Thoughts from the Side of the House…

Whenever we’d be working in the yard, or golfing, or fishing, my dad would always accidentally call me “Frank” or “Frankie.” He and his little brother had spent so much time together doing similar things that Dad couldn’t help himself.

Uncle Frank was an iconic figure in my childhood. He was definitely the uncle I spent the most time with and therefore knew the best. His annual trip to our house to play with my dad in the Elcona Country Club invitational was always a highlight of the summer.

He was big and brash and played the game with bravado, a powerful golfer who hit the ball over 300 yards in an era when that meant something, an era before all the advances in golf equipment. In one ten year span, either he or my dad won the long drive competition 8 out of 10 years. At one driving contest, Uncle Frank was wearing a shirt and tie. Dewey Welch, the MC that evening, started to tease him mercilessly about it. So first Uncle Frank loosened his tie. His drive landed out of the fairway. Then after some more needling, he took the tie off entirely and threw it to the side. Another long bomb outside the fairway. Dewey just kept yapping. So Frank turned around and pretended to be upset. He paused and stared at Dewey then ripped off his shirt with buttons popping and flying all over the place. Underneath he was wearing a t-shirt with the Polish Falcon on the front with the words “POLISH POWER!” I wish I could say he crushed his final drive. He did not. In fact, he barely made contact at all and hooked it out of bounds. Apparently he was laughing so hard along with a howling crowd that he could barely hit the ball!

But that was not the last of it. Uncle Frank’s legend was cemented two days later when he and my dad were one stroke out of the lead heading in the 18th. Dad pulled off an impossible chip for birdie, the kind of slow moving downhill touch shot that takes 15 seconds or more to finally settle into the hole. It was astonishing to all who witnessed it. Then on the first playoff hole, Frank got up to the tee and remembering his failure in the long drive contest boldly announced, “THIS is the bleeping driving contest!” He promptly drove the green on a par 4 and two putted for an easy birdie. People talked about Dad’s and Uncle Frank’s heroics that weekend for years!

We had fun together on and off the course. One evening after a very hot and humid day with temps in the 90s, Uncle Frank and I went out to the golf course behind our house to swim in the creek. Although it was dark, it was early enough that the greens crew were still driving around in their carts setting sprinklers. This was a private club and we weren’t supposed to be there. We were clearly trespassing. But that just made it more fun! Not content just to hide, we decided to toy with them a little. So we got under a bridge they were using and hung our towels on the edge. They drove up to the towels to see what they were. Getting out of their carts, they stooped over the brightly colored towels with their flashlights shining to take a look. Just as they were about to pick them up, we yanked them down into the water. It was dark and this startled the heck out of them. When they shouted at us threateningly, we’d dodge the light they were shining with their flashlights and headlights by submerging under water and holding our breath. They never found us. Once we knew we were in the clear, we ran home laughing and giggling so hard!

When I was 11 years old in 1978, Notre Dame was scheduled to play Michigan in football for the first time in decades. Uncle Frank didn’t mind Notre Dame, but that was the year that he broke it to me that he was a Michigan fan more than a Notre Dame fan. Well at the time, I was quite surprised that anyone in my family, let alone such a beloved uncle, would like Michigan more than Notre Dame! The thought had literally never occurred to me as a possibility! Rooting for Notre Dame was as engrained in the Kloska family as being Polish and Catholic so I was absolutely stunned. At the end of this conversation, Uncle Frank and I decoded to make a friendly bet on the outcome of the game. The problem was that my parents had a hard and fast “you may never bet money” rule. Uncle Frank and I creatively circumvented this by making the following deal: If Notre Dame won, he’d give me five dollars. If Michigan won, I’d have to write 100 times, “I believe in the Maize and Blue.” Here is where things went sideways. I had never heard of the word “maize” and so I automatically thought he said, “amazing.” I knew Michigan’s colors were yellow and blue but they would always say, “Go Big Blue” so I figured he was just calling Big Blue amazing. Michigan won the game. Writing a sentence a hundred times at 11 years old meant 4 pages of loose leaf paper with the sentence written 25 times per page. I admit that I was just going to “forget” about our bet and hope he didn’t remember, but he joked about it with my dad which reminded everyone. My parents actually made me hold up my end of the bargain. These are the old days of cursive handwriting. So I wrote 100 times, “I believe in the Amazing Blue!” and gave it to him the next time I saw him. He was quite surprised at what I wrote and just started cracking up about my mistaken hearing. Then he scared the bejeezus out of me by pretending like he was not going to accept it because I did it wrong. Mercifully, he finally accepted my efforts knowing that I had spent a lot of time writing it and was upset enough at the Irish loss. It was SUCH a huge relief. The next year, I proposed the same bet and thankfully the Irish prevailed in Ann Arbor. I got my five bucks! Now whenever I hear anything about the “Maize and Blue” I always think of my amazing Uncle Frank.

In his later years, Uncle Frank became a man of prayer and a person who really cared about you. He loved Aunt Marge and they gave us two beautiful cousins, James Kloska and Julie Kloska Mead. When he got throat cancer, he and I shared another thing in common: we both had annoyingly hoarse and raspy voices. We sounded ridiculous together.

The day before Uncle Frank passed, he called my dad and said, “Irv, I have an appointment with Jesus. I’m calling to say goodbye.” He said it with certainty and finality. My dad immediately planned a trip to go see him, but Uncle Frank’s appointment was urgent.

I loved this man and will miss him. Thanks for everything, Uncle Frank!