Ann Lulloff
David Lunceford
David’s obituary from the Tyler Morning Telegraph
David Glenn Lunceford, born May 6, 1934, in Canton, Texas, passed away Saturday, May 23, 2009, at the age of 75 in Tyler, Texas, from complications associated with Alzheimers. Survived by wife of 54 years, Nancy Duckett Lunceford, Tyler, Texas; daughter and son-in-law, Lindy and Nathan Ingram, Magnolia, Texas; daughter, Laurie Hartwig, Tyler, Texas; son and daughter-in-law, Lee and Carrie Lunceford, Little Rock, Ark.; sister-in-law, Dr. Jane Duckett, Dallas, Texas.; grandchildren, Tyler and Amber Hartwig, Morgan, Trent and Molly Hartwig, Logan and Cindi Ingram, Caleb and Carter Ingram, Lauren, Olivia and McKenna Lunceford; grandson Carson Brown; great-granddaughter Carley Ingram; great-grandson, Kyle David Hartwig.
Mr. Lunceford graduated from Van High School in Van, Texas, in 1952, where he was an outstanding athlete, lettering in football, basketball and track. Legendary coach Floyd Wagstaff offered him a scholarship to Tyler Junior College in Tyler, Texas. At TJC he was selected as a Junior College All American in football, was captain of the football team and president of the student body. He was highly recruited after graduating from TJC and chose Baylor University to continue his football career. At Baylor he was the starting tackle, playing offense and defense. The team played in the Gator Bowl 1954 and the Sugar Bowl in 1957. He graduated from Baylor in 1957 with a BBA degree. He was drafted for professional football by the Chicago Cardinals, and he was one of two rookies who made the team in 1957. He won a starting position at offensive guard. He played two years for the Cardinals before injuries ended his football career.
He went to work for Humble Oil and Refining Company in 1958. He enjoyed a career with Humble that took him to various jobs in Texas, Colorado, New Mexico and Louisiana. He retired after 34 years of service from Exxon Corporation in 1992 as the General Manager for Inland Fleet Operations of Exxon Shipping Company. He served in many areas of business related organizations and was a Director Emeritus of the American Waterway Operators. He served on the Mississippi Waterway Safety Advisory Committee and received a Meritorious Public Service Award from the United States Coast Guard. After retirement from Exxon, he served as a management consultant to the maritime shipping industry for many years.
Mr. Lunceford was elected to the Board of Trustees of Tyler Junior College and was elected to the Board of Directors of Heritage Land Bank in Tyler, Texas. He served 12 years as a Trustee at TJC and was Chairman of the Board and on several other committees. He also was elected Chairman of the Board of the Heritage Land Bank.
Mr. Lunceford was selected as the Outstanding Alumnus at TJC in 1985. In 1995 he was inducted into the TJC Sports Circle of Honor. He was ex-chairman of the Floyd and Nell Wagstaff Endowed Athletic Scholarship. He and his wife established several endowed scholarships at TJC and Harding University in Searcy, Arkansas. In 2006 an endowed Legacy Scholarship honoring Mr. Lunceford was established at Tyler Junior College. He was selected as the Distinguished Alumnus of Van High School in 2006.
He was a member of the Jamestown Church of Christ in Jamestown, Texas, and was an elder of the church. More recently he was a member of the Broadway Church of Christ in Tyler, Texas.
Eric Lundberg
Warning: This story contains mentions of suicide and may be triggering to some readers.
Eric was a truly caring, sensitive soul, with the very best sense of humor. He was charismatic, handsome, and fit, with a great smile. Most who knew him personally were in awe of his athleticism, which was only rivaled by his determination and competitive spirit. He was a naturally gifted athlete from the time he could walk and picked up any sport with enviable ease. After his professional hockey career, he would often joke about joining the PGA Tour, if he could only spend every day out on the golf course. For so long, sports were his life, and he had a love for them like no other. Playing them, watching them, understanding them. Even the earliest baby pictures show one-year-old Eric with either some sort of ball or a hockey stick.
