Footprints in the Sands of Time

By

Dorothy Shellooe
 He sits there now, his grey-green eyes watery and weary, thin
wisps of white hair gently across his very pale head. Arthritic pain
confines him to a chair that seems to catapult him from a sitting to an
almost standing position with the touch of a button. He is able to walk
—really shuffle—at a slow pace with a walker. His body, once a strong
and powerful six feet, is now stooped. The shoulders hunched into an
arch, the head bent low staring at the floor in order to avoid a misstep
and certain calamity.
Yet even with all the aging signs of being in his early 90’s, Frank is
a remarkably good-looking man. He won’t walk to the dining room
without checking himself in the mirror. Is the hair combed? Are the
shoulders of the sweater just where they belong? As always, his looks
are vitally important to him.
Too many hours are spent in the chair, pondering his aches and
pains and looking at his huge hands dotted with the beginning of skin
cancer. The hands are bigger than average; the wrists are so wide that
even the largest wristband for a watch requires extra links. The bones
are big, but there is not an extra pound of unnecessary flesh. Frank has
always taken pride in being trim.
He waits in the chair at his senior retirement home, hoping that
the door will open to introduce a familiar face. The loneliness creeps
over him like a cocoon, burying him with thoughts of long ago.

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 Francis’s Childhood
As a child he lived in an Irish home similar to those seen on postcards
that tourists send home, a white-washed cottage with a thatched roof.
There were two bedrooms and a kitchen downstairs. The fireplace,
fueled by a turf fire, provided heat for warmth and cooking. In those
days, there wasn’t an indoor bathroom for miles.
A plot of turf was apportioned to each family in the
neighborhood. Pieces of turf were pulled out of the ground with a
special tool called a slane. Then the brick-shaped pieces were piled in
the field to dry. Occasionally, someone other than the rightful owner
might harvest the turf.
When a wealthy Englishman’s 6-8 ft wall was torn down, Francis’s
brother, John, collected the pieces and reassembled a wall for the
Costello property. The family’s home was no match for the neighbor’s
mansion with 365 windows, one for every day of the year, but it added
a sense of pride.
Frequently a donkey cart rambled over the natural landscape
where a few fern and wildflowers grew, carrying a barrel to the pump
to obtain water for household use.
Although he was eventually to become “Frank”, MaMa and DaDa
called him “Francis”. Many years later he was to say that there were 15
offspring including the cat. He was the second to youngest. Only his
brothers John and Dennis and sisters Mary, “Baby” (Margaret), and
Una, who was really the baby, still remained at home when Francis was
growing up.

3
 Francis hated the national school, which was run by a sadistic
schoolmaster, Mr. Mangin, and his intimidated wife. A glass partition
divided the school house into upper (4th-8th) and lower (1st-3rd) grades.
The school master whom Frank described as a “vicious monster” taught
the older students while his wife handled the younger ones. Frank
remembered her as a heavily corseted woman who tapped her back
with a cane as she moved. Mr. Mangin used heavier canes for another
purpose. Errant students were flogged for minor transgressions. Fran
and a friend decided they needed to escape, so they planned to walk a
greater distance to another school at Ballinrouane. Unfortunately,
Francis’s mother and older brother John decided the long walk took too
long and Francis would not be available to do enough daily chores, so
he was sent back to the bully teacher. Finally, Francis was pulled out of
school permanently.
Frank remembered his mother as being of medium height with
coarse dark hair. He felt that she favored the girls, saving pennies for
their doweries. She was a strong woman who milked the cows,
churned the butter, fed the pigs, carded and spun the wool for sox. She
sewed on an old sewing machine that cranked, made all the sox for the
family, and like most of the Irish, managed to hum and sing through the
hard times. She and her husband, Tom, met while parishioners of the
same church.
Frank’s father, easier to get along with than his mother, had a
medium build and black wavy hair. Tom gave his occupation as a
landowner, but managed a good business as a road contractor as well
as a farmer. Francis was expected to work in the sand pit, helping with
the road work. Since his father was not fired with too much ambition,
Francis felt he was obliged to do a man’s work at a tender age.

4
 In those days all the work was done with a horse and cart. The
Costellos raised oats, wheat, barley, rye, cabbage, potatoes, lettuce and
turnips. The oats were threshed with a flail; the bottom part of the oats
was used for cattle feed or thatching. The animals included chickens,
ducks and geese. As many as 50 sheep were branded with hot tar.
There were 3 horses, over 20 piglets, 4 milking cows, a dozen turkeys,
and a thistle-eating donkey.
Carlo
One of dad’s fondest memories was of the family dog, Carlo.
When mom and dad returned from market, Carlo recognized the sound
of the cart and would run to meet them.
One day Fran met the boys coming out of school. When bullies
teased Fran, Carlo rushed to his defense. The dog grabbed the hat off
the bully’s head and ripped it apart.
Carlo rounded up all the sheep in a corner, and showed his face to
the sheep when they were pounding his legs.
The dog had come to the Costellos from a man named
Hutchinson, who brought him from Scotland. Carlo had a white face
and collar.
Sadly, Carlo was run over by a car. They had to shoot the dog.
(Many years later in San Francisco the Costellos acquired a dog. They
named him –you guessed it—Carlo.)
Francis’s father had inherited the farm. The Costello land had
been divided by Francis’s grandfather, who donated a portion of land to
the church and another piece for a school, with an acre set aside for the
residence of the school teacher and his wife. Another piece of land was
donated for the rectory.

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 As a child Francis knew his mother’s father, a very tall man with a
top hat who lived across the fields in the next village. He kept a
handkerchief in his hat, and wore leggings with brass buttons. His
father’s parents were both dead.
One day during a dry spell Francis and his father were walking
their big horse to water when someone offered 90 pounds for the
horse. The horse was promptly sold.
According to Frank, his father and brother John “couldn’t hit a nail
straight. They were better at farming.” Brother Tom was the expert at
fixing things, while the oldest boy, Pat who had left for America, may
have been the fastest worker. Dennis, who was also to emigrate to San
Francisco, California went to England and worked in the “pits” for a
while before leaving for the U.S. Tom worked in Kilgariff’s store in
Tuam, and came home on week-ends, riding the 10miles on a green
bike. Brother Tom later migrated to the states and worked as a fireman
in the East Bay.
An emotional and teary-eyed Frank remembered his brother Jim
as “the best natured fella you’d ever want to meet”. He described Jim
and sister Mary as having kinky hair.
Francis’s usual outfit was a long-sleeved shirt, knickers, and long
stocking over long, heavy underwear. His chores included cleaning out
the barns and bringing feed to the cattle.
Fun times in Ireland included movies in a tent like a circus, horse
races, and horse shows. Once when his mother and father went to
Salthill for 2 weeks, Francis went along. There was segregated
swimming, men and women separated—with women wearing what
looked like a nightgown to a young boy. Francis rode a pram from
Galway city to Salthill. Two horses pulled a double-decker type bus.

