WELCOME TO MY FRANK GASPERIK
RELIQUARY PAGE, ANNOTATED
This page will be frequently updated, I suggest you bookmark it.
Special thanks to Redeye Knight for photography, Michael J. Fiore for collaborating,
Carol Phillips, Master Ho and Leslie Fish for their enduring friendship,
and the Los Angeles Science Fantasy Society (Larry Niven in particular)
for offering a home for our friend.
Page One: THIS PAGE Page Two: Frank Meets Clay
This image of our friend Frank Gasperik was created
by Frank Kelly-Freas and permission is pending for
its reproduction here: Copyright 1999 by FKF
"Oh, that the stars would mourn for this, our comrade...
"Weep tears of light across a riven sky."
(To the tune "Londenderry Aire")
Everything
on this page is released into perpetuity into the public domain unless
otherwise previously copyrighted or specified, such as the illustration above, for which I will gladly accept blame
and liability.
Please feel free to publish *my* content, link to it, have fun with it, and as soon as I can figure out how, add to it
through commentary, tributes, and tales. Frank belongs to the ages now, and this page is dedicated
to him, to his beloved Peggy, and to his many friends and extended family who have made this project possible.
Please feel free to publish *my* content, link to it, have fun with it, and as soon as I can figure out how, add to it
through commentary, tributes, and tales. Frank belongs to the ages now, and this page is dedicated
to him, to his beloved Peggy, and to his many friends and extended family who have made this project possible.
Frank Gasperik was a character if ever there was one. A wand'ring minstrel he, a thing of strings and patches: of ballads, aires and snatches and beautiful lullabyes --- and beautiful lullabyes. (Gilbert and Sullivan, unless I miss my other neuron ... and I do miss it, from time to time.)
That's OK, we weren't on speaking terms when it went AWOL anyway. Good riddance.
I first met Frank at a little miasma of adrenaline and creativity and serious business called "Iguanacon" in 1978 in Phoenix, Arizona ... the World Science Fiction Convention. A chartered busload of us, the Northwest Science Fiction Society (NWSFS, pronounced "NIZZ-FIZZ") led by Peerless Leader Gregory R. Bennett, were in Phoenix to advertise our bid for Seattle In 1981. (Yeah, fools all, we wanted to throw a Worldcon.) We had a major suite in the Adams Hotel, I believe (it might have been the Hyatt) (gawdabbit, we're talking almost 30 years ago, I'm happy to remember my phone number now, let alone which hotel I was in over Labor Day in 1978!) and we had nightly parties to promote our bid.
One night (and I could probably actually tell you which night if I looked it up because I have an anchor*, which I will bring up later) as the hour drew late, into our bid suite wandered this portly gentleman with the most battered straw cowboy hat and most pristine guitar I had ever seen. He was offered drinks by my then-wife, Elizabeth "The Dragon Lady" Warren, a force to be reckoned with if you crossed her but a charming and elegant woman, and he readily accepted them. Having little to no funds to donate, he proceeded to "sing for his supper" and the crowd in the room became larger as word spread.
This enchanting gentleman brought Filthy Pierre** to life. He had a repertoire that knew no bounds. He sang and played songs that were alternately haunting and sent shivers up the spine, then rousing and carousing, good ol' fashion BUSKIN', and he had people in tears of laughter or nostalgia or ferocity, and all of it in good humor and a sense of family. He had a stage presence, too -- he played the audience as adeptly as he played that axe.
**Filthy Pierre's was (is?) a major repository of Filksongs, the editor of the anthology (whose name I forget but will try to duly credit here as soon as I refresh my memory) collected filks from all over the phannish world: this was the Filker's Songbook in the 1970's, the collected works of decades of filksinging. I don't have a copy any more, but if I can find references I will attach them here as soon as I can.
I didn't know who this guy was, but I liked him from moment one.
