Franz A. Springer

Papa
November 14, 1927-January 4, 2012

My father was a happy man. I think it was fueled by curiosity. Learning and discovering gave him a lot of satisfaction, whether it was becoming a pilot when he was in his forties, or riding every possible train, or examining the ancient drains of Rome while traveling to Europe with my mother.

History fascinated him. Anything about war. For birthdays or Christmas gifts, we would try to find a WWII movie he hadn’t seen or a book about Hitler he hadn’t read.

My father could, and did, talk to anyone. Because everyone had a story and anyone could be a friend, at least for the duration of a train ride, or a breakfast at Village Inn.

My father was truly passionate about music. He could listen to a few bars of any piece of classical music and tell you the name of the piece, and the composer. And he could play a mean tuba.

My father could play canasta, fall asleep during everyone else’s turn, wake up when it was his turn, and play the winning card.

My father was a builder. He could build a shopping center, a pond in our backyard or wooden trains for his grandchildren. To build something you have to visualize it first. I’ll tell you how he built me.

I was 23, answering phones at my dad’s construction company in Albuquerque. I had a degree in theatre and had spent a year in New York getting nowhere so my original dream of being a Broadway star had been shelved. I had my whole life ahead of me, as I was continually reminded, and hadn’t a clue what I would do with it.

But Papa saw an opportunity to build something. So one day he calls me into his office. He says, “This isn’t the right job for you. Why don’t you go to the TV stations and tell them you want to work there? Tell them you’ll do anything they want you to do, even sweep the floors. Tell them they don’t even have to pay you; if they like what you do, then they can pay you. In fact, I’m giving you the afternoon off, paid. Go to the TV Stations.”

What do you do with a dad like that? TV? It was a theatre degree I wasn’t using—not a journalism degree! I knew nothing about TV and neither did he! And people didn’t say things like that to prospective employers. My dad was clearly out of touch. But I had my orders, and I was dreading the afternoon.

There were three TV stations in Albuquerque. The first two I went to were a bust. The people weren’t very encouraging. The atmosphere of the newsrooms was bleak. After leaving the second one I was convinced it was pointless. Why would anyone in a TV station want to hire a nobody with a theatre degree? I was tempted to go home, call it a day. But the afternoon wasn’t over, and I was still on the clock.

Good thing I kept going. At the third station, KOB-TV, I learned that an exciting nightly TV program was starting up, called PM Magazine. It would feature local stories. PM Magaizine was sprouting up at stations all over the country. KOB was looking for male and female co-hosts about my age. Auditions would be next week. So I had something promising to tell my dad about his investment.

The next week newspapers across the state advertise, “Do you want to co-host a TV show?” About 900 people showed up for the audition. The line stretched all around the park across from KOB, each wannabe TV host getting about thirty seconds to be unforgettable. It was a cattle call! I explained to my dad that the odds were not good. “So,” he says, “here’s what you do. Do you know the producer’s name? Call the producer, tell him you want to meet with him one on one. Tell him you have some story ideas for the show.”

Another terrible idea. Why would a televsion producer take my call? But my dad insists. He hands me the phone. I call the station, and to my surprise, I get right through to the producer, and I have a meeting the next day, 1:00.

Next day the producer looks at my neatly typed list of story ideas. He breaks the news to me, very gently, that they have already hired their female co-host. But he thinks I could be a good Tipster. A Tipster appears on a 90 second segment once a week. It pays $25 per tip. I had a job in television! After we had made about half a dozen tips, the producer sent a tape of my work to a station in Wichita, Kansas and a week later they hired me to co-host PM Magazine there. That was the beginning of 30 years working in film and video production and it absolutely would not have happened if it hadn’t been for my dad. He could see that if I could act on a stage I could likely talk to a camera—even though it never occurred to me.

And of course he knew nothing about the television business. He did know that most people don’t say “I’ll work for free. Pay me if you like my work.” He knew that employers would love to hear that. He knew that most people don’t make the follow-up phone call, or ask for a one on one meeting.

So it was kinda like teaching a child to ride a bike. He put me on the seat and started pushing because he knew I would start pedaling.

My father made a commitment to be a family man to his wife and children; to put them first in his life. And he kept it.

My father knew he had a good life. He often said so and taught us to be grateful. I know I speak for Eric and Jeanie when I say we always felt loved and we’re so grateful he was our father.

Papa
November 14, 1927-January 4, 2012

My father was a happy man. I think it was fueled by curiosity. Learning and discovering gave him a lot of satisfaction, whether it was becoming a pilot when he was in his forties, or riding every possible train, or examining the ancient drains of Rome while traveling to Europe with my mother.

History fascinated him. Anything about war. For birthdays or Christmas gifts, we would try to find a WWII movie he hadn’t seen or a book about Hitler he hadn’t read.

My father could, and did, talk to anyone. Because everyone had a story and anyone could be a friend, at least for the duration of a train ride, or a breakfast at Village Inn.

