June 5, 1960 – June 16, 2026

Delivered 6/24/26, Holy Redeemer Church, Kensington, MD

We are gathered here today to mourn, honor, and celebrate the life of Frank Ryan, a life too vast and complex to adequately capture in a brief eulogy.  Thanks to the assistance of Eileen and Erika, and the legions of Frank’s loving friends, we’ll make a valiant effort.

Thank you also to the Ryan family. Frank revered your parents, and your childhood together at 4509 Saul Rd. loomed large in his creative imagination as a source of inspiration and guidance.

The eighth and youngest child of Inez French Ryan and Philip Aloysius Ryan, Frank was a force of nature in grade school, a gushing firework of a child. The academic routines of the classroom were insufficient to fully engage his voracious curiosity and his exploding imagination. Every single person from HR remembers how the teachers took him to other classrooms to perform his stand-up routine for the other grades. Think of that: a disruptive class clown, usually punished, so bewitched his adult teachers with his effervescent personality that he was elevated to school celebrity. 

But it wasn’t just school – Frank had this effect on all the adults he encountered. Billy and Patty Silk remember Frank holding court at their house, bringing their parents to tears of laughter. It was the same everywhere. Everyone loved Frank, and he loved making everyone happy with laughter. It is not an exaggeration to say he brought joy everywhere he went.

During high school, Frank’s comedic instincts continued developing, with influences including Green Acres, George Carlin, Richard Pryor, Monty Python, and National Lampoon. Frank memorized and repeated these routines with astonishing fidelity and added clever embellishments. In another universe, a trip out to Chicago or L.A. would have resulted in gigs at improv clubs and ultimately, a call from Lorne Michaels.

It would not be hyperbole to say that Frank was a legend, a comedic genius. Everybody in this room has a Frank Ryan story. Most of us have a lot more than one. Frank was always the funniest person in the room, but he didn’t tell jokes. He created landscapes filled with characters both real and imagined. 

Frank started working with his heroes in sports, music and politics, his extended family and neighbors, and his friends and classmates. But he also created new people out of his active imagination to imitate and deftly parody. He practiced these routines constantly, relentlessly polishing them, sometimes making them better, sometimes just shorter, and sometimes just silly, perfect caricatures that retained the essence of what made the original so good. We thoroughly enjoyed every entertaining step of the process.

Frank had the uncanny knack of distilling an evening, a week, a whole summer of fun into a single phrase, gesture, or facial expression.  Things like “bubblegum”, “don’t be so ging guy”, the Archie face, or the Heagle Dive can and do instantly transport us back to a singular place and time, filled with laughter.

But Frank was much more to us than “the funny guy”. There are so many important ways to describe him: friendly, curious, creative, empathetic, a born romantic, humble, generous to a fault, trusting, relentlessly optimistic, and filled with righteous rage at the injustices heaped on the less fortunate.  Per high school friend Charlie Hartley, “He didn’t know how to be mean.”  His wife Eileen says it best, “Frank was good to the bone.” 

Maybe the best superlative for Frank, though, is heroic. In everything he did – sports, his love of music and poetry, his pursuit of a college and law degree and subsequent career, and his dedication to his wife and children – Frank saw himself as a bare-knuckled, over-achieving brawler, the underestimated, overlooked, underdog who came back, again, and again, and again. He was too humble to ever call himself a hero, but he was inspired by heroes and believed in acting heroically. 

Frank’s first heroes were his parents. They were the keys to understanding the pillar of fire that was Frank’s inner life and the engine of his imagination. He was also inspired by his siblings and their families. We’ve all come to know various members of the clan at different times because of how much you all meant to Frank. You are the foundation, the context, the germinal matrix from which he launched into the world. You meant everything to him, and your love and approval were major forces in his life.

Another of Frank’s early heroes was Saint Pope John Paul II. So much so, that after the attempt on the pope’s life, Frank told us about his coworker in the House mail room who teased him: “Frank Ryan, they shot President Reagan, they shot your boy the Pope; they shot both your men, and you next. You got to go my friend.” 

As Catholics, we are taught to look to the Saints as role models to emulate. Frank and the Pope who would become a saint, had many things in common: a shared love of athletics, an irresistible drive to be close to people, a rebellious streak, searching minds looking for unity in disparate subjects, and perhaps most importantly, they were both artists and performers, on different stages to be sure.  The similarities between Frank’s journey and the Saint he venerated go on and on.

In the encyclical Faith and Reason, Saint Pope John Paul II talks about the soul having an innate drive seeking union with God, called “synderesis”.  When it comes to appreciating the entirety of Frank’s life, that word has special meaning.

