12 Comments

1. Peter Robertson
   @

   I first crossed paths with Frank in an online chat room, which in the late 90s were new and novel. The room was called “intellectuals”. One person stood out. His handle was “Pooch.” He wasn’t there to be intellectual, he was there to perform. I sat and watched “Pooch” turn the room into his own playground—mostly to entertain himself, and over the heads of most of the “intellectuals” in the room.

   This is when I first learned that a restless Frank could be a wicked Frank. Wickedly funny. Slowly, I began to egg him on—a Robin to his Batman. We met there with more frequency.

   The more I learned about him, the more I suspected that he couldn’t possibly be the person he claimed to be. But he was. And he wanted to come and meet me in Toronto. Looking back, I can’t believe I let him into my life so easily, or wasn’t more concerned about him being an axe murderer.

   My first impression was that he was a big child—in the best possible way. He had both a cultivated elegance, and the whimsy to drag me to a 2am Star Wars screening. He ordered me my first martini and I took him to the Caribbean Festival where he danced. On the day he left, we were on the grass in Queens Park. Frank said to me, “you realize, this can’t possibly go anywhere.” This marked the beginning of a 28-year relationship that was rare and improbable.

   Frank shared my love of travel. We collected fridge magnets from everywhere we went. My estimation is that we had close to 100 from 11 countries. Although I had travelled to many of these places on my own, revisiting them with Frank was different. He knew restaurants, hotels, neighbourhoods, and he always wanted the finest things. Problem was, we couldn’t always afford ALL the finest things. We’d trade haute cuisine for a picnic in our room. And he was fine with it.

   To be clear, I’m not saying that I changed Frank’s extravagant behaviour. Nobody could truly reign him in, nor was it my place to do so. I like to think that my sense of moderation became sensible to him over time. But, Frank loved to shop. Shoes, clothes, kitchenware, books, furniture, paintings, watches, colognes, greeting cards… if he liked something, it was going home with him.

   He would often get fixated on something he had to find. Once, it was the perfect shade of bone-coloured leather loafers to go with his khaki Brook Brothers suit. Another time, it was the precise ultramarine blue dress shirt to match his necktie. He shopped with purpose, and created his own narrative for demand. Yet, Frank was self-aware and, when I called him on it, he would grin and be in on the joke.

   He was also charitable. He delivered meals for Project Angel Food to the seriously ill. He donated to the SPCA, Public Television, and other non-profits. For years, we sponsored a Ugandan child together. He did these things quietly, because you weren’t supposed to talk about it.

   Frank was easily touched yet rarely showed emotional vulnerability. Most people saw the flamboyant Frank. I knew him as tender. He would cry at the end of The Little Prince or the conclusion of a good book or poem. Frank seemed to have a hard shell, yet he was sensitive and easily wounded.

   He loved things that were beautiful: A Brancusi sculpture, the first snowfall, stark modernism, sterling roses, Venetian glassware, or a beautifully set dinner table—Frank’s table settings remain among the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. The music in today’s program are songs Frank loved, or by writers he admired.

   In his mind, everything had a place. If he passed through the living room and noticed a coaster felt off, he’d give it a gentle turn. This became a running joke with us. Sometimes, on my way out, I’d turn a coaster 15 degrees and he’d laugh and tell me to put it back… nervously. Decorating the Christmas tree was a month-long process for him—every day, he’d make small adjustments in pursuit of perfection.

   As much as Frank liked beautiful things, he was all in for a B-Movie. Together, we’d watch Mystery Science Theatre 3000, which was a guy and two robot puppets watching terrible movies and making fun of them. This carried over into our own version, if what we were watching turned out to be terrible. The only time I heard Frank laugh harder was when he tried to read me an essay from The Pooh Perplex.

   Frank compulsively watched movies and shared that love with me. We would see virtually everything that screened at the Writer’s Guild Theatre, and stay for the talks afterwards. During awards season, he’d use his Guild card to get us into free movies. It wasn’t unusual for us to go to two to three movies a day, only breaking for a quick meal.

   Frank told me that his love of movies began as a child. His father, a theatre manager, would drop him off at movie houses back when you could watch the movie as many times as you liked. It was babysitting and also a kind of training. I believe that this is where the cinema world of well-dressed people, cocktails, hotels, parties and melodrama imprinted on Frank. He grew up poor and moved around a lot, often forced to leave personal items and pets behind. It doesn’t surprise me that he aspired to an adult world of opulence and refinement.

   Years ago, were about to go out together and Frank said to me, “I know why I fell yesterday. I had a stroke.” When I realized he wasn’t joking, I said we needed to go to the hospital. His response, “…and miss the movie?”


   Frank had a number of eccentricities. He was constantly supplying me with bold statements and anecdotes that I called “Frank-isms.” I feel comfortable sharing these Frank-sims because know he thought they were funny as well—once again, that self awareness.