Looking back at old photos, it’s hard to find many without Eric, an adorable little towhead, in a Whalers or Bruins jersey, or Red Sox hat and coat. Eric’s later success in sports came from more than just natural talent though. He was dedicated and willing to sacrifice more than most could have, or would have been willing to, at such a young age. He truly loved the game of hockey, and it was a huge part of his life from the time he was two years old.
He attended Providence College on a full athletic scholarship, where he met his soon-to-be-wife, Caitlyn. He was drafted in the third-round of the NHL draft at the ripe age of 19. The world was truly his oyster. After graduating PC, he went on to play professionally in the minor leagues for four seasons. By the end of his hockey career, Eric was ready to move onto the next chapter. He and his wife welcomed two of the most beautiful babies into the world. They were Eric’s biggest joy in life and what I think he was most proud of. His love for his children was apparent to all, and Eric couldn’t wait to teach Zoey and Ty how to play the sports which had brought him so much joy. We all thought he would transition from world-class athlete to world-class coach, even if only to his kids.
From the outside, life looked perfect – beautiful wife, two amazing children, a picturesque home, good job, and a rascal of a dog that was Eric’s best bud. However, unbeknownst to most, Eric was secretly struggling. What first manifested as depression and severe anxiety turned to issues with anger, impulsivity, drastic mood swings, drugs, and alcohol. The issues became less of a secret as, what we now know to be the effect of a lifetime of concussions, had more serious consequences. It happened somewhat slowly at first, with some debate as to how serious his issue with alcohol abuse was, or whether the depression could be more appropriately medicated, but seemed to accelerate over the last few years.
Eric tried to cope in whatever ways he could, but what seemed manageable at first spiraled out of control and eventually took over his life, and consequently our family’s lives. Before our own eyes, we witnessed Eric’s kind soul be taken over by demons that seemed determined to destroy everything in his path. We all lived in fear of the next proverbial shoe to drop, leaving us to help clean up the pieces of another mess.
Between the ups and downs of rehab, hospital visits, doctor appointments, accidents, jail stays and ICU admissions, there were glimpses of the man we once knew – the man we were all so desperate to get back. The most heartbreaking moments were when Eric himself seemed to realize something was drastically wrong but was powerless to change it. Those who loved him most were unrelenting in their attempts to help him, but the progressing disease was equally determined to push people away. Watching Eric turn into a person who was unrecognizable left our family shattered and completely helpless, literally on our knees praying for a miracle. Eric didn’t want to be the person he had become, we know that, just as we know he was scared and suffering more deeply than we could have imagined.
After years of struggle, Eric left the world on his own terms by taking his life at just 38 years old. The pain of losing him has been extremely difficult; it has left our family shattered. While Eric physically left this Earth on April 26, 2021, those who really knew and loved him had been grieving him for much longer. In an effort to understand our own experience, and possibly help others, we chose to donate Eric’s brain to the UNITE Brain Bank. The results confirmed what we all suspected: Eric was suffering from stage 1 CTE.
There was nothing anyone could have done to make things better for him, which was the hardest part. Our Eric, who had once filled so many lives with joy and happiness, could no longer face the every day struggle stemming from this irreversible disease. He fought a long battle, every minute of every day. Eric loved his family more than life itself, and while his struggles pulled him away from them, that love will live on eternally. The irony of the fact that the sport which brought him immeasurable joy, also resulted in this level of pain does not escape us. We only hope he has now found the peace he was so desperately seeking, and that his donation will help to find treatment for others suffering from this disease.
Paul Lyman
Paul was born in Boston on December 12, 1932. He was raised and educated in the Charlestown neighborhood and graduated from nearby Malden Catholic High School. Paul was very proud of his Charlestown roots and was a true “townie” who maintained life-long friendships from his early years. There, he also met his best friend and true love, Ruthie Dole. They would remain married for 67 years until her passing shortly before his. This is their story, really…
In 1961 Paul and Ruthie moved “up country” to the town of Wilmington, MA as their new family was beginning to grow, and grow it did! Over their years in Wilmington, they raised a beautiful family of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren and were extremely close to their neighbors. Their home was the center of life for family and friends alike, where all were welcomed to just drop by or join them for their famous annual Christmas Eve bash. The “Silent Night” procession, the birthday cake, the prayers, and the laughter are never to be forgotten.