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 Most of the Irish boys enjoyed hurling, their own brand of
football, and handball. Frank showed little talent for sports, and had
little time for them. He admitted to playing handball on the top ruins of
a crumbling castle near his home.
The Christmas tradition in Ireland was to leave a candle in the
window to light the way for the Christ Child. There was a big meal of
maybe a goose, currant bread, and strawberry wine. Frank didn’t
remember receiving presents. There were few toys and 2 bikes, one for
the boys and one for the girls. Children might take a hoop off a barrel,
find a stick and keep the hoop rolling.

Frank told the stories of the Irish Wakes:

“They used to have wakes. There were all kinds of clay pipes and
all kinds of tobacco. Everybody smoked, even the young fellas. Of
course, they were there just for the sake of getting the tobacco and
pipes. A wake was as good as a bad wedding with food and all the
drinks. The whole thing!
Tom Kenny was married to my father’s sister. He lived just a short
distance away. They had put on an addition to the house, and when
Tom Kenny died, he died upstairs. Markie Flaherty lived next door to
us. When he went up to take down Tom, the body slipped off his back
and flew down the stairs!
At another wake a corpse was laid out on the kitchen table and he
was tied down on the table. Somebody cut the rope, and the guy
jumped up. Well, everybody ran for the door. They almost ran over
each other. The guy was ‘comin’ to life!
It was really fun to go to a wake, because there was always some
kind of mischief going on. And we were right in on it!
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 One night we went to a wake and somebody got a ladder and
stuffed the chimney. When they put new turf into the fireplace it
caused a lot of smoke. The door was closed, their eyes watered. It
brought tears to your eyes, and ended the wake.”

The Rebellion
Ireland declared itself a republic on January 21, 1919, causing a
revolution against the British. Irish rebels had begun their fight with
the Easter Sunday uprising in 1916. Now they would attack the British
police, army barracks, and the government buildings. Men known as
“Black and Tans” because they wore black coats and tan trousers came
from Great Britain to form an auxiliary police force. They became the
most hated men in Ireland.
According to Frank, people in English jails were released to fight
the Irish for 5 pounds a week. Some of these mercenaries were fond of
the liquor, and often used anything in sight for target practice. On day
their action came too close to home, when Francis saw a bullet land
next to his feet as the Black and Tans used his dog as a target.
During this time a man married to Frank’s cousin was “on the
run”. Irish police were feeding information to the freedom fighters,
and Bob Lally was one of the rebels. He managed to survive.
Volunteers for Ireland blocked roads with trees that they had cut
down so the English lorries could not proceed. When the trucks
stopped, the Irish stole ammunition. In retaliation the English

8
sometimes tarred the hair of the Irish girls who were friendly to the
Irish fighters.
One day when the Black and Tans were in their neighborhood,
Frank’s mother invited them to have tea, hoping to make “friends with
the enemy”, but Frank was scared to death.
Ireland did not fully gain its independence until 1937, years after
Francis left Ireland and became an American citizen.
Leaving Eire
In 1924 in Ireland the relatives were busy choosing a bride for
young Frank. An aunt who lived 5 or 6 miles away had a young lady
staying with her, a niece of her husband, named Greta. According to
Frank she was a good looking blond.
“She wasn’t really what you’d call a real blond. She was a very
good violin player. The proposition was that I would marry the girl in
order to get the land, but it never seemed to work. I had a cold feeling
all the time. It didn’t feel right. Anyway, it didn’t happen that way. I
decided to beat it!
My mother had two daughters on her hands,” said Frank. “It was
time for them to be getting married. My brother couldn’t get married
until the three of us cleared out, so my mother was building up enough
money to marry off the girls. She did all of the finagling. The money
was pretty well guarded.”
“Then the three of us boys, Laurence Ruane and Peter Dolly and
myself, decided to hit the road—get to America.”
Around September 1924 the “Three Musketeers”, Peter,
Laurence, and Francis boarded the White Star Line ship, DORIC, bound
for Boston and New York. After obtaining passports in Dublin,

9
Laurence’s brother, Thomas Ruane, and John Costello drove the three
to Athenry in a side car. From there they took the train to
Queenstown.
“All I brought with me was an overcoat, some underwear, and the
suit that was on my back. I had a valise and it had the address right on it
in big print 1147 Sanchez.
I had to have $25 in my pocket when I got to the United States,
and then a relative was supposed to take over from then on. Be
responsible for my keep in case I didn’t get a job right away.”
In New York Francis stayed two days with his sister, Delia, who
along with her children met the travelers at the boat when it docked.
“Another sister, Margaret, nicknamed “Baby” was working and
living with Delia. A brother, Jim, also worked in New York as a
policeman.
Jim, an Army officer in World War I, had escaped injury during
wartime. He felt lucky because someone dispatched to take his unit
into battle had been killed. However, he met death in a freak accident
on the streets of New York. While working as a mounted policeman he
was hit in the head by a dislodged trolley cable.
Delia had two sons, Vincent and Frank, and a daughter Mary Burk.
Delia’s husband, Frank Burk, owned a saloon and the family lived above
it. Frank had been shot and killed by robbers, who held up the bar.
One of Delia’s jobs was to make the sandwiches to be sold
downstairs. These were sent down in a dumbwaiter for the bar crowd.