As we got close to closing down the party, Frank lingered on. (He apparently liked us, he asked for and was sporting a "Seattle in 1981" button before the evening's end). At one point, someone said "Bill's written a few filksongs, let's have him do one!" and Frank handed me his beautiful axe. (I had my own Conn 12-string at the convention, but it wasn't in the Suite at the moment, so for the first of only two conventions it ever happened at, I played Frank's lovely instrument that night.) He did ask me to take my shirt off so the buttons wouldn't mar its finish -- I had a tee shirt on so it wasn't kinky or anything like that -- but he and Peggy did dote on that beautiful guitar!
I played a couple of tunes ... "High Frontiers" to Paul McCartney's "Blackbird", "Mama Don't Allow No Paranoia 'Round Here" (my own *put* on someone else's hilarious filk), and a couple of others that Gordon Erickson, Bob Doyle, Dave Bray and other NWSFSers had concocted on the trip down from Seattle ... e.g.:
"We're off to see the Lizard, the terrible Lizard of AZ,
"We hear he is a whiz of a Liz if ever a Liz there waz.
"If ever or ever a Liz there waz, the Lizard of AZ is one becaz,
"Becaz, becaz, becaz, becaz, becaz,
"Becaz of the terrible things he daz.
"We're off to see the Lizard, the terrible Lizard of AZ!"
Well, you get the picture -- two days on a chartered busload of skiffy family, it was berserk. "By the time we got to Phoenix, we were punchy ..."
Then I played (for the first time in public, if I recall) "The Wreck of Apollo 13", and at some point I became aware of the fact that Frank was staring at me and tears were dripping off his face. When I finished, he took his guitar back and wanted to know, "WHO WROTE THAT?" and "WHERE CAN I GET THOSE LYRICS?" and so on. Somebody else told him, "Bill wrote that" and thus I became acquainted with Frank Gasperic, Meistersinger.
I gave him the lyrics (and he subsequently performed the song for the surviving astronauts from the Apollo 13 mission, Robert and Ginny Heinlein, a couple of private parties where the air was *extremely* thin, and probably a lot of cons across the country) and he closed the party by performing a piece that had us all rolling on the floor with aching sides: "The Bing Bong Sing Song Ama-lama Ding Dong Low-down King Kong Blues" (I think I have that right) by BJ Willinger (I think I have that right, too, but will have to check.)
The song was played to the Kenny Rogers hit, "You Picked A Bad Time To Leave Me, Lucille", but included stuff like:
"You picked a bad time to leave me, Fay Wray!
"New York's in an uproar, there's planes on their way!
"We seen some bad times and been through some sad times
"But I thought that we'd see our day.
"You picked a bad time to leave me, Fay Wray!"
THAT is how I remember Frank Gasperik ... tipping back the last of his drink while the rest of us were in stitches, doffing his battered old hat, and shuffling out the door. A wand'ring minstrel indeed!
*That anchor I mentioned earlier... Frank became a welcome regular at the Seattle parties, and the next night he and I were chatting through a Richard Crenna Made4TV movie called "Fire In The Sky" or something like that, involving a comet hitting the Earth somewhere near Phoenix. We sat there drinking and laughing and watched the very hotel we were sitting in blown to bits ... which caused no end of amusement and cheering in the room, I'm surprised they didn't call in the Riot Squad. Labor Day Weekend, 1978, Richard Crenna Made For TV skiffy flick ... I can tell you the moment.
But I digress...
Jump cut to October, 2006: Frank's wife, long-time lover, POSSLQ (Person of Opposite Sex Sharing Living Quarters), and soul mate suffered a stroke during surgery and passed away. Peggy's loss pole-axed Frank and he began to make noises that I was concerned sounded suicidal. (That's when I got in touch with Carol and expressed my worries). But in one of our conversations Frank said, "I want you to do me a favor. Have you ever worked in clay?"
I told him that I had, but it was years ago, and he asked me for my home address and I provided it, then asked him why.
"I have some friends in Seattle that might be bringing you a package with my ashes," he said, "And I want them mixed into clay to make a sculpture of King Kong on top of the Empire State Building, only I want a clock in his stomach."
!!