Paul was a Veteran who enlisted in the U.S. Navy during the Korean War, entering into service on October 23, 1952. He was sent to the Hospital Corp School and was stationed at the U.S. Naval Hospital in Chelsea, MA. Paul proudly served his country and received the Good Conduct Medal; honorably discharged to the United States Naval Reserves where he served until October of 1960.
Prior to his military service, Paul worked as a pharmacist apprentice for the Bunker Hill Drug Company in Charlestown. After returning from the Navy, Paul used his GI Bill to further his education and earned a degree from the New England College of Pharmacy (which later became part of Northeastern University). He went on to have a long and rewarding career in pharmacy that he approached with hard work, integrity and compassion at all times.
In 1967, Paul and Ruth opened their first drug store, The Village Apothecary in Billerica, MA. A legacy was born. The Village Apothecary was a “true, old fashioned family business,” run with a huge family atmosphere and everyone was involved. For both family and friends alike, if you needed a job, Paul was quick to put you to work. He worked hard and was always professional. He also had a heart of gold and would go over and above for his customers. Paul was known to show up at a customer’s home to deliver in all kinds of weather, run an account “on the cuff” if needed, and do whatever he could to help them through a rough patch with kindness and trust. He knew most of his customers on a first name basis and they referred to him as “Doc.” Paul made everyone feel as though they were the most important person in the store. In the mid-1980’s, Paul and Ruth decided to expand their venture when their son, Chris, joined his father’s profession. They opened The Village Apothecary II in their beloved hometown of Wilmington and the legacy grew. Paul eventually retired from the stores after more than 30 successful years and went on to work at the Veteran’s Hospital in Bedford, MA.
At the VA, Paul had a soft spot in his heart for the veterans returning from active duty with injuries ranging from physical disabilities to PTSD. He worked diligently with the doctors, making rounds with them daily to help develop plans that would suit their patients’ needs. Paul would also serve as preceptor to many pharmacy students just getting started in the profession – a role that he loved. In allowing students to shadow him in his work, he enjoyed sharing his professional knowledge and thrived on hearing their perspectives in life. Through his openness and lively personality, he impacted new generations of pharmacists as they would also learn by example to understand his style of compassionate care. Not surprisingly, he received the “Preceptor of the Year” award on multiple occasions. Paul also advanced his profession through his active membership in the Massachusetts Pharmacists Association and the Boston Druggists Association.
Through the years, Paul and Ruth kept in close contact with their childhood friends, made new ones, raised their family, vacationed, and spent happy times together. Paul contributed to his community and to future generations in ways that cannot be fully stated – both in the character he passed down to his own family and that which he shared with colleagues, acquaintances and strangers alike. In this spirit, he joins with others who contribute to a legacy of research and discovery that might bring hope to countless families in the future.
Francis Lynch
Jim Lynch
Rob Lytle
Adding 11 + 20 + 10 gives you 41. My husband, Rob Lytle, wore number 41 on the football field for the Fremont Ross Little Giants, Michigan Wolverines, and Denver Broncos. He wore it in the Rose Bowl and the Super Bowl. Rob died on November 20, 2010. How heartbreaking that he would die on this day.
The events of that day weigh on my heart. Our daughter, Erin, and I were shopping in Columbus. I had left Fremont—the small Ohio town where Rob and I lived—in the morning before Rob was awake. Never a morning person, lately rising from bed and starting a new day had become almost more than he could bear. While leaving town, though, I realized I had forgotten something. At home, I caught Rob freshly awake and struggling to walk down the stairs. As he descended the stairs, I watched his knees refuse to bend. He leaned against the railing, which strained and wobbled loose from the wall, failing against the weight of supporting my suffering husband. Rob grimaced. His many years of football had devastated his body. My heart winced.
Knee operations in the teens had led to an artificial left knee and multiple shoulder surgeries had led to an artificial right shoulder. Rob had mangled fingers that pointed in all different directions. He suffered from vertigo, incessant migraines, and eighteen months earlier had survived a stroke. In recent months, his mood had soured and his spirit seemed beaten. He was distant and depressed—forgetful and lost in our conversations—a cloudy shade of the man I had loved for forty years.
