Canzano: Lucy was never 'just' a face in the crowd
Lucy Reed (Rogers) was 96.
CORVALLIS — Lucy Reed grew up dirt poor. As a kid, she lived on a farm at the end of Rosemont Road in West Linn. Her family had chickens and sold eggs to survive the Great Depression. It’s probably not a surprise that she woke on one of the final mornings of her life, slipped into the kitchen before everyone woke, and cooked eggs for her four visiting children.
She was 96.
Lucy died on Monday in a small bed that was wheeled into the living room of her three-bedroom home in Corvallis by hospice workers. She was surrounded by her family. I spoke to her a couple of times in the last two weeks.
How do we capture a life well-lived? What would you want people to know? What matters? What would you lead with?
I met an astronaut once when I was a kid. I shook Jim Irwin’s hand at a speaking event and got an autograph. He was part of the Apollo 15 mission and walked on the moon. When Irwin died, the national news stories led with that moon walk.
That one was simple, right?
Lucy Reed’s legacy is far more nuanced and layered. She had three daughters, one son, was a huge sports fan, an avid reader, a school teacher, and a 70-year Oregon State football season ticket holder. Her seat last football season was on the newly constructed west side of Reser Stadium, club level, 30-yard line, front row.
“That new side sure is pretty fancy,” she told me.
Lucy got hooked on sports as a college freshman in Corvallis. She loved watching football, baseball, and basketball. She always rooted for the Beavers. Jimmy Anderson, the late OSU basketball coach, and his wife, Fifi, lived in the house next door.
“That was so much fun,” Lucy told me. “He and Fifi always had something going. There were always people over, and she always had food ready.”
Lucy spent Monday surrounded by her children, laughing, and catching up. Then, she retreated to bed and closed her eyes for the final time in the late afternoon. Andy Krakauer, one of the many who grew up referring to Lucy as his “second mom,” gave me the news via text.
“We spent four hours telling stories and reminiscing, then she kicked us out,” Andy wrote, “I headed home, and her son texted me a couple of hours later that she had passed.”
I nodded and checked my notes.
A day earlier, I’d asked Lucy what it felt like to be in her 90s.
“Old,” she shot back.
What would she tell people who wanted to live that long?
“Forget it,” she joked.
I asked her why she’d given up being a full-time teacher to become a long-time substitute. She’d dropped in and out of other people’s classrooms for years, serving as the surrogate instructor.
“I needed to be home for my children, and a substitute didn’t have to go to meetings,” Lucy said. “It was the perfect job for me. I loved having the kids around the house. They’d play in the backyard. It was a good place to grow up.”
Lucy buried two husbands and too many friends to count in recent years. In recent years, her ability to get around has been inhibited.
“I’ve always been able to do anything I wanted to do. But now, it’s slowing down so fast. It’s too hard to do things. I just can’t do things anymore,” she said. “I used to be able to get up and get something done. Now, it’s a whole different ballgame to sit there and let somebody else do all the work.”
Lucy watched Oregon State’s “Giant Killers” beat No. 1-ranked USC in football in 1967. She also saw Kansas State’s Rolando Blackman hit a last-second shot to knock the Beavers out of the men’s NCAA Tournament in 1981.
“I saw so much, and had so much fun,” she said.
She and her children were there for the 41-9 Fiesta Bowl win over Notre Dame in football in 2001. She rooted during the Final Four run for Scott Rueck’s women’s basketball team. And she was there for Pat Casey’s national championships in baseball.
Oh, and Lucy also water skied at the age of 75.
“That feels like so long ago,” she told me.
Lucy attended her final sporting event, an Oregon State baseball game against San Diego, earlier this season. It was a Friday night game on a cool evening in March. The Beavers won 11-3. Krakauer was there that night. He drove Lucy to the game, sat with her, and told me she refused to leave early.
“I knew it was my last game,” Lucy told me.
Krakauer is an interesting figure in this story. He had good parents and a normal childhood. He befriended Jim, Lucy’s son, in the sixth grade. They played basketball together. Then, he got invited on family trips to Lake Shasta every summer.
“Lucy taught a million people, including me, how to water ski,” Andy said. “I’ll miss her so much. So many of us will.”
One of the best parts of my job is the connection I get to have with readers and sports fans. I’ve talked frequently with college coaches and administrators about how much they enjoy seeing familiar faces in the crowds at games. Those stakeholders are in it with the school. I told Lucy in our final conversation that I’d seen her around Oregon State sporting events.
“You know,” she told me, “you’ve written some things that have made me so mad.”
We had a laugh about that.
One of my favorite all-time writers is Henry David Thoreau. He left civilization to seek solace in the woods. The view provided a better vantage point on life. He wrote about living deep and sucking the marrow of life.
Lucille Reed did exactly that. She lived a wonderful, rich life. I’m certain I’ve failed to do it justice here. It strikes me now that her vantage point was just as intentional as Thoreau’s. Instead of the wilderness, she went to the nearest stadium and got a seat. She was never ‘just’ a face in the crowd.
“You know,” she told me, “I loved every minute of life.”
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Another home run.
You have eloquently honored Lucy's life, which is a difficult thing to do for anyone. You continue to do this for all the people you bring to us, alive and passed. It's a gift to us that we appreciate and value. Thanks, John, for doing this for them and for us.