‘AMERICAN PICKERS’

Frank Fritz, co-host of History Channel’s *American Pickers*, passed away at 58 .

His friend and co-star Mike Wolfe shared the news, remembering their shared adventures.

Fritz left the show in 2020 due to health issues and suffered a stroke in 2022.

His legacy of preserving history and antiques touched millions.

Frank Fritz, a cherished co-host of the History Channel’s hit series American Pickers, has passed away at the age of 58.

The news was shared by his longtime friend and co-star,

Mike Wolfe, who expressed heartfelt sorrow and reflected on the many adventures they shared during their years on the road together.

Fritz, known for his passion for antiques and preservation, left the show in 2020 due to ongoing health challenges.

In 2022, he suffered a debilitating stroke, which further marked a difficult chapter in his life.

Through his work on American Pickers,

Fritz captivated audiences with his deep knowledge  of antiques and his genuine enthusiasm for uncovering hidden treasures.

His contributions to the world of history and collecting have left an indelible mark, inspiring millions to appreciate the value of the past.

Fans, friends, and colleagues remember Frank as a kind soul whose love for preserving history was matched only by his love for connecting with people. He will be deeply missed.

Related Posts

I came home for christmas to a house that felt ice cold. On the counter was a note: “We went on a cruise. You look after grandpa.” I found him weak, shivering in the dark. They had left him completely alone. Then he slowly opened his eyes and whispered, “They don’t know about… Help me make this right.” When they came back…

The cold hit me before the silence did. It wasn’t just the ambient chill of a Wisconsin December; it was a stagnant, heavy freeze that settled into…

On the luxury yacht, my sister was shoved off the deck “as a joke.” A man laughed and shouted, “John, you did it! I owe you fifty bucks!” The entire in-law family howled as if it were entertainment, while my sister thrashed in the dark waves, screaming for help. John tossed a single life ring down, smirking. The moment I pulled her back on deck, I made one call: “Come. Now.” Let them laugh—let’s see if any of them make it back to shore.

The yacht, The Neptune’s Crown, felt less like a vessel and more like a floating stage for the worst impulses of the obscenely wealthy. It wasn’t just…

At our wedding, my husband raised his glass and said, “This dance is for the woman I’ve secretly loved for ten years.” Then he walked past me… and stopped in front of my sister. Everyone applauded—until I asked my father one question. That’s when my husband froze, and my sister collapsed.

“This dance is for the one I’ve secretly loved all these ten years,” my husband announced at our wedding reception. He walked right past me, a phantom…

My family swore I was a Navy dropout. I stood silent at my brother’s SEAL ceremony…Then his general locked eyes with me and said, “Colonel, you’re here?” The crowd froze.My father’s jaw hit the floor.

My family swore I was a Navy dropout. They wore my “failure” like a dull, persistent ache, a blemish on an otherwise pristine record of military excellence….

“This event is for the elite. You don’t belong here,” the wealthy son said coldly, pushing his mother away as snow gathered at her feet. She showed no tears—only passed him a grimy envelope. “A Christmas gift,” she murmured. “From the woman who used to own this place.” He scoffed… until he read the paper inside. That was the moment the guards stepped forward.

The orchestra played a soft, liquid waltz, but the air in the grand foyer of the Van Der Hoven Estate was thick with something far sharper than music. It…

“Stop the ceremony! I won’t let my son raise a child that isn’t his!” the mother-in-law screamed, pointing at the bride’s growing belly. The bride steadied herself, wiped away a tear, and calmly took the microphone. “You’re right—DNA doesn’t lie,” she said softly. “That’s why this official report shows you took a newborn from a hospital twenty years ago… and raised him as your own.” Sirens echoed outside. The groom turned pale and whispered, “Then… who are you to me?” as the chapel doors swung open.

The dressing room smelled of lilies—Margaret’s favorite flower, not mine. The scent was cloying, thick and heavy like funeral air, suffocating the delicate notes of the lavender perfume…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *