We're with you, Cathy
01.06.2002


IT WAS typical of champion athlete Cathy Freeman that she stood in front of the national media on Thursday and said so straightforwardly that her husband, Sandy Bodecker, has cancer and she will stick by his side.
That meant she was not going to run for Australia in the Manchester Commonwealth Games in July. She said: ``Anybody who becomes involved with Cathryn Freeman has to be prepared to be really determined, and my husband's going to be just fine.''
This is one very special lady.
The millions of Australians who witnessed her courageous win in the 400m final at the Sydney Olympics would not know of the special incident which occurred just a minute or so after her success. She set off on her victory lap, surrounded by photographers, one of whom was The Courier-Mail's senior photographer Anthony Weate.
As Weate was in front, running backwards and snapping shots, he fell and his flash and expensive telephoto lens smashed. Freeman ran past, stopped her victory lap, returned to Weate on the ground and asked if he was all right. He replied that he was, that she had won the race, and could she please slow down!
She laughed, and resumed what was the happiest moment in her life -- having broken the moment in a spontaneous demonstration of concern for someone in need of a helping hand. I wonder how many other top athletes would have reacted in the same way?
Freeman's humility and grace were demonstrated to me in another way. Five years ago, I wrote a story about a girl from Badu Island, the youngest of 14 children, who was enrolled at the University of Southern Queensland in Toowoomba and was a promising 200m runner. Some months later, the girl wanted to come to Brisbane to further her training and get a job, so her mentor asked if she could stay at my family's home for a couple of weeks. She stayed four years.
NANCY was the most innocent and unsophisticated person imaginable. Money meant nothing to her -- she had spent her life in the Torres Strait and had never owned a pair of running spikes until she came to Toowoomba. She had never tasted processed food such as pasta. She would ring her parents on Badu to seek approval to go to a party or the movies, and each night she read a chapter from the Bible.
Her hero was Cathy Freeman. Every story written about Freeman, every photograph published, was cut out and either stuck on the wall of her bedroom or put into a scrapbook. I told Freeman about her adoring fan and Freeman said for her to get in touch, and gave her mobile phone number. Nancy was beside herself, and one Sunday afternoon Freeman was in Brisbane and invited Nancy to attend a family barbecue.
I dropped Nancy off at the address and watched as the two got together. They then lined up with all the others for their turn at the barbecue. From then on began a quaint friendship -- with Freeman writing from all points overseas telling Nancy what she was doing, encouraging her to train hard and make something of her life. The hand-written letters were treasures and were excitedly read to anybody who came to our house.
Once, when Freeman was back in Brisbane, she invited Nancy to her mother's home where she gave Nancy a pair of her running spikes. To a little black girl who liked to run, there could be no more wonderful present.
Nancy's father died, and among the first to get in contact and offer comfort were Freeman and her mother. Nancy wasn't family in the sense we understand it. She was just a black sister, an adoring fan, a humble runner who idolised a world champion. And that world champion perhaps saw in her something of herself -- an uncomplicated, honest girl facing the world and its challenges, from a background that made it all rather scary.
Freeman has gone on to collect an array or worldly awards: Australian of the Year, athlete of the year, world and Olympic champion runner. But the true measure of her in my eyes, at least, is not those well-deserved accolades but to see a person who is so thoughtful of others that she can stop her victory run to help a photographer who has fallen, and who can take the time out to hand-write letters to a girl from faraway Badu Island just because she knows it will make her happy.
It is no wonder she has put aside any further accolades she might earn by winning at the Commonwealth Games, in favour of sticking by her husband in his time of great need.
Australia is willing her on in this latest battle. And without the shadow of a doubt, on Badu Island each night now, a little black runner who has returned to her home to be with her own people, is reading her Bible chapter each night in the belief that her prayers will help Freeman and husband Sandy Bodecker in these troubled times. Cathy Freeman has earned friends like Nancy Nona. She is a very special human being of whom we should all be proud.