Frank’s train travel and arrival in San Francisco:

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 “My sister made up sandwiches for us to have on the train to New
Orleans. Well, when we got out in New Orleans the sandwiches were
turning blue. Much to our regret.
So, we got off the train in New Orleans and we were scared to
death because it was black. They were all black, and we hadn’t seen
black people, you know. So, we were scared, because you’d look
behind you, you’d see the blacks. Look in front of you, you’d see the
blacks. We went to the train. You could sleep on the train.”
There too they were asked if they wanted iced tea. They had
never heard of iced tea before.
Then they headed for San Francisco. Peter Dolly had stayed in
Boston. He would later return permanently to Ireland.
“When we got to San Francisco an immigration lady came up to
us, and she said to us, ‘May I help you? Where are you going?’
And I said, ‘Well, we’re going to 1147 Sanzed.’
See the “z” is pronounced “zed” in both England and Ireland.
She tried to correct us, but we figured that she was wrong.
She said, ‘I’ll get a cab for you.’
So, she called a cab. We told the cab driver the same thing, and
he spelled it S-A-N-C-H-E-Z, but I told him, “No that’s not right.”
And he said, ‘Well, I’ll get you there anyway.’
Well, he got us there.”
“Dennis was married to Marguerite Carrol at the time, and I guess
they didn’t expect us that early, so Marguerite was terrified to open the
door to strangers. She sent her sister, Mary, downstairs to talk to us,
and Marguerite said,
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 ‘There are two guys at the door and we don’t know who they are.’
“Finally, they had the courage to come and talk to us.”
‘Come on in.’ they said.
“So, there we were. After a while they phoned Lawrence’s
brother, Jim Ruane. He was a great big guy, a Lieutenant in the Police
Department. He took Lawrence to his home on 3rd Avenue. Lawrence
soon returned to Ireland, being unable to find work.”
Francis stayed with Dennis until Marguerite was pregnant with
her first child, Patricia. With Mary and Joe Carroll, cousins Margaret
and George McDonald staying in their home and a baby on the way,
there would no longer be sufficient room for Francis. He moved to the
home of another brother, Pat.
Pat was married to Hannah, a very frugal, no-nonsense woman.
Pat, a kind-hearted, mellow soul lived at 49 Jersey Street. Pat worked
for the Muni street car system, and Hannah, like most of the married
women at the time, was a homemaker.
One of Frank’s memories of those days was a new culinary
delight, pig’s head for dinner.

The First Car

“I bought my first car, a black Chevy, in a vacant lot on Van Ness Ave. I
had no license, didn’t know how to drive. The salesman showed me
how to use the gears.
Pat had put in a new garage downstairs at his place, but he didn’t
drive then either. The entrance into the garage had a slope, and the car
didn’t have enough power to move into the garage. So, I had to get my
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uncle Jim (“Pa”) Carey’s son, Johnny, who lived next door to Pat, to
drive it into the garage”.

Early Jobs
“There was a friend of Dennis’s who lived on 20th Avenue near Irving,
and he was working for the Pioneer Mill around the waterfront. They
used to bring in beans and clean them, weigh them and sack them. So
that’s where I got the first job—from this guy. Then that petered out,
and there was a fella who lived around the block on Jersey Street. He
was also a friend of the Carrolls. Tracy was his name. Mrs. Tracy had a
brother who was working down at the Southern Pacific and he hired me
to work down at the SP. The wages were, I think, 30 or 35 cents an
hour. So I didn’t stay there too long.
I mooched around and got to know the town, and I thought I’d see
what I could find myself. I found a job down the waterfront, and I
worked there for a while.”
“I wasn’t built that much yet. You know what I mean? I could get
so hungry about 10:30 I’d get weak. There was a lot of work down the
waterfront. All the boats coming into those piers. Not like today. So,
they had big warehouses around by the pier, and we would take the
stuff off the pier and bring it to some other place in hand trucks, and
we’d pile those up five or six feet high. The old-timers were wise.”
‘Your end,’ they’d say. ‘Your end first,’ because you’d have to lift it
up to the top, and it was easy for him to push it over. Of course, dumb
me. I didn’t know the difference. But that was the way it was at that
time.

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 Finally, I got a job at the Euclid Candy Co. as a helper for the candy
maker. They had big pots to be cleaned for making the candy. After I’d
been there a couple of months, Bill Longman came up to me and asked.
‘Can you push a pencil? There’s a job downstairs as a receiving
clerk.’
“ They got so busy they had to hire another helper. We would bring
in these 50 gallon glucose drums for making the candy, and it was quite
a trick to know how to tip those drums on end so you’d get a hand
truck underneath it. A guy’d come in with the stuff on a horse and
wagon. And the wagon would be low to the ground with great big iron
wheels and 2 horses.
And the same thing with the sugar. They would buy the sugar by
the carload. And they had a great big space downstairs to store it.”
“The three of us would pile that stuff up. It would come down the
chute from the sidewalk. If we had a surplus, we’d put it in the
warehouse across the street.
The same thing with the peanuts. We bought it by the carload. Or
cocoanuts. The cocoanuts would come in a great big square case with
tinfoil on the inside. From China.
Finally, they asked me if I would become an agent for Pioneer
Warehouse. As they bought and used all this stuff they’d pay for so
much of it at the bank. I would have the inventory sheet. They would
have to bring me a release from the Custom House, and I would OK it.
They would take it down to the bank and pay the amount.
Later on, I got Jack Holian to help me. Jack would sit there.
‘You’re going to quit. You’re killin’ yourself.’

14
He insisted I quit. I ached from my shoulders for years. Finally, I went
to the chiropractor and got it cured. It was Jack anyway that got me
out of that place.”
At the time it might have seemed like a good idea. But by then it
was 1929, and the stock market was about to crash. In the ensuring
months people were losing everything they had. Some were so
reduced to selling apples on a street corner; others jumped off tall
buildings in their hysteria.
Frank was jobless.
The Wedding
Love is pleasing
Love is teasing
Love is a pleasure when first it’s new
Frank had met Nora at a dance at St. Peter’s Catholic Church hall.
They both loved music and dancing, and it was not long before Frank
was accompanying Nora to Irish picnics. Soon he purchased a beautiful
platinum diamond ring with heart-shaped diamonds flanking the center
stone. He gave the ring to Nora and they planned a June wedding.
Nora was 19; Frank was 5 years older.
The bridesmaids wore pastel dresses with wide-brimmed
horsehair hats, and carried rose and sweet pea bouquets; the best man
and ushers wore dark suits. Frank asked Joe Carroll to be his best man,
with Dennis Costello and John Barry serving as ushers.
The bride wore a white satin gown and a floor-length veil with a
train. She carried a shower bouquet of roses and gardenias.

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 Following the June 20, 1929 wedding at St. James Church, Delia
Holian, Nora’s widowed mother, held a wedding breakfast at a
downtown hotel.
According to Frank, his car was “a piece of junk.” His brother, Pat,
offered the use of his brand- new car for the honeymoon trip to
Yosemite. The couple stayed at Camp Curry, then returned to Delia
Holian’s flats on Howard Street in San Francisco.

