Mother's maiden name: Gubetta
Frank was an Italian farmer to the core. A rough and tough man with a hidden gentle side that surfaced about two times per year. He hunted and fished and was the manliest man I have ever known.
He built the entire house in Morro Bay with his own hands and ingenuity. He and my Auntie slept outdoors under the watchful eye of the mountains of the Santa Lucia range during the build.
Unfortunately, he died on one of his hunting expeditions to the mountain. Due to the heavy rains, the swollen creek took my Uncle away. His jeep tipped over off the little planked bridge and Uncle Frank was trapped for hours.
When I was a little girl, I'd visit my Uncle Frank several times per year, coming from San Francisco. The first thing my brother and I had to do upon exiting the car was "report" to "your Uncle." This meant sidling up to him in a quiet way and wait for him to notice us (and hoped he wasn't too far into his daily jug of Gallo). He then proceeded to see how white our teeth were and how "strong" we were and made us flex our muscles. At 3 to 8 years old, the teeth were blinding white and there wasn't much of a muscle, but we held our breath and flexed like nobodies business. If Uncle Frank was impressed, it was a cool thing to be sure.
My favorite memory is Uncle picking me up and plunking me down on the front of the old red tractor, where I rode along with him for hours in the fields.
I was almost 8 when he drowned. I was too young to appreciate what a great loss he was in my life as I grew older.
The California Death Index documents Frank Cottini's date of death as November 5, while the inscription on mausoleum, says November 4. My Uncle was trapped over night, so I believe his official death certificate is the day he was found.
Frank was an Italian farmer to the core. A rough and tough man with a hidden gentle side that surfaced about two times per year. He hunted and fished and was the manliest man I have ever known.
He built the entire house in Morro Bay with his own hands and ingenuity. He and my Auntie slept outdoors under the watchful eye of the mountains of the Santa Lucia range during the build.
Unfortunately, he died on one of his hunting expeditions to the mountain. Due to the heavy rains, the swollen creek took my Uncle away. His jeep tipped over off the little planked bridge and Uncle Frank was trapped for hours.
When I was a little girl, I'd visit my Uncle Frank several times per year, coming from San Francisco. The first thing my brother and I had to do upon exiting the car was "report" to "your Uncle." This meant sidling up to him in a quiet way and wait for him to notice us (and hoped he wasn't too far into his daily jug of Gallo). He then proceeded to see how white our teeth were and how "strong" we were and made us flex our muscles. At 3 to 8 years old, the teeth were blinding white and there wasn't much of a muscle, but we held our breath and flexed like nobodies business. If Uncle Frank was impressed, it was a cool thing to be sure.
My favorite memory is Uncle picking me up and plunking me down on the front of the old red tractor, where I rode along with him for hours in the fields.
I was almost 8 when he drowned. I was too young to appreciate what a great loss he was in my life as I grew older.
The California Death Index documents Frank Cottini's date of death as November 5, while the inscription on mausoleum, says November 4. My Uncle was trapped over night, so I believe his official death certificate is the day he was found.
Mother's maiden name: Gubetta
Frank was an Italian farmer to the core. A rough and tough man with a hidden gentle side that surfaced about two times per year. He hunted and fished and was the manliest man I have ever known.
He built the entire house in Morro Bay with his own hands and ingenuity. He and my Auntie slept outdoors under the watchful eye of the mountains of the Santa Lucia range during the build.
Unfortunately, he died on one of his hunting expeditions to the mountain. Due to the heavy rains, the swollen creek took my Uncle away. His jeep tipped over off the little planked bridge and Uncle Frank was trapped for hours.
When I was a little girl, I'd visit my Uncle Frank several times per year, coming from San Francisco. The first thing my brother and I had to do upon exiting the car was "report" to "your Uncle." This meant sidling up to him in a quiet way and wait for him to notice us (and hoped he wasn't too far into his daily jug of Gallo). He then proceeded to see how white our teeth were and how "strong" we were and made us flex our muscles. At 3 to 8 years old, the teeth were blinding white and there wasn't much of a muscle, but we held our breath and flexed like nobodies business. If Uncle Frank was impressed, it was a cool thing to be sure.
My favorite memory is Uncle picking me up and plunking me down on the front of the old red tractor, where I rode along with him for hours in the fields.
I was almost 8 when he drowned. I was too young to appreciate what a great loss he was in my life as I grew older.
The California Death Index documents Frank Cottini's date of death as November 5, while the inscription on mausoleum, says November 4. My Uncle was trapped over night, so I believe his official death certificate is the day he was found.
Frank was an Italian farmer to the core. A rough and tough man with a hidden gentle side that surfaced about two times per year. He hunted and fished and was the manliest man I have ever known.
He built the entire house in Morro Bay with his own hands and ingenuity. He and my Auntie slept outdoors under the watchful eye of the mountains of the Santa Lucia range during the build.
Unfortunately, he died on one of his hunting expeditions to the mountain. Due to the heavy rains, the swollen creek took my Uncle away. His jeep tipped over off the little planked bridge and Uncle Frank was trapped for hours.
When I was a little girl, I'd visit my Uncle Frank several times per year, coming from San Francisco. The first thing my brother and I had to do upon exiting the car was "report" to "your Uncle." This meant sidling up to him in a quiet way and wait for him to notice us (and hoped he wasn't too far into his daily jug of Gallo). He then proceeded to see how white our teeth were and how "strong" we were and made us flex our muscles. At 3 to 8 years old, the teeth were blinding white and there wasn't much of a muscle, but we held our breath and flexed like nobodies business. If Uncle Frank was impressed, it was a cool thing to be sure.
My favorite memory is Uncle picking me up and plunking me down on the front of the old red tractor, where I rode along with him for hours in the fields.
I was almost 8 when he drowned. I was too young to appreciate what a great loss he was in my life as I grew older.
The California Death Index documents Frank Cottini's date of death as November 5, while the inscription on mausoleum, says November 4. My Uncle was trapped over night, so I believe his official death certificate is the day he was found.