One of Frank’s music idols, Bruce Springsteen, has a song, “Badlands”, in which he says, 

“…I believe in the love that you gave me
I believe in the faith that could save me
I believe in the hope
And I pray that some day
It may raise me …”

Frank’s relentless, at times almost delusional, optimism is reflected in these lines. Delusional optimism can sometimes be called faith. Time and time again, events proved the skeptics wrong, and Frank right.

Athletics was another essential aspect of his character, forged in the crucible of pick-up basketball and football games, CYO teams, and battles with his brothers, in a neighborhood filled with accomplished athletes. Frank was a ferocious competitor, a joy to have on your team, and maddening as an opponent because of his erratic, improvisational style. He was at times incandescent and unstoppable , especially “at WJ that one time”, but inconsistency and cold streaks never dented his warrior work ethic. One consistent refrain was, “Frank, PLEASE pass the ball”.

Frank often told a great story from the basketball courts at Candy Cane City. He fell in with a team of strangers, and began lighting up the court in one of his en fuego, dazzling performances.  Mark Tillmon, who starred at Georgetown at the time, was leaning up against the basket pole, cooly observing the proceedings. At one point, responding to a moment of Frank’s on-court brilliance, Tillmon advised the other players, “Somebody best get a hand in Chris Mullin’s face!”. 

Sports was more than just competition for Frank. It was the primal field for his imagination, playing alongside and competing with his idols, Walt Frazier, George Gervin, and Kevin Grevey.  Frank knew a preposterous amount about sports and athletes, and he immediately identified with anyone left-handed. He prized excellence over partisan loyalty, as evidenced by his worship of Walt Frazier, who tormented his beloved Bullets during the early 70’s when the Knicks ruled the NBA.

It was music, though, that became the launching point for his surprising growth during and after high school. His enduring interest in reading and writing song lyrics lead to a deeper appreciation of poetry, greatly pleasing Inez Ryan. I remember one afternoon sitting in the kitchen at 4509, discussing Gerard Manley Hopkins with Frank, and Mrs. Ryan coming in and nodding approvingly with the observation, “He’s a good Catholic poet.”  Frank and I exchanged high fives.

Although he didn’t write a lot of poems, Frank had a poet’s eye and gift for words. He watched the world carefully and saw things others miss, and he was a wordsmith. He captured it all in language that both entertained and enlightened.

Another anecdote comes from Frank’s own writing, his recently started rock and roll essay. In it, he relates receiving a James Brown album from his oldest brother Tom:

“My brother Tom surprised me when he told me the album was now mine. Yes, he gave me the album! For a few days, I took it everywhere. My Excalibur! One minute I was a kid, and the next I was a super hero who inexplicably grew a new appendage that resembled a photo of James Brown & His Famous Flames.”

How quintessentially Frank! It has it all: love of family, vivid imagery, imagination, heroes, and superb writing. And what about this: “…inexplicably grew a new appendage…”  Who thinks stuff like that?

In another part of his essay, he describes how, while in the Navy, he taped a recording of himself covering Chuck Berry’s “Roll Over Beethoven” and shared it with his mother: 

“Mom loved playing the tape and did so for her dear friend Helen Anderson. When it ended, Mom asked her if she could identify the singer. Without hesitation, Helen replied: “Elvis Presley”. And that was the day I started my quest to have Helen Anderson added to Mount Rushmore.”

During this period of the ‘80’s into the early 90’s, Frank emerged as a seeker, restless, asking questions, unafraid to cross boundaries, channeling his innate rebelliousness into a directed questing for something bigger, more fulfilling. His love of music led him to research and learn about every aspect of the songs and albums he loved. This wasn’t idle trivia or celebrity gossip for Frank. He wanted to understand how the art emerged from the human soul. For Frank, art came from human relationships in the real world.  It was life to him, and he loved sharing it.

Frank began the hard work of translating his seeking into action. He finished his tour in the Navy a changed person, focused, with a newly honed work ethic, a man with a plan. Defying expectations, he ignored his prior academic record and went on to success at Catholic University and Georgetown Law School, now a Hoya alum like his brother Tom and his father. Frank was justifiably proud of joining his accomplished siblings and parents with those achievements.

During this time, Frank was a prolific letter writer, cranking out dozens, perhaps hundreds of letters to anyone who would write back. These scrawled missives, composed in his classic undisciplined Catholic school cursive, overflowed with philosophy, family news, encouragement, song lyrics, and his own poetry, and always concluded with, “your pal, Frank”.

