Canzano: Putting a face on the stadium crowd

A byproduct of this endeavor I never saw coming.

Autzen Stadium on game day last football season. (Photo: Serena Morones)

I received an email this week from a woman who asked me if I wouldn’t mind unsubscribing her husband.

“He died,” she wrote.

Colon cancer, it turns out.

I never spoke with Jack Kirkpatrick. We never shook hands or saw each other at a coffee shop, the gym, or in line at the grocery store. I wish we had because I suspect we’d have had plenty to talk about.

Jack graduated from the University of Oregon in 1974. After college, he ran a restaurant in Central Oregon, then got in the golf business and managed country clubs in four states. Jack and his wife had two daughters together, Jackie and Courtney. Then came a pair of grandchildren.

“He was the biggest Duck fan imaginable,” his wife, Suzanne, said.

Jack was an early adopter of this publication. Maybe you were, too. He followed me from the newspaper world to this pirate ship in March of 2022. I’ll never forget the first column I filed from a hotel suite above the Las Vegas strip or the glassy eyes I got when I saw readers sign up for more.

Jack subscribed on Day 1.

My words were delivered to his email in-box each morning. Jack was an avid reader. I know. I looked up Jack’s account activity on Monday. He opened every one of my columns — 447 straight. And on six occasions he posted in the comment section.

I wrote a column in April 2022 about Jackie Robinson and the bed-time stories my father used to tell me. Jack read it and offered in the comment section: “A delightful and insightful story John and so well written. You have a gift that this delightful venture allows to come out and thus I hope it goes very well for you.”

A few of other times, he debated readers about how the Pac-12 got itself into the current predicament it finds itself in. He assigned 70 percent of the blame to former conference commissioner Larry Scott and the other 30 percent to Scott’s bosses, who Jack wrote: “…failed to see Scott for the grifter he is.”

He wasn’t wrong.

On January 25 of this year, Jack read my work for the final time. Three weeks later — Feb. 17 — he was gone. The last column Jack read was about our least favorite ex-Pac-12 commissioner. The subhead: “I’d sure like to talk with Larry Scott… one last time.”

Wrong.

I’d much rather talk with Jack.

I’d want to hear from him about being born in Coos Bay and growing up in Redmond and Prineville. After high school, Jack served four years in the Coast Guard. I’ll bet he had great memories. Jack loved to travel, entertain, drink wine, tell stories and cook.

“Charismatic,” his obituary said.

“Exuberant,” it added.

In 2010, Jack retired. He and Suzanne moved to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. It must have felt like an adventure. And I’d want to know about the frequent trips he made back to Autzen Stadium whenever there was a big UO football game.

Jack always wore green, I’m told.

Maybe I walked past him at the tailgate in the gravel parking lot. Or maybe, just before kickoff, I looked around the stadium from the press box and saw him down below. I wonder sometimes who all those fans are and what their stories include.

I’m going to stop right here and share something I’ve been thinking about lately. I love my job. I enjoy reporting, writing, sharing what I know and telling good stories. But there’s a wonderful byproduct of this independent endeavor that I never saw coming — the direct connection I now have with you.

Do you feel it?

I do.

Particularly on a day like today.

The barrier between us has been removed. We’re in close contact now. Our talks are more conversational — columnist to reader — and I’m enjoying the job more than ever. I hope Jack felt it, too.

My heart dropped when I saw Suzanne’s note. Jack died. He fought his cancer for three years. I’m told he went peacefully, surrounded by his family. But I can’t imagine the last several months have been easy for them. I never got a chance to thank Jack Kirkpatrick for supporting my work.

That’s what this relationship is now — you and me.

I don’t take it for granted.

So thank you.

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