Frank P. Fischer
NOV 10, 1926 - NOV 16, 2018
At Frank's funeral on December 21 in St. Ignatius Church in Baltimore.
300 of his favorite people gathered to mourn with one another.
The Desanctis family, his sister's children, were present and spoke of the pleasure of knowing him as a guest at their groaning table when they were growing up.
I remembered how I first saw him when I was a student at Saint Joseph's Prep and Frank was there with seven other Jesuits in their white cassocks getting a blessing for their mission to Burma.
About forty African American grads of Loyola Blakefield processed in to the Church at the beginning of the funeral Mass. All of them knew Frank as their teacher at Loyola. He was responsible for the programs that began meaningful racial integration at the school in about 1967.
It was clear from testimony in the church and afterward in the church hall that Frank always, and I mean ALWAYS, focused on the persons in his presence and encouraged them to be their best positive selves, without any question. It was his way of loving.
In reaching out to his urban students, he would go so far as to drive them from the suburban Loyola campus back to their downtown neighborhoods. Sometimes he would not know the way; sometimes his students questioned the quality of the car; sometimes, as they told the story with happy memories, they chose to take the bus instead.
Someone testified to his compassionate work at the St. Ambrose Housing Aid Center where people with every kind of housing finance issue came to see him. Once a client was suffering also with a bad tooth. Frank took her to the University of Maryland dental clinic and paid for the healing work required to relieve the pain.
Another testified about one source of his compassion: his own chronic back pain. Somedays even when in his office he would simply lie flat on the floor to ease his discomfort.
Another testified to some of his absent mindedness in his last years. She told how he, intending to call someone else, dialed her number by mistake instead. She had not spoken with him in some time but was thrilled to have the opportunity to talk with him and he responded with genuine affection.
Another created an imaginary conversation between Frank and his loving wife Jeanne. In the conversation Frank announced that he had given away his car. Jeanne questioned the abundance of his generosity. He thanked her for watching over him and moderating his behavior by saying how lucky he was to be married to her!
We also tried to sing without the success we would have had with Frank in the room. We tried to sing one of his favorite songs from his pre-college youth, "Chattanooga Choo-Choo." I believe that we won't ever be able to sing it again with the enthusiasm that Frank lent to our voices. No, it is too difficult for us to sing now that the Choo-choo has choo-chooed him home.
Joanne Manzo points out the Memorial Plaque at Frank's favorite eatery, Koco's
At Frank's funeral on December 21 in St. Ignatius Church in Baltimore.
300 of his favorite people gathered to mourn with one another.
The Desanctis family, his sister's children, were present and spoke of the pleasure of knowing him as a guest at their groaning table when they were growing up.
I remembered how I first saw him when I was a student at Saint Joseph's Prep and Frank was there with seven other Jesuits in their white cassocks getting a blessing for their mission to Burma.
About forty African American grads of Loyola Blakefield processed in to the Church at the beginning of the funeral Mass. All of them knew Frank as their teacher at Loyola. He was responsible for the programs that began meaningful racial integration at the school in about 1967.
It was clear from testimony in the church and afterward in the church hall that Frank always, and I mean ALWAYS, focused on the persons in his presence and encouraged them to be their best positive selves, without any question. It was his way of loving.
In reaching out to his urban students, he would go so far as to drive them from the suburban Loyola campus back to their downtown neighborhoods. Sometimes he would not know the way; sometimes his students questioned the quality of the car; sometimes, as they told the story with happy memories, they chose to take the bus instead.
Someone testified to his compassionate work at the St. Ambrose Housing Aid Center where people with every kind of housing finance issue came to see him. Once a client was suffering also with a bad tooth. Frank took her to the University of Maryland dental clinic and paid for the healing work required to relieve the pain.
Another testified about one source of his compassion: his own chronic back pain. Somedays even when in his office he would simply lie flat on the floor to ease his discomfort.
Another testified to some of his absent mindedness in his last years. She told how he, intending to call someone else, dialed her number by mistake instead. She had not spoken with him in some time but was thrilled to have the opportunity to talk with him and he responded with genuine affection.
Another created an imaginary conversation between Frank and his loving wife Jeanne. In the conversation Frank announced that he had given away his car. Jeanne questioned the abundance of his generosity. He thanked her for watching over him and moderating his behavior by saying how lucky he was to be married to her!
We also tried to sing without the success we would have had with Frank in the room. We tried to sing one of his favorite songs from his pre-college youth, "Chattanooga Choo-Choo." I believe that we won't ever be able to sing it again with the enthusiasm that Frank lent to our voices. No, it is too difficult for us to sing now that the Choo-choo has choo-chooed him home.
Joanne Manzo points out the Memorial Plaque at Frank's favorite eatery, Koco's
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