Rufus Franklin Gay

As a writer struggling to support his young family in the 1970s, Frank Gay received the sort of letter most authors can only dream of after publishing a short story.

"It was so well done," wrote Toni Morrison, then an editor at Random House. "Is that piece a short story or part of a large work? If the latter is true, I would like very much to see the [manuscript]."

The future Nobel laureate was not alone in her admiration of his work.

Esquire's Gordon Lish frequently urged him to send more stories, writing that Frank "is clearly one of the most 'exciting' young ones around." Editors at The Ecco Press, intrigued by his labyrinthine use of language and singular imagery, solicited him to produce a collection of short stories.

But it was a reviewer in The New York Times who captured something essential about him, writing that Frank's prose showed "a fine and kindly comic sense" - personal qualities that would eventually help define his legacy.

Rufus Franklin Gay, Jr., whose generosity of spirit, irreverent wit, and love of language endeared him to friends, family, and strangers, died at his Denver home on November 8 of kidney failure. He was 83.

Born on March 14, 1941 in Knoxville, Tennessee, he was the son of Rufus Franklin Gay Sr., an executive with the J.C. Penney Company, and Lois Hedgecock Gay, a homemaker. Frank graduated from Eastern High School in Louisville, Kentucky, before attending Kenyon College. He later graduated from the University of Iowa, where he went on to earn a pair of Master's degrees, including one from the school's renowned Writers' Workshop.

He entered the Peace Corps in 1966, teaching college English in the Iranian city of Shiraz, where he met his first wife, Elizabeth Correll Gay. The couple later moved to Detroit, where Frank taught English at Wayne State University and their daughter, Joscelyn, was born.

The family had moved to Florida by the time they had their son, Malcolm. Later, they relocated to Denver, where Frank taught English at the University of Colorado, Boulder and focussed on his fiction.

"Jim Brown was a classmate of mine," he wrote in a short story from the time. "His mother was a maid, and friends said that was why he went so far; but I always believed it was the chasm against his ribs, under his breasts, where, the ball secure, he ran like the wind."

The couple divorced in 1978, and Frank, disillusioned with academia, began working a series of odd jobs to support his family and continue writing. He managed apartment buildings across the city, traded penny stocks, and delivered The Wall Street Journal.

During a 1984 trip to North Carolina, family members set him up on a blind date with Barbara Wright, a writer living in Manhattan. The pair were married two years later, and Frank soon began his career as a financial writer, working first at the Denver-based Janus Fund, before relocating to Kansas City, where he retired from American Century and later returned to Denver in 2006.

Together with Barbara, Frank traveled widely, taking trips to Europe, Africa, Cuba, and Asia, among other destinations. He cultivated a wide circle of friends, who were drawn to his self-deprecating humor and offbeat tales. Once, following a home invasion, Frank delighted to tell how the thieves, having rifled through his jewelry, judged it junk and left it strewn across his bed without stealing a thing.

He was a champion of misfits young and old. Where others saw a problem, Frank saw the person. He was a warm man and an attentive listener who took a deep interest in the lives of others. His generosity could at times be extravagant. His tchotchke gifts (some of questionable taste) were the stuff of legend, and over the years he helped more than a few friends realize their dreams or avoid financial ruin.

As a couple, Frank and Barbara took pleasure hosting dinner parties at their home in the Congress Park neighborhood. They frequented the city's jazz clubs and took in movies, live theater, and chamber music concerts.

He loved the short stories of Alice Munro, T. Coraghessan Boyle, and Flannery O'Connor. But perhaps his favorite writer was William Butler Yeats, whose poetry he would often recite.

Frank continued to produce short stories well into his 70s. Toward the end of his life he completed "Oily Oily," an unpublished comedic novel that centers on a fleabag motel in the fictional midwestern town of Grand Waddeau.

Mainly, though, Frank knew what made life worth living: his children, his grandsons, and his marriage. He often remarked that he "basked in the reflective glow" of his family, offering his signature words of encouragement: "I'll tell 'em I knew you when."

During his long illness, Frank never pitied himself. He remained open to joy and seemed genuinely grateful to the end. He died, as he lived, with love.

He is survived by his wife, Barbara, and two children from his previous marriage: Joscelyn Gay, of Denver, and Malcolm Gay, who lives with his wife, Allison Godsey, in Greater Boston. He is also survived by two grandsons, Julius Wilson and Jacob Gay, both of Greater Boston, and three siblings: Patricia Nash and Dorothy Darr, both of High Point, North Carolina, and Richardson Gray, most recently of New York City.

A memorial service will be held in Denver at a date and time to be determined. Interment services will be held in Greensboro, North Carolina at New Garden Friends Meeting.

In lieu of flowers, the family asks those so moved to consider a donation to the National Multiple Sclerosis Society.