Francis Meaney

Francis Stewart Meaney was born to Martin Meaney (Irish immigrant and retired Brigadier General in the United States Army) and his wife Anna (seventh generation descendant of a founding father of Long Island) on January 30, 1936, in Brooklyn, New York. Over the course of more than ninety years, Frank excelled in business, traveled the world, witnessed history, counseled and cared for countless others with humor, compassion and wisdom, and most significantly, met and married the love of his life, Barbara Ann Rossi, with whom he built a family of thirteen children and which now spans five generations, brimming with the endless love that he exhibited on a daily basis. After a brief but intense struggle with cancer, and surrounded by much of his family, Frank went home to be with the Lord on July 9, 2026.

Frank was the youngest child of six, a cherished boy after an eldest son and a line of four sisters. His childhood was marked by the love, faith, and hard work that exemplified his life. Frank claims to have been responsible at five years old for scrubbing the floors and shoveling the coal into the fire to heat the house—a claim believed to be apocryphal by his wife. Frank undoubtedly studied and worked hard throughout his childhood, even holding a job using his booming voice to sell orange drinks at Ebbets Field and Yankee Stadium. Being a die-hard Brooklyn Dodgers fan, Frank was (in his view) unlucky enough to witness New York Yankee Don Larsen’s perfect game in the 1956 World Series.

Frank earned a degree in philosophy from St. John’s University, as a prelude to his intentions to become a priest. Fate had other plans. In 1959, Barbara Rossi needed someone to accompany her to the St. Vincent’s nursing school prom as her intended date was stuck in South Bend, Indiana, making up a class he had failed. Barbara’s friend, Dorothy, suggested she ask Frank, Dorothy’s neighbor and one of the boys they would regularly see in Breezy Point. “Frank? You mean the drip who wears his jacket to the beach and has his head in the philosophy books?” It was pointed out that Frank had access to his sister’s car and they could avoid the expense of a limo. And thus began a love story.

Frank and Barbara began dating and she became, as his mother called her, his “little friend.” As a testament to his love for his little friend, he gifted her a signet ring given to him by his father. On the one year anniversary of the fateful prom date, they went to the beach; Frank told Barbara that his father was asking why he was not wearing the signet ring and he needed it back. Barbara, confused and a little offended, returned the ring. In response, Frank pulled an engagement ring from the pocket of his bathing suit and suggested that instead she could wear that. Barbara agreed, but in a fashion perhaps prescient for how they sometimes would interact, said, “Are you crazy?! You bring an expensive ring to the beach and put it in your bathing suit? It could have gotten lost!”

A little over six months later, on New Years Eve 1960, Frank and Barbara married at Our Lady of Refuge in Brooklyn. Barely over nine months after the wedding, their firstborn arrived, and they named her Dorothy Anne in honor of their matchmaker. Frank and Barbara agreed that they would embrace whomever God blessed them with. God heard them and after Dorothy in 1961, twelve more followed: Danielle Marie (1963), Francis Gerard (1964), John Fitzgerald (1965), Matthew Gerard (1967), Paul Augustus (1969), Andrew Martin (1971), Mark Damien (1974), Susannah Rose (1976), Caroline Clare (1977), James Malachy (1979), Maria Joy (1981), and Noelle Terese (1983).

Over the years, Frank and Barbara’s growing clan moved from a crowded apartment in Brooklyn to increasingly loud and adoringly chaotic houses in Massapequa, Dix Hills, and a two year stint in Silver Spring, Maryland. In 1975, Frank and his wife bought their second house in Dix Hills in which they would spend the majority of their life and marriage together. Frank was a doting husband, selflessly sacrificing his time and energy to support the family they were building, kissing his bride each evening upon his return from work, cooking meals for them and cleaning up thereafter each night before, as he liked to announce, he headed to their nuptial chamber.

Besides the occasional power nap, Frank rarely idled. His weekends were spent in his garage, toiling and sweating—sometimes in a durag: “it keeps the sweat out of my eyes”—to make improvements on their house, repair what needed to be fixed, and implement the desired designs of his wife, or as he liked to call his little friend, “the directress of all things.”

Frank also loved his kitchen. He was a talented chef with a varied menu. His children and others would enjoy chatting with him about world events and life’s challenges as he explained various cutting, prepping and cooking techniques. He ensured the kitchen was cleaned and (temporarily) closed each night until one of his kids would ask for some dessert or snack and he would respond by matter of factly commenting on their “impeccable timing.””