Standing together in the kitchen, Rob prepared to devour a breakfast quiche of eggs, cheese, and sausage. I fussed with a Christmas setting on the table. Just the night before we had carried eight loads of Christmas decorations down three flights of stairs while carols sang on the radio in the background. I kissed Rob goodbye before his first bite, not realizing that this would be my last contact with him.
Every moment in life is precious.
While shopping, Erin and I got the call that Rob had had a heart attack. Life flashed before me. I saw our first kiss and first dance, our last fight and last hug. Was Rob alive? The doctors wouldn’t share anything over the phone. I prayed, wept, and hoped as Erin drove us two hours north from Columbus to Fremont.
Once at the hospital, Erin and I were joined by Kelly (Rob and I’s son). A young doctor ushered us into a conference room. I will never forget the sight of my children falling to the floor in anguish as we heard the news. Our Rob—my Rob—had died. They had just lost their hero, and I had just lost my husband.
The next day, the Concussion Legacy Foundation, then the Sports Legacy Institute, called and asked if we would donate Rob’s brain for their research on head trauma. I had never heard of them or the cause before the call. Rob played in an era when a concussion meant only that you had had your bell rung and where the first fix for an injury was to rub some dirt on it while the second was a series of painkilling injections.
Still, Rob had mentioned many times in conversation that he suffered at least twenty-four concussions that he remembered during his career. One stood out, and I can remember us laughing about it. In 1978, during the AFC Championship game versus the Oakland Raiders, Rob had smashed into Jack Tatum near the end zone and fumbled. Except the referees disagreed and ruled that Rob was down before he lost the ball. Oakland coach John Madden fumed it was a fumble and sprinted along the sidelines screaming at officials. Denver scored a touchdown on the next play, won the AFC title, and played in Super Bowl XII.
In our talks, Rob had told me he didn’t know what happened on the play because he had been “out cold.” He also admitted that he remembered little of the AFC Championship because of the concussion he suffered versus Pittsburgh one week earlier. “I had to play, Tracy,” I can remember Rob saying.
Never did I think that all these concussions could have caused Rob’s changing personality. Rob and I recognized how football had abused him physically and emotionally. What we never realized was the mental destruction the game caused. After the Foundation studied his brain, doctors diagnosed Rob with moderate-to-severe CTE. They told us it was a “miracle” that Rob held a job and functioned in society given the advanced state of his brain’s decay. They were shocked he had been able to mask his suffering. Rob’s somber mood, mental fumbles, issues remembering dates, and recent withdrawn personality came into sharper focus. Before this moment, we had not realized the connection between these problems and football.
Rob’s years of repetitive, violent collisions on the football field had caused CTE. And CTE had caused the change in my best friend of forty years.
Rob was a Fremont Ross Little Giant both on the track and football field where he dreamed as a little boy of becoming a professional football player. We had known each other since 7th grade, but it was while running track our junior year of high school that our lives intertwined. I was captain of the girls’ team, and Rob was the star for the men. During practice one afternoon, the girls were short a starting block and needed to borrow one from Rob. Easy enough. Except everyone was afraid to approach him. He was the star, the fastest on the team, and his sometimes-brash mouth plus the “don’t mess with me” scowl he wore when competing intimidated most.
Not me. When I asked if we could use his starting block, a smile spread on his face and his eyes softened. “Of course,” he replied, and our friendship began.
We dated through high school, spending nearly all our time together. Rob gained over 2,500 rushing yards for Fremont, and in 1972 the Ohio United Press International and Associated Press voted him all state. Coaches from colleges across the country sought Rob’s services. They even knew to call my parents’ house when they needed to find him.
I remember winter nights when the two of us would be outside laughing while digging tunnels or building forts in the snow outside my house. The phone would ring inside as recruiters called to make their pitches, and my mom would holler at us from the window. “Tell them to call back,” Rob would say and laugh. I suppose I could have known then that for him family would always come first.
Rob narrowed his college choice to Ohio State and Michigan—Woody Hayes and Bo Schembechler. Woody would visit Fremont and sit with Rob for hours talking Civil War history and military strategy, favorite subjects for each. He told Rob that he could play as a freshman. Bo said simply: “You’ll never be as great as you are right now. We have six halfbacks already at Michigan. If you come here, you’ll be number seven. Anything that happens after that is up to you.” Instantly, a father-son relationship developed between Rob and Bo.
