2008 Woodie Awards
Rams owner passes away
Bernie Miklasz / St. Louis Post-Dispatch
Issue date: 1/21/08 Section: Sports
Georgia Frontiere loved life, and its adventures, more than anyone I knew. She was a remarkable woman. She was eccentric and colorful and unpredictable and never dull. And what a life. What an improbable and unimaginable life. If you wrote a book about all of her days and nights, people would dismiss it as fiction, except that all of it happened.
No wonder Georgia didn't want to give up, didn't want to leave, didn't want the journey, the escapade, to end. The doctors told Georgia's family months ago that she didn't have much time left, but she battled on with as much toughness as the roughest Rams player.
Two months ago, the doctors told loved ones that her survival was down to an hour-by-hour basis, but she wasn't ready to give up. She outlived the predictions, outlasted the doctors, and extended that wonderful life until finally succumbing to breast cancer Friday at age 80.
"She fought really, really hard," a tearful John Shaw said Friday. The Rams president had a sad feeling that morning. So Shaw visited Frontiere in Los Angeles, just to check on her. A few hours later, the owner of the St. Louis Rams was gone.
And Shaw didn't know what to do.
"I can't believe it," he said. "I knew this was going to happen, but I can't believe it."
What a life. All of the marriages, all the friends, all of the famous pals. Georgia knew the Kennedys. She graciously hosted youngsters John and Caroline Kennedy at a Baltimore Colts game less than a year after their father, JFK, was assassinated. Jackie Kennedy wrote her the sweetest thank-you note. Georgia knew Queen Elizabeth and other members of England's royal family. She hosted parties for Ronald and Nancy Reagan.
She would dine with movie stars and men of letters. She played the piano with Dave Brubeck in the middle of her living room. But before you get the idea that she was pretentious, and A-list conscious, and completely removed from her middle-class upbringing on the west side of St. Louis, I once saw her buy a round of beer and chilled vodka shots for rowdy Rams fans in San Francisco. And she joined them, throwing down the shots with equal fervor. I once saw her lead a rousing sing-along around a piano in a saloon in New Orleans, with her majestic voice filling the place with show tunes, Cole Porter pieces, anything that delighted the crowd.
No wonder Georgia didn't want to give up, didn't want to leave, didn't want the journey, the escapade, to end. The doctors told Georgia's family months ago that she didn't have much time left, but she battled on with as much toughness as the roughest Rams player.
Two months ago, the doctors told loved ones that her survival was down to an hour-by-hour basis, but she wasn't ready to give up. She outlived the predictions, outlasted the doctors, and extended that wonderful life until finally succumbing to breast cancer Friday at age 80.
"She fought really, really hard," a tearful John Shaw said Friday. The Rams president had a sad feeling that morning. So Shaw visited Frontiere in Los Angeles, just to check on her. A few hours later, the owner of the St. Louis Rams was gone.
And Shaw didn't know what to do.
"I can't believe it," he said. "I knew this was going to happen, but I can't believe it."
What a life. All of the marriages, all the friends, all of the famous pals. Georgia knew the Kennedys. She graciously hosted youngsters John and Caroline Kennedy at a Baltimore Colts game less than a year after their father, JFK, was assassinated. Jackie Kennedy wrote her the sweetest thank-you note. Georgia knew Queen Elizabeth and other members of England's royal family. She hosted parties for Ronald and Nancy Reagan.
She would dine with movie stars and men of letters. She played the piano with Dave Brubeck in the middle of her living room. But before you get the idea that she was pretentious, and A-list conscious, and completely removed from her middle-class upbringing on the west side of St. Louis, I once saw her buy a round of beer and chilled vodka shots for rowdy Rams fans in San Francisco. And she joined them, throwing down the shots with equal fervor. I once saw her lead a rousing sing-along around a piano in a saloon in New Orleans, with her majestic voice filling the place with show tunes, Cole Porter pieces, anything that delighted the crowd.
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