Frank called Kaiser last January, waiting over six and a half hours for someone to answer the phone. He was able to schedule a vaccine in the first month that it was available, so both he (a retired teacher), and his wife Marion (a retired school principal) were able to be among the first to defend themselves against the onslaught of Covid-19. Only it didn’t. We spent the afternoon yesterday with Marion, leaving only when she and her daughters Liana and Sarah drove to see Frank, meet with the doctors, and for Marion, to make the incredibly difficult decision to tell them to take the ventilator away.
In mid-July Sarah and her husband left for a short vacation, leaving their two young sons in Frank and Marion’s care. Unbeknownst to all, the boys tested positive for Covid but were asymptomatic. Both Frank and Marion tested positive, and for Marion, it was just a cold. Frank thought he had a cold, too, but it morphed into full-blown Covid. He spent some time in the ICU, then because he was improving, moved to another room, then back to ICU. He was eventually put on a ventilator, where he remained for the last thirty days. By yesterday the ventilator, intended to aid with a patient’s breathing, was doing 100% of the work, and that’s when Marion returned to the hospital with the girls. Jadyne sat on the sofa with Marion, holding her for an hour or so, knowing that when we left she would have to leave too, having to make the most difficult decision of her life. “I had to do this for my father,” she said. “I never dreamed I’d have to do this for my husband.”
When I learned that Frank was on a ventilator I wrote this note to him. His daughter Annie read it to him last week.
“Frank, I don’t know whether you’re able to read this or not, but I had a very difficult night sleeping after reading Tom Nunes’ post about you. Above this post I’m seeing “Active 7h ago” so I’m hopeful that either you or Marion is able to read this. I want you to know firsthand how much you are loved and how, even if our paths seldom cross, your friendship through the years has meant to me. Thinking of you at this difficult time. If prayers and good thoughts can cure, then you’re already back on the golf course. I love you, buddy.”
The irony of being cautious, vaccinated, and careful. A screenshot from Frank’s Facebook Profile.
I taught at Cardinal Newman HS for five years, beginning in 1975. Frank joined the faculty in 1976, teaching art and Spanish. Frank was from Cuba, had relatives still living there. While I was at Newman he and I became the best of friends, a relationship that continued even after I left in 1980 and began my photography business, and later still, when we left Santa Rosa for the East Bay. The photo above at the top was taken five years ago by a former student’s wife. We both attended the 1981 class reunion with students we had both taught.
Both he and Marion raised two daughters who became teachers. Liana, the older, has a son who became a teacher, too. They were featured in an article last December in the Press-Democrat that I have referenced below.
Frank worked one summer as a parking attendant for the Sonoma County fair. Catholic school teachers’ salaries couldn’t match the public school salaries, and we often took odd jobs to supplement our incomes.
Frank and I played softball together. We both loved baseball, but we never cheered for the same teams, as his beloved Dodgers were the longtime nemesis of the Giants. Because my uncle had joined a group of men that purchased the Cincinnati Reds, I had access to tickets for any game I wanted. Frank and I skipped out on a faculty meeting on a Friday, drove to LA, and took in a World Series game with the Yankees. We sat next to Billy Crystal. “Who’s that?” I asked Frank. “He’s an actor on a TV show called ‘Soap’”, he answered. “Never heard of it.” We sat between home and first, and I have several photographs from the game—one of Frank Sinatra, another of Floyd Patterson, and this one, of Tom Seaver, Howard Cosell, and Keith Jackson, the announcers.
When we returned we were admonished for skipping the faculty meeting by Bill Finn, the principal, who, we suspected would have preferred to join us.
We celebrated Chinese New Year together every year with two other interracial couples and their children. (Marion is Chinese). After we moved to Kensington, Frank organized breakfast dates at Railroad Square’s Omelet Express. I drove up two or three times to meet old friends for breakfast, giving up only because the traffic across the Richmond-San Rafael bridge made it an impossibility. Frank sent me this post for my birthday, two or three days before he became infected.
Frank’s granddaughter posted this on Facebook. I t captures Frank’s playful nature and his family.
It’s been two days since Frank died. There’s no lesson to be learned here, no great generalization, just the inevitable and unwelcome sadness that accompanies loss.