   For example:
   He once complained that I bought cereal that floats; To the DMV person asking about organ donation, he quipped, “I think my organs have expired”; I once made him ribs which he wasn’t enthused about. He told me, “I don’t like meat that falls off the bone.” For years, this became my sarcastic, lighthearted response to his criticism of any cooking; I recommended a Netflix show to Frank and he said, “I stopped watching it. Every episode is the same.” After asking how many he watched, he said, “two”;
   I once asked about pills in his wastebasket. Frank said, “I don’t take those all the time, only when I feel like it.” I asked if the doctor knew and he said, “no.” “So, why are you buying them?” His response, “Because I’m supposed to”; We had a Homecare case worker conducting Frank’s bi-annual review. I had to repeat everything to him and thought his hearing aids weren’t working. Afterwards, he was giggling and confessed that he was broadcasting the tennis match through his devices from the tv in his office.

   I think Frank always meant well, but he was going to do things his way. We all know what Frank’s humour was like. Any of his good friends have examples of their own.

   Early on, I told him that I didn’t think something he said was funny. That bothered him because he couldn’t tolerate having boundaries for his humour. I always felt like Frank was to humour as punk rock is to music—disruptive, irreverent, unconventional, and unwilling to follow the “rules.” Something that stopped everyone dead in their tracks. Near the end of his life, I was preparing him for bed and fluffed his pillow. He grabbed my arm and said with a slight grin, “it goes over my face.” Knowing him like I do, this didn’t shock me one bit. I told him to behave, which made him smile more.

   The worst thing you could do to Frank is bore him. If you did, that’s when he would begin to spar. An actor on one of his Soaps criticized his writing for being too funny—taking the drama out of the show. To Frank, that was another feather in his cap.

   Over the years, Frank’s needs changed and with that, so did our relationship. The transition from beating me in tennis to needing help bathing and dressing humbled him. I was his love and caregiver. All the while, he never lost his sense of humour or character. He was always Frank. Always surprising me. And he appreciated that I never treated him differently. Life continued as usual.`

   During the hospital stays and home support, Frank was consistently people’s favourite. I think they realized what a rare individual he was—that he had the mind and perseverance of a much younger person. He lost the ability to walk, but not the drive to dine, shop, go to the ballet, or a movie. His resilience and determination inspired me.

   His living to 96 astounds me because it was fuelled by love, happiness and sheer will. Laying in the hospital with two fractured legs, he took my hand and said, “I’m worried about leaving you,” meaning, would I be ok? Frank, the teen who lost both parents within 320 days, was worried about me. That’s the man that Frank was.

   Early on, Frank gave me a book: The Doubtful Guest, by Edward Gorey (whom he also found hilarious). It was inscribed simply, “Peter, who was…”. He wasn’t wrong. As Frank’s health declined, I got a tattoo of that character holding a gramophone horn. When I showed him, he smiled in a way that was knowing. It needed no explanation, just as our relationship didn’t require one. We simply, “were.”

   None of what Frank and I shared was probable, or even reasonable by most people’s frame of reference, but it was significant. It was life changing. An adventure without boundaries or logic, where anything could happen… and did.

   I loved Frank, and the way he made my life glow. Hours before Frank passed, I was telling him what joy he brought to my life. I put my hand on the back of his head and told him how I’d do it all again. He couldn’t speak and one eye was half open. A single tear rolled down his cheek, which was his way of saying to me, “Peter, so would I.”

   I want to thank Frank’s doctors, in particularly, Eric Cadesky, and all the Homecare support and longterm care workers who made a difference in Frank’s life. Arman, Frank loved and needed you. I also want to thank the friends and family who were thinking of me during my toughest moments.

   I want to close with a poem that Frank shared with me. It became a running joke between us. It’s one of those things he laughed at every time, for reasons that were probably impossible to explain to anyone else.

   It’s by James Tate, and it’s called Where Babies Come From.
   So, in honour of Frank, I’m not going to explain it. I’m just going to share it:

   Many are from the Maldives,
   southwest of India, and must begin
   collecting shells almost immediately.
   The larger one may prefer coconuts.
   Survivors move from island to island
   hopping over one another and never
   looking back. After the typhoons
   have had their pick, and the birds of prey
   have finished with theirs, the remaining few
   must build boats, and in this, of course,
   they can have no experience, they build
   their boat of palm leaves and vines.
   Once the work is completed, they lie down,
   thoroughly exhausted and confused,
   and a huge wave washes them out to sea.
   And that is the last they see of one another.
   In their dreams Mama and Papa
   are standing on the shore
   for what seems like an eternity,
   and it is almost always the wrong shore.

   Thank you, Frank. I love you. You weren’t just a partner, you are a gift I receive, every time I think of you. As Frank would always say to me, “Say goodnight, Gracie.”

2. Arman
   @

   Some clients become a family. Frank was one of them. He was a wonderful man, kind, classy, and full of character. I will never forget how he listened to me talk about food and nutrition, he made me feel heard and respected.
   I was always excited to see him. He always made me smile, even on his grumpy days. Rest easy, Frank. It was an honor to care for you.

3. Brian Ray
   @

   Frank will live forever in our hearts and in our memories. I look forward to being with all of you at Frank’s memorial
   I don’t have anything prepared to say, but I can contribute for a few minutes.

4. Tony Mindlin and Mary Tower
   @

   He was as generous with his laughter as he was with his wit.