Well, I stammered with him for a while longer and decided he needed a good smacking around the head and shoulders, but I promised
(at his insistence) that I would do it, and after we disconnected from the SKYPE call, I opened Poser up and put together a
*slightly different* version of the statue than he requested. Here are the images I sent him that night:
Well, whaddaya know, my little ploy worked! He called me the next night and he was
actually laughing! He admonished me that the placque should read "Present But Not
Voting" and "Death Will Not Release You!" but he enjoyed my put on the thing, and
he once again began to show up on the Larry Niven Chat and the Dawn Patrol Chat
and otherwise got back into fanac (fannish activity) for several months. He and I didn't
speak of the King Kong piece again, ever. (Except for swapping the definitive lyrics
for "Apollo 13" and "The King Kong Blues", just to make sure we both had the latest
versions and were performing them correctly.) He loved those songs, and enjoyed the
audience reactions to both of them as much or more than actually performing them.
But apparently, he continued to speak of the statue without my knowledge: it seems
he talked about it with some glee among friends and at conventions, his idea was
widely received as being "typically Frank" and fitting and proper. Fortunately, it had
turned into "someday" instead of "tomorrow", and he had a roaring good time
discussing the irreverent plans for his mortal remains, "Someday".
None of this was I privy to.
And one day I got an email telling me that Frank had suffered a heart attack.
He was slated for surgery, he was on life support in ICU, the news fluctuated between
hopeful and dire, and I thought back on our conversations in November and hoped
that this wasn't going to be the day I had to keep a promise.
It turned out, it was. Frank was on the mend, but shucked off his mortal coil regardless.
So I felt like a complete putz when I emailed Carol and said something to the effect of,
"This is going to sound completely perverted and wacko but I'm not kidding:
Frank asked me to make a statue of King Kong with a clock in its stomach with his ashes
mixed into the clay, is it possible for me to get some of his ashes to do this for him?"
I thought they'd send the "nice young men in their clean white coats" to introduce me to a
rubber room while I awaited the answer to THAT little bombshell, but instead, an amazing
thing happened:
The responses started pouring in, and they were all overwhelmingly positive!
"Frank told me about this," someone wrote. "It was the first time I saw him really
laugh since Peggy died!"
"King Kong with a clock in his belly ... Frank would love it!"
"I heard a rumor that this was what he wanted ... how can we make it happen?"
Everybody except me knew it was a "done deal" ... they all knew it was supposed to
happen, they just didn't know who the 'mystery artist' was that had agreed to do the
deed. When I made my timid inquiry, things happened in a hurry.
Carol, ever the level headed one, asked me to make sure that LASFS would, in fact,
provide a home for the reliquary. I emailed Larry Niven to ask them if they would,
he did so at the next meeting of the club (thank you, Larry!) and the response came
back with a unanimous "yes".
So I started planning at this end. I went back into Poser to design the piece Frank
had actually described to me, and here are the images that reflect the final design of the
piece I'm in the process of building:
Your actual mileage may vary ... there will be some differences, I'm sure, but this is
the piece he said he wanted and this is my current plan for the final design. (For example,
he will be a Silverback, black not brown -- the brown coloration was something
I did to create better black-and-white reproduction -- and he will have a furry texture
while these images show a smooth, glossy finish.)
I'm attaching a short 3D animation of a "flyaround" of the sculpture here, for those
who don't "get" three-view orthographics, and I hope the links work (so far, they
don't seem to, but as I have mentioned, this site is under development.)
ReliquaryTour.wmv, 1.8Mb
And beginning now, I am going to document every phase of the construction of the
piece for phannish history. Let me begin with June 07, 2007, when I actually
opened the package from Michael J. Fiore containing the cigar tube:
FRANK HAS ARRIVED! I would be standing, but had just
broken my ankle and was sorta forced into a semihorizontal position
by The Redeye Knight, who (ever concerned for my wellbeing)
also forced upon me a splash of 15-y-o Glenfiddich. And took
the photo.
He used one of those Jedi mind tricks on me ...
"You will enjoy it ..."
"Hey, I ain't weak-minded, gimme that, hell yes I'll enjoy it!"
And with about 5 drops of vurra auld scotch whuskey, I shared
my last drink with Frank Gasperik. (Well, probably not *my* last
drink, but my last with him.) Photo again by Redeye Knight.
More to come...
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