Frank Whitcomb Guernsey, the 2nd of two children, was born on September 26, 1923 in Portland, Oregon to Raymond and Katherine (Whitcomb) Guernsey. Frank passed away on August 17, 2013 in Portland, Oregon at the age of 89.
Our dad “Dee” as we always called him, was a kind and decent man. Shortly after he was born, an accident involving his mother Katherine would shape the rest of his life. She was institutionalized and unable to care for young “Frankie”. His father Raymond was working full time and gave “Frankie” up to foster care homes. Frank, who was developing his life-long free spirit, did not care for these homes at all so he ran away numerous times. His home away from the foster care homes became the freight and railroad yards in and around Portland. Stories have often been told to us children of his adventures. His long walks from the Cottrell area “after his father tried moving him away from the railyards”, up the tracks all the way to Brooklyn, Albina and returning via Troutdale that caused Frank to say “some 50 miles in a day almost killed me with nothing but doughnuts to eat on for a nickel.
The train engineers and crews got to know him and would either throw a cup of water in his face, blow a special whistle or throw down some beloved “train orders”. Frank would “hop” freight trains and ride up and down the valley and even traveled as far as Minneapolis. Oh the stories he told, “rode west from Helena Montana two cars in front of the helper”.
Frank began his working career with the Southern Pacific Railroad Company around 1939. He of course loved every hot smelly dark minute of lighting fires in the early steam engines.
But fate was to step into his chosen life again after Pearl Harbor when he was drafted into the Army. He was shipped to Texas and trained with the 36th Infantry Texas Division. He would serve in North Africa and landed in Salerno, Italy in September of 1943. He said many times that he had close calls when grenades would land next to him that would not go off (thank God, French Resistance). Frank recalled the night crossing of the Rapido River where only a few made it back, after the Germans counter attacked. After the war, like most soldiers, he was a changed man who threw away most of his medals and his uniform.
After the war he tried to go back to the railroads but something was not right. For the first time in his life Frank, the grandson of a 33 degree Mason, turned to the Catholic Church. He devoted himself to a spiritual life and nearly became a religious brother.
But something was missing in his life. He fell in love with Florence Zandescki, a Washington State farm girl. They were married in August of 1952. Florence was his perfect fit, easy going, hard-working, with plenty of down home common sense.
After struggling to find the right job he landed with the City of Portland in the late 1950’s. His children then came along, Paul, Martha, John and Philip. Never one for “worldly things” he always found time for the more important things in life. Frank enjoyed gardening, canning, photography, mysteries of the universe, eastern Oregon and Washington, Deschutes River, stamps and coins, transit tokens and ghost towns. He was self-reliant. Frank was an early hippie who would go “roughing it” in the woods with just a trash burner to cook on.
He never lost his love for trains and introduced his children to “pictures, books and timetables”.
From after the war until his death he was a Catholic member of St. Therese for the last 45 years.
After his retirement he attended most church masses and would go to almost all of the daily church devotionals. For nearly fifty years his was every involved as a rosary bead maker who would ship the colorful beads to missions all over the world. Thousands, we hope, are out there tonight praying on one.
Frank outlived his wife Florence, who died in 2003
from complications with Alzehimers.
“Dee”, we thank you for showing us children a different way of life even though we did not always understand. Dad, we love you and will always keep you in our hearts.
“The Kids”
COMPARTA UN OBITUARIO
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