...So, It's a 4th of July, 3 day weekend coming up. Ponch and I have decided, that since we've never been to the Big Sur area, that's where we'll go. We get some forest service maps, and there's campgrounds in the area, so off we go. What do you know, but when we get there on a 3 day weekend, the campgrounds are all full. Suprise! Campgrounds really weren't our style anyway, so we take off down Nacimiento-Ferguson road. As we pass a few dirt roads, we decide to take off down one of them. We come across this big calm water area about 100 yards long, about 8 ft deep in the middle, clear as a bell, trees on the banks, with a little stream that feeds into it on the far end behind a big rock. Now this is how we camped, and no one else was here. Perfect!
   So we make camp, blow up the rafts, have a great time rafting, drinking and partying all day. By this time someone had come and set up camp on the opposite bank. We'd decided earlier that day, that after we ate dinner, we'd go exploring the far end behind the big rock. We eat, and head out with our rafts to explore. So we go behind the big rock, and with our rafts, we can only go a little ways up the stream. It gets too narrow. It's getting pretty dark, so we head back towards camp. As we're going, we can see and hear, someone of authority is talking to the people on the other bank. They're kicking them out. SHHHHH! Quiet, maybe they won't see or hear us. They're getting ready to leave, and we're thinking that we might be in the clear, when they shine their spot light on our side of the bank. Busted! They drive over to our side, we oar to the bank. It's 2 female M.P.'s They tell us that we have to break camp and leave. Besides that, they are going to write us a citation for trespassing. The dirt road we had turned down to get to our paradise, was actually a tank road on U.S. Army Fort Hunter Liggett. OOPS! Sorry about that. So we tell them that we have no idea how to get out of there, because we don't really know how we got in there. "Follow us" they say. As they go to take off, the 2 female M.P.'s Jeep is stuck in the mud. HaHa. "Will you guys help us get unstuck" they ask. "Will you guys take back the citation" I inquire. "Nope. Can't do that. Once the citation is written, it's in the book" "Get yourself out then" I reply. About that time, always kind and helpful Poncho chimes in, and he's miles ahead of me. We'll help you get out. You're going to have to get the jeep rocking by putting it in forward, then reverse, then forward  etc. Start out by putting it in low gear, and one of you get in the back and push. I see, I think to myself, he's just going to give them verbal help. But I can see what he's set up. As they get ready, the one M.P. goes to the back to push, the other M.P. gives it the gas, and mud just coats the M.P. that was in the back pushing. Laugh. Ponch and I laughed so hard. Ponch gave them the nickname of G.I. Joan and Joanie. They finally got unstuck and we still needed to be escorted off the base. As we're going, Ponch and I were both thinking, It seemed to be taking a lot longer to get off the base than we remember it getting on the base. No wonder. They were taking us out through the front gate and it was quite harrowing. They ran all of our ID's and checked us all out. We Passed! Ponch and I wrote a letter to the Magistrate for the citation explaining how we got lost, and he gave us a years probation from ever trespassing on military property again. To this day I couldn't tell you where we stayed that night, But man what a great adventure we had!

I knew if I got up to tell stories about my sweet brother yesterday I would turn into a puddle of tears, I am not as strong as so many family and friends of Frank were and I thank them all so much for being so strong.

There was a story about my brother that wasn't shared yesterday and it's a little one!  On January 23, 1947 when Frank was born, our Dad "Buzz" Frank William Early II was standing out side the hospital window that our Mom "Annis" was resting in her room.  My Dad started yelling up to her open window saying "How's everything doing and how's our baby boy?"  Well back in the 40's there was a saying when everything is good or okay people would say "Everythings Jake".  Well after my Mom response was Everything's Jake, a nick name for my little baby brother started and we called him Jake for many years until he grew into a man and he told us he preferred being called Frank!  Sometimes we slip and called him Jake and he would smile!  When we were kids and teased each other like kids do we would call him Jake the Flake, needless to say he wasn't happy about that but he never got mad, he would just laugh about it and say, "I am not a flake"  Just a small story, but full of sweet memories!  Love my brother and he is still with me in my heart forever!  

Words shared at the Celebration of Life, August 24, 2014

My name is Eric. I’m Frank’s son-in-law. And I’m a terrible golfer. 

Frank knows this, as he was witness to it. Here at Woodley Lakes Golf Course, some 17 or so years ago, he and I played a round together. It was my desire to get to know my future father-in-law better by playing the game he so dearly loved. I guess I thought it might impress him. Hah!

My slice was so bad that I occasionally put the ball on a different fairway. And I’m sure there is a ball of mine sitting at the bottom of the lake on #12 still to this day. But it never mattered to Frank how well I played, what mattered to him is that I was willing to try. After a couple of holes he lovingly informed me that “we’re not keeping score on this round” and he encouraged me to bend the rules—taking an extra shot or two from the tee, discretely kicking the ball away from a bad lie, and picking up my ball on the green when I couldn’t sink it after 4 putts. He created a space in which we could have fun, laugh about the bad shots, and celebrate my very rare decent shot. Most importantly, he showed me that it’s a game of patience.

Frank’s lessons for me around patience carried over into aspects of life as well. I came into this family in my late 20’s still carrying that misconception that I had life all figured out. I had many struggles with my immediate family as they struggled to accept me for who I was. I’d go countless weeks not talking to my own parents as I felt they had given up caring about me. But thankfully, in Frank, I had a father figure from the very beginning. He welcomed me into his family openly and he reminded me on many occasions to be patient with my own. He showed me how much family really matters.

Almost 8 years ago that patience, and that shift in perspective that Frank instilled in me, culminated in an amazing Christmas vacation at our home in Oregon. He met my parents for the first time as we brought the two families together to celebrate the holidays with lots of food, good conversation, and a whole lot of fun. It would be the first of several holidays the two united families would spend together. We even got back out on the golf course—me, my dad, and Frank. I’d fallen in love with the idea of family and through Frank’s lessons for me, I found how much our togetherness all matters. And thanks to him, I will always carry that lesson that all things heal through the patience of time.

Today I stand here recognizing that his lessons apply again. It’s hard not to be angry about what happened. He left us way to early. And we are all grieving the loss. It’s something we all share as one collective family. But with time and with patience, in being present for each other, we will get through this, and we will ultimately be a stronger, larger family because of it. 

Today I choose to celebrate all your were to me, Pop. I’m so thankful for the lessons you taught me and I’m so happy to have had you as my father-in-law. The next time I have the opportunity to be out on a course attempting this impossibly difficult game again, I know that you’ll be laughing with me when I land yet another ball in the water.