George Frank: Two companies, many friends
A familiar figure from old Tigard reaches 90 years
To George Frank, the seven-day, 80-hour week was no stranger. He spent much of his life at work, hard work, hauling the refuse others didn't want.
And what, as he approaches Thursday and his 90th birthday, does he have to show for it?
Plenty.
When George Frank looks back on his life, can see two companies born from the sweat of his labor. And, more importantly, he sees six children, 11 grandchildren, 23 great-grandchildren, three great-great-grandchildren and more friends than he could ever count.
George, the original owner and chief laborer of Frank's Disposal Service in Tigard, doesn't work the long hours anymore. The effects of a stroke make it difficult for him to speak, but there's no mistaking the life in his ever‑searching eyes and a firm handshake.
He now lives in a studio apartment at the Baptist Manor in southeast Portland, his walls covered with photographic testimony to his claim as patriarch of a sizable clan.
His sons, Herb, the current owner of Frank's Disposal Service, and Art Rossman (a stepson), now retired after running Rossman's Sanitary Service for decades, tell his story.
It's a story that has been told and retold, in languages as diverse as the people who have brought their lives, and hopes, to the United States in the past 200 years. It’s a story of an immigrant family that turned hard work, love, and loyalty into success.
Shortly before moving on to Oregon from Canada, the Frank clan gathered for this photograph in 1924. Pictured are: (front, left to right) George's wife Elisabeth, Herb (age 2), daughter Helen and George; (back, left to right) Art, daughter Lydia, son George, daughter Emma Ruff and her husband, Henry.
The descendants of a German family that, at the beckoning of Catherine the Great, migrated to the Russian Ukraine Valley in the 19th Century, George and a brother left their adopted homeland for North America in 1914, a step ahead of both the Bolsheviks and the onrushing Great War.
Twelve years later, after a two-year detour through the Colorado beet fields and now with a family in tow, George moved to Portland, driving cross‑country in a Model T Ford with stepson Art bouncing along beside him.
When his Portland job ended with the closure of a sawmill in 1929, George and his sons took the first step into the garbage-hauling business.
“I remember the first years.” Art said last week, while his father listened intently from across the small living room. "We had few accounts and a long distance between them. We might go to one place in West Linn and then drive to Tualatin for the next stop.”
Collecting 50 cents a month from their customers, the newly started entrepreneurs picked up “anything we could handle with our hands, feet and back,” Art remembered.
All the able-bodied men in the family pitched in, working every job in the business. Sometimes, in fact, they worked jobs they weren't quite ready for.
Herb vividly recalls one such experience.
“I must have been about 12 or so,” he said with a laugh. “I was sitting in the truck and released the handbrake. The truck started rolling down a hill and all I could see was the truck going through this storefront.”
“I became a driver and didn't even know it. But I stopped it somehow. When my dad came running down the hill, I told him I didn't know what happened. I sure wasn't going to tell him I took the brake off.”
Working the towns of Tigard, Tualatin and Sherwood in Washington County, George was a familiar figure. Door-to-door collection of his monthly fee gave him a chance to meet and talk with all of his customers.
While most such meetings were pleasant, Herb remembered that his father could be very direct in dealing with a tardy account.
“I remember one time he put a guy in a tuxedo to shame,” he said. “The guy had plenty of money, lived in Lake Oswego, but just wouldn't pay off.”
“So, Dad and I went down to the Arrow Club, where this guy was at a party. Somebody came to the door and Dad asked to see the man. When he came to the door, he nearly wilted. He said, 'My God, Mr. Frank, you can't come here.’”
“Dad just looked at him and said, ‘You pay me, and I won't come here.’”
While his two sons roared with laughter, George sat quietly, a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.
The business that once involved one truck with solid rubber tires now is two businesses, with some 40 employees and three dozen trucks.
Names of former partners, now all dead, flick through the conversation. Like an ancient firm, they are fixed forever at their silent tasks as the brothers reminisce and the father listens.
“I would say Dad is one of the last living garbage men alive from the old-timers,” Herb said. “The others are all gone.”
But, while the business filled his working hours, his life was, and is, filled by his family. The pictures on the wall, some small snapshots and others in large frames, show the real legacy his life has produced.
Many of the smiling faces on his wall will be at a party this weekend, the second such party celebrating his 90th birthday. The first party, held in Canada, drew over 75 people.
George Frank has plenty of reason to celebrate. So do those who know him.
And what, as he approaches Thursday and his 90th birthday, does he have to show for it?