Frank entered a new phase when he courted and married the love of his life, Eileen Callahan. Prodded by mutual friend Patty Silk, Frank asked Eileen out, and from their first moment together they clicked. The report from Eileen was that they immediately cracked each other up, quoting movie lines and sharing jokes.  Frank’s quote was, “She is a total babe.”

They settled in Rockville and began their family. In relatively short order, two beautiful children arrived. Frank was so proud of his children. Erika’s accomplishments were the first things out of his mouth whenever we got together: the martial arts, the academic success, her athletic achievements – we heard about it all.

Erika says Frank was a 24/7 dad, devoting every hour of non-work time to taking them out for activities, coaching basketball, the batting cages, Daniel’s favorite pool or waterpark, or bringing them along on visits to their grandmother.

Daniel’s autism was a demanding challenge, but each milestone Daniel achieved was a source of great pride for Frank. Frank’s gift for loving and connecting with people was just what Daniel needed and their bond was beautiful. Daniel also brought together the vast community of people who love Frank, through the Saturdays organized by Michael McLaughlin and Leo Kane, enlisting us all in Daniel’s care. Erika remembers these weekend visits fondly as fun days, as we would bring our kids to play with her while we spent time with Daniel.

The last couple of decades were a blur of professional success, family obligations, and the pressures we all share dealing with the daily grind. Throughout his career, Frank was Frank. His retirement party from his 20 years with the AmErikan College of Cardiology was so well attended, it had to be moved to Nationals Park, where Frank held court, telling stories and basking in the acclaim of his professional colleagues. It was the closest the Nats have been to a sellout in a long time.

Eventually, Frank’s health problems caught up with him. Like his beloved Knicks this year, he entered the fourth quarter down 29 points and in need of a yet another big comeback, another incandescent performance. Those last few days, he never got into the groove, didn’t have the hot hand, and despite fighting ferociously, heroically, like a lion, his time ran out.

The afternoon of that awful day, I sat on the ground on our patio, pulling weeds, waiting for the terrible news, listening to music.  Around 3 pm, a song came on that stopped my weeding and compelled my attention. It was a Springsteen song, like a message from Frank, from the album Tunnel of Love.

Father Andrew Greeley, a Jesuit priest and writer, penned a review of Tunnel of Love back in 1988.  In it, he references  Springsteen’s Catholic upbringing as a major influence on the album, and then proceeds with a song-by-song analysis, the kind of stuff Frank adored, devoured, and memorized. He opens the essay stating, 

“The imagination is religious. Religion is imaginative. The origins and the power of both are in the playful, creative, dancing self. Once influenced by Catholic imagery, that self is forever Catholic.” 

If this isn’t a perfect description of Frank’s spirit, his faith, his origins, and his relationship to people and music, I don’t what is. Father Greeley talks about Springsteen’s “minstrel ministry”, translating his Catholic influences into the images of popular culture, communicating, perhaps unconsciously, the important themes of love, community, seeking, and redemption central to Catholic faith.

The song that afternoon was “Valentine’s Day”, the last song on Tunnel of Love. Father Greeley says it is Springsteen’s “most liturgical” song, using Catholic imagery of light and water.

Springsteen is driving down the road at night, his hand on his heart which is “…pounding, baby, like it’s gonna bust right on through.” He just a met a friend who is a new father, and wonders whether the life of seeking on the road can endure the demands of fatherhood.  He realizes what he seeks is true love, his girl waiting for him at home.

Father Greeley concludes, 

“In the final verses of the song—and of the album—Springsteen closes the circle of sacramentality: Light (Gods light again) and the river and the bride and God become one, an irresistible symbol and story of the rebirth and renewal of life and love.”

This is the journey of Frank’s life, from comedian to Seeker, to fully realized man with a wife and family, driving home in the dark to his true love, his wife Eileen. He lived his life of “minstrel ministry”, walking the path of the saints and living as best he could to embody the Christ-like ideals of his Catholic faith, driven by his synderesis, seeking union with God.

Yes, he made us laugh; he amazed us with his athletic ability; then he taught us – about music, and poetry, and literature, and life; then he led us – to broader horizons, to a deeper understanding of the world, to our better selves, demonstrating by his example how to love – each other, and God. He made us look past constraints and focus instead on what could be.

Thank you, Frank, for your love, your humility, your charity, and your example of how to answer the call of our souls seeking unity with God.
We desperately miss you and your music, laughter and dancing. 

Rest in peace, pal.

Frank’s Obituary