Eugene Edward Frankowski

Frankowski, Eugene Edward Francis “Captain My Captain”, “Captain Grumpy”

May 8, 1937 – October 30, 2022.  Beloved and annoying husband of Amy for 45 years. Loving and loud father of four children (all above average): Donna (Jeff) Gruol (Franktown, CO), Gloria (Milwaukee), Patricia (Crossroads, TX), and the late David. Predeceased by his first wife (Theresa Gonia) and all nine of his brothers and sisters (Roberta, Richard, Jerome, Joseph, James, Thomas, John, Michael and Mary). Also survived by dozens of cousins, nephews, nieces, friends, and his devoted dog, Boudreau.  

Gene was a proud Navy vet, traveling the world and serving five years at sea on the destroyers, Badger and Morton. He then made a career – and many good friends - on the Milwaukee Fire Dept., retiring at the rank of Captain. He was an excellent fisherman and a great cook; the sound of his Fry Baby being fired up drew mooching hungry relatives from California to Florida, and all points in between. He maintained a lifelong interest in history and scientific discovery of all sorts and was a voracious reader. Gene also enjoyed dogs, having up to four rescued pooches making a mess of his lawn and shedding all over his recliner at any given time. He had a spectacular rose garden, he was a wily opponent at backgammon and dominoes, he loved being the substitute Dzia Dzia to his little friends, Azalea and Audrina. His death is the most painful loss imaginable.

There will be no funeral per Gene’s request. However, friends and family are invited to call at Gene and Amy’s home in Mukwonago between 2 - 5 PM on Sunday, November 6. Yes, we will have the Packers on TV, and yes, there will be beer.

 Fiddler’s Green is        a place I heard tell

Where fishermen go when they don’t go to hell

Where the skies are all clear and the dolphins do play

And   the   cold   coast   of   Greenland   is  far,  far  away

When  you  get  to  the  dock  and  the  long  trip is through

There’s pubs and there’s clubs and there’s lassies there too

And  the  girls  are  all  pretty  and  the  beer,  it  is  free

And there’s bottles of rum growing from every tree

Wrap me up in me oilskins and jumper

No more on the docks I’ll be seen

Just tell me old shipmates

I’m taking a trip,

 Mates

And I’ll see you one day in Fiddler’s Green