The Depression
Frank’s brother, Dennis had joined the order of Moose. He
became acquainted with a man named A. J. Theese. Earlier Dennis had
dated Theese’s daughter. Theese was the superintendent of P.G. and E.
down on Chartwell Street and Frank needed a job.
“Dennis talked to him for me, and I went after him several times.
I got the job. I worked for this guy English, who was in the Gas
Department.
In the mean time they put me into repairing gas meters.
Afterwards they put me in the electrical end of it. Starting at the
bottom, I worked as a helper for the linemen, hauling the stuff from the
floor with a hand line—cross arms, insulators, and the wires. All that
stuff. You pull it up on the hand line and they pick it up. Any tools that
they needed, they hollered out ‘get me this. Get me that.’
So I stayed there about 5 years.
Things were getting pretty bad, and they wanted the fellas to sell
electric globes. So I went out and hit different churches, especially St.
Joseph’s. Old man Lucett gave me a big order of light bulbs. The

16
Gallaghers bought some globes. I think I got me in pretty good with the
P.G. and E.
The first thing I knew, I got to relieve the guys on vacation, driving
trucks. Then I went to South City relieving those on vacation.
I was there about two weeks. We went down to Stonestown. In
those days it was all Italian gardens. I’d bring home artichokes,
cabbages, stuff like that. I had a car then. All the Italians had barrels of
wine, but I wasn’t drinking at the time.”
“Lines would go down, and we’d fix them after the pumps went
out. We’d go to Half Moon Bay. I enjoyed it.
So, then they gave me a different job. It was climbing the pole.
One Sunday this guy, Allgood, had a gang with 4 or 5 linemen. They
used to clean insulators because they’d caused static on the radios and
stuff. This day out of a clear sky, Harry Allgood said,
‘Go up and see if that line is dead.’
60,000 volts!
He gave me a shovel and sent me up this big pole. You’d hit the
metal part of the shovel against the insulator to see if it was alive. You
couldn’t get electrocuted because you had your hand on the wooden
part of the shovel.
And I said to him, ‘I don’t need to put the shovel on this thing. It’s
spittin’ mad!’
At the time Great Western Power and P.G. and E were
consolidating. This guy, Shorty Ryder from Great Western insisted,
‘No, it’s not dead.’

17
 They decided to investigate whether the switches were open. The
switches were closed. I could have been killed.
They switched me to the inside at night, filling out orders. I
loaded trucks.
A nice easy job.
“They were laying off people, and finally I was only working 2 days
a week. Eventually they laid off everybody with less than 6 years. There
I go! Nothing.”
Prohibition
In 1917 Congress had provided for an amendment that would
make the entire country prohibition territory.... Amendment 18 went
into effect on January 16, 1920. This made it illegal to manufacture,
sell, or transport alcoholic beverages.
Throughout the 1920s and the beginning of the 30s many
enterprising citizens tried their luck at “bathtub brew.” Frank was
making beer on Howard Street, where the back porch held two
convenient wash tubs. With the addition of a table, Frank had
established his own mini-brewery. A five-gallon crock set on the table
held the yeast and hops.
Frank bought the bottles, and with the help of his mother-in-law,
Delia, skimming off the top of the brew, he was in business. He also had
a tool that capped the bottles.
He recalled that he made a case for Nora’s uncle Pat Coyne, who
was eventually to become a millionaire.
“I put an electric plug in their kitchen on Jordan Avenue out in the
Richmond, too. I never got a dime for it!”

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 The day that Prohibition was repealed Frank and Nora’s brother,
Jack, made the rounds of the bars. They managed to walk out of
Weber’s Grill with two monogrammed beer mugs.

The 30s
1931 was doubly memorable. Nora and Fran, as she called him,
had their first daughter, Dorothy Ann, and Nora’s brother, Austin, made
his perpetual profession in the Brothers of Mary. Austin was to devote
the rest of his life to the Brothers.
Nora had a difficult pregnancy, so it was with a great deal of relief
that they welcomed the new baby on February 12.
The Depression was still a stark reality. Times were tough. By
1933 the Prohibition amendment had been repealed. Franklin D.
Roosevelt was telling people “the only thing we have to fear is fear
itself.” Nora’s brother, Jack, and his friend, Jack Barry, decided to open
a tavern.
In a letter from Nora to her brother, Peter, she wrote:
“I suppose that you heard the big news! Your dear brother John is
now the sole owner of Terminal Tavern. And not two days later the
place is broken into.”
Both Nora and Fran used every opportunity to work there. It
afforded them the chance to eat the free sandwiches.
One day a visitor to the tavern opened up a new chapter in Fran’s
life. The man worked for the Golden State Dairy on Bay Street, and
Fran was looking for a job.
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 On October 26, 1934 Fran received a card of introduction from
the office of the Milk Wagon Drivers’ Union No. 226 to take a position
in the dairy. Realizing that they did not have the money for the union
dues, Nora and Fran decided to borrow the money from Dorothy Ann’s
small account.

By 1935 they were living at 1556 B Howard Street, and paying

$22.50 in monthly rent to Delia Holian. They ushered in the new year
1936 with the birth of Maureen Ann on January 7. Maureen was
baptized on February 2, with Nora’s brother Francis and her cousin
Patricia as godparents.
Maureen was a real “Daddy’s girl” who sensed even as a one year
old when it was time for her father to come home. She would toddle
out to the head of the stairs waiting for the sight of him.
Holiday times were family times, so on the evening of December
29, 1937 a gang of relatives descended on the Costellos. The tree was
covered with tinsel and old-fashioned ornaments. One of the cousins
was playing carols on the piano, and everyone was eating, drinking,
chatting, and laughing. The joy of the season was filling the entire
house.
After the crowd had left, Nora and Fran noticed that Maureen was
feverish, looking quite ill. They asked Delia for advice, and she told
them the child should be taken to the hospital. By then Maureen’s
breathing was labored. When they reached the hospital, she was
placed in an oxygen tent, but efforts to save her failed. The cause of
death on December 30 was attributed to an enlarged thymus gland.

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 Frank was desolate. He could not hold back the tears. In another
week she would have been blowing out the candles on her second
birthday cake. Now his special child was gone.