5. Scott Salisbury
   @

   I want to thank you all for being here and sharing your thoughts and memories of my dad. I miss him every day. His wit his humor his laughter and his smile. I am truly and forever blessed to be able to call him my DAD.
   Scott

   I want everyone to know Frank was my Frankie and when I called him Frankie he smiled and always gave me a hug..
   Mary

6. Roger White
   @

   From the moment I met Frank, I could tell he was someone special.
   Chuck told me all the stories about their early days in L.A.—playing tennis, followed by champagne around the pool with the marvelous Lee Ray. Somehow, that seemed exactly the sort of life Frank was meant to lead.

   A conversation with Frank was always a little like being let in on an inside joke. He could whip out the quips faster than you could process them. He loved to name-drop, especially when telling an old Hollywood story, and his dry humor was wonderfully sharp but never vicious.
   I shall miss the old boy terribly, especially the way he followed every perfectly delivered joke with that deep, hearty chuckle of his—as if he were just as delighted by the joke as the rest of us.

   I’m sure he’s currently holding court at that grand old bar in the clouds, dropping names, telling stories, and entertaining the crowd exactly as he always did.
   Cheers, Frank. You will be missed.

   link to Franks 74th Birthday Party
   https://youtu.be/ZUy4sYvxmoM?si=86e6pdPRncbVmTjT

7. Ernest Thompson
   @

   Frank was my favorite tennis and racquetball opponent and not merely because he always let me win but because we had so many laughs. He had the best laugh ever. In addition to the best wry cynicism and wit, sense of wonder and joie de vivre. There’s something about having been friends for more than half a century that makes it seem as if Frank’s still here; I can still hear his voice, his enthusiasm for all things delicious and aesthetic, scandalous and intriguing, and I consider myself blessedly fortunate to have had Frank as part of my life. “Godspeed, hope I don’t see you soon.” (it’s a line from my new one-man show ARCHIE PARISH’S PARTING WORDS; Frank would’ve loved it and I know that at some upcoming performance, I’ll have to hold for the laugh and it’ll be Frank’s).

8. Kevin Kong
   @

   Frank was really kind and nice to everyone whom he met. Everyone of us will always love and remember him from the heart.

9. Bernard Duval
   @

   Je garde un souvenir inoubliable des quelques trop rares rencontres ou j’ai eu l’occasion de faire plus ample connaissance et de decouvrir un homme brillant et sensible, à l’écoute de tout et malgré la distance et les années toujours présent et qui le restera.

10. Jacqueline La Pointe
    @

    Frank & Lee se sont si gentiment occupés de moi pendant mon séjour à LA. en 1980. Les parties de tennis du dimanche, les déjeuners à Marina del Rey, les réceptions de Frank à Sherman Oaks avec ses amis acteurs, producteurs, .. La cérémonie des Academy Awards à la télévision où chacun faisait ses paris pour les vainqueurs. Beaucoup d’humour et de rires lors de nos rencontres, Frank avait cet humour britannique, drôle et piquant à la fois. Je me souviens de Scott jeune et beau comme un Dieu. Les ballades avec la superbe Mercedes blanche décapotable de Frank. Les déjeuners chez Moustache Café. Il m’avait emmené voir le concert de Bruce Springsteen, je n’avais jamais vu pareil concert… Hammlet au théatre et bien d’autres souvenirs. Le shopping sur Rodéo Drive., il n’aimait que les belles choses, tout ce qui était raffiné. Une anecdote lors d’un diner chez moi à Marina del Rey, Frank et Lee étaient venus diner et je leur avais servi une dorade entière grillée au four, je ne savais pas qu’on ne présentait pas la tête aux USA, nous avions beaucoup ri.
    Et puis sa visite à Paris avec Peter et Lee, quel bonheur de leur présenter ma famille, mes enfants !
    Puis Montréal quelques années après avec Peter quand j’y habitais. La visite de la ville, le brunch au Ritz Carlton. Frank a toujours adoré la bonne cuisine, c’était un fin gourmet. Je regrette de ne pas l’avoir vu plus souvent mais nous étions bien loin géographiquement.
    Frank et Lee ont été mes parents adoptifs pendant que je vivais à LA, toujours là pour moi.
    L’amitié n’a pas de frontières et l’espace temps n’a pas d’importance, on se retrouvait comme si nous nous étions quittés la veille. Ils me manquent tous les deux et merci à Peter de faire revivre cette merveilleuse personne qu’était Frank Salisbury.

11. CRAIG & ROSE HUERTA-WALKER
    @

    We loved Frank (aka many names including “Chief”)!
    Frank’s exquisit sense of humor had to be experienced to be believed.
    The only thing drier was his ability to make the perfect martini on a wet sailboat!!
    Frank was America’s answer to England’s Noël Coward –
    and in many ways Frank was more amusing.
    “Now…should we dress for dinner?”

12. Mady Julian
    @

    No one was ever wittier or better read or a better cook. New Year’s Eve made sense when you spent it at Frank’s. A man who was equally at home at Tiffany’s or Gucci’s. My dear brilliant friend. He can never be equalled.