"Frank Duba! You know Frank Duba!"

I have memories of Frank involved with every part of my life, childhood, high school, my year in Germany, college, the night I met my wife, our weddings to name a few. He was my constant and my wise council. It was his guidance and insight that helped me find my way so often. It is hard to believe he will no longer be there to offer that guidance.
Frank inspired a reaction in people that I was never able to duplicate and honestly I was a little jealous. Frank was with me the night I met my wife, in between the time that we met and our first official date she met a group of other people from Livermore. She explained how she met me and Frank. No one knew who I was. But these people all exclaimed “Frank Duba! You know Frank Duba!” as if she knew the Pope or Gavin McCloud.
I met Frank on a soccer field when I was about 7 years old, well before he had reached his celebrity status. To be honest, neither of us was very good. But we did have many conversations on the sidelines; He was interested in film even back then. Frank and I would spend the next 35 years talking about all manner of things: food, coffee, books, movies, politics, etc. With a nice symmetry, one of the last conversations we had was about soccer and his beloved Tottenham Spurs.
I remember at Jr. High Graduation there a rose a chant of “Du-ba Duba”. It wasn’t kind although not entirely mocking either. He was undeniable. Frank really hit his stride in high school, where in his senior year he ended up on the homecoming court. Like a scene out of a John Hughes’ film stood Frank in an embroidered smoking jacket next to 6 guys in matching Tuxedo’s. It was triumphant. I have the yearbook photo, if anyone would like to see it. This is how I would like to remember him- impressive, full of energy, and potential.
To quote one person Frank had an “impish sense of humor.” In my words, Frank liked to make shit up. The night I met my wife Frank tried to convince her that his brother Charles had aluminum kneecaps, due to a freak rowing accident. Years later at Frank and Rosie’s wedding, all three brothers continued the story until it was finally dispelled by their mother Lucy with a resigned eye roll. Frank, at times, also tried to convince people that the only explanation for The Family Circus was that it was coded messages to Soviet subs of the California coast. By the way, a peg leg would allow you to excuse yourself from any activity. “Sorry I can’t, I have a peg leg”, that everyone had a super power. And that he was a beat poet named Tyrone. “it’s hep” snapping.
We shared a love of coffee and food. We all have to eat and many of us had the pleasure of eating with Frank. A few times that I remember particularly fondly are: an espresso in bar in Hamburg when we were 18. Summer BBQ’s in his parent’s backyard. The back patio at Patois one October weekend tented with the wood burning stove. Amish Root beer somewhere outside of Lancaster during the first visit post cancer. And Dinner at Ko last summer.
We cooked together, starting after college we were Cowboy Bob’s Gourmet Experience. Frank was truly proud that we were able to cater a party for 50 people on a $30 budget, or it may have been 30 on a $50 dollar budget, either way it was tight and the food turned out pretty good. Cowboy Bob’s was also a self published cookbook that went through two editions. It was better than our soccer playing, but never did get a book deal.
On Facebook some of Frank’s students started a secret Cult devoted to Dr. Frank Duba. He knew about it but commented that it wasn’t all it cracked up to be, mainly because it was very hard to get them to do his bidding.
The cult has had a real spike in membership lately, but in the end I just feel lucky to say “Frank Duba! I knew Frank Duba!”