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Saul Frankel Obituary
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David Kellogg
January 27, 2009
Dear Family Frankel:
As Barbara's friend of 30 years, I extend my support and warm wishes to each member of your family. Due to the vagaries of technology, sadly, I did not learn of the service in time to stand with you.
I hold you in my thoughts as you transit from the freshness of this change to increasing peace and those recollections that will warm you hearts long after your sadness wanes.
Respectfully,
Ann and Dennis Bushe
January 24, 2009
Dear Mimi,
We read of Saul's passing in the Gazette and want to express our condolences to you and your family. We remember the afternoon he showed us the model ships and felt they told so much of his story, though we did not know him very well -- but in the ships we could see the steady hands of the surgeon, his love of the sea, the pride he took in his work, the quiet, bright and thoughtful person we knew him to be. We will miss seeing him tending to the property across the street from us.
John Gutierrez
January 20, 2009
David:
Though I never met your father, from your own words and the testimonials herein I can see that he was someone special. From my p.o.v. you got the best parts of him in your personality too. Carry on, old boy.
Barbara Frankel
January 19, 2009
Memories of My Father
January 11, 2009 - Vineyard Haven, MA
Last summer when my father asked me to bring him a shirt from his closet, I paused for a few moments to look at his shoes, neatly lined up in pairs. I reflected on the various sides of the man they represented.
The slippers - when I was a young child, I would hear the shuffling, scuffling sound of those slippers going up and down the hallway of our home in Connecticut - early in the morning, when my father got ready for work; or in the middle of the night, when he was called out on a medical emergency, sometimes to perform surgery.
When he was ready for work, I’d hear the hollow thud of his work shoes - in winter time brown ankle-high boots with buckles I liked to play with.
Then there were the hiking boots - well-worn working in the yard raking leaves and on weekly trips to the town dump. My father was a hard worker, whether in his medical career, at home doing chores, or building his ship models. Even in the last months of his life, when he was ill with cancer, he would say after breakfast, “It’s time for me to be getting to the office” (his ship-modeling workshop).
And on and on the shoes and the memories - the “topsiders” (sailing shoes), the “fisherman’s” sandals, the “dress” shoes worn to the occasional cocktail party or night out at the theatre or opera.
Then my eyes rested on the “crocs” my mother had recently gotten for my father, the only shoes that were comfortable for him to wear on his swollen feet and ankles.
Finally, at the end, we came full circle, the last pair of shoes he wore were his slippers.
I also want to mention my father’s hands. He had beautiful hands. Steady hands that operated on his patients and built intricate ship models. And at the end of his life, those hands were still very much intact, gesturing - gesturing a conversation, or “lighting” a pipe (he smoked when he was a young man), or “sewing”, perhaps a few stitches on a sail.
And now those hands rest peacefully folded. Godspeed, Dad.
Love,
Your daughter, Barbara
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David Frankel
January 17, 2009
Eulogy for Dad
With deepest love, gratitude and respect for teaching me how to walk through this world -
Your son,
David
Delivered January 11, 2009
Vineyard Haven, Massachusetts
Thank you all for coming out in this bracing weather to say goodbye to my father, who meant so many things to each of us. I think my father would actually have appreciated a blustery day like this for his farewell. I can imagine him checking the sky, sniffing the breeze, giving a half smile and a shrug, and saying, “Nice day for it.” He loved the elements and always engaged the world with great curiosity and good humor.
His own grandfather, in a poem dedicating a volume of his poetry, captured the essence of my father as a four-year-old boy, and the essence he always retained through 87 years of a well-lived life:
“BUDDY"
Often we wandered up and down
The shady lanes of country road
While he was telling me such tales
As only he could
spin and know.
I was his Confidant and Friend
And, willy, nilly, too, his Mentor;
He had a thousand weighty questions
On tongue and in his
dark eyes splendor.
"Why?" "Why is this?"---or "Would
you tell me?"
"Why do the wheels go 'round---what
makes them?"
"Why flies the bird, the aeroplane
So swift and high we
can not catch them?"
And thus he asks a thousand questions,
Ever and ever asking, Why? Why? Why?
Four summers he, and I of many winters,
But we have travelled far,
just he and I.
We roamed the realms unseen, undreamed of,
We builded castles of most regal splendor;
Together we fought Lions, Bears and Tigers,
A warrior he, yet with
a heart most tender.
We travelled to the sun and farthest stars
In a "Big!" red, white and blue balloon;
And saw such sights as grown-ups never
dream of---
When finally we landed
on the moon.
"Why, Why?" he quests, and keeps me
thinking
Of answers which require deepest study;---
He owns me, heart and soul, and all
that's in it
The best of little men,
my Pal and Buddy.
My father never lost touch with that essential spirit, and this is the secret of his rare ability to put anyone in his presence at ease with his humor, gentleness and all-embracing competence. My father could dance with little girls to Fats Waller; draw little boys to run laughing to greet him at the door to be hoisted high in the air; calm the most anxious patients – including those related to him; and charm everyone he met with his amusing stories, goofy rubber-faced expressions, accents from many distant countries that appear on no map, and lightning flashes of wit that illuminated both his high intelligence and his wisdom about life.
