Frederick E. Widran

It is with a truly heavy heart (for me and his love ones) and a sense of profound joy (for him and our mom, his wife Ellen, finally reunited) to say that my beloved dad, Fred, aka Fredzo, affectionately known to me and many friends as “Moose,” his daughters Liz and Heather as Daddy, to his grandsons Nicholas and Matthew as Grandpa and to his granddaughter Alexis as Papa, passed away peacefully the afternoon of Friday, April 18.

It's not lost on our family and many friends that his transition happened on Good Friday around the time tradition says Jesus died. He was a wonderful Jewish man who went through trials and tribulations in his final years, amidst some transcendently wonderful moments, with his charming, humorous spirit always shining through. He was treated like a true king as he battled dementia, with numerous hospice services (whom he’d exasperate with his otherwise good health for much of the time!), incredible caregivers, devoted family and great supportive friends – all of whom loved him dearly and brought him happiness, comfort and purpose in the wake of our mom’s passing in December 2022.

And talk about a Rock and a Savior – Fred was our strength, our foundation, the loving dad and grandpa we could always count on to help cheer up and rescue us when we fell down and screwed up, literally and figuratively. None of us would be who we are today without that subtle strength we could always rely on and turn to. We owe Fred and Ellen everything and will do everything we can to honor their lives and legacies day by day. And on the lighter side, just like our contemporary depictions of Jesus, Fred had the best thick head of hair anyone who met him had ever seen!

Each of his children, grandchildren and friends has their own personal testimony to Fred’s kind, compassionate and giving nature and willing to sacrifice his time and life’s energy to helping support and encourage others. He had special individual relationships with all of us. But as the professional writer in the family, I, his loving son Jonathan, am proud to share some anecdotes here. I'm far from a natural caregiver so much of this journey into the final stretch of his nearly 89 years wasn't always easy...but God provided angels every step of the way, helping me help the man who made me everything I am and aspire to be.

I will cherish these extra years with him, the great lunches, coffees and dinners we shared, the great conversations and the fun times Liz and I had dancing and singing with him last year at the senior center. He loved dancing at home too, listening to everything from Big Band to the Bee Gees and Tony Bennett. I am grateful for these just as I treasure the many Cubs, White Sox, Dodgers, Blackhawks and UCLA games, Rose Parades and concerts we went to over the years and a colorful, multi-faceted lifetime that includes our Indian Guides overnighters when I was in grade school. He was the dad who took Liz and her friends to a Stevie Wonder concert on the South Side of Chicago, would leave work early to take me to an afternoon Cubs game at Wrigley Field and walk home from the train station in a snowstorm just to make it in time for dinner.

Fred was always the charming, charismatic party animal, the “fun dad” our friends loved both growing up and in adulthood, with a long history of laughing, dancing and singing – in English and Hebrew!! I cherish the wonderful walks we took in our neighborhood and wherever we just had lunch/coffee. When he was eating great food, he always said he was having a fine time! He never met a sweet roll he didn’t love – but in his later years, concerned about his health, I enjoyed buying him apples, watermelon and catering to his enduring love of jello, which he for some reason chose even after being offered brownies!

Fred was an optician by trade, running his own companies Widran Optical, The Spectacle Shop and Myoptics, then working for countless other organizations in the service of perfecting people’s vision. He inherited the first business from his father Louis, and honored and built it into the go-to place for glasses in Chicago, making them for governors, sports announcers and thousands of devoted customers. He did the same our first years after moving to California. Looking back, it makes sense that he was an optician by trade, because he always helped people to see goodness, light and love in a metaphorical sense. Ellen, who knew and loved him longest and best, understood some of the darker complexities beneath this, and she may disagree slightly with such a rosy assessment. But now they have eternity to work that all out.

Fred worked tirelessly to provide a secure home and safe harbor for his children and grandchildren, was a quick-witted master storyteller and was known for laughing so hysterically that he would cry. So as the song says, it’s the laughter we will remember. Even his hospice nurses couldn’t get over how handsome this guy was in his old age. And as the one who had more discussions with him about spiritual things than anyone, I can testify that he had a strong heart for God, as receptive to the great deeds and teachings of the other guy that died on Good Friday as he was to keeping Jewish traditions front and center for our family and singing Jewish songs all the time – and even in the shower back in the day!

A lifelong baseball fan and longsuffering Cubs fan, he often said, “I don’t care who wins as long as it’s the Cubs!” The early November night the Cubbies won the World Series in 2016, Liz, Lexie and my brother-in-law Howard (who used to text their daily scores to him!) joined me and Fred at Taste Chicago in Burbank to watch Game 7. He and I were interviewed on the local CBS News as the celebration began – and they even spelled our last name right! Fred told them he saw them play in the World Series in 1945 (as a nine year old!) and ended the brief segment with the emphatic words, “Now I can die!”

Fred was granted about eight and a half more years to weave his unique, infectious magic in this world – and he did so with strength, dignity and style while waging the difficult, anxiety-filled battle with dementia. So now Freddie, it's time to Begin the Beguine, reach out your hand to mama and sing like Perry Como, "Some Enchanted Evening, you may see a stranger across a crowded room....” We will all love you forever, thinking back on the wonder of you and everything you have done to make us who we are. It was one hell of a ride for almost 89 years - and we are grateful, mourning not too long that you are gone but rejoicing forever about the time you were with us.