Fred Gwynne ’51 (1926-1993) At 6’5″, the towering, charismatic Frederick Hubbard Gwynne was best known for his roles as Officer Francis Muldoon in the TV sitcom “Car 54, Where Are You?” (1961–63), and the bolt-necked, soft-hearted Herman Munster in “The Munsters” (1964–66). He was equally skilled in the graphic arts, writing and illustrating children’s books, including A Chocolate Moose for Dinner. The son of a Wall Street broker, Fred made his acting debut at Groton, then studied drawing with R.S. Merryman at Harvard while being active in dramatics, the Kroks, and the Crimson. After a post-graduation stint with a Shakespearean company in Cambridge, Fred headed to New York, where he appeared in the sitcom “Sergeant Bilko” and in the Oscar-winning film, “On the Waterfront.” In 1961, while costarring in the Broadway musical Irma La Douce, he was cast in “Car 54” — and shortly after that show’s demise landed Herman Munster. After 3 hours in makeup, he donned 40 pounds of padding, and by day’s end had sweated off 10 pounds. In the 1970s and ’80s, he returned to Broadway in powerful dramatic roles (Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and an elderly Klansman in Texas Trilogy) and acted in the films “The Cotton Club” (1984) and “Shadows and Fog” (1992). Fred lost a battle with pancreatic cancer at age 66, shortly after completing his critically acclaimed role of the judge in “My Cousin Vinnie” (1992).

Personal tributes:

From Frank Cabot at the 60th Anniversary Memorial Service: Freddy was a schoolmate of mine and of George Lodge’s, and I had the pleasure of singing with Fred and with David Biddle, and with Paul Wright, who was senior master at Groton School at the time. Fred’s father, I think he was a stockbroker, died very early on down in Florida from a sinus ailment so that Freddy was raised basically by his mother. He was a marvelous character. She had been raised in turn in a family where her father didn’t speak to her mother. And she would be sitting in the middle of the table and her father would say to her, Would you ask your mother to pass the butter? And so she was raised in this extraordinary household. She compensated for that, by when you met her, instead of observing the pleasantries, she would grab you by the hand, sit you down, and launch into this fascinating conversation. She was a wonderful, magnetic person. And Freddy had many of her characteristics. First of all, he was terribly talented. He could not only sing, but he could draw beautifully, and he could sculpt. He was over-talented. And with it, was the temperament of an artist, which as my wife used to point out regularly, wasn’t the easiest to get along with. He also ended up in our wedding and he ended up marrying my wife’s best friend, Foxy. We kept up through his career. He struggled a lot in the beginning, acting doesn’t pay much, and it was touch and go between various shows, and then of course, he became this television character in Car 54 first, and then later on as Herman Munster. And while that brought him some money, it kind of ruined his career because he was a marvelous actor—much, much better than television, and much, much better than Herman Munster—as some of you who may have seen him in some of his bit parts in movies will remember. So after the success of the television he had a hard time getting back into the theater, which is what he really cared for.  But he did in the end, and I’m sure many of you have seen his cameo part in My Uncle Vinny, where he was the judge down south. Also at the end of his life, because of the familiarity with that deep voice, he was involved in a great many voice-overs. And that sounded just like heaven. Because no matter where he was working on a movie set or wherever, if he was engaged to do a voice-over they would send a limo, they’d pick him up, take him to the nearest big city, record the voice-over and then drive him back, maybe a total of four, five, six hours in all, and a check for $35,000 would come in!

He divorced Foxy, or they divorced, and he remarried and bought a farm down near Frederick, Maryland where he delighted in nature and all that it means, and adored the living, being a farmer and welcoming the birds and bees to this world. He died of pancreatic cancer, which is invariably fatal and which is fairly quick. Happily in his case not too painful. Strangely enough, Paul Reich, the senior master of Groton was dying at the same time, and they would derive solace from chatting with one another regularly over the telephone. I had the good fortune of seeing Freddy shortly before he died, touching, a marvelous thing, he was angelic, he was warm and lovely, and not focusing on himself at all. I have this vision of him as I drove away — his house was in a hollow —  and we drove up the hill looking at him in the rear mirror of the car as he was standing there just waving with both arms. It gets me every time. So, God bless him, and God bless all of these wonderful Krokodiloes.

Frank Cabot ’49: I could write a book about Fred. We were friends from our teens, singing mates throughout school and college, and on through his life. He had the best voice in the Kroks and was a terrific stage presence. He also had a girl in Duxbury, MA (where he’d spent a summer as a lifeguard), whose father, Foster Trainer, rigged his fishing boat so that it had a piano in the stern — and he arranged “Big Chief Battle Axe,” “Winter Nights,” and “So Long Oolong” for us. Fred could have equally well sculpted, painted, or sung for a career. The commercial success he derived from his TV roles was offset by the type-casting consequences, which limited the acting parts available to him for years so that his full potential was only visible in a few instances, such as his cameo role as the judge in “My Cousin Vinnie.” Happily for him he was sought after for voice-overs, enabling him to buy a farm in rural Maryland, which he enjoyed immensely.

Peter M. Hewitt ’50: Fred was tall, lantern-jawed, terribly funny — wrote for the Lampoon — and had great big heart. He rowed #7 behind me on the Adams House crew and had us all in tears of laughter much of the time. (Maybe that’s why we didn’t win more races.)

Len Easter ’73: At a Krok anniversary in the ’70s I felt excited to be in the same room with Fred. Many Kroks had gone on to law, business, and medicine — he continued to be a performer. As I played piano that evening, he sat down and sang every song I managed to fake. Years later, while attending law school in NYC, I ran into him in Greenwich Village, where he’d just moved into a loft. He was so tall that he literally stood above everyone. He recognized me immediately from that Krok evening. We found a nearby restaurant/bar and I played — and he sang — again, just as we left off so many years ago. That’s how I remember him — standing tall above everyone — and singing.

Doug Heite ’75: At the Krok Fortieth, I introduced myself (and Jan, my intended) to Mr. Gwynne. Although I’m a bass, his speaking voice was deeper than I can sing. When a woman interrupted and monopolized him, he introduced me as his nephew and excused himself. Later he apologized for his ruse but said she’d been following him all night. As a thank you, he gave my future wife his signature on a cocktail napkin (shaped into the profile of Herman Munster). Jan was thrilled — until we left in the rain, and the signature became an ink blot! The memory is still there, though, still popping up fondly when we think back to our early courtship.