interest in the people he kept close. He was devoted to his family; the loss of his brother and mother hit him hard. He had a loyal circle of friendships that lasted decades. Each one of those people lived in his stories no matter how far or distant life made them. 

He was also very private, and proud, keeping what turned out to be a fatal illness secret from his confidants. It was sciatica, he said, a bad cold that kept recurring, he would go to the doctor on the following Monday, the next Tuesday, if it was still bad, tomorrow, maybe. He retreated into his apartment. He was a lifelong chain smoker; cigarettes were his one vice and part of his personality. He loved Oreos, Reeses peanut butter cups, and Ruffles potato chips. He was diabetic but hated going to the doctors. The bureaucracy of health insurance did not help his disposition towards them. 

He died of complications from pneumonia on May 22, 2025. He was 64. 

As much as Bob loved the people in his life, his family, friends, and coworkers, he was loved fiercely back. His loss is immense. 

 “We cannot possibly say goodbye –  we’ll just say, 'So long!'” 

⏩ Bob Freeman was Carrie Twomey’s lifelong best friend.