I met twice. First time, I was a young upstart around 13 trying to get into the Cumberland dressing sheds after an big Eels/Dragons clash. Along came Frank and Alan Carkson, deep in conversation. I remember seeing them, and cheekily said 'G'Day Frank'. In those days courtesy demanded I called him 'Mr Hyde' and not interrupted. Nevertheless, he interupted his conversation, said "G'Day" back - he was the only person prepared to treat me as an equal that day, and I certainly didn't deserve that.
Much later on I was in a pub one afternoon with a friend, and Frank was there. We chatted for a while - not an ounce of ego or arrogance about the men.
I believe he was the greatest role model for the players who followed.
He used to broadcast alone, from the sidelines, with a table and a mic. No protection from fans. No birds eye view of the players. As mentioned above, he'd give it to ball boys, photographers, camera men if they got in his way. But he never had an agenda, never criticised the players, or referees. He didn't scream like an idiot when a try was scored. He never took a break, never had shade, copped the rain, hail and shine without anger.
If the word 'legend' ever befitted a league identity, it would befit no one more than Frank.
He has to have a state funeral.
He captain coached Norths in the '43 grand final when they lost to Newtown
