2 Amazing Franks


2 Amazing Franks


How this story came about: Tony Oposa, a doctor friend, emailed me the other day with an attached story, ‘An Amazing Guy,’ the one I’m reprinting and calling here ‘Frank Feldman,’ only slightly edited. As I was reading about this amazing guy, a naughty thought came to me – ‘This is ridiculous! So I’m going to write my own story out of this and let’s see who is more ridiculous.’ And so I did. * Apt image by Une Chanson Enivrante who captions it ‘Ridiculously and irrationally naive’ (flickr.com/). This I say is the perfect picture of creativity. Thanks, Une! You have a beautiful mind yourself. – The Other Frank



Frank Feldman

A man walks into the street and manages to get a taxi just going by. He gets into the taxi, and the taxi driver says, “Perfect timing. You’re just like Frank.”

Passenger: “Who?”

Taxi driver: “Frank Feldman. He’s a guy who did everything right – all the time. Like my coming along when you needed a cab, things happened like that to Frank Feldman every single time.”

Passenger: “There are always a few clouds over everybody.”

Taxi driver: “Not Frank Feldman. He was a terrific athlete. He could have won the Grand Slam at tennis. He could golf with the pros. He sang like an opera baritone and danced like a Broadway star and you should have heard him play the piano. He was an amazing guy.”

Passenger: “Sounds like he was something really special.”

Taxi driver: “There’s more…. He had a memory like a computer. Could remember everybody’s birthday. He knew all about wine, which foods to order and which fork to eat them with. He could fix anything. Not like me. I change a fuse, and the whole street blacks out. But Frank Feldman, he could do everything right.”

Passenger. “Wow, some guy then.”

Taxi driver: “He always knew the quickest way to go in traffic and avoid traffic jams, not like me, I always seem to get stuck in them. But Frank, he never made a mistake.”

Passenger. “Mmm, there’s not many like him around.”

Taxi driver: “And he really knew how to treat a woman and make her feel good and never answer her back even if she was in the wrong; and his clothing was always immaculate, shoes highly polished too – he was the perfect man! He never made a mistake. No one could ever measure up to Frank Feldman.”

Passenger: “An amazing fellow. How did you meet him?”

Taxi driver: “Well, I never actually met Frank.”

Passenger: “Then how do you know so much about him?”

Taxi driver: “I married his ___________ widow.”


Frank Hilario

I have met the match of Frank Feldman, and I am he.

He has been married to his first wife for almost 40 years, long enough to know her, and himself – and love both.

Time has come to him to be of the essence, not the timer. He doesn’t wear a watch anymore. He has stopped counting time on his wrist; he has started counting life in his heart. He intends to put more life into more of his years.

He doesn’t have perfect timing – He doesn’t even know how to count out 4/4. When he’s occupied, sometimes he can’t even tell the time.

He doesn’t do everything right – but quite often, he does it brilliantly, I dare say. Including the mistakes. In any case, he always tries to do his best.

He looks at clouds from both sides now. He doesn’t worry about clouds over anybody, not even over him. He always looks for the silver lining – or waits for the rain to fall and enjoys it, even runs into the pouring rain and washes himself clean of the world of the chic and civilized.

He looks at cars with a jaundiced eye. When he flags down a taxi, the taxi driver looks at him fast and speeds away in the direction he wants to go. One look and he knows a country kid when he sees one, whom no tip is coming from.

He’s not a terrific athlete – in fact, he has never been an athlete. He can’t be – he has a condition, if you must know, beginning with the letter H. An entertainer maybe: he can juggle words and ideas the whole day without dropping one. You should watch him when he’s near a computer, desktop or laptop.

He has never won any Grand Slam at tennis – he never played ball at all. But he watches Maria Sharapova and he dreams of playing with her anytime anywhere. She is his Tennis Princess. She just won the Zurich Open and she is amazing herself. When she’s good, she’s on top. He loves to be on top himself.

