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| One of Frank Riccio's many illustrations |
DKE was full of interesting members, and because it was the only fraternity
at the time to accept women as full members, violating the DKE national charter
I might add, we stood out among the other fraternities at Trinity. Frank joined
shortly after I did and I think we became friends almost immediately. He lived at the house, and he was a
quiet, gentle guy, It was quite a while before I even learned what a
wonderful artist he was, because Frank was never one to brag or show off. He was soft spoken, thoughtful, kind, generous,
down-to-earth, interesting, very intelligent, and he possessed a wonderfully
wry, disarming sense of humor. He ultimately became a successful painter and
illustrator, but Frank was a thousand other things to me. I really liked him. It
was because of him and so many of my other brothers and sisters at DKE, that I
remained at Trinity, which although it was a pretty good school academically,
was in many ways a country club for rich, entitled kids. I eschewed that image, though I was no stranger to wealth and entitlement.
After we had graduated, Frank and I kept in touch semi-regularly by mail. We rarely spoke on the phone. I
shared my songwriting with him - he was one of my few friends who thought I was
any good, and encouraged me to continue writing songs - and he shared
his progress in the art world with me in the beautiful letters he wrote. Every
letter contained some example of his recent work, and sometimes, if I was
lucky, he would draw some intricate sketch in pencil somewhere on the letter. I
cannot put into words how much those personal bits of art meant to me, and I
have them all, somewhere in my letter files. I have a feeling I am not the only recipient of his spontaneous
art.
My last correspondence with Frank was in January of this year; it was an
email wherein he responded to a recent report I’d written about caregiving. He
was particularly moved by my experiences in the Sunnybrook Hospital stroke
ward. His mom’s health was failing, and he told me I’d shined a light on some
of the dark issues he too was facing. Throughout our friendship, we shared some
of our darker hours, and in so doing, maybe we helped each other make some sense of
it all. I didn’t know Frank well, but sometimes those are the people with whom
we choose to share. He may have known at that time of his last correspondence that
he was terminally ill, but no mention was made of it. Now, I am left with those
letters, and the memories I have of our communications. It is my hubris that
makes me feel I could have been some comfort to him in his last days. I am so sad that I could not, and I will miss him terribly.
There are some souls that shine brighter than all the rest, and as the ever
growing specter of my mortality hovers over me, I am bluntly reminded of the
simple fact that this journey goes in one direction. The ugly beast of anti-Semitism
again rises in the Middle East and elsewhere, the superpowers are once again
rattling their sabers, and we as a species continue to make the same mistakes
over and over again. And then there are people like Frank, with his gentle, wry
smile, and his disarming honesty. Guys like Frank give me hope that perhaps we won’t
screw the whole thing up. He is the hopeful man child, sailing out into unknown
waters, absorbing all that life has to give. I love you Frank, and I always will. May you rest in
peace.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
