An Extraordinary Ordinary Man

Mr. Frank Patton, our kitty-corner neighbor on Brearly St., passed away just before Christmas 2002 He had stoically endured months of painful treatments, but had been able to come home for short periods of time and was able to pass with dignity in the company of his wife Frances and their children. My family and I were among a cast of many who enjoyed Frank's company and hospitality. We will always remember the many sweet summer evenings chatting and laughing on the Pattons' screened-in porch. I hope this poem says the rest.

Ode to Mr. Patton

He was known by things:

the jaunty plaid hat

with the snap-down brim

the afternoon Democrat

paper, read from masthead

to Section last.

His lazy cat, Angel,

making him laugh

and shake his head

in mock despair.

And he was known for more than that:

His habit of drawing

a listener near by

whispering behind cupped

hand--maybe something

slightly racy or teasing,

ending with a drawn-up

brow and drawn-down smile,

and "eh? whaddaya think

of that?"

His quiet pride in his daughters

and sons, his obvious joy

in his bride's blonde beauty.

His glee in making a shrewd

deal at his hobby yard sales--

and his equal generosity

in just giving the rest away:

"Here, take this for the boy.

He'll like this, eh?"

Holder of strong opinions

and faith in the value of plain

hard work.

But mostly his kindness,

his pleasure in the simple things--

evenings and afternoons with our boy--

counting cars on Gorham Street.

First the red ones, then the blue.

- Gay Davidson-Zielske

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