Rob and I attended Michigan together. When I moved in, several older girls laughed when I told them that my boyfriend played football. “Won’t be your boyfriend for long,” they scoffed. “Good luck,” they mocked. I guess we proved them wrong.
While at Michigan, Rob was a member of three Big Ten championship teams. He ran for 3,317 yards and scored 26 touchdowns. Rob currently ranks 8th in rushing yards in school history and 11th in all-purpose yards with 3,615 on 579 touches. As a senior in 1976, Rob ran for 1,469 yards, was named first team All-American, and the Big Ten’s Most Valuable Player. He finished third in that season’s Heisman Trophy balloting behind Pittsburgh’s Tony Dorsett and Southern California’s Ricky Bell. In 2015, the National Football Foundation inducted Rob into the College Football Hall of Fame.
Before his senior, All-American season, Bo asked Rob if he would play both fullback and tailback—requiring him to sacrifice carries, yards, and a shot at the Heisman Trophy—so they could maximize their talent on the field. Rob made the switch willingly. Michigan led the nation in total offense and won the Big 10 championship that season. Bo always preached, “The team, the team, the team.” Later, Bo would state many times that he felt Rob was the best teammate and toughest player he ever coached—perhaps the greatest praise Rob received for playing football.
Humility, self-sacrifice, and putting teammates above himself mattered to Rob. He loved football and lived to play the game.
We married on June 3, 1977, in Fremont. Since Rob was drafted in the second round by the Denver Broncos, we moved to Denver to begin our lives. Rob was fortunate to spend all 7 years of his professional career with Denver. As a rookie, he scored a touchdown in Super Bowl XII. Even though Denver lost to Dallas, it was an exciting moment in our lives.
While a Bronco, Rob worked at Cotrell’s Clothing Store in the offseason and involved himself in many charities. He served as honorary chairperson for the Listen Foundation, worked with the United Way, and helped with the Special Olympics. He was a fixture at fundraisers during those years.
Injuries filled Rob’s professional career, and it seemed we lived in operating rooms and hospitals. He always worked to overcome them, though, and return to the game he loved. Still, the body—and mind—can only bounce back so many times before it screams no more. In 1984, Rob’s final knee operation was more than his body could conquer. While playing for Denver, Rob scored 14 career touchdowns and ran for 1,451 yards to go along with 562 receiving yards. He reached the pinnacle of his profession, but left regretting that injuries kept him from ever playing to the level that he knew he could reach.
We returned to Fremont in 1984, where Rob worked in his family’s 5th generation men’s clothing store. Retirement was difficult for Rob. Though his heart longed to continue playing, his body could no longer take the physical toll of football. On many nights in the first years after leaving football, we would retreat to the couch after Erin and Kelly had fallen asleep and Rob would sob as I held him. He missed football, but even more he missed the purpose and direction the sport gave him. He believed that he had failed, despite playing seven seasons in the NFL, because he never achieved the impossible goals he had for himself. Over time, we put the pieces together, but Rob’s longing for the game never faded.
Rob closed his family’s store in 1989, and then worked for Bowlus Trucking and Turner Construction. Rob later became involved in the banking business and was vice president and business development officer for a regional bank in Northwest Ohio when he died.
During these years, Rob was a wonderful father and friend. We spent every Sunday with Erin, Kelly, and friends in some pick-up game of softball or football. The lasting memory of Rob for so many people is seeing him with a big smile on his face, surrounded by laughter, and immersed fully in a game or activity with his kids.
Once again, Rob became involved in the community. He was a Rotary president, YMCA board member, and assistant football coach. He served on the board of his favorite organization, the Sandusky County Board of Developmental Disabilities, and they even named their new facility after him because of all the support he gave.
Rob was blessed with a kind and genuine spirit. He invested himself in helping others, and lived his life filled with passion. Rob always wanted to make a difference in people’s lives while striving to include them and put a smile on their faces, which he could almost always do thanks to his sense of humor. Rob believed that every person was important and had a story to tell. He taught our children to be kind, considerate, compassionate, and to care for others. Rob filled our children’s hearts and minds with pleasant memories of meaningful times spent together.
