My name is Francis Kolarik III, a name I share with my father and my grandfather, and I have never been prouder of that name than right now.
My mother, sister, I and our families would like to extend our deepest thanks for the tremendous outpouring of love and support we have received from all of you and from people all over the country who knew my dad.
Listening to people speak about how my father impacted their lives and the connections that people told me they had with my dad has been an emotional experience.
It is so wonderful to hear the choir here today. My father loved music, not so much the music that emerged from my teenage bedroom, but he loved to sing. He sang in his church choir for the past 35 years. Many of those years right hear at St Anthony’s. He would be so happy that you are singing here today.
Many stories have been told and will continue to be told about my father’s passion for the game of golf. He was a great golfer, but there were many other areas in which he had developed a real talent.
In addition to golf, which he first learned to play in Japan, he was very accomplished at table tennis, darts, chess and photography. He was a great photographer. Volksmarching, horseshoes and sewing. He did not just sew an occasional pant hem. He made shirts and dresses for people. Also, knitting and Bowling, He once bowled a perfect 300 game.
To say he was an accomplished carpenter / wood worker does not do him justice. For the past 35 plus years he built entire kitchens, stereo cabinets and book shelves. He installed hardwood floors, built decks and put an addition on his house. He helped people paint their houses, interior and exterior. When he did a renovation, he did not simply call a contractor and pick out the choice colors. He was the contractor and did all the work.
He typed 60-70 words per minute, I was amazed at how fast his fingers would fly across the keyboard. He was the fastest reader I have ever seen. I remember as a kid I would hand him a book report to proof-read and he would seemingly just glance at it and hand it right back “ It looks good he would say.” “You did not even read it.” I would protest. He would then respond by giving me very detailed feedback on what he liked about it and suggestions for ways I might want to improve it.
We used to say that there was nothing my father couldn’t do and he always seemed to prove us right. He was always excited to share with us and teach us what he had learned.
He was always involved. Always there when I needed him and he always showed up.
He had a great time living in this life time and I have not doubt he is having a great time in heaven.
I am pretty sure that in just this first week, he has already gone fishing with his father, played a round of golf with some old friends and started some much needed renovations on St Peters Gate.
My father told me that “if you want to be good at something and it is important to you, there are no short cuts. You need to put in the work.” He always used his example to inspire me. I can remember early when he I was learning to play golf, we used to go down to the soccer fields and hit practice balls. It would start to get dark and I would want to go home and eat the dinner I knew mom had waiting for us. He would always say, “lets hit one more bag.” Before I could protest too much, he would typically engage me in some way. “I am working on this particular part of my swing.” “ How does it look to you?” “What do you think?” To be 12 years and have my father ask what do you think. To have him ask me for advice, made me feel so important. We would always continue to practice until it got so dark, we could see the anymore.
I have never met someone who not only so loved life, but also loved its challenges. He believed that with faith, friends and hard work that anyone could accomplish or withstand anything.
This past week has been filled with many difficult emotions, but as I stand here today, it seems once again its turning out that he was right.
My father was such an important force in so many lives. In the sadness of this week, all of you were such a source of comfort and support. I received so many emails, messages and phone calls from people, more than I would have ever imagined. Maybe more than he could have imagined.
As I spoke with people they described my father:
He was a gentleman. He was humble, quiet yet confident. A calming force.
He was patient, instructive, even keel. He cared about people. He was always there. A total professional.
He accepted people. He was not judgmental. --
Even when he disagreed with you, he never raised his voice.
He was confident in his beliefs.
My dad wasn’t perfect. Anyone who has driven in a car with him, particularly in Cambridge, knows that his comments directed toward other drivers could be quite colorful. But save a few comments about other drivers and the occasional politician, I never heard him make a disparaging comment about anyone else. He never got caught up in the fray of gossip or idle chatter. However, he was always the first to praise someone for a good job.
He cared about the people who worked for him. A lieutenant who worked for him told me “he wasn't a hard ass, but he wanted to challenge people and inspire them to do their best. The lieutenants who worked for him had the utmost respect for him and they wanted to work the tails for him.” "He made you better, by his presence."
He was the commander of a classified reconnaissance unit in Germany, There were several airmen that were struggling with sustance addictions. I remember when a young Sgt that worked for him got busted. I had met him when he came to our house to talk to my dad. He was only a few years older than me. I went to visit my father at work one day and saw the Sgt with a shovel out back behind the squadron. Since the Sgt. had lost his clearance, to keep him engage and contributing, my father had tasked this now airmen, because he had demoted him, with building horse shoe pits for the squadron. Horse shoe pits to go along with the ping-pong table and dartboard they had in their offices. My father may have invented the Google-like work environment back in the early eighties way before there ever was a Google or a Microsoft.
This story comes full circle a several years later. As a fairly new Navigator, I remember landing at a base in the Azores Islands, and I took the classified documents we were carrying to the command post vault for storage. The person working that night was that same Sgt. He asked how my father was and I told him he had recently retired. He said “I owe you're father a lot. If it wasn’t for your father, I definitely wouldn’t be in the air force, and I do not know if I even be alive. He saved my life.”
My father would readily offer his help anyone who needed it. He was a devout Catholic, and he exemplified it’s teachings of Love and helping others.
Through the way he lived his life he showed me the meaning of the following quote.
“I remember that I am spiritual mirror and as I give love to the world, so the world reflects love back to me.”
My dad’s final year was not sad. He never complained, continued to inspire and always exhibited optimism that things were going to work out.
Between his treatments, he played golf, built cabinets and about a month ago he told me he was going to write a book. “What’s it going to be called?” I asked. “Sports Mediocrity” He said.
He had started writing it. I will read you the Introduction:
“Over the past 50 plus years I have accumulated a level of what I consider to be advanced mediocrity in the ability to play several sports. This book is a small attempt to describe how and why I was able to achieve those levels in each of the sports, and perhaps to inspire others to achieve personal superiority in the sports of their choice.”
- Frank Kolarik
My dad taught me more about humility, dignity and courage in this past year than maybe in the entire rest of my life.
I am so grateful that I had him for as long as I did.
He loved his country, he loved his faith, he loved his family and he loved all of you.
I love you dad, I always will and I miss you.
