Rain could fall in sheets, but Frank would arrive. Snow would be piled deep, but you'd look out your window and say, "yep, here he comes." Sickness, his own family woes, no matter. He managed to navigate life's problems to keep his Flagstaff Dairy in business. He was diligent to a T.

     It's a wonder no one ever asked him to deliver mail too.

     Frank's commitment to doing his best and doing it without complaining remains the legacy for his friends and family. It's something his son Martin often reflects upon as he mourns the loss of his father. Frank "Ferdinando" Zanzucchi died Oct. 9th, two weeks after a heart attack. He was 85.

     Along with Martin, he left behind his wife, Sally, and their 11 children. He was thankful over the years for having had such a large family. Not only did he cherish what children brought into his life, it certainly helped to have extra hands and minds to help operate the business.

     One of Frank's passions was storytelling, and he enjoyed talking about how his own business began.

     It was 1929 when his Italian immigrant parents, Ferdinando and Ermalinda, moved from Jerome to Flagstaff, where they took over a fledgling dairy.

     Frank would say how proud his parents were of running the Flagstaff Dairy. They had worked so hard after arriving from Italy, taking jobs as miners around the country. They were so proud, they named their first Arizona Lake. After their daughter, they had a son, Paul, and finally, Frank. After high school, Arizona moved to California, but Frank and Paul worked the dairy.

     "Like a dog," said Martin Zanzucchi, 53. "He used to laugh about how hard it was because milk cows don't take days off like Thanksgiving and Christmas. He just had to keep working."

     It all made for long days, from the milking to getting the milk pasteurized to driving it to their customers.

     The business was doing well but was jolted during World War II when the sheriff came to the dairy to take Frank's father to an internment camp because he was from Italy. Paul was already serving in the war. Frank would have been taken away, too, Martin said. "But Dad had an exemption because the business was vital to the people of Flagstaff. So he stayed behind and worked with my grandmother. Arizona Lake was working in a California munitions plant."

     Ferdinando came back after about a year, but Frank had never let up the slack.

     "He did the milk route every day," Martin said. "Not only his but when one of the other milk men would have the day off, he did their route."

     It was on one of his regular routes that he caught a glimpse of his future wife.

     "Mother was a rootin', tootin' cowgirl from New Mexico. She got a job in a coffee shop, the Black Cat, on Front Street," Martin said. "Dad was their milkman. Their eyes met one night when dad and his best friend were at a dance."

     After a brief courtship, they married on New Year's Eve 1942.

     Twelve children came along from 1946 to 1966. Frank and Sally weathered the tragedy of losing an infant son, Kenneth, to pneumonia.

     Along the way, another child came to be part of the family. The youngster, Silas Graves, had been living in Sedona when his parents asked the Zanzucchis to take him in to let him get a good education in Flagstaff.

     "He just fit into the family," Martin said. "He was a little chunky. We used to have this heavy cream that we sold, so we nicknamed him 'heavy.' He became just like an older brother to me."

     As the kids grew up, they rode in the milk trucks with their father and came to learn the business. Flagstaff was a quiet place and folks would just leave their back doors unlocked to let the milkman come inside and slip the deliveries into the fridge.

     Martin said the business came to have half a dozen trucks and four employees, besides the family members.

     By the late 1970's, things were changing and the Flagstaff Dairy was having to compete hard with other dairies such as Shamrock, Martin said. And people were starting to cancel home delivery. Frank closed the business in 1980.

     But he was hardly idle. He focused on the restaurant he owned in town. In the early 1970s, Frank bought the Lumberjack Cafe, which had been on his milk route. He changed the name to Granny's Closet (one of his favorite playing places growing up).

     Frank was working at the restaurant when he had a heart attack. He cam e to Phoenix for surgery but his kidneys failed.

     "My dad was just a regular guy," Martin said. "It chokes me up, now. I sure miss him. He really was the town milkman that everybody loved."

     Survivors include his wife, Sally, and children, Frank, Hank, Matt, Martin, Linda (Castillo), John, Tim, Joe, Terry, Jimmy and Vinny; 24 grandchildren; one great grandchild; and many nieces and nephews.