A Tribute to Frank Schwab

On Friday, May 30, 2003 I lost a dear friend. Frank Schwab of Dayton, Ohio slipped away shortly after midnight. He had fought his battle with cancer for many years. He fought valiantly, but death finally overcame his efforts.

In his youth, Frank pounded the waves of the world's oceans as a member of the United States Navy. In more recent years he pounded the world's airwaves as a “Ham Operator” par excellence. He was a devoted family man, and he and his wife Carolyn raised twelve children. He was always proud of his family, and loved them dearly.

I would like to talk a bit about the Frank that I knew. I met him at Ramblers Rest Resort campground in Venice, Florida 15 years ago. He founded a ham radio club there. He also helped several of us found a successful computer club. He was always available to help out where needed and assisted many a resident solve their computer woes. Frank also took videos of all the major functions at the park and made copies for anyone who wanted them.

That's the kind of person Frank was. He worked tirelessly for others. He was one of the “good” people. Everyone loved Frank. He was always gracious, and friendly, and even though he suffered much from his illnesses, I never heard him complain. In all the years I knew Frank, I never heard him raise his voice, and I never heard him speak badly of others. I will miss him, and so will the other residents of Ramblers Rest Resort. Since it is a community made up primarily of retirees, we have lost many over the years. But Frank was special.

I found this poem by Lord Byron that I would like to dedicate to Frank's memory. Frank Schwab has now embarked on his final voyage. Anchors Aweigh and Bon Voyage old friend. We'll meet you again someday in that fair land where cancer and death have no power.

Copyright © Jay D Weaver - May 31, 2003


The Schwab Family
Frank and Carolyn and 12 Children
EVENING
From "Don Juan." Canto Three

O Hesperus! thou bringest all good things--
Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer,
To the young bird the parent's brooding wings,
The welcome stall to the o'erlabored steer:
Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings,
Whate'er our household gods protect of dear,
Are gathered round us by thy look of rest;
Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast.

Soft hour! which wakes the wish and melts the heart
Of those who sail the seas, on the first day
When they from their sweet friends are torn apart;
Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way
As the far bell of vesper makes him start,
Seeming to weep the dying day's decay;
Is this a fancy which our reason scorns?
Ah! surely nothing dies but something mourns.

-George Gordon, Lord Byron 1788-1824


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