My father was truly passionate about music. He could listen to a few bars of any piece of classical music and tell you the name of... READ MORE →

Uncle Franz – a niece’s cherished memories
My first memory of Uncle Franz was when I was a very little girl. He would fly through Dallas at Love Field, and my father would take me with him to walk with Uncle Franz while he changed planes. They chatted and caught up with family news. I never knew what they discussed, but he always had a big smile and kiss for me and would invariably stuff a $5 bill into my pocket or stop in the airport gift shop to pick me up a piece of licorice or some tchotchke. This is my first memory of how special he made me feel.

When I was a hormonal teenager (and dealing with my parent’s difficult divorce), Uncle Franz and the whole Springer clan in Albuquerque stepped in and scooped me up. Uncle Franz, Aunt Frances, Tricia, Eric and Jeanie gave me a sense of family and normalcy during the Christmas holidays. They introduced me to the Dictionary Game and the PBS production of I Claudius. It was also when I was inaugurated into the family and given an official nickname that has stuck to this day, “Cheryl-face” or just “face”.

My family was fortunate to be included in a few of their many family holidays – the trip to Chama, NM to ride the steam engine, a particular favorite of Uncle Franz. A Thanksgiving holiday spent in Albuquerque with our families (Sunil, Kavitha & Carmen) once again, giving us a sense of extended family that we continue to cherish. We drove to Albuquerque from Dallas many times to visit, and while my trips run together, some of the things we remember are Kavitha and the stamp collecting with Uncle Franz; Carmen remembers sitting in their garden with the fish pond and the bird feeders that attracted the many different birds; playing more of the Dictionary Game; Aunt Frances making rum balls and homemade eggnog; seeing Uncle Franz play his tuba and of course his love of history and trains and the many discussions he would have with Sunil. Sunil so enjoyed being included in the family and admired my Uncle Franz tremendously. We traveled to Albuquerque when Kavitha had an exchange student visiting from Sweden and he insisted on taking us to a Pueblo near Taos. And when I say “insisted” he never did anything “halfway” but always with enthusiasm and gusto. Again, he just made us all feel so special.

Somewhere in all of this, I had started up a cookie business on a shoestring. I was attending an auction to purchase my first commercial mixer and had discussed my business with Uncle Franz. He was the first one to invest in me (the cost of the mixer) and to give me a vote of confidence that I so badly needed. Later, I was so proud to show him how his investment (though paid back monetarily) and grown ten-fold since the initial small commercial mixer. When he came to see my commercial kitchen and working facility, I was so happy to show him what his small investment had accomplished. I can’t put into words how much his support and business guidance meant to me.

Finally, there was the family trip to Lake Powell with the Albuquerque clan which we were generously included. It entailed family meals, and since we are vegetarians, we made veggie tacos on our night with “wet lettuce” and “lemonade”. Those on the trip know what I’m referring to! That was such a memorable trip full of laughs and Uncle Franz was at the helm.

I also delighted in seeing him with his daughters and the immense love and affection they all have for one another. I remember when he took the girls (now all of us grown women) on a trip to New York. Our family had moved to New York. He invited us out to tea and we again, created another special memory. He was truly a family man.

On my last visit with Uncle Franz, it was after his stroke (over a year ago) and I spent a morning with him – knowing it would most likely be the last time I would be with him. We watched “O Brother Where Art Thou” and I spent time thanking him again for all that he has meant to me and my husband and children. I was grateful to have had the opportunity to tell him how much we love, admire and respect him.

Sunil. I have many fond memories of Uncle Franz, much of it joking around with him and listening to his stories. He was always so generous with us, as was his nature. I hope he knew how much he meant to our family. Also I greatly appreciated him making the trip to come to my graduation ceremony, despite it a being a graduate degree, and not my first time across the podium. I also remember a couple of trips to Gardunos to go listen to the Mariachis and eat a little Mexican food. We’d talk about families, business, some politics, about life in India and how one day we’d go to ride the trains there. We didn’t make it this time around.

Kavitha Growing up we were so lucky to have Uncle Franz in our lives. I have many wonderful memories in my childhood of spending time at the house in Albuquerque, on the boats in Lake Powell, and on the trails in Chama. He was such a positive influence in our family, always inclusive and thoughtful, always willing to share his passions and interests - from traveling to exotic locations or stamp collecting - and always open minded. He will be missed and I’m so thankful to have shared as much time with him as I did.

Uncle Franz – a niece’s cherished memories
My first memory of Uncle Franz was when I was a very little girl. He would fly through Dallas at Love Field, and my father would take me with him to walk with Uncle Franz while he changed planes. They chatted and caught up with family news. I never knew what they discussed, but he always had a big smile and kiss for me and would invariably stuff a $5 bill into my pocket or stop in the airport gift shop to pick me up a piece of licorice or some tchotchke. This is my first memory of how special he made me feel.

When I was a hormonal teenager (and dealing with my parent’s difficult divorce), Uncle Franz and the whole Springer clan in Albuquerque stepped in and scooped me up. Uncle Franz, Aunt Frances, Tricia, Eric and Jeanie gave me a... READ MORE →