Frank Hollis: man, friend like no other

Is it a curse or a blessing to know the sunlight is fading, that you can count your last moments on Earth on one hand?

Your body is failing, wracked by a cancer that invaded your liver and spread quickly. You don't know how long you have, but it doesn't feel like much. It's a double-edged sword to know: You can count the precious few moments on one hand, but you also hold them in that hand. They're yours.

Frank Hollis would go to Canada one more time. He'd lead bear hunts, just as he used to. But it's too late for that now. The cancer has taken too much of his strength. This great outdoorsman I had the pleasure to meet just once won't dwell on it, though. He's just as happy to hunt squirrels on his 40 acres in Varina. He'll settle for that and the consolation of friends and family.

Martin Hardy Jr., who introduced me to Hollis, is one of those friends. When he told me about Hollis, I asked him to share his memories of the man. Hollis is an original, the kind of towering figure that lived many lifetimes in his 65 years -- builder of houses, champion rodeo rider of bucking broncs and bulls, and most of all, an outdoorsman as comfortable in the Great North Woods as the Virginia woods.

Frank Hollis matters because of the way he lived and the way he will die. Here is what he meant to one man who needed a Frank Hollis in his life.

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I am writing this story as a tribute and dedication to one of my friends, my mentor and a truly great man.

While I was in high school back in the early'80s, my father introduced me to a mountain of a man by the name of Frank Hollis, who was working with my father in Cub Scouts. Little did I know at that time how much this man would affect my life.

Once I graduated from high school, I took the knowledge he gave me and enrolled in a four-year apprenticeship program with the carpenters' union, Local 388. Frank had been the business agent for Local 388 for several years.

Some evenings after work, we would go fishing together. I'll never forget learning what the term "Joe Narrowhead" meant when I heard Frank holler as a snake was hanging from a low hanging limb, about to fall in the boat.

I also soon found out why Frank wore a cowboy hat -- because he was a true cowboy. From bull riding, bronc riding and clowning, he won 36 championships in more than 20 rodeo seasons all across the country. The stories from those days that he would share with me and so many others would always keep us smiling, sometimes red in the face with embarrassment, but always laughing and smiling.

When I lost my brother, Frank was there for me and my family. All you had to do was pick up the phone or let him find out you needed his help, and he was there.

Frank was an avid deer hunter, with several trophy whitetails under his belt, and he also had the privilege to hunt out west in Idaho, Colorado and Wyoming, where several elk became burgers and steaks. Those dinners were great, with Frank recounting his adventures and keeping us in stitches.

One of my most memorable experiences with Frank was my trip to Ontario, Canada, to go black bear hunting. I asked Frank to please take me and my father bear hunting, where he had been going for years. A few years earlier, he had started guiding hunts. He agreed, and Frank and I both got bears that year. I will never forget that hunt and the time together we all shared.

Frank has been diagnosed with terminal cancer and will be leaving here to go to a greater place. But before that happens, I want to say thank you, Frank, for all the people you've helped, touched and made laugh. I have become a master carpenter, and also work with children, taking them hunting and fishing, because you took the time with me and showed me how gratifying it is to share in all that you can teach. Although I know your pain is great, you still are a mountain of a man to me.

I love you, my friend. Martin Hardy Jr.