I have many happy memories of my father in the 30s. I often

picture him as he looked then—tall, broad-shouldered, and limber. I
thought he was as handsome as a movie star. His hair was black and
wavy; his arms, strong. He could fix anything (or so I thought!), but it
was wise not to disturb him while he was doing it.
Sometimes if I were having a birthday party, he would drive the
milk truck to our house. He would be wearing a white shirt and pants,
starched stiff from the laundry. There would be a white milkman’s hat,
a black belt, and high black shoes. The uniform made him look even
sharper.
He would bound up the stairs, sometimes two at a time, and rush
straight to the back porch. All the while magical white steam seemed
to be pouring volcanic-like from his hands.
“Watch out!” he’d warn.
Then he’d dump the precious cargo into the welcoming drain, and
redeem the ice cream boxes from the “hot Ice”. Now the white steam
that I loved was gone, but in its place I had several boxes of delicately-
colored ice cream molded in flower shapes for my birthday party.
I told my father once that he taught me how to have fun. He
seemed to be grateful hearing that. I remember that vacation time,
one or two weeks a year, was fun time. Often, we would camp at
21
Yosemite with my father making a campsite into a real home with large
sheets of canvas stretched across the site to form walls. He would find
a tree branch on which to hang his shaving mirror, and help me find
pine cones with which to make a path.
Then he would lift me on the handlebars of his rented bike and off
we’d go.
In Yosemite, our favorite place, Daddy would take me to an Indian
village where he said we’d see “Chief Rain-in-the-Face.” Every night we
would go to the campfire and watch the fire fall. High above the valley
floor someone would be waiting for the signal,
“Let the fire fall!”
Then shimmering bits of ruby red would whirl and dance in a
glimmering slide down the mountain.

The Dining Room Set

In October of 1937 when we were living at 1556B Howard Street.
Nora and Fran decided that they needed a dining room set and went
shopping. They found what they wanted at Davis Furniture Company
on Ellis Street. Their purchase that day was a table, buffet, five side
chairs, and a host chair “with seat color to be selected.” The total cost
for these eight pieces was $210. Sales tax added $6.30. The down
payment was $50 with a balance of $25 a month. The carrying charge
for 6 months was $4.98. The covering decided upon was “Veltone
Garnet Mohair”.
During those years there were small hand-held games which
involved a key punch. Frank managed to win a razor when using one of
these items. He sold the razor for $5 and the next day put the $5

22
deposit on the china cabinet that matched the dining room set. He says
that he knew they had to have that extra piece, but they couldn’t afford
it until Lady Luck made it possible.
That dining room set was the scene of many Thanksgiving,
Christmas, and Easter dinners, as well as wedding and baby showers,
and birthday parties. Dad always sat in the host chair. At dinners he
would carve the roast, and reserve outside pieces for Mother and me.
When there were small children present, they would sit on booster
seats or high chairs with a small plastic tablecloth covering the rug. It
was a badge of maturity to be seated on the dining room chairs.

The War Years

Every American who was alive in 1941 can tell you where he was
when the radio announced the attack on Pearl Harbor. Fran was
delivering milk on Jackson Street that Sunday morning. Two boys
shouted the news to him.
Fran was 37 that December, and married, with a child to support.
He was also involved in a vital industry. All these factors aided him in
staying out of the military draft. Eighteen- year-olds were required to
register with the Selective Service System, and older men were taken
into service. During World War II 10,000 men were drafted in the
United States. Fran was not one of them.
World War II killed more persons, cost more money, damaged more
property, affected more people and probably caused more far-reaching
changes than any other war to that date.

23
 The war permeated everyone’s thoughts and prayers. Everyone had
relatives in the service; everyone was touched by shortages. Rationing
became the law of the land. Each family received coupon books for
every citizen. Stamps were needed to purchase sugar, meat, gasoline,
tires—anything that might be needed for the war effort.
War would drag on for four devasting years, but that would not be
the only cross for the Costellos to bear during that time.
In July of 1942 Nora, Fran, and daughter Dorothy and Delia Holian
planned a vacation at Hoberg’s, a Lake County resort. Their idyllic stay
was cut short by a phone call notifying Delia that her son, Jack, had
been involved in an accident at his workplace, Stuart Oxygen Company.
When the family drove back to the city, they discovered Jack had been
killed. Three months later Delia died suddenly of a heart attack at the
age of 62.
The following year Fran learned that Nora was carrying twins. She
once again had a very difficult pregnancy, and was confined to bed
during the third trimester. Baby girls Barbara Jane and Nancy Faith
were joyfully welcomed on July 28, 1943. For the two weeks following
their birth a nurse was employed to help care for the babies.
Reveling in their happiness at the arrival of their twin treasures,
Nora and Fran planned a huge family christening party for the
newcomers.
Fran remembers that Nora’s uncle Pat Coyne could not believe the
amount of butter on the dining room table. It was wartime, and one
needed to spend ration coupons as well as cash to obtain butter. Uncle
Pat hadn’t realized that every citizen, including babies was entitled to
the same coupons. At that time all the twins needed was formula.
They could afford to give away their share of butter.

24
 When the war was over, there were more changes for Fran. He was
with Marin Dell Dairy now, and the family had moved to the upstairs
flat at 3461 21st Street. With the baby girls growing bigger, it was time
to enlarge the two- bedroom flat.
Nora had mentioned to her friend, Dorothy Walton Vedell, that they
were hoping to add an addition to the house. Dorothy volunteered her
husband, Carl, who worked for builder Henry Doelger, to draw up the
plans. Carl came by one evening, did all the measuring, and created a
perfect plan for a stairway, two bedrooms, and a bath. The contractor
was named Tim Geaney.
When it was finished, Fran surveyed the spectacular view high on
the hill, and christened the new addition “the penthouse”.

Father of the Bride

The 1950s brought new milestones. Dorothy graduated from San

Francisco College for Women, and received her teaching credential.
She also received an engagement ring from Ted Shellooe.
Nora was a co-conspirator. She knew about the ring, but felt Fran
should hear the announcement at a psychologically -orchestrated time.
One evening the parents and the couple converged in the kitchen, and
Ted asked for Fran’s permission to marry his daughter. Fran had no
doubt been coached by Nora on what should be his proper reaction.
After Ted had been duly questioned about his future career and
financial plans, they all celebrated with a tea party.
The wedding date was set for December 27, 1952. Fran made
arrangements with John McVeigh to order the liquor for the wedding

25
reception. The rest of the preparations were left to the ladies—and the
groom, of course.
As the bride, “I remember having jitters the night before the
wedding. I guess I got the nerves out of my system then. The following
morning Mother had her hands full with other problems, so bridesmaid
Violet McVeigh had to help Dad get his tie put on correctly.
There was a limousine waiting outside our house, and the
photographer snapped a picture of Dad helping me get into the car. To
keep the long dress from getting soiled Dad had scooped a large portion
of it into his hands, leaving the half the hoop under the dress exposed
to view.
Once inside the church I noticed that Dad’s assurance seemed to
have slipped away. He needed guidance now. So, I slipped my arm in
his. I whispered a word of confidence, and we walked down the aisle
together.
He didn’t kiss me good-bye as is the custom. Probably it was
because he was not demonstrative by nature. I later joked that he
hadn’t decided whether or not to “give me away”.

