06/26/2026
Our friend Fred Natkevi was a member of the Oak Park Writers Group. He showed up about 10 years ago with stories of growing up in Lithuania during WWII. We encouraged him to write them down and eventually they showed up in his autobiographical book which can be found at the Oak Park library. He was one of the good ones.
Our friend Val Gee wrote this about him.
My dear friend Fred Natkevi passed away this week at the age of 92.
Every Monday morning, I would go to his house for what he jokingly called “Mondays with Fred.” Fred wrote two books, My Turbulent Childhood and A Time Capsule, telling the remarkable story of fleeing Stalin’s regime in Lithuania at the age of seven, only to later escape Hi**er as well. His life was extraordinary.
To me, Fred was a father figure. He was brilliant, kind, wise, and someone I could tell absolutely anything. His home reflected the engineer and master DIY craftsman that he was. Everywhere you looked there was evidence of his ingenuity.
His talents seemed endless. He was an accomplished Argentine tango dancer, photographer, marksman, writer, financial expert, and problem-solver. Whether he was designing a clever pulley system for a backyard bird feeder or tackling life’s bigger challenges, Fred had an uncanny ability to figure things out.
But more than all of his accomplishments, I will remember the simple moments. I’d push open his “always unlocked” front door and call out, “Fred, it’s me!”
From somewhere in the house I’d hear, “Coming!” He would bustle to the door with a smile, happy to see me every single time. We’d hug, and he’d say, “Come in, come in. Take off your coat and stay a while.”
I would settle onto the sofa, he into his favorite chair, and we’d spend the next couple of hours talking about everything and nothing. If I ever had to leave early, he’d look at me and ask, “Going already?”
As I left, I’d hug him, take his face in my hands, smile into his twinkling eyes and say, “I love you, Fred.”
He never said the words back, but I never doubted that he loved me too. I miss you already, my dear Fred. People like you are a rare gift to this world, and I feel incredibly fortunate that for a time, I got to spend my Mondays with you. Peace my friend.
