A boy named Frankie

Imagine, if you will, a prequel to Happy Days, a story set in the 1940s when Richie Cunningham and friends were in elementary school. Call it Russet Lane. I am Richie, but the show's star is Frankie Bagozzi. He is The Fonz.

Imagine a prequel to Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Call it Learning the Times Tables at Prospect School. Stealing all of his scenes, as Spicoli, is Frankie Bagozzi, though he'd be played not by Sean Penn but by a young Steve McQueen, who always reminded me of Frankie.

Frankie Bagozzi was one of Russet Lane's most unforgettable characters, an undersized, but pugnacious instigator, the prime suspect in all mischief.

In part, you could blame Frank Sr., recalled as a shadowy figure who all but disappeared from his son's life early on. For years I thought Frank Bagozzi Sr. was a big-time gangster, Syracuse's answer to Al Capone. It wasn't true, not even close . . . though Frank Sr. was arrested a few times on gambling charges.

The last time I saw him was after one of those arrests. I was 19 and working as a part-time reporter for the Syracuse Herald-Journal, temporarily covering the police beat. Frank Sr. had just made bail when he spotted me at the station. It had been several years since I'd seen him; I was surprised he remembered me, even more surprised that he knew why I was there.

"Jack," he said, with melodramatic sincerity, "I was framed!"

Like father, like son.

Frankie Jr. had a minor learning disability of some sort. Whatever it was, it went undiagnosed and untreated. In those days schools responded by making children repeat a grade, and, if necessary, repeat it again. Frankie did a lot of repeating in elementary school. However, in many ways he was bright and clever – a kid some would describe as street smart. Sometimes his cleverness was misguided.

Not that he was alone. Like the time Frankie and some other Russet Lane boys searched the hill behind our street the morning after the annual Feast of the Assumption Field Days in the park below. The field days included two nights of fireworks which were set off on the hill.

Frankie and friends found an unlit rocket and brought it to the Pozzi house at the end of the street and alerted all the neighborhood kids to their discovery. In the backyard of that house, where Joey Pozzi lived, was a brick barbecue that had a small chimney attached to an iron grill. The boys placed the rocket at the base of the chimney – and lit it, thinking four or five feet of chimney would guide the rocket straight up.

We stood, most of us at a safe distance, and waited for the show. Seconds passed, but nothing happened. Frankie, standing near the barbecue, decided to investigate. He stepped up on the grill and looked down into the chimney. He turned away just in time.

Ka-boom! The rocket never made it out of the chimney, but the explosion sent several bricks flying. Frankie was bruised, but escaped serious injury.

Summer nights on Russet Lane found us playing street games that were variations of Hide 'n' Seek. Frankie's favorite hiding place was a maple tree; he'd climb to the highest branch that would support him. He wasn't the only neighborhood kid to hide in that tree, but he was the smallest – and the only one who could completely disappear among the leaves.

My recollection is that one night he did slip and fall, breaking an arm. As soon as his arm mended, Frankie was back in the tree, as high up as ever.

•

IT WAS FRANKIE who involved me in a movie-of-the-week moment that, luckily for us, was uneventful, except as I see it in life's rearview mirror.

I was about 5, a visitor in the Bagozzi home. His three sister's were out, his mother was busy in the kitchen, and his father no longer a full-time resident.

Frankie invited me into what had been his parents' bedroom. There he opened a dresser drawer and removed a handgun that belonged to his father. We sat together on the bed while Frankie showed me the gun. Whether it was loaded, we hadn't a clue. Whether Frankie pretended to shoot it, I don't recall, though I know he never aimed it in my direction. I was scared of the gun, but not scared of Frankie.

The experience soon faded from memory. Years later, news of a tragic accident involving a couple of kids brought flashbacks of Frankie playing with his father's gun.

•

FRANKIE COULD BE surprisingly creative. Soon after my father was elected mayor of Solvay, he brought home a village-owned tape recorder, a primitive and bulky reel-to-reel machine that came with no options beyond on, off, rewind and fast forward.

I showed it to Frankie who suggested we tape our own radio show, a spoof of Dragnet. He was the producer, director, writer, star and special effects department. We followed that withThe Shadow; the sound Frankie squeezed out of a tiny squeak in our sunroom door was truly frightening.

The tape recorder eventually went back to the village hall, minus one tape. My parents decided it was a keeper. I think it's still around, hiding among the boxed items that accompanied me to Rhode Island and later to South Carolina. When we finally get settled I'll find it, though heaven knows how I'll play it.

•

AS A HIGH SCHOOL freshman, Frankie told me about his plan to help his sister Pat who'd been jilted by her longtime boyfriend, Remo. Pat had graduated from high school, Remo was in his senior year and smitten with a girl named Mary Lou, a popular junior. Frankie's plan was simple: he'd ask Mary Lou for a date. He was sure she'd not only say yes, but immediately dump Remo for him, driving Remo back to sister Pat.

Frankie probably was older than Mary Lou, but he was, after all, a mere freshman. Frankie's plan never had a chance.

I moved to Ohio soon after I finished college and ran into Frankie only a couple of times during visits to my parents, who remained in their house on Russet Lane. Frankie was in business for himself, first with Bagozzi's Smoke Shop. Later he opened the first video store in the Syracuse area, Bagozzi's Video. The last time I saw him was at his small restaurant – you guessed it, Bagozzi's – in Westvale Plaza.

•

HIS NAME CAME UP during a high school class reunion several years ago when a few of us began exchanging Frankie Bagozzi stories. We couldn't top the classmate who told us that as a result of her daughter's recent marriage, she was now Frankie Bagozzi's mother-in-law.

It wasn't long after the reunion that Frankie learned he had lung cancer. He died on New Year's Eve, 1990. He was 54.

Frankie was an Air Force veteran who served nine years on active duty, most of that time in Japan. Later he was a 20-year member of the 174th Tactical Fighter Wing of the Air National Guard – a unit known as The Boys From Syracuse. He was survived by his wife, Patricia, and daughter Danielle, who was 4 when Frankie died.

•

THE QUINTESSENTIAL Frankie Bagozzi story:

It's 1944, Frankie's eight years old, I'm six. Among my favorite toys is a set of tin soldiers. One day I can't find them, and that's the first bit of news my mother reports when my father comes home from work. His response: "Frankie!"

My father charges up the street and as he approaches the Bagozzi house, he spots the soldiers spread out among the front yard shrubs. When Frankie comes to the door, my father accuses him of stealing the soldiers.

"I didn't steal them," says Frankie matter-of-factly, "I took 'em on maneuvers."

My father breaks up. He'd never been able to stay mad at the irrepressible kid he liked more than any other. Besides, he realized Frankie was telling the truth.

"Okay," says my father, finally fixing a straight face, "but when maneuvers are over, bring the soldiers back."

"Yes, sir!" barks Frankie, giving my father an exaggerated salute.

Maneuvers ended the next day and the soldiers returned to Fort Major.

– JACK MAJOR

1942: Frankie Bagozzi, age 6, squeezed between his older sister Pat and Jack Major at a birthday party in 1942.

July 1940: Frankie pulls Jack. The wagon cover was made by Buster Major, who years later did the same for his grandchildren's wagon.