Ace and Frank III. I grieve for both.

The most important, influential, instrumental person in my life left us. If I am capable of meaningful words at all, she deserves the most profound of them. But two other important losses in my life have spelled me from reflecting on her in scattered, unorganized Google docs and text files.

The two men, to be sure, also left behind profound implications, I think, to me and the world. It would be absurd to pursue a “profundity index” to rank the impact of people in your life. But I’ve newly realized that “profundity”, if unrankable, comes in many variations, good and bad, and these lucid distinctions hit me with each loss, and each gave me a teachable moment. I’ve known one for years. I’ve never met the other.

What sparks an asymmetrical, almost impossible comparison is that, to me, the two very different men don’t fit a single life-title. “Hero” or “mentor” are implicit to, say, a firefighter or coach. But “Naval officer” is too streamlined to convey: entertainer, teacher, protector, friend. “Rock musician” is too coded to catch the nuances of “sci-fi fantasy second-identity”, or “astronaut, not cat”.

But nuances are what make us unique. And I am faced with the deep, nuanced intangibles mourning the loss of my friend’s father, Frank III. He was an authority figure, in that sense, but also a friend. A Navy man to the core, then in the rough waters of a military contractor job til the end, a cornerstone case study of responsibility. And though sometimes strict and austere, he was much more frequently a kind, caring, inquisitive jokester. This matters—his son and his pals were not Navy cloth. Nor student council, nor athletes. Maybe not “misfits” is close, but “non-conformists” closer. Respecting us, accepting us, came naturally to him. His nickname was “the Commander”, after his military rank. But he joked on the ostentation of rank as much as he was competent to carry it. It’s a subtle lesson he taught us: the fine line between satire and disrespect. For me, that humanized an authority role, not everyone wants the extra responsibility. Maybe The Commander did or didn’t, who knows, but if called, you do the adult thing, and with regard for others.

The polar opposite of responsibility, Ace Frehley, from KISS died a day after The Commander. Yes, he was my childhood idol. But not as a “rock star”. At age 8, I thought he was from space. Age 10, realizing he’s a fellow earthing, I wanted to be him. Yes, this fact identifies me as a suburban white kid in the 70s. And we collectively lost touch with him in the 1980s, and didn’t quite understand that he was battling drug and alcohol issues. As an adult, in the 90s, I didn’t forget him, I had sympathy for him, and wished him well in his recovery attempts. But the world found out, this century, there was truth to the rumors of his being a reckless, selfish scumbag. The stories are endless, partly because he never ended it. Long into this century, he still hurled demeaning and racist prattle, cowering behind a jokey persona. On record, he’s an unapologetic goon, off-record, rumors I’ve heard in the NYC music world, even if half-true, are revolting.

And sure... as a trailblazing, uniquely-gifted musician and songwriter, disregarded in his historical place in rock music, a small amount of bitterness seems warranted. But a history of failed recovery, disregard for others, spiteful ingratitude, all evidenced by multiple arrests, and jail time, even up until 2019, is a profound teaching example for me, as well. We don’t need assholes like him. I can get over my childhood adulation.

Again, comparing the obvious differences between the two still seems a bit pointless, but the concurrence points out a stark contrast to me. I loved The Commander, but I didn’t set my hopes and dreams on military life (nor my own father’s). I didn’t understand the mundane. I thought skills and interests outside of work were irrelevant. It took me well into adulthood to understand “leadership”. A commander learned to lead. An adult mind is untroubled by mundanity.

Success came fairly early to a young Ace, and with no “handlers” (until he was deep into substance abuse), he skirted responsibility, aside from showing up on stage, and never had a support system to learn stewardship of his wealth, nor how to corral his emotions, or understand the feelings of others. Essentials in adulthood. Basically, he never grew up. He’d remain, in military terms, an enlisted swabbie.

It might then come as no surprise, after leaving the safe tutelage of KISS, the first single off his first album, (presumably then the leader of a band he named after himself, Frehley’s Comet), was entitled “Rock Soldiers”. The (frankly) generic song seems to atone for a DUI, and asks for acceptance back in formation with the other enlisted. Private Frehley suggests he’s learned some adulting. But, see, KISS never wrote a single line without some impish double meaning. It was endearing, really, their skill. So, Ace’s anthem:

Rock soldiers come and rock soldiers go.
Hey, rock soldiers, How do we know? Ace is back and he told you so.

Is UNQUESTIONABLY a middle finger to respecting his new-found money and influence. And back to recklessly endangering his fans sharing the same highway. There was an era of mocking KISS and their adult buffoonery, which sometimes was deserved, but I always felt a little bad for Ace. He seemed less arrogant. More self-aware, But he wasn’t. He wasn’t aware that his work, writing and performing, was rotting into decay decade after decade. And never admitted the harms he had done.

So, zooming back from the comparison, which boils down to a maturity, I still can’t distill the complexity of The Commander into a single word. He may have been “mundane” but he was multifaceted. Serious, but not stodgy. Many other words. The complexity of an adult.

Though his loss still painful, summing up Ace in one word, however, is simple: Ace was a disappointment.