GENERATIONS
( Frank Drew continued ) “ He was brilliant and charming , yet possessed this deep authenticity and modesty ,” Martha Hughes , a server and midwife said . “ He was a man at peace in his own skin .”
“ He was not of this crazy materialistic fake world , Frank was one of a kind . His carbon footprint was zero ,” remembered a friend .
Frank was a remarkable wood craftsman , an extremely passionate wine connoisseur and a lauded member of a hospital emergency room team .
He grew up in New York City . He and his twin brother , Chris , graduated from Georgetown University in the same class as Bill Clinton . Soon after , he drifted into our area .
For as long as I can remember , he rented a modest apartment right on the railroad tracks in Markham . Just across the tracks he rented a ramshackle building and began creating exquisite furniture ( I sleep on a four-poster bed he made of Cherrywood and write at a desk of the same wood ).
“ Frank valued things that spoke of great care and attention to detail . He was always generous with his friendship and his love for beautiful things ,” Tara Welty remembers .
“ I have a wooden bowl Frank made a long time ago . I polished it to a beautiful sheen the other day ,” said Debbie Cox , our office manager .
I don ’ t remember exactly when Frank gave himself over to the pursuit of wine — beyond a glassful . He must have read volumes . He would sit in on tastings at the inn and , in his modest way , showed a knowledge that chagrined the wine rep . He could tell you which two hectares on a south slope in Burgundy produced the most coveted pinot noir grapes .
“ Frank was consumed by excellence . Whether it was expressed in peaches , craftsmanship , cheese or wine . He led us down a wonderful path . His influence raised our bar and improved our wines . He was a natural teacher . Sharing gave him great pleasure . He was our humble mentor ,” remembered Jim Law , owner and winemaker at Linden Vineyards .
“ Frank was thorough and passionate . When he delved into something , he read and researched until he was an expert . From wines , to gardening to woodworking , he developed an expertise for everything that interested him , and his interests were broad . Lately , he had turned his focus on his neighborhood birds . He understood which type of feeder mesh and seed each bird preferred , and daily he battled the squirrels trying to steal the seed .” That from a mutual friend , Saud , who , 25 years ago , gave Frank his credit card and told him to amass a wine cellar .
After months of research and tasting , Frank created that wine cellar whose depth and reach were stunning . He found extraordinary caches of Italian and French reds that matched Saud ’ s myriad Middle Eastern dishes . These hours over the table brought back my best memories of our times together . ( Frank ’ s glass was always half full ; mine was always half empty .)
“ I hatched a plan to drink Frank out of house and home . Fortunately for Frank and unfortunately for me , I never quite pulled it off ,” recalled Bush Nichols , an Ashby bartender .
Frank ’ s life took a radical turn in his fifties when he entered training to become an EMT . “ He chose a life of service at a point when most folks are more focused on when they retire ,” said a friend . Once certified , he worked with Marshall Fire and Rescue . He went on to the emergency rooms of two hospitals , including Fauquier , finally working for Novant ’ s hospital in Haymarket .
“ Frank was quiet and didn ’ t talk much about himself . He was a stand-up guy who really was the father of the unit ,” remembered a colleague .
“ Frank was almost always the first staff member in the room of every new ER patient . His warm smile , confidence in his skills and his ability to connect at the human level put us and every arrival at ease ,” added another .
A friend wrote a poem on Frank ’ s death . The last lines :
… as all futures that from This moment do arise , are emptied , My friend ’ s voice made silent — And no more his smile .
One night long ago , Frank and I were the last ones left after close out . We were on watch . The inn rooms were all taken by a group of women in their 30s . They brought along a boom-box now blaring the Four Tops , James Brown et . al . in the Upper dining room . Sing alongs and foot falls filled the inn . Frank looked at me , shrugged his shoulders , broke into a wicked smile . Pointing upward , “ Let ’ s dance .”
Frank Drew , always the Good Samaritan .
Summer 2021 • 67