In the long arc of a life well-lived, there are people whose brilliance shines quietly, illuminating not through spectacle but through steadiness, curiosity, and an unassuming grace. Frank Klinzman – father, grandfather, great-grandfather, veteran, mathematician, music lover, devoted partner, and friend – was one of those rare lights. He passed from this world leaving behind not only those who loved him, but a legacy stitched into the lives he touched and the communities he strengthened.

Born in Iowa in 1928, Frank grew up with three siblings and the Midwestern sky stretched endlessly above him – working on his Uncle Roy’s farm, visiting Clear Lake in the summers, and continuously learning as he grew. His mind was a marvel: nimble, searching, tireless. He earned his BA and then his master’s degree in mathematics from the University of Iowa, where he was a varsity wrestler and taught as a graduate assistant – he remembered, even a half century later, the names of the students he helped usher into the world of numbers. His memory was the kind found in stories more than statistics – astonishing, precise, and rooted in care.

After serving his country during the Korean War at White Sands Proving Grounds, Frank followed opportunity eastward, driving solo from Iowa to Connecticut. He arrived with a suitcase, a brilliant mind, and the quiet confidence of a young man ready to begin a life. He spent his first nights at the YMCA and built everything from there – his career, his friendships, his home, and eventually the large, loving family that would become his greatest pride.

In Connecticut, Frank became a founding member of the Society of Actuaries, and built a career as a distinguished actuary whose deep passion for mathematics shaped not only his profession, but his worldview. Numbers, to him, were not just instruments of logic; they were symphonies of patterns. That same sense of harmony extended to the rest of his life. he met the love of his life, Shirley, in Connecticut; they married and shared more than 55 years together until her passing in 2011 – years marked by growth, devotion, and the family they both cherished.

Frank lived fully within his community. He was a founding member of the Redding Country Club, where he played golf and tennis and gamely took on any new athletic challenge presented to him. He served as a longtime deacon at the First Congregational Church of Redding, grounding his faith in service rather than sermon. He raised four children – Sharon, Sandy (Marty), Sally (Dick), and Frank (Kelly) – and later welcomed four grandchildren – Molly, Jessica, Michael, and Charlie – and two great-grandchildren, Maddie and Noah , all of whom he adored and championed.

A lifelong lover of music, especially jazz and big band, Frank sought out live performances wherever he could find them. Louis Armstrong was the pinnacle for him, the night he heard Satchmo live etched in his memory forever. And in the eternal debate of crooners, he was unapologetically loyal to Bobby Darin over Frank Sinatra – a preference stated with the same cheerful conviction he applied to all of his opinions.

Frank carried a deep and abiding love for his alma mater. The University of Iowa Hawkeyes were not just a team but a tapestry of stories he followed with reverence. He didn’t merely know the roster – he knew where each player grew up, what they studied, and how they fared academically. His passion for education endured throughout his life, and he encouraged everyone around him to pursue knowledge, to stay in school, to believe in the transformative power of a classroom.

After Shirley’s passing, Frank reinvented his life with a courage and openness uncommon at any age, let alone in his eighties. Moving to Florida, he entered a second act filled with joy. At 83 he met Judy Wexler, who became his partner in every sense – his confidante, his companion, and most memorably, his dancing partner. Together, they moved across ballroom floors several nights a week, stepping into their nineties with the exuberance of people who understand that time, however limited, can still be expansive when shared with the right person.

Frank loved deeply, thought deeply, and cared deeply – about fairness, about community, about the world his children and grandchildren would inherit. He was socially and emotionally ahead of his time, a man whose quiet progressivism came not from ideology but from a simple, steadfast belief in decency.

Born of his mother Mamie’s immense talent for baking, his love for sweets was unmatched – desserts were not guilty pleasures but joyful ones, savored with childlike delight.

The family extends profound gratitude to his care team – Gabby, Kim, Trevon, Michelle, Jenny, and Lucy – whose compassion and steady presence shaped a happy final chapter of his life. Their devotion made the impossible possible, and we remain eternally grateful for the tenderness they brought to his days.

His life was a gift – one that brightened rooms, expanded possibilities, and left all who knew him better for the privilege. His memory will continue to live in the stories told around dinner tables, in the strains of a trumpet solo drifting from a speaker, in the thrill of a Hawkeyes touchdown, and in the hearts of those who loved him.

See you on the other side, Big K. We love you.