Verne R. Frank

For those left behind, my thoughts and prayers are with you.
I like to think that there is a wonderful reunion going on with Judy and her father. How happy she must be to have her ‘Pop’ there with her.

I was so sorry to hear of your loss–I know my Son-in-law Greg had a great role model in Verne. I hope the Loving Lord wraps his arms around you all and bring you comfort. I will keep Him, and you all in my prayers.

May the lord keep and bless you always.I was a supervisor in security and knew verne.

Others have written about Grandpa’s calm nature and undeniable quick wit. What I remember most about him was singing the Christmas carols at Aunt Janet’s and talking about baseball, the Red Wings and, of course, Bob Feller. I am proud to be Grandpa’s grandson and I hope to be as admired as he is someday. Rest In Peace, Grandpa.

Thank you for being such a wonderful Pop and an excellent Grandpa.

Love always,

Rebecca, Jack and Abby

There are many ways to say, I love you; many ways to show you care…’

Vern Frank’s passing brings back many fond memories of working for him in the Kodak Fire Department. ‘The Senator’ as he was respectfully called, was in my opinion the most compassionate and caring individual one could ever hope to have as a shift supervisor. Having worked with Vern during the 60’s and into the 80’s at KFD, I could write a book about this grand and loved gentleman. I can see his trademark walk now, with it’s little built-in ‘skip and a hop.’ His keen wit, a dry sense of humor – always at just the right time, made him very special, not only under extreme emergency conditions, but also over coffee in the firehouse. After my dad passed away at a young age, Vern sort of stepped-in and often shared with me fatherly-like advice and his vast knowledge of life with its ups and downs. Sometimes this took place in the peace and quiet of three o’clock in the morning in one of our mutually favorite places, a firehouse. How fortunate for me. Gosh, what treasured lessons of life this man has taught me! He shall be forever in my mind, and I shall be forever grateful to have had him as a friend and mentor. Rest easy Captain Vern, dear friend.

When I spoke with my brother Ken the morning our father passed away in his sleep, he noted that Pop died as he had lived’¦ without fanfare. I really can’t think of a better, simpler way to describe our father, and the life he lead.

Verne Robert Frank was born in 1919 in the small, rural North Country town of Constableville, to German parents, Rudolph and Della. He and his sister Dorothy and bothers Howard, Paul, and Mark grew up poor in wealth but rich in experiences, and gained an appreciation for the importance of family and the simple pleasures in life’¦ simple pleasures he would pass on to his family, and we to ours.

Verne left his little hometown to enlist in the Army and serve his country in World War II. His smarts and dedication to duty helped him move up the ranks to Staff Sergeant, and he traveled with the 1st Army throughout Europe after D-Day. While he brought back many photos and some souvenirs from his service, and enjoyed telling humorous stories of misadventures with his soldier buddies state-side, he never spoke to us of his actual war-time experiences in Europe. He served his country’¦ without fanfare.

Throughout the war he faithfully wrote to, and answered letters from, his sweetheart Ruth Worden. Upon his return, Ruth and Verne quickly married and settled in Rochester, where Pop took a job in the fire department at Kodak. He eventually rose to the position of Captain, always working ‘trick-work’, the demanding alternating shift schedule of days, evening, and nights, until he retired in 1979. I don’t recall him ever missing a day of work. Despite his important position, Pop rarely, if ever, talked about work at home. We knew he worked at Kodak in the fire department, but I never knew he was a Captain until he retired. He went to work and did his job’¦ without fanfare.

A year after their wedding, the kids starting coming and the need for a house became urgent, and Pop bought the place we will always call home, 101 Ridgedale Circle.
We grew up comfortably in a working-class neighborhood of small houses that boomed with babies. There were no shortages of friends and playmates on our tree-lined street.

Pop was famously frugal, and although we didn’t always get everything we wanted (like a new fancy bike, or a big swimming pool) he made sure we had what we needed: A roof over our head. Food on the table. Presents under the tree. A little spending money in our pocket. A college education.

I’m grateful that the house we grew up in was the only one we ever knew. Even after we left the nest, we could always still come home. Home to the sweet smell of Half & Half pipe tobacco’¦ the radio playing softly in the corner’¦ cookies on the counter and ice cream in the freezer. Home’¦ to Mom and Pop.

Pop loved baseball and took us to Rochester Red Wings games, a team he was proud to support as a Red Wings Community Baseball shareholder. Baseball was often on the radio in the living room and in his car, and he liked to tell stories of his playing days in Constableville. He never spoke much about his hitting ability, but he would always make sure I knew he ‘ran like a deer’ in those days.

I loved the game too, and played pick-up games with in the summer at Murphy’s Field or the Bonesteel Street playground. When we couldn’t field a team, we’d play hotbox, home-run ball, or 500 in the street in front of our house until the inevitable errant throw or foul ball would hit a car, or a house, and Pop would come out and suggest we ‘go down to the lot.’

Pop and I would sometimes play catch in our little backyard, the sun on his face and his back to the dogwood tree. One day he showed me how to throw his famous change-up, a pitch he had described in some stories from his youth. I was thrilled to have this secret pitch shown to me, although I could never make it work like he could. Many years later I played baseball for Greece Olympia high school. I was the centerfielder in every game’¦ every game but one, when sore arms and a suspension forced the coach to use me as the s