Frank Starr

Sad to report that an old Tacoma friend, Frank Starr, died on May 14th at 90 years old. I first met Frank and his wife, Minda, at our church, but only really got acquainted when I asked him for a favor: to cut some glass for my friend, Patrick, who was filling in front drawer panels of a cabinet. I'd heard that Frank, a retired glass installer, was still working odd jobs out of his house.

It was an adventure, figuring out Sumner - integrated into a state highway scheme with considerable contortion - then Frank's shop. Odd-shaped remnants of glass carefully piled in a back sunroom (glass, of course) workshop; above were jars screwed into their lids nailed tight in the ceiling, holding nails, screws, etc. He also had a pet squirrel - domesticated over time - and Minda wouldn't let me leave without feeding me first and handing me a grocery bag filled with pastries & some fruit.

I particularly remember the pricing of the panes. Frank wanted me to appreciate the deal he was giving: custom cut, sanded corners, wrapped in newspaper. I sensed that he also knew the favor was somewhat two-sided; a useful return of his vanished trade skills in what was essentially doubling as a social call. Afflicted with Parkinson's, this simple job had its challenges and Frank messed-up a few panes, earning some light cuts, as well.

Somewhere I learned that Frank had worked for a commercial glass installation company in Seattle, one of his projects being the show windows of the downtown Nordstrom's. Several men lifting heavy glass sheets with suction grips into place.

I recall a phone conversation during one of those hot summer spells in Tacoma, when the heat felt unbearable, being used to a lower set of temperature swings. The heat was hot and Frank was shirtless, trying to keep cool and suddenly yelled out some choice words. He apologized; the squirrel landed on his shoulder.

Later found out Frank was a paratrooper in WWII's 82nd Airborne, and was awarded a Purple Heart. He had been declining steadily, but was surprisingly alert last summer, when I chatted with him briefly at church. He recognized me immediately, outstretching his hand.

Frank Starr