Frank’s Place

Frank Portman was a neighbor, friend, and contractor. When he

found himself short-handed for an upcoming job, he asked Fran if he
could work for him on Fran’s day off.
When the Portman crew worked at St. Finn Barr’s parish, Fran
asked the priest if he could have the doors that were being removed.

26
They were painted, with a shiny finish and brass knobs and hinges. Just
the thing for Fran’s new project.
At the back of the 21st Street alley way were two small basement
rooms for storage. Fran’s plan was to knock out the wall separating the
two and replace it with one large “rumpus room”.
Fran then scrounged the leftover tiles from St. James School for
the flooring. He and his brother Tom heated each tile with an electric
iron, and set the new floor.
Fran’s nephew, Bob Costello, was working for a plumber. The
plumber, assisted by Bob, installed a toilet in a bathroom off the new
room, hooking up the plumbing with the upstairs and putting in a
sewer.
Friend Bert Smith, who worked at many of the city’s schools,
found a spare toilet for the bathroom.
In appreciation for all his volunteer parish work, pastor Father
O’Connor gave Fran money to purchase a shower to install in the new
bathroom.
Fran purchased the lumber for his bar from a St. James
parishioner who worked as a foreman at a lumber yard. Prices were
very reasonable.
Michael and Jack Shellooe still disagree about who created the
sign “Frank’s Place”, but it is probably safe to say that Frank did not
make it himself.
Frank was very proud of his room, which held holiday decorations
—even a tree for Christmas. There were stools at the bar, a turquoise
vinyl sofa, TV, and a wall-sized mirror that Jack Shellooe helped hang. It

27
was a party place, meant for having fun. It was Frank’s place because
he poured his heart into it.
Grandpa Fran
Ten months later, Fran became a grandfather for the first time.
Maureen Louise was born on October 30, 1953. Twins John Edward
and James Francis arrived September 16 1955, and Barbara and Nancy
served as their godmothers.
A year later, September 6, 1956 Nora wrote to her brother Pete:
“Jack and Jim will be a year old in another week. There is much
rivalry among the godmothers. Jack is taking a few steps, but Jim just
stands in one spot and rocks back and forth, then boom, down on his
corporation.
Fran bought electric clippers and gave the twins a haircut last
week, but we didn’t let him put on the “butch” attachment yet.”
A month later Nora again writes:
“We had the Shellooes with us last weekend, and Fran almost had
to be put in the booby hatch after a couple days of those twins.
Little Jack appears to be in training for the Olympic games, from
the way he was jumping hurdle over the top of the crib. Twice over the
top of the crib in one weekend is just too much on our nerves,
whatever about it is doing to his head. Fran is talking about putting
chicken wire around the crib and make a regular coop out of it before
they come to town again.”
Little relief is in sight, Michael Shellooe was born in 1957. Luckily
he was a serene baby.

28
 Miracle Man
One of daughter Dorothy’s prized possessions was a pair of
Lincoln bookends. These were a Christmas gift that Dorothy had
noticed while browsing in a gift shop on Mission Street. Lincoln was a
favorite because Dorothy was born on his birthday, February 12. Aware
that she admired the seated Lincoln, a copy of the Washington, D. C.
memorial figure, Nora put the set on layaway.
The bookends were put in a place of honor in Dorothy and Ted’s
living room. Unfortunately, they were within reach of toddler Jack
Shellooe’s curious hands. When Jack managed to break a hand off
Lincoln, Dorothy was crushed.
Grandpa to the rescue! Fran was able to re-attach the hand. A
few years later when the hand was dislodged and then lost, Grandpa
was called again. This time Fran modeled a new hand, and attached it.
Little Jack was extremely impressed.
“Grandpa can do anything. He’s like. . . .God!”, he whispered in
awe.

The 60s
While half the country was wearing love beads, strewing flower
pedals, and offering peace symbols, Frank was finding a job that was
tailor-made for him. A glowing recommendation from friend Jack
Doherty opened the doors to the Sir Francis Drake Hotel. Frank was
working with deliveries to the hotel, a very comfortable and pleasant
job, especially at meal time. Frank enjoyed sampling the fine cuisine.
29
He was also eligible to bid on furniture items that were being replaced.
Lamps, pictures, televisions went for extraordinary low prices, and
wound up at the Costello household. Bar glasses that were being
discarded came home to 21st Street. The only item that didn’t find a
new home was the Beefeater outfit worn by the Drake doorman.
Ironically, Frank’s first grandchild, Maureen Shellooe, would schedule
her wedding reception at the very same hotel many years later.
Wedding bells rang twice in the 60’s. In 1964 Barbara Costello
married William (Bill) Langley in a ceremony performed by cousin
Father Nicholas Connolly at his parish church in Oakland, St. Leo’s.
Their reception was held at the Claremont Hotel in Berkeley.
Barbara’s twin, Nancy, married Joseph (Joe) Pelayo at St. James
Church in 1967. Once again Father Nick Connolly was the celebrant.
Nancy and Joe had their reception at the Apostleship of the Sea.

In 1965 and 1966 Barbara and Bill Langley welcomed David and
then Chris who were born in Sonoma where the family lived for a short
time.
Nancy began married life in San Francisco, but soon moved to
Pleasant Hill in the East Bay area. Nancy and Joe became the parents of
Joe, John, and Anne Marie. The Shellooes added #5 and #6: Kevin in
1960 and Stephen in 1966.
Amid all these celebratory events Frank was becoming handyman
extraordinaire at St. James School, and helping Bill Langley in his spare
time. Barbara and Bill had purchased a Victorian on 20th and Dolores
30
Street. Along with a prized piece of property they had also bought a
large package of plumbing problems. Once again it was Frank to the
rescue! Armed with his lunch bag, thermos, and a tool box, he replaced
the old plumbing with new copper pipes. But while doing this, he
uncovered a crowd of unwelcome visitors. Portions of the old wood
were the main course for some extremely ravenous termites. The
Langleys were considering selling the property, so Frank decided to do
a quick repair.

Going Home to Ireland

My father, who had said, “Why should I want to go back to

Ireland? I have a much better life here,” changed his mind when Father
Walsh, the pastor of St. James Church, promoted the trip. The parish
priest had a nephew “down the peninsula” who was a Holy Ghost
father. Their society would schedule month long trips to “the old
country” with TWA, chartering a full flight at a reasonable price.
Aboard were numerous priests, nuns, and drinkers.
On his first trip Frank was accompanied by his wife, Nora, in 1971.
When he decided to go again, Nora declined and suggested he take me.
The following are excerpts from my journal.
Our first stop was Limerick’s Woodfield House.