Frank was a devoted father. He governed his house with a calm yet weighty hand. He did not strike or yell at his children. But just a few right words delivered in a direct tone with a serious face, accompanied by the title “my friend,” would let his children know that they had messed up and something needed to change. If and when his children slept in on a weekend morning, he would eventually go from room to room blaring the trumpet to wake them. A man of precision, he was a self-proclaimed grammar nazi invariably and gently correcting any misuse. There was also the daily admonition to “strive for excellence.”

Far more often, Frank and Barbara’s home was filled with joy, playfulness, and humor. Frank would delight his kids and their friends with accents, impressions, clever jokes and plays on words, funny faces and use of props, and playing the piano. He had a sometimes loud fashion sense including a garish paisley shirt not as appreciated by his wife. The boy from Flatbush enjoyed wearing his white cowboy hat and letting inquiring children know, in a Southern drawl, that “Yes indeed, I sure am a real cowboy.” As Barbara would often say, he was a frustrated actor. As he would describe himself, he was just a “wild and crazy guy” à la the SNL skit from their early days.

Frank was a fixture at local supermarkets. He studied the circulars to find the best deals for the various household staples and groceries needed to support the large group. The Supermarket Man would walk the aisles nearly daily to purchase what was “on sale.” He practiced frugality as it was necessary in order to maintain his household. To the embarrassment (but later appreciation) of his children, he would dispute the scanned price of a particular item if it did not match what was advertised, even if only pennies off. His jocularity maintained even amid the mundane chores of family shopping. For instance, he could be found at the deli counter beginning his order with the nonsense request for “a two pound wedge of Fatamatzi’s matzaroni,” oftentimes sending the young deli clerk into a frenzy trying to find an item that did not actually exist.

Frank’s work carried him to different continents. He was, as he liked to say, an “insurance guy.” He explained his job to his children as “giving money away for a living.” In actuality, he worked his way up in the insurance industry to become a high-level executive at American International Group, handling some of the most significant international claims. His tactful nature, honest brokerage, and direct communicating style made him a respected and master negotiator. He was deeply respected by colleagues throughout the globe and known by his employees simply as “Mr. Meaney.” He preferred signing letters with his green pen in an homage to his heritage. Upon his retirement in 2007, it was joked that supermarkets in London, Milan and Paris were mourning the loss of business.

Throughout his life, Frank was a man of deep faith. He attended church weekly. Dinner would not start until grace was said. His children were reminded daily to remember those less fortunate than them and most importantly to “love one another.” Frank would sometimes bring his children to churches in poorer neighborhoods and would sing the hymns as loudly as anyone.

In his retirement, Frank continued engaging in the activities he loved: visiting Home Depot (“I’m going to the ‘Po”), doing handyman jobs around the house, cooking for his family, bantering with Barbara, discussing current events, reading history books about other great men such as Winston Churchill and LBJ, and being a warm and welcoming presence to all who visited the house on Bruno, including the increasing number of grandkids, great grandkids, and beyond. A man of routine, he enjoyed closing his nights by “recording data,” which included listing the foods he had consumed and detailing the days’ events.

Upon turning eighty, he joked that he was now in the “Octozone.” His vibrancy continued into his last year (now in the “Nonozone”), until he was diagnosed with lymphoma, attributed to his many years working in downtown Manhattan after 9/11. It was beyond frustrating for him and painful for his family to have his usual energy and elan so drastically and suddenly taken from him.

Frank’s legacy and message of loving one another will live on for many generations. Predeceased by his son Mark Damien about a year before his own passing, he now joins him in heaven. He is survived by his loving wife of over 65 years, Barbara; his children and their spouses Dorothy, Danielle and Elliot, Francis and Joan, John, Matthew and Elise, Paul and Wendee, Andrew, Susannah, Caroline, James, Maria, and Noelle and Francisco. He is also survived by 22 grandchildren, 17 great-grandchildren, and 1 great-great grandchild.

Visitation will be held at Boyd-Caratozzolo Funeral Home, Towne Chapel, on July 15, 2026, from 2:00 pm to 4:00 pm, and again from 7:00 pm to 9:00 pm.

A Mass of Christian Burial will be celebrated at St. Matthew’s Roman Catholic Church, 35 N. Service Road, Dix Hills, on July 16, 2026, from 9:45 a.m. to 10:30 a.m.

A Committal Service will be held at St. Charles Cemetery, 2015 Wellwood Avenue, Farmingdale, on July 16, 2026, at 11:00 a.m.