When I myself was a 4-year-old, I loved playing with my daddy so much that when he was trying to catch up on his sleep on weekend mornings, I would tiptoe into my parents’ bedroom, take his glasses from the nightstand and place them carefully on the bridge of his nose – like putting in his batteries so he could get up and play with me.
But, even though I loved my father so much, I have to confess that my hero back then was the Lone Ranger. The Lone Ranger always showed up when people were in trouble, meted out justice tempered with mercy to bad actors, and was so modest, he wore a mask and never even stuck around to be thanked. Oh yeah, and he rode a white stallion. I remember being disappointed when a trip to see relatives made me miss the long-anticipated episode in which the Lone Ranger was to remove his mask and reveal his identity.
For years, I wondered about that. Much later, when I was in college and thinking about whether to go into medicine, my father invited me to watch him perform an operation. I can still see the absolute calm with which he picked up the sharp steel, and with one sure sweep of his hand, make his incision, like a fine artist tracing the arc of beauty. He looked different to me in the operating room, wearing the surgical mask. I should have known then.
But it has only really hit me in the last few months, as I have clumsily groped to find words to thank my father for everything he did for us – Dad was the Lone Ranger, but better. He could save lives and fix almost anything. You could always count on him to be there when help was needed and to know what to do. Sometimes he used a knife, but never a gun. He was upright and always displayed absolute integrity in all his dealings with the world. And he was modest, never complaining and seldom talking about himself or dwelling on his own feelings. While this could be frustrating at times – “What is he really thinking?” we would often wonder – what I finally realized was that we knew him by his deeds. He was the best of men; never mean-spirited or petty; always trying to help, or make you think, or make you laugh, or, even better, make you smile. He never had much use for horses, though, even though he “claimed” to be descended from a long line of horse thieves.
As you all know, my father loved the sea and sailing ships. When my mother, sisters and I were trying to think about what kind of funeral my dad would want, I joked that something along the lines of the funeral in the movie “The Vikings”, with a blazing longboat sailing off into the sunset, would be about right. While not strictly within the mainstream of Jewish tradition, I thought it would probably be okay anyway, because as it turns out, the big macher Vikings in that movie – Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtiss – were Jews! All in all, though, the peaceful spot at Lambert’s Cove that he and my mother chose, where on a still night you can hear the waves, is better.
My father was so brave and strong in his final weeks, tended lovingly at home by his devoted wife, my mother, Miriam, and by my sisters, Kathy and Barbara, and me, as best we all could. Watching him as he thought his thoughts and prepared to cast off from this shore, I was reminded of the opening verse of John Masefield’s poem:
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.
My father steered a true course all his days, and always brought his ship and everyone he cared for safely home. As he embarks on this voyage, let us all wish him fair winds, smooth seas, and above all, peace.
Shalom, Dad. We love you and will carry you in our hearts always.
Saul in his workshop, September 2003
January 16, 2009
David M. Silverstein,M.D.
January 16, 2009
Please accept my condolence to Saul's family. Saul was one of my kind teachers when I was a resident in neurosurgery at Yale in the 1960's. I'm sure he would understand the delay in sending this since being a retired neurosurgeon I'm still trying to figure out how to send E-mail. I appreciate his being there in those early days.
Marjory Aronson
January 15, 2009
Saul Frankel
Carol Hehre
January 15, 2009
Mimi, Kathy, Barbara, and David,
I was very sad to learn of your husband and father's passing when I read it in the Gazette yesterday. I will always remember him with great fondness and respect both professionally and personally. He was such a kind man in my eyes. All the discussions he and my father (Fred Hehre) had those many years on the Vineyard regarding medicine, fishing, sailing and model boats! I had forgotten how many interests they shared. Of course I still remember the summers with your family on the "Strip" --they were fun years.
I give thanks for Saul's life contributing to medical research and practice, and I send you all my deepest condolences during this bereavement as he will be greatly missed in your lives.
Carol
Betsy Driebeek (Moss)
January 10, 2009
Barbara, I am sorry to read about the passing of your dad.
George Gray
January 10, 2009
In 1973, Dr Saul preformed back surgery on me which made my life great. He was the best surgeon I ever dealt with during my life. My sincere and deepest sympathy to his family. He will be greatly missed but always remembered.
Lydia and Jim Zappacosta
January 10, 2009
Dear Mimi,Barbara,Kathy and David, Thinking of you and wishing that we could be with you to say good-bye to Saul.He was a kind,intelligent and talented man.
Luciano and Martha Rebay
January 9, 2009
Dear Mimi,
Luciano and I were deeply saddened by the news of Saul's death and should like to extend our heartfelt condolences to you and your family. Our thoughts will be with you at the Lambert's Cove Cemetary on January 11th.
Sincerely,
Luciano and Martha Rebay
January 9, 2009
Jennie Greene
January 8, 2009
Dr. Frankel was the most wonderful surgeon. Without him I would not be walking around comfortably today. I was saddened to see his obituary in the MV Times. I never knew that he summered here on the island. Had I known I would have made a point of thanking him for making my last 42 years comfortable and mobile. He was a wonderful surgeon and a very kind doctor. You were all lucky to have known him and benefited from his knowledge.
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