FRANK

It was a Tuesday evening in the spring of 2022. The Renaissance Indianapolis North was hosting a charity event for The Independence Academy — a school for autistic learners in Carmel — and the common area was lined with silent auction tables. John was at the bar. He noticed a large stuffed zebra among the items, made an offhand comment about buying it, and discovered immediately that some comments cannot be unsaid.

His friends — a group that could generously be described as "encouraging" and more accurately as "merciless" — issued a challenge. So John walked over, paid $50 for an event ticket, got a bidding number, and returned to the bar. He logged into the auction site from his phone and began bidding.

He bid through the evening. He bid with conviction. He bid, ultimately, to $350 — a number that felt reasonable for a good cause, and perhaps a little reckless for a stuffed animal. Then, in the final moments, some unknown person paid $550 and walked away with the zebra. His friends were delighted. "See? No zebra."

He drove home to Cary, North Carolina the next day and began what can only be called a stuffed zebra procurement operation. Two weeks later, he drove back to Carmel, checked into the Renaissance, and called Kelley — who he'd been dating for a few months — as she was leaving work. He asked her to come join him at the bar. What he didn't mention was that a very large box had arrived at her house that afternoon.

Kelley got home, found the box, opened it, and sent a selfie — the one you see here — from her kitchen. Shortly afterward, her 22-year-old son Zac walked in through the back door, took one look at the situation, held up one hand, said "I don't want to know," and headed upstairs. Kelley arrived at the Renaissance without the zebra. She had decided, on reflection, that carrying a thirty-inch stuffed animal through a hotel lobby was a line she was not yet ready to cross. John went to the parking lot, retrieved him from the back seat, and walked in himself.

He didn't have a name yet. The bar crowd helped with that — friends were texted, locals were consulted. John's daughter Jessica came through with the winning suggestion: Frank, a nod to "Frank the Fruit Striped Zebra" from Juicy Fruit gum, though this particular zebra was neither fruity nor chewy. Frank was just a good name. It turned out to be more fitting than anyone realized at the time, for a reason that wouldn't fully land until about a year later. That's a story for another post.