It was Fran Delaney night on that second Tuesday in June, 2007.  That particular Cruise Night in Norwich, Ct. was dedicated to Fran who was quite the car enthusiast. He was proud of his ’57 Chevy and his ’67 Chevelle S 96 Super Sport. At one time he even had his own race car. He loved life and was loved by everyone who was close to him. He was also somebody who fought a tough battle with multiple myeloma. Yet, through his myeloma years, he always held onto his optimism and kindness, and he would give you the shirt off his back, or at least his jacket.

A few years ago, Fran and I were both being given an award for our fund-raising efforts at a myeloma gala. It was a formal, black tie event. It was a mild night, and I didn’t want to wear my tuxedo jacket during the hour-long drive from New Haven to New London where the event was being held. So, I took it off while thinking that I had put it into the back seat of the car, but I really left it on a chair in my living room. I didn’t realize that I was jacket-less until I reached New London, and by then, it was too late to find another jacket. But Fran came to my rescue – he insisted that I wear his jacket. Both of us were making presentations, but he would rather see that I was in full-dress, even if he was in his shirt-sleeves. So, with his jacket, I walked around with that complete spiffy, formal look while Fran, well, just looked very comfortable and happy. That was Fran – someone who was filled with joy, especially when helping other people.

It was that joy that was so attractive to Kathy Kane, nearly 30 years ago when they first met. Kathy was roller skating with her friends, and she wasn’t doing so well. Actually, she could not skate, and her embarrassment made her retreat to a nearby bar. While there, she received some unwanted attention from one of the patrons. That’s when Fran saw her for the first time, and in his knight-in-shining armor way, approached Kathy to see if she needed to be rescued. He asked her to dance, and that began their romance. Kathy was a little cautious about going out with Fran at first, but it was not long after when they were married. Their song was “You Light Up My Life,” and that is how Kathy described Fran. She said, “Fran had a special way of shining his light on everyone he met, and that light will shine on all the lives he has touched.”

He touched many people in the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society where he helped organize an eastern Connecticut branch for Light the Night, one of the most important fundraising events of the year for the society. He also worked with several myeloma groups in establishing fundraising campaigns through eastern Connecticut. He loved being around people, and he put his great human qualities to work in helping to find better ways to treat the disease that he and many others were battling.

Fran was a natural talker and walker. He actually was a mailman, and he was one of those very popular mailmen that you might see portrayed in the movies. For three decades, Fran made his mail rounds in Norwich where he seemed to know everyone on his route. He watched over those who were sick and brought the mail to their doors. He was especially considerate to the elderly. But in 1997, he developed a sharp pain in his leg, and he could no longer lift the mail. At first, Lyme disease was suspected, but additional tests showed that he had a tumor on his bone and that was a result of multiple myeloma. Fran was forced to retire from a job he truly loved, but he sure didn’t retire from life.

Over the years, he and Kathy became partners in a flourishing beauty salon business. When they first met at that roller skating rink, Kathy was managing a salon, but during their marriage, they acquired and ran three beauty parlors – one in Norwich, and two others in Waterford and Mystic. This was one very busy couple, but Fran had this special talent with people, and the customers loved him. Kathy and her associates would do the work of  styling while Fran did what came naturally - the talking. He also helped keep the hair stylists on track while watching every move. He never cut anyone’s hair, but his personality and omni-presence kept the business together, and growing. He might have given up his mailbag during his myeloma years, but he was more active than ever in running the business. This, of course, while being a prolific fundraiser for myeloma patients.

For ten years, Fran never flinched from accepting responsibilities and obligations, even if myeloma was doing far more than just nipping at his heels. It was invading many of his bones, although just starting in his legs. Soon after his diagnosis in 1997, he had his first stem cell, autologous transplant. It wasn’t easy. He was in the hospital for 30 days, and then, he was in isolation at home for another 50 days. He required a special diet, and it was during this time when his 86-year old mother died. Because he couldn’t be around people during this period, the funeral service was delayed until his recuperation period was over. During this time he only went out of his house to see his doctor. But the transplant was a success, and for several years, Fran was free of active disease. He needed limited medication – until 2005.

That is when the myeloma relapsed.

At that point, he began taking a number of different treatments. Fortunately, by that time, a number of options became available for myeloma patients. Fran had most of them – thalidomide, velcade, revlimid, and combinations with steroids. But the myeloma was becoming very aggressive, and in early 2007, he underwent a second transplant. During his first one in 1997, additional stem cells were harvested and frozen, just in case a second transplant would be needed. The doctors used those stem cells for his second transplant, but the procedure was not very effective this time – 2007 was not a good year for Fran. He really never recovered from that second transplant, and he died during the spring. But his spirit and courage never waned. I can remember talking with him two days before he passed away. I asked him how he was doing. He said, “Fine, I’m doing fine.” Fran always said he was fine. I never had a conversation with him when he failed to say how fine he was feeling, and from his perspective and in his world, he was always fine – even when he was clinging to life in the Intensive Care Unit. It is little wonder that his two grandsons, Philip and Spencer, just ten and seven years old, spent time with him during these precious hours and told him about all the that he had done for them and how much they appreciated him. They loved their trip to Disney World, and they always had fun washing his antique cars.

Fran taught us all how to live, even during those days when life was slipping away from himself. And for Kathy, Fran was truly the love of her life, but she does say that she’ll never try roller skating again.