We remember Rob as a loving father who shared the fun and pain of raising a family. Rob always listened, loved, and helped. More than anything else, he loved his family.
Rob wasn’t perfect, but he tried with everything he had.
George Macinko
Charles Mackey
My heart stopped one day in 2006. Charlie did not remember how to get home.
We were on vacation in Mexico where we had rented a condo for several weeks. The condo was situated eight to ten blocks uphill from the little downtown area. To walk to town the route, was one street down and another street up. We had walked it many times.
I felt like I had suddenly taken a punch to the stomach. Then disbelief and denial, until two weeks later it happened again and he was truly lost. A month after we returned home he suffered a small stroke. An MRI confirmed the worst—there were considerable abnormalities in Charlie’s brain. Our doctor in Moab, Utah referred us to Dr. Norman Foster, the Director of the Alzheimer’s Research Center at the University of Utah.
And so began the eight year journey of our “long good-bye.”
In real life, the bulk of Charlie’s career was working in the professional football world as a talent scout, an enviable job he sincerely loved. He traveled constantly from one college campus to another, one practice to another, in and out of rental cars, hotels, and airplanes; seeing “every inch of the USA,” as he used to say. Charlie and I were married in the middle years of his career. It was wonderful to travel with him as he scouted football practices, timed players, while seeing college games all over the country. We watched bowl games and playoff games, and spent one month every April in Chicago for the draft meetings. Twice we were in Hawaii for the Hula Bowl, once traveling with the Chicago Bears to Berlin for an exhibition game between the Bears and the 49ers. Even though his heart and his head were football, he had no trouble switching gears to pursue other interests-reading, poetry and music, just to name a few.
Charlie read constantly. During his early life, he read all the classics, later becoming a serious student of Spanish Colonial history. He read books on everything “New Mexico” (I think we drove on every back road in the state) and often memorized his favorite poems (I did a double take one day when I saw that he was reading the poems of Pablo Neruda, in Spanish). His devotion to his Catholic faith grew as he read book after book on theology, the saints, and the encyclicals of the various popes. He ordered so many books on religion from our local library, the librarian asked him if he was a priest!
He usually listened to classical music, with one exception—Mexican Rancheros—and together we discovered a love for operas. This was Charlie, always surprising me with his myriads of interests. He could do anything with his hands from creating lovely carvings to working with silver jewelry. He even tried painting. He was a meticulous craftsman, a popular handyman, in plumbing, electrical, laying tile, woodworking, or whatever was needed. Our landscaping was cut, mowed, trimmed and then cut, mowed and trimmed again. When the time came that he could no longer read or work with his hands, his interests of course narrowed and he became very happy watching Nova or Nature on television. John Wayne DVDs became his very favorite pastime the last couple of years of his life.
Charlie, was a solid principled man. Once he made a decision he could not be swayed. He was fiercely devoted to his church and was a caring considerate man of the less fortunate. I will always remember his comment that “the poor loved God more because they needed Him more.” It was not uncommon for him go out and help the gardeners or empty our trashcan when the men came by in their truck. Sometimes he went outside with a sandwich or six pack of beer for the workers. Very often he over-tipped the waitress, commenting that “she must be trying to raise three kids” (and then he would give the bus boy another tip).
In contrast, he did not suffer fools gladly, especially the materialistic or boastful. Charlie led a privileged life in the professional football world but never bragged about where he had been and who he knew, you had to drag it out of him. When he wore his Super Bowl ring, it was often turned to the inside unless he was working. I loved that he had real respect for women; a man using bad language around a woman could find himself being promptly escorted outside; the same with the obnoxious cell phone person.
How frustrating it was to deal with my husband as his memory became impaired, along with his very difficult behavior. This six foot three, strong healthy man declined by inches; he who had never broken a bone, suffered a serious injury, been in a hospital, or even taken an aspirin. When he was in social situations, he stopped entering into the conversations, as it was impossible for his brain to process the conversation fast enough to reply. Every day I had to adapt to a new Charlie and figure out a way to cope. This insidious illness robbed him of his ability to take care of finances, think clearly and logically, use good judgment, understand what he had just read, or write letters. He gradually withdrew from his children and grandchildren. My life as his caretaker vanished and his life became my life.