31
 Poor Dad! Shaver doesn’t work in our outlet; room is pretty
stuffy, and he can’t get enough hot water to fill the tub, but we decided
to risk all and have dinner here. First—a walk to the center of town.
While waiting for the city bus we met a friendly English
businessman, also a new arrival in Limerick, who hailed a taxi after
tiring of waiting for a bus that never materialized. He invited us to
share his cab, and didn’t accept any money for fare. Daddy’s delighted
—a free ride!!
Dinner turned out just fine too, and another bargain!
Friday, June 14
This afternoon we toured Bunratty Castle and Folk Park. Took a
picture of an ancient dower chest which was begun the day a girl was
born and ended with the carving of her betrothed’s coat of arms. Took
a picture of Daddy sitting in the Earl of Thomond’s throne.
Toured Folk Park with its farmhouse replicas, blacksmith shop and
stopped for tea and scones—another 30p bargain! Daddy creaking a
bit while climbing castle steps, suggested that we take the elevator
down. A little local boy answered him, “We don’t have those things
here. This is Bunratty Castle, not the Empire State Building.”
Attended the 9 P.M. banquet, and both of us enjoyed it
immensely. Seven beautiful hostesses in velvet gowns sang beautiful
Irish songs, and served the meal. We wound up at a table with some
friendly young men and their wives from Limerick. One of them was
dragged to the dungeon, but was granted a release after he sang an
Irish song for us. None of his friends were sure he could sing, but he
did a very creditable job.
Daddy “wasn’t too hungry” but managed to squeeze in the soup,
spareribs, capon, string beans, carrots, bread, and dessert.
32
 We had visited “Dirty Nelly’s” beforehand, and just missed our
bus after the banquet, so one of our friends at the table offered to drive
us home. Daddy had quite a few laughs with these good-hearted
“rowdies”. Altogether quiet a table-pounding, rollicking experience—
and home at midnight.
Saturday, June 15
Took the 3:45 train to Dublin—three hours of meadows, pasture
land, cattle grazing and sheep.
We arrived in Dublin in the midst of a city-wide bus strike. Had
quite a time getting a taxi to take us to Ballsbridge, but relaxed when I
saw Mt. Herbert. Looks like a real winner. Since we were too late for
dinner at Mt. Herbert, we decided to walk to New Jury’s for a meal.
Halfway (or less) there, Daddy wasn’t sure of directions so he rang a
door bell and asked a young man how to get there. Just then out came
the fellow’s father who said, “I’m going out that way. I’ll drop you off.”
Hard to believe! He took us right to the door!
Monday, June 17
When the IRA planted a bomb this morning in the London House
of Commons, I should have realized it would be a Very Bad Day. Flight
to London was delayed 25 minutes because of tightened security.
Weather was ideal to see the clouds and approaching countryside of
England, but then things started to go badly. Taxi fare was horrendous
coming from the airport; our room was up four steep flights of stairs
(no porter and no lift). Dad was tired, hungry and irritated. The place
we went for dinner had a bartender who’d never heard of a Manhattan,
could not serve even wine (no liquor) before 5:30, forgot half the food
on the dinner, and did not even have tea. Altogether, quite a disaster.
Dad had to go somewhere else for more food, and that spot turned out

33
to be closed on Mondays. Final spot did not know what a “highball”
was. By the time this day ended, I thought we might be taking the next
plane back to Dublin.
Tuesday, June 18
Right after breakfast we walked down to watch the Changing of
the Guards, arriving about 20 minutes to 11. There was already a row
of people around the iron gate. Weather was perfect so we took all
kinds of pictures. The band played “When the Saints Go Marching In”
and a Beatle tune, which I thought proved they do have a sense of
humor after all. Daddy almost decapitated some poor short gray-
haired lady standing in front of him while he stretched around taking
pictures.
After the performance concluded, we grabbed a cab, and wound
up first car in line behind the marching troops. I told Daddy to wave to
the thong, and they might think he was Lord Mayor.
Went to Simpson’s for lunch, and it was delightful. Ladies are only
seated upstairs for lunch, so I asked to peek into the main floor dining
room. The maitre d’was most cordial, brought me in to see the seated
men and said, “There they are, madame, the weaker sex!” Food was
excellent—lots of roast beef for Dad, and marvelous Yorkshire pudding.
Linen tablecloths and carving cart brought to the table made a hit with
Dad. A memorable experience!
Friday, June 21
At the Tower of London, we picked up a tour with a Yeoman
Warder, and then headed for the Crown Jewels. The Warder had told
us that during the war years of the 40s the Queen’s ravens were getting
a better meat allowance than the people of England.

34
 Daddy was very impressed with the Star of India diamond in the
Queen’s scepter. Didn’t think it was quite fair that royalty could enjoy
all those jewels while the Irish had nothing but “cabbage and
potatoes.”
Our CIE bus tour began with a ride to Glendalough, past expensive
hillside homes and huge bushes of lavender rhododendrons blooming
in wild profusion as they did all over Ireland. Glendalough is famous for
St. Kevin’s Kitchen (a church), the tall round tower from the 11 th or 12th
century—also a familiar sight in Ireland, and the ruins of old S.S. Peter
and Paul Cathedral, where wild daisies were creeping through the
cracks of the stone ruins. Took a picture of Dad hugging St. Kevin’s
cross. Superstition has it that if you can get your arms around the cross
and touch fingers, you will get your wish.
Dad was eager to try some “poteen.” That illegal brew is said to
be “used for blasting rocks.” It is made from barley, potatoes, and
water mixed in a milk can.
Friday, June 28
We visited the Cliffs of Moher—a breathtakingly beautiful spot
with colossal hulks extending high above the water. An enterprising
Irishman was busy selling the usual 4p postcards of the Cliffs for 5p, and
Daddy bought a couple. One woman from our bus wanted to buy a
shillelagh from the same fellow—and asked to have it gift wrapped!
Saturday, June 29
Several people had planned to take a jaunting car ride from Torc
Great Southern Hotel, but after we had waited for over a half hour, only
a horse-drawn coach showed up. Apparently, the man who owner all
the cars and coaches figured he could get by with two coaches for the
group instead of using 6 jaunting cars and charging the same amount.

