Husband, brother, golfer, waiter extraordinaire.

RUSSELL FRAME
Husband, brother, golfer, waiter extraordinaire. Born April 11, 1947, in Edmonton. Died Jan. 8 in Humboldt, Sask., of cancer, aged 61.

GRAYDON MCCREA
August 10, 2009

If the wordsmith who coined the proverb "if there's a job worth doing it's worth doing well" knew Russell Frame, they would have raised the stakes to something like, "if there's a job worth doing, it's worth being the best in the country."

Russell was a waiter at Edmonton's Hardware Grill. For years customers lucky enough to land a table in Rusty's section witnessed confirmation that he was indeed the best in the country. Other waiters may have had more technical skill, but no one could match the Rooster's infectious smile, the sparkle in his eyes and his genuine delight in seeing you again. He'd wrap his arms around you and deliver his reassuring trademark phrase: "Nice to see you brother."

When Russell took a liking to a customer, he'd lean over at the end of the meal and say, "May I put you in my book?" And each afternoon after polishing the wine glasses he would glance over the reservation list and cross reference it with the scribbled lines in his notepad. That night he'd find a moment to seek you out, flash that magical smile and make your day.

Growing up in Edmonton, Russell was an A student. But his family of five siblings were split up when his mother died and his father disappeared, a departure that left a lifelong wound. Russell and his brother Fred were raised by their grandparents. Always on the edge of trouble, Russell got out of town, kicked around a number of cities and wound up in San Francisco in his 20s. Soon it looked like it might be a good idea to move on again, so he scrounged up the money for a boat ticket. Two weeks later he woke up in Sydney Harbour with a killer hangover, dressed in a first mate's uniform.

Saying goodbye to seafaring, Russell slipped into the nightlife and soon took up with yet another in the long list of women who found him irresistible. Unfortunately, she was married to a well-placed Aussie who couldn't take a joke, and Russell wound up in a deportation detention centre.

Three months later he boarded a plane, handcuffed to an immigration officer. Somewhere over the Pacific he charmed his way out of the cuffs and talked his captor into joining him for a beer. When the pair landed in San Francisco the officer phoned Sydney, announcing he wouldn't be back for a while. He'd be sightseeing with his prisoner. Such was Russell's charm.

Several marriages came and went before Russell met his beloved Pauline Ulliac in 1999. Those were the happiest times of his life. Two years ago they moved to Watson, Sask. They had great plans for retirement: Pauline would paint and Russell would play golf. But cancer shortened their life together. I never knew if I made it into Russell's black book, but he certainly made it into mine.

Graydon McCrea is Russell's friend.

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