Months and trips to Salt Lake City went by. The doctors watched him and tested him in every way imaginable. Charlie was having more issues with memory and we were both frustrated with each other. I was also having a hard time dealing with his erratic behavior. A second MRI gave the doctors enough information to determine that he had “enormous and confluent” white matter disease, along with other irreversible vascular damage. The doctors told us that medical science had no way to stop the disease from progressing—he had five to ten years.
Close to the time we received Charlie’s diagnosis, Dr. Robert Cantu and Dr. Ann McKee at Boston University Medical School had begun to report their research findings on chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) in deceased football players, linking it to brain trauma from concussions and concluding that CTE continues to progress as it destroys the brain. I was unaware of their work.
Flash forward to 2013. Charlie was in a care center in Salt Lake City. Still unaware of the research being done, I happened to watch the Frontline documentary, “League of Denial” which laid out the published findings of Dr. Cantu and Dr. McKee about CTE along with other medical research on brain trauma. The documentary also included interviews with people associated with the NFL and their reaction. What a shock!
The rest is history. I searched for more information on traumatic brain injuries and ultimately focused on the Concussion Legacy Foundation and Boston University. I contacted Dr. McKee in Boston by email and within a day her team responded. In time, our family made the decision that we would donate Charlie’s brain for their research when he passed away.
Charlie just plain loved his life. I can see him now, throwing out his arms and saying, “What a beautiful day! How much more could a man want but to have a day like this and be with his girl.”
“His girl” was this lucky wife whose husband told her almost every day that he loved her.
Painfully for me, during his last few years he reminded me that we had had a beautiful journey. He needed nothing more and was anxious to meet God. This was his way of indirectly saying to me to be grateful for the beautiful 26 years we had been married. It was the closest he ever came to talking about his illness. This man had no regrets and was perfectly at peace.
After years of caring for my husband with a constant struggle, confusion, sorrow and hopelessness, life suddenly had a purpose. A feeling of great comfort came over me for the first time since that day when my heart stopped in 2006; a realization that maybe the tragedy of his illness could contribute to something meaningful.
Eight months after he passed away, in October 2014, the clinical study and research on Charlie was completed. It was determined Charlie had advanced CTE with a trace of Alzheimer’s and vascular dementia. Although the news was sad, it was a relief to better understand what Charlie had been going through. Dr. McKee told me Charlie must have been very heroic to have suffered with all three diseases without complaint.
Our family is most grateful for the love and sensitivity shown to us by Dr. Ann McKee, Dr. Todd Soloman, Lisa McHale, Patrick Kierman and their team. We spent hours with them on conference calls as they gathered information on Charlie’s life and football career.
We want to express our sincere gratitude to Chris Nowinski and Dr. Robert Cantu who founded the Concussion Legacy Foundation. These two men started asking questions, looking for answers, and found the first donors for Dr. McKee, which we now know lead to the discovery of CTE in professional football players. Without them it may have been years before CTE was linked to contact sports. Chris, Dr. Cantu and Dr. McKee have dedicated their lives to this continuing research, tirelessly working to promote safer sports. Our families’ hope is that the legacy of Charlie and the other athletes who have donated their brains to this valuable cause will be helpful in bringing to light the urgency of understanding brain trauma.
Excerpts From Charlie’s Obituary
Charlie prepared all his life to meet God, and so it was on January 22, 2014 he left this world and completed his journey. He passed away peacefully in his sleep after a long battle with dementia and Alzheimer’s disease. Charlie was born in Mescalero, New Mexico, and October 17, 1934 to parents Charles and Katherine Mackey, the youngest of three brothers and one sister. He was of Mexican/American decent; his father being Anglo and his mother Mexican. They moved to Tularosa, NM where Charlie spent most of his young school years. His youth in Tularosa “was glorious”, as he often remarked, always longing to go back to New Mexico. He seemed to identify more with the Spanish side of his world, being fluent in Spanish and loving the people and culture. His Grandfather Miller was a veteran of the Civil War for which he was very proud, and he cherished his Grandfather’s Civil War Reserve Medal.
When Charlie