Frank Charles Buchwald

He was born in Marshalltown, Iowa and graduated from the University of Iowa. Later in life, he attended graduate level courses at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and attended the University of Maryland to learn how to speak and write German. He also attended law school for a period of time. Frank served in the United States Air Force for 30 years as an environmental engineer and achieved the rank of colonel (O-6). While in the Air Force, Frank did consulting for NASA. As well as stateside bases, Frank also served in England and the Philippines.

In 1984, Frank and his wife, Beverly, moved to Bad Kreuznach, Germany, where Beverly taught at the DODDS school there for nine years. While in Germany, they travelled to almost every country in Europe. They witnessed the fall of the Berlin wall and even came home with a small piece of it! They enjoyed Volksmarching in many interesting German towns on many occasions.

Frank travelled extensively. In addition to Europe, he visited China, Russia, Morocco, Japan, Okinawa, Hong Kong, Korea, Egypt and Hawaii.

Frank’s hobbies included picture framing, bike riding on the beach, reading, and playing golf. On a couple of occasions, Frank flew with his friend, Chuck Yeager, over Alaska and saw polar bears playing below.

Frank lived a full life and will be missed by many.

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Frank Charles Buchwald

I was raised in Air Force tradition, where you keep your orders private, put on a brave face, report for duty, and get through the next assignment. Today is truly my biggest assignment, and this my bravest face yet.

My Dad was awesome, funny, intelligent, a brilliant storyteller, and the kindest man alive. And then there was the other Dad, the Inspector General, who was all business; tough, but fair, even if you had to do something twice to get it right. There was always a lesson to be learned. If he asked you a question, you'd better have the answer. And he could reduce you to tears with just the right stare. Ten minutes later, Dad would be ticking your feet, and taking you out for soft serve ice cream cones.

It is because my father was lowa born and Iowa bred.

You can take the boy out of Iowa, but you cannot take the Iowa out of the boy.

Honestly, my dad was my HERO. I know you hear that term used rather loosely nowadays. I don't use it lightly, but in this man's case it is entirely appropriate. He had confidence; a presence that exuded strength, courage, and security. He was smart, precise, and level headed. Most of all, Dad was fair. He treated you well...unless you crossed him. You did not want to go there.

But if you were on his good list, you were loved for life. He boasted to his grandkids that they always had 1-800-Call-Grandpa if they were ever in a jam. A lot of you used it. And he was there.

He was the most moral human being I have ever known. Dad expected truth and nothing but the truth. He did not like having secrets kept from him, so believe me, during all his health tribulations we told him everything. He was fully cognizant, and called the shots. He was salient right up to the end. Even as he lost the ability to speak, Dad could still communicate with us. We understood what he was saying. He was still there. His mind was always sharp as a tack.

Dad did everything he could to maintain his good health. I am serious when I say that I saw him being bathed at age 93 and told him Clint Eastwood, who was the same age, ought to keep his shirt on in the movies. He had nothing on Dad. That man was seriously buff!

Let me tell you a bit about what it was like growing up with Dad. I think my first memories of him are of the back of his head, because (you know) he was always driving the car, and then his eyes in the mirror. We did not have household chores, like most kids. We had KP. You could bounce a quarter off our beds, and if not, it was coming apart and we had to make it again!

Dad made sure we had fun, and saw the important sites wherever we lived. We went to the circus, football and baseball games, drive-in movies, auto races, County fairs, orchestral concerts, Broadway plays, art museums, fireworks spectaculars on the National mall. We saw the Tower of London, Golden Gate Bridge, Grand Canyon, Old Faithful, the General Sherman tree, the Alamo, Mount Vernon, Abe Lincolns house in Springfield, Illinois. He took us on steamboats down the Mississippi, to Stonehenge, the Gateway Arch, and Disneyland to see Peggy Lee.

On our family vacations we ate sandwiches on white Wonder Bread with French's mustard, and Oscar-Meyer baloney. All together, we traveled from New Jersey to San Diego by car. We saw Indian pueblos, the Watts Towers, the Washington Monument, the State Capitol building in Des Moines, Highway 1 coming through Big Sur, and Loch Ness in Scotland.

Dads' idea of a good Sunday night drive was to cruise through the restricted missile silos at Vandenberg AFB. He took us to see Queen Elizabeth at Buckingham Palace, and John F. Kennedy and Jacqueline boarding Air Force One on the morning of November 22, 1963. We even had dinner with General Chuck Yeager.

But my favorite trips were when we drove to Grandma and Grandpa Buchwald's house in Ames, Iowa. On the way we would cross a little bridge that dad had built while he was still in the Army Core of Engineers. He was so proud of that bridge!