35
 Daddy spearheaded the movement to get a refund and find his
own authentic jaunting car, with the results that the very annoyed
owner had to send back two coaches completely empty. Hurrah for our
side!
Four of us found a rare character, Christopher, “father of 14
children”—or so he said, but then he was quite an Irish talker. He and
his horse, Judy, gave us an unforgettable tour around the lower lake,
through the National Park to Muckross House. Most of the way he sang
and encouraged us to sing Irish songs, when we did he’d turn around,
pat us on the head, shake our hands and murmur, “God bless ya.”
Sunday, June 30
For the Ring of Kerry tour most of the passengers got off the bus
to have their pictures taken with an old man standing in the field with
his donkey and dog. So many people demonstrated their thanks to the
man with a little tip that he rushed over to the donkey, and extracted
from his saddle bag a large bunch of purple heather to be distributed
amongst his benefactors on the bus.
Monday, July 1
The Lakes of Killarney were shimmering with the reflection of the
sun when we stopped at the spot called Ladies View, named because of
the visit of Queen Victoria and her ladies-in-waiting.
Dad took a picture of Ireland’s highest mountain, while the
courier, Mr. Brophy, told us the story of Princess O’Brien, who ran off
with a handsome stranger and forgot to put the lid on her well, the
overflow becoming the Lakes of Killarney.
We also were told that the toast “Slainte” meant:
“Health and long life to you

36
 A house without rent to you
A child every year and
May you be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows
you’re dead.”
Dad took a picture of the many (some say 40) shades of
green, and we stopped at Glengariff, where he reluctantly joined a
motor boat ride to Garnish Island.
He worried audibly about the safety of the small boat, but
the skipper reassured him, “Don’t worry—if you don’t come back,
you don’t have to pay.”
Using the rental car from Dublin to Galway was another
adventure. To say we had a little difficulty is putting it mildly.
How we could get lost going three or four blocks is impossible to
explain. Even had to ask directions on how to get the car started!
The following morning, we stole out of Dublin at the crack of
dawn, just like a couple of thieves. Actually, we were afraid to
share the city streets with other cars.
The last Sunday in Ireland we attended Mass in Daddy’s
home parish at Skahana, then stopped back at Tommy and Ann’s
house, “the homestead.” The whole gang drove to Frank and
Mary’s house at New Inn, where we had a big dinner—too big.
On the plane returning home the Fasten Seat Belt sign
flashed frequently, but there was a beautiful blue sky out of our
window and only white mounds of fluff. The land below, our last
view of Ireland, looked like a gigantic green jigsaw puzzle in
various shades of emerald.

37
 The 70s and 80s
The summer of 1977 welcomed in the final Shellooe grandchild,
Kathleen. The following summer of 1978 Frank was interested in
returning to Ireland. Since he was by then in his 70s, driving on the left
side on narrow roads sounded intimidating. The answer turned out to
be inviting a grandson to serve as a driver. Oldest grandson, Jack
Shellooe, was enlisted. Older twin daughter, Barbara, would be
included as travel companion. Peter Holian decided to join the trio.
One of the excursions in Ireland was a trip to the Beleek factory in
Northern Ireland. On the day the foursome visited the china factory
the neighborhood was bustling with activity. Busy people crowded the
streets.
After their factory tour, Jack and Barbara were the first to exit.
Jack glanced around the streets. No one was there. The vacant
neighborhood was foreboding, especially when soldiers in camouflage
uniforms appeared with weapons raised. Jack saw them darting here
and there, and alerted Barbara.
“Let’s get out of here!” called Jack.
Then he shoved his grandfather and uncle into the car, pushed
them into the back seat, and gunned the motor.
When reminiscing about this trip, Daddy always complimented
Jack on his driving skill, but Barbara remembers that at the time our
father might not have felt quite so trusting. It seems that it was
necessary to have Dad’s seat repaired before the car was returned. He
had broken the passenger seat while shoving his foot down helping the
driver to brake, and then heaving his big body back in the seat.

38
 In the 1980s the Republicans were in office, the stock market
dived, and the Statue of Liberty reappeared—polished and restored. So
it was for the Costellos, an up and down world, topsy-turvy with
delights and disappointments.
In this decade the marriages of grandchildren would change
“Grandpa Fran” into a resulting Great Grandpa Fran. Michael, Jack, Jim
and Chris Langley would make Frank a great grand-father within the
decade.
He would also fly to Salt Lake City in November of 1980 when Bill
Langley had a serious surgery. Frank and Nora lived in a mobile home
for a week while Barbara attended to a hospitalized husband whose
surgery for a benign tumor would result in the limited use of his arm.
In 1984 luck smiled on gambler Frank in Las Vegas. He had a good
afternoon at the slot machines, but had uncharacteristically kept it
quiet. When he reached Barbara and Bill’s house, he dramatically
dropped his winning on the table. It looked like hundreds of silver
dollars! He reveled in the attention that it brought.
In 1988 St. James published a centennial yearbook. It stated that
in the early years, parishioners were predominantly Irish, Italian, and
German, with the Irish in the clear majority.
“One such Irishman is Frank Costello who arrived in San Francisco
from County Galway in 1925 and has been a member of St. James ever
since.”
Reminiscing about his more than 60 years in the parish, he stated,
“St. James, in those days, was the outstanding parish in the
archdiocese and the most vocations came from here.”

39
 In 1950, at the request of Msgr. Quinn, Frank started the Bingo
Group, and with the assistance of others, he ran it for more than 25
years.
One of the big events each year was what was called the St. James
Festival, although it actually raised money for ICA and the convent;
Frank was president of the last such festival. He was also president of
the Holy Name Society at the time the Brothers of Mary moved to
Riordan High in 1949.
Mr. and Mrs. Costello had known all six pastors. They recall Fr.
Walsh, as do many others, as being “very saintly and very generous”.
They also had praise for Fr. Zohlen--“a very fine priest”. Commenting
on the removal of the frescoes in the late 1950s, during Msgr.
O’Connor’s pastorate, Mr. Costello said it was because the ceiling had
become very stained from years of candle smoke.
He summed up the feelings of many of the longtime dedicated
parishioners in these words “I gave a lot of my time; I had a lot of
pleasure.”

King for a Day

On January 28, 1990 quarterback Joe Montana led the San
Francisco 49ers to their second consecutive Super Bowl victory.
Besides winning the hearts of all of their fans, including Frank and Nora
Costello, each player won an expensive ring.
In December 1994, Frank was living at the time at a retirement
community in Pleasant Hill, The Chateau. The whole family was alerted
to plan for a dinner celebration at Zio Fraedo’s restaurant. His three

40
daughters and grandchildren came to drink champagne, enjoy dinner,
take pictures, and socialize. One of his presents included the regal
accoutrements: a red cloak sewn by Sue Shellooe, and trimmed with
gold braid, a McDonald’s crown with Jewels added by Jim Shellooe and
his boys.
Dad felt very much at home in his royal regalia. Unfortunately, he
expected a repeat performance every year. We promised another big
celebration when he hit 100. He didn’t make it.

41