He was born beneath a roof built by the hardships of life, to an Italian father who sold fruit in America, and who taught him how to become a sweet fruit in American society. Francesco, the beloved American judge, once smiled at the end of a medical treatment journey and said: “Happy days are coming again.” Yet illness gave him only a few days, before he departed to eternal happiness in the Kingdom of Heaven. Who does not know a judge famed for his noble rulings and noble heart? Whose Christian and humanitarian stances resounded—always siding with the weak, the poor, and the oppressed. He was a gentle judge, sympathetic to the sorrows poured out by those who stood accused. He entered people’s hearts through the widest of doors and dwelt there. He was a man with a vast soul, too expansive to be confined by the smallness of others. With the towel of law and mercy, he wiped the sweat of the brow of defendants who stood before his bench seeking pardon. He became a living example of Christ’s compassion. His scales weighed justice and love with the softness of a breeze. His verdicts carried tears, hope, and tender words like flowers: “The violation is forgiven… I know you did not mean it… please do not repeat it… go in peace, and may the Lord bless you.” Truly, he judged the accused in the court of love, speaking in a soft, fatherly voice—gentle as the tolling of church bells. In his videos, he often held the gavel not from its head but from the middle, as if to show neutrality. He once listened with compassion to a ninety-year-old father who wept as he explained that his traffic violation occurred while driving his sixty-year-old son to the hospital for a serious illness. Thus, mercy became the first and last command of his presence. In his courtroom, he served not only arguments but also humor and lightheartedness, until the worries of the accused melted away. Principles delighted him, but harshness in judgment did not. He was among those who lit up the darkness of life with humanity, stirring in us longing for solidarity, mercy, and love. He carried a lantern of light, fueled by the suns of kindness, planting merciful judgments in the garden of this world. The American bench is orphaned without you, Frank. You were its jewel, its fragrant rose of justice. On the day you departed, America’s sun dimmed, its courts lost their laughter. Strange is death, that it could persuade you to leave life forever! Why, dear Caprio, did you this time agree with illness to part from this world? The birds of America’s dawn wept, and none of your admirers understood why—until the sun itself told us: it followed after a merciful judge whose soul had soared to heaven. You left like a flash of light, draping the hearts of your beloved in black. Who, then, can dry their tears but prayers, candles of love, words of eulogy, and gavels of mercy echoing: “I do not want this world without you, Franco.” Rest in peace, O father of Marcia. May eternal mercy and peace be upon your pure soul. You were not only a judge, but a lawyer of noble character, pure-hearted, generous in smiles, human in solidarity, and defender of the oppressed—your mercy unmatched. You loved your profession and the people, and they returned your love even greater. In conclusion, I say: “Franco will remain a beacon of shining humanity. Like a lighthouse guiding ships through the seas of existence, no matter their shape, race, nation, or religion.” To the merciful judge I say: may all mercies be upon you, may God gladden you with eternal joy, and may your prayers remain with us. Amen.
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