He liked to cook, and one of his specialties was making soups. Dad made vegetable beef, ham hock, navy bean, split pea, and oxtail soup. On Christmas Day Dad would fix breakfast eggs and bacon for the family. Every summer he would churn homemade ice cream. And he loved to barbecue by the swimming pool on summer evenings.

Dad travelled all over the world and would bring us back souvenirs, and send postcards from everywhere. I still have my Japanese doll and slippers, and the wooden shoes I wore as a child. He let me gamble in Las Vegas when I was only 12. And he was so much fun to go swimming with, because Dad would let you ride on his back.

I have often said that Dad's opinion meant more to me than anybody else's in the world, and there is no doubt that I never would have married my late husband had he not approved. Dad adored Barry, and I know he really respected my dad because he insisted upon calling him Sir. They both travelled the world, worked in aerospace, and had so much in common. They were kind of kindred spirits. The one thing they always insisted upon was fighting over who would pay the tab when we went out to eat dinner. They would try to sneak the check out from one another. I'm proud to say that the last time they went out to eat, Barry outsmarted him by using the little kiosk screen they put on the table. He paid the bill right in front Dad and he never had a clue.

It was the best going out to eat with Dad. Everybody knew him, everywhere, every city, every restaurant we ever went to, all my life. The owners and waiters knew him by name. He had the best table and they would bring him little samples from the kitchen that mama was making special. He knew the best Mexican hole in the wall restaurant to go, the one where Grandma is back in the kitchen making flour tortillas by hand. That's where he would take us to eat. If Dad went to a city, he never forgot his way around. I mean, years later he could go back anywhere and still remember the streets. I loved that about him.

I never felt scared if Dad was there. Colonel Buchwald got respect. Our house was never going to get TP'd. Nobody messed with him, or his family. The best thing he ever did for us kids was to put a swimming pool in our backyard. It made our house the place to hang out. Dad and Jim built the first microwave oven in Moreno Valley; I kid you not. We had microwave hotdogs, a reel-to-reel tape deck, ping pong, and swimming after school. Dad made us very popular.

When we moved to Torrance, I came home one day perplexed because my teacher had given me an assignment to write a paper about what my father does for a living. I wrote, "I don't know, it's top secret." She knew that I was a creative writer and she thought I was making up tall tales, so she sent a note home to my parents. But Dad said, "Jan is telling the truth." All I knew was that my father came home every night with a briefcase marked TOP SECRET/CLASSIFIED, and we were not allowed to ask about it. We were good military kids and that is what we did.

I begged my father to write a book about his life. He knew everybody. He was saluted by John F. Kennedy on the last day of his life, worked for General Chuck Yeager, and on all the NASA projects through to the Space Shuttle. He would bring home photos of the Space Chimp, or sample foods the astronauts ate in their vessel. We did not realize Dad was actually perfecting the space bathroom. I think that makes him kind of the role model for Howard Wolowitz on Big Bang Theory, if you think about it.

Up until the last five years, Dad was in excellent health. He started to have a series of events, like dominoes, bit by bit they built up until they fell. Dad was never a quitter, even when he wanted to quit after Beverly passed, he still did not. He had too many people to love, and who needed him. Dad did everything he could to stay strong and healthy for as long as he was able. He worked hard to keep walking.

People ask if you remember the last words that your father said, and I do. "I love you sweetheart." This was four days before he passed.

Dad, made me tough. He made me strong. He made me a fair thinker. He was devoutly religious, and gave me a solid belief in God, which is why I feel more at ease about his passing. I know that he has gone to Heaven, to that mansion which was prepared for him. In my vision, Beverly had lamps burning brightly in every window, waiting for Frankie. He is at home now.

Several weeks ago, I had a dream about how Dad was going to go to Heaven. Everything was bathed in an ancient lighting, all milky, underwater pastels, pinks and blues, and ornate like a painting by Botticelli. Light iridescent clouds swirled around him. Dad looked like a Saint, wearing a white satin robe that appeared tailored, which sparkled as it picked up the atmospheric hues. His hair was long and bathed in a softly swirling light, white with tints of gold, and a crown was gently poised around his head. The chair upon which he sat had golden armrests, the facade sculpted in an Art Deco mode.

I heard my grandmothers voice, then both of Dad's wives. He began to ascend, and I thought, "Wow!! He is going to Heaven!"

I got so excited it woke me up. I rushed to Dad's house and told him all about my dream.

He smiled hard and looked really pleased about the prospect of such a grand entrance into his forever-afterlife.

"That's the ultimate stair lift. Dad, if that is how you are going to Heaven, it is going to be AMAZING! You did everything right."

Gosh, I just know he arose that way.

Amen

to that, and thank you Lord for such a loving father, who served his Father in Heaven so well.