Just as he was getting old enough to preach, the Korean War drug him to the other side of the world. When he got out of the service, he went back to his parents home and across the street noticed this beautiful young girl in quite attractive pastel shorts.
"I asked my mom, 'Who's that girl?'
She said, 'Why, Joe, that's little Mary.'
'Not little Mary with the pig tails?' I told her, remembering her as a little girl.
'Yes, Joe, that's little Mary all grown up.'"
Right then and there Joe decided that little Mary was going to be his wife, but he didn't know how to win her over. Then he went downtown and saw a brand new 1955 Ford Crown Victoria in the showroom of the Ford dealership.
"It cost $2,400. But I had saved all my money when I was in the service, so I counted them out $2,400 and drove home in my prize," he said.
Sure enough little Mary was impressed and the couple married. Mary was an Episcopalian, and that put a bit of a delay on his becoming a Baptist preacher.
Meanwhile, Frigo's dad, a well-respected deputy sheriff, died. The captain came to his house and said, "Joe, if you are half the man your dad was, I want you to be on my department."
Frigo joined the police force, once again delaying his becoming a Baptist preacher.
One of his first responsibilities was being in charge of 500 boys in the school patrol, he said. "You don't have a patrol here," he explained to the youth in attendance. "But they held out flags and helped students cross the streets."
Each year Frigo rewarded the boys with two fun-filled weeks at Camp Landing. "After a full day of activities and as our campfire was growing dim around 9:30 p.m., I would tell the boys, 'Time for bed and don't forget to say your prayers,'" he recalled.
Then the cook - an 81-year-old African-American man named Mr. Sessions - and I would sit around the campfire and talk some more. One night I told him I always wanted to be a Baptist preacher.
He came right back at me, "All of God's preachers are not in the pulpit. You are a preacher to these young boys. You are a role model to them and they respect you."
"Boy, howdy, his response did more for me than a $100-an-hour psychiatrist. It was at that moment I realized maybe I didn't miss my calling. To be a preacher, I didn't have to be in the pulpit. I could be a policeman and still be a preacher, preaching by the way I lived my life," he said.
Frigo has devoted more than 40 years of his life to law enforcement. He served as a homicide detective and spent 25 years as a deputy sheriff. At Western Carolina University, where he spent another 15 years in law enforcement, Frigo was popular for his famous wiggle and dance way of directing traffic.
"My job as a cop could be eliminated... in fact, all cops could be eliminated if we all followed the Ten Commandments," Frigo said.
"Television and movies give policemen a bad name," he told the children, assuming a firing stance and holding out his arms as if to shoot. "It's all BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM! Why, they don't even make guns that shoot as many bullets as you see on the screen."
As for himself, he's never shot anyone, he responded to a young girl's question.
"But I have used my size to intimidate a few suspicious characters." His barrell chest and strong 6-foot, 2-inch frame commands immediate attention. However, he urged the children to not be intimidated by his size and to consider him as someone there to help them.
"Other children might look at me and just see an old cop," he said. "But now you young folks here tonight know better. You know inside this uniform I'm really just a Baptist preacher... and I still like fried chicken."
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Herald photo by Rose Hooper