Frank Joseph Sacchinelli, affectionately known as “Frankie”, passed peacefully on the morning of December 23, 2022 after 72 years of surviving his own balls of steel and irreverence.

Born on July 18, 1950, Frank shared his birthday with both of his parents Frank and Concetta Sacchinelli in Bronx, NY. He grew up in Westchester, New York, thus adopting the omnipresent accent and style synonymous with being an Italian New Yorker. With a seemingly gruff persona on a meticulously groomed man, Frankie could be easily spotted and was rarely forgotten after a first meeting: his flash of white hair, naturally tanned skin, an impressive mustache situated over a winning smile, wearing stereotypical gold chains and a pinky ring, and bedecked in his favorites of Ralph Lauren Polo and Nike… and always in a black Cadillac. His personality was unfailingly… Frankie. He was loud, impossible to ignore, intentional, loyal, sharp-witted and in carefully-honed possession of an expletive-laced vocabulary. He was a fast friend to everyone, and a long friend to most. Loyal and kind to those he loved, and honest and mostly kind to those he did not.

A United States Army Veteran of the prestigious 101st Airborne, Frank honorably and proudly served his country for two tours in the Vietnam war from 1969 to 1971, attaining the rank of Sergeant. He earned the Combat Infantry Badge (CIB) and the Purple Heart, among other accolades. After his time in the Army and his return to the states, he became a pilot and began delivering fine products for a fine income, mostly between South America and Miami. Frankie’s adventures came to an abrupt ending when the Department of Drug Enforcement took an interest in his travels. When asked about the airplane behind him, Frankie infamously replied “what airplane?” He spent a subsequent few years cooking with and for other fine folks spending time as guests of the federal government. He often mentioned this time as formative in his ability to prepare meals for a crowd, which he did with the love and affection of a true old-school Italian-American.

A masterful and enthusiastic Italian cook, Frankie could lure lost dogs, both literal and figurative, home with a pan of meatballs on the porch. A Sunday “gravy”, a pan of lasagna, an all-day simmering pot of sausage and meatballs, or a from-scratch chicken noodle soup: he loved to feed people, and to send them home with copious quantities of leftovers. He also hosted his “Golden Corral for Cats” - an all-they-could-eat, always-open smorgasbord for the neighborhood strays, because around him, absolutely no one was allowed to be hungry.

It’s been speculated often that had he not served in Vietnam, he might have been a professional golfer. Those who had the pleasure of losing to him over 18 holes knew he played with a “delicate touch and deadly short game”. Late into the evenings, after ending his bar shifts, he was known to practice his chip shot in his condo at home - leaving both marks on the ceiling and the neighbors wondering what habits could possibly make up the 3 am noise disturbance from below.

A long-time barkeep, Frank’s bar was the place to be, somehow always becoming where VIPS and the subsequent wannabees would spend their time… Until the day it suddenly featured a handmade “cash only” sign with an arrow redirecting patrons to the other bar on busy night when his ability to interact with imbeciles momentarily ceased - leaving his fellow bartenders holding it down at the other bar where “cards were still accepted.” His regulars were often adorned with nicknames - not all of them glowing and affectionate. No matter how much he loathed someone, and how much they knew it, his famously heavy hand and delightfully crass persona would keep them coming back for more abuse. Frankie was the friend and colleague who would spend the night in a holding cell on everyone’s behalf when busted for serving drinks after hours, insisting it would be “just the rest he needed.”

Frank is survived by his wife, Seble, sister-in-law Sophie, daughter Michelle, granddaughter Mariah, and three generations of stray cats. He and Seble wed in November 2006 - a decision known by him, her, and friends as one of the best and worst decisions of his life. They met while he was in his element behind the bar at Industry, Keith Sweat’s bar on Cheshire Bridge, when he charmed her with his heavy pours. She vowed to her sister he was taking her out if she ever saw him again. Ultimately they met again at Beluga and after a brief period of Seble wearing him down to ask her on a date, they became inseparable. The rest is history.

Frank was a proud and loving father to his daughter Michelle and granddaughter, Mariah. Mariah loved to visit “Papa” and spent hours playing in his bar tools, learning the tricks of the trade, and showing off her new pretend cocktail making skills - all the while he told her to “stay out the club and never sling liquor” when she got older. If not pouring imaginary martinis, there were hours of obligatory golf lessons in the living room.

Frankie will be deeply missed by his family and dear friends, but as he often said you’ve gotta take “the roses with the thorns, Holmes.” A private celebration of life is to be held on Sunday, January 29, 2023. If you would like to honor the memory of this truly great man, donations may be made in Frankie’s honor to Vietnam Veterans of America (vva.org). 

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