Looking Forward to the Past • Remembering the Gifted Compassion of Stewart Francke

It is with a stunned and profoundly saddened heart that I learned about the passing of my close and dear friend Stewart Francke, who was not only an inspirational colleague navigating the unpredictable, often volcanic, and rapidly evolving world of journalism, but more importantly one of Saginaw’s most gifted musical talents and a literary legend who definitely left an incomparable mark upon this all too imperfect world.

As an artist Stewart took the personal experiences, personalities, and places populating his hometown, committing the lessons and poetry gleaned from these experiences for posterity by creating music, books, essays, poetry, interviews, and articles immutable to the ravages of time.

The bond I was fortunate to share with  Stewart goes beyond friendship into realms of personal and professional symbiosis – a quest, if you will, for escalating common emotions associated with achievement, survival, intimacy – and overcoming hurdles of fear, loss, and disappointment, into a comprehension that carries a value and permanence that transcends the tools they are created upon.

For nearly four decades, The Review published several in-depth interviews with Francke, beginning with his early cassettes, and over that expanse of time we cultivated and solidified an evolving respect and appreciation towards our mutual endeavors at carving out a purposeful and creative niche in this world.

It is difficult to summarize all the notable attributes Stewart possesed, which through his work and love of humanity, make him such a significant and irreplacable creative force.

With his music as well as his words Stewart was able to show us how freedom is defined by the choices we make as much as it is by the struggles unexpectedly thrown upon us; how the joy that is infused within us by nature at birth must also be nurtured in order to survive the disease of despondency; and how without the tether of human connection our thoughts are nothing but meaningless balloons floating into an abyss of nothingness.

Back when Stew was honored by the Saginaw Arts & Enrichment Commission with his All Area Arts Award, I asked him what it meant to receive not only this particular honor, but all the other numerous accolades he had received for his work over the years. 

Here was his response:

“The artist’s job is to clarify and share his own obsessions.  To make people care about his obsessions, whatever they may be and then find a context for them among the cultural climate of the times he lives in.  Then the music has a chance to transcend those earthly conditions.  A big part of my job is to be an emotional alchemist.  So my obsession is really the minds and hearts of folks that live in this state.

What is the real cost of living an engaged life?  And in turn what are the costs of isolation?  

We tend to embrace things that are familiar to us, but that often gives us a false security that can impact us personally, professionally, and as a society.  I'm interested in how people can best get beyond the 'familiar' and the security that it represents, whether achieved through diligence, hard work, compassion, belief - especially when the ravages of poverty, growing insecurity of whether the middle class will be thrown off the fiscal cliff; and all variety of non-perceived challenges constantly berate people and society at all levels of life."   

“We’re a deeply nostalgic people.  From Christmas to baseball, it’s all about affirming and honoring things that were, or things that continue from a deep reservoir of comfort.  Maybe things were better in the past, maybe worse—we don’t care; we just keep repeating the ritual, which is in part necessary and vital but also a death of sorts.” 

“Nevertheless, we forever return to places we’ve known and maybe loved both emotionally and literally; we maintain old relationships even when they’re not so great for us.  So nostalgia can be a trap; it can be a series of deaths we keep reliving when rebirth might be right around the corner. But we never turn the corner. You’ve got to press on to a breakthrough - a spiritual and emotional breakthrough that allows nostalgia to be a choice, not a compulsion. 

"That’s a form of freedom.  Pure nostalgia is a chained life."

Closing out that particular conversation with Stew, which I find perfect for closing out this brief tribute, I asked him this one question:

What is your motto?

Stewart: I have five of them:

1. What goes ‘round comes ‘round.  Karma is very real and quite immediate.

2. At the end, you’ll regret the things you didn’t do, not the things you did. Life’s short. Get busy.

3. Assume positive intent. It reduces paranoia.

4. If one’s good, ten are better (which got me into a lot of trouble). 

5. If you’re walking on thin ice, you might as well dance