His good friend Tony C Oposa, MD, even teaches golf. He can’t play golf with the pros, not even with Tony – he can’t play golf, period. But he can always read about the trials and triumphs of Tiger Woods and learn more than about golf from him. Tiger Woods is unbeatable – already, he is bigger than golf. He believes we should all be bigger than our sports, or non-sports. He? Frank Hilario.

He can sing at the drop of a coin. He sings with a baritone voice you should listen to sometime, Johnny Mathis and Frank Sinatra mixed together – if you don’t mind the off-timing.

It takes one to dance his dance. He doesn’t dance like a Broadway star – but he likes Broadway stars, male and female, not male/female.

He doesn’t play the piano, or guitar, or drums. He bought 4 guitars in different years and never learned to play any of them. There are only two instruments he plays now, and the other one is the CD player.

He knows he’s in love with the computer, in more ways than one. He knows his first love is writing; his wife is his second – and his wife knows. He also knows he’s better than the computer – the computer can only think critically, while he can think creatively. He uses the computer, while the computer cannot use him. That’s why he says the real computer is not the hardware, not even the software, not even both of them – the computer is him. (He asks: Bill Gates, are you listening?)

He thinks faster now that he’s 66 and better than when he was 44 or 33. He has a memory better than a computer, but he can’t remember any name and any face in any place. He doesn’t even remember the names of the foods he likes. And don’t ask him for the birthdays of his 13 children from 1 wife – or who came fifth, the seventh or the eighth.

He has friends who should know; he doesn’t know anything about wine – he doesn’t drink, and he doesn’t gamble either. He knows about women, but he doesn’t womanize. Fantasize, yes.

He can fix anything – except a broken heart. He can fix a long mirror broken in two. He can fix a leaking faucet, even replace it; he can fix a flat tire, bicycle. He can change a fuse, he can change a wall socket, he can install a hand switch where you want it how long you want it. He can install Microsoft Windows dual-boot in a desktop computer almost with his eyes closed; he can create many desktops from one desktop; he can teach you Microsoft Word with his eyes closed, or long-distance. He calls himself a wonk, playing with words and ideas with the computer. He can install a router to connect 4 desktop computers to one wireless Internet connection all by himself. Like everybody else, he hates it when the power goes out.

He doesn’t own a car, but he always gets lost in traffic after a kilometer or two. But he never tells anyone, not even his wife. He doesn’t like to get lost in a barrage of teasing.

He had many girl friends, but he never knew how to treat a lady. He doesn’t know how to make a woman feel good, or better. He has never been a lady’s man. At least, he doesn’t remember (or didn’t hear) any lady complaining.

He hasn’t bought a new piece of clothing for the last 10 years – welcome clothes come from New York (daughter Dida) and Toronto (daughter Tina) and Arizona (sister-in-law Becks). He has never been immaculate in his clothing. He likes very loose clothes that do not fit him at all, extra large. They make him feel free – and bigger or, should I say, wider.

He doesn’t polish his shoes – sometimes, he polishes his speech instead. But mostly he polishes his writing.

He admits he is not always perfect.

He is not Frank Feldman. Frank Hilario, that’s him.

Amazing fellow. Amusing sometimes. A beautiful mind. Always passionate about what he does, and does not want to do. A speed reader when necessary, an excellent editor when called for, a very creative writer when it comes to that, the fastest typist you have never seen, a very practical desktop publisher in any manner, shape or form. Can write well in any language: technical, popular, biographical, ghost. Foolhardy. Sometimes a good husband and father, considering everything. Stubborn. Doesn’t know how to price his talents right. Always gives people the benefit of the doubt, even if some people don’t give him any benefit at all. Naïve. A genius in his own right.

Frank Hilario, 23 October 2006, 20:21:06. Rrevised since then, and not ever so lightly.

Explore posts in the same categories: creative thinking, Creative Writing, Creativity, critical thinking, Genius, lateral thinking, Ridiculous and irrationally naive, Rina Look, Tall story

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