Plenty.
When George Frank looks back on his life, can see two companies born from the sweat of his labor. And, more importantly, he sees six children, 11 grandchildren, 23 great-grandchildren, three great-great-grandchildren and more friends than he could ever count.
George, the original owner and chief laborer of Frank's Disposal Service in Tigard, doesn't work the long hours anymore. The effects of a stroke make it difficult for him to speak, but there's no mistaking the life in his ever‑searching eyes and a firm handshake.
He now lives in a studio apartment at the Baptist Manor in southeast Portland, his walls covered with photographic testimony to his claim as patriarch of a sizable clan.
His sons, Herb, the current owner of Frank's Disposal Service, and Art Rossman (a stepson), now retired after running Rossman's Sanitary Service for decades, tell his story.
It's a story that has been told and retold, in languages as diverse as the people who have brought their lives, and hopes, to the United States in the past 200 years. It’s a story of an immigrant family that turned hard work, love, and loyalty into success.
Shortly before moving on to Oregon from Canada, the Frank clan gathered for this photograph in 1924. Pictured are: (front, left to right) George's wife Elisabeth, Herb (age 2), daughter Helen and George; (back, left to right) Art, daughter Lydia, son George, daughter Emma Ruff and her husband, Henry.
The descendants of a German family that, at the beckoning of Catherine the Great, migrated to the Russian Ukraine Valley in the 19th Century, George and a brother left their adopted homeland for North America in 1914, a step ahead of both the Bolsheviks and the onrushing Great War.
Twelve years later, after a two-year detour through the Colorado beet fields and now with a family in tow, George moved to Portland, driving cross‑country in a Model T Ford with stepson Art bouncing along beside him.
When his Portland job ended with the closure of a sawmill in 1929, George and his sons took the first step into the garbage-hauling business.
“I remember the first years.” Art said last week, while his father listened intently from across the small living room. "We had few accounts and a long distance between them. We might go to one place in West Linn and then drive to Tualatin for the next stop.”
Collecting 50 cents a month from their customers, the newly started entrepreneurs picked up “anything we could handle with our hands, feet and back,” Art remembered.
All the able-bodied men in the family pitched in, working every job in the business. Sometimes, in fact, they worked jobs they weren't quite ready for.
Herb vividly recalls one such experience.
“I must have been about 12 or so,” he said with a laugh. “I was sitting in the truck and released the handbrake. The truck started rolling down a hill and all I could see was the truck going through this storefront.”
“I became a driver and didn't even know it. But I stopped it somehow. When my dad came running down the hill, I told him I didn't know what happened. I sure wasn't going to tell him I took the brake off.”
Working the towns of Tigard, Tualatin and Sherwood in Washington County, George was a familiar figure. Door-to-door collection of his monthly fee gave him a chance to meet and talk with all of his customers.
While most such meetings were pleasant, Herb remembered that his father could be very direct in dealing with a tardy account.
“I remember one time he put a guy in a tuxedo to shame,” he said. “The guy had plenty of money, lived in Lake Oswego, but just wouldn't pay off.”
“So, Dad and I went down to the Arrow Club, where this guy was at a party. Somebody came to the door and Dad asked to see the man. When he came to the door, he nearly wilted. He said, 'My God, Mr. Frank, you can't come here.’”
“Dad just looked at him and said, ‘You pay me, and I won't come here.’”
While his two sons roared with laughter, George sat quietly, a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.
The business that once involved one truck with solid rubber tires now is two businesses, with some 40 employees and three dozen trucks.
Names of former partners, now all dead, flick through the conversation. Like an ancient firm, they are fixed forever at their silent tasks as the brothers reminisce and the father listens.
“I would say Dad is one of the last living garbage men alive from the old-timers,” Herb said. “The others are all gone.”
But, while the business filled his working hours, his life was, and is, filled by his family. The pictures on the wall, some small snapshots and others in large frames, show the real legacy his life has produced.
Many of the smiling faces on his wall will be at a party this weekend, the second such party celebrating his 90th birthday. The first party, held in Canada, drew over 75 people.
George Frank has plenty of reason to celebrate. So do those who know him.
Source
Hunter, Bob. "George Frank: Two Companies, Many Friends." Tigard Times [Tigard, Oregon] 25 Aug. 1981: 5A. Print.
Note
George Frank was born in 1891 in Saratov Province, Russia. He died on February 25, 1983 in Portland, Oregon. He married Elizabeth Derr, the widow of George Rossman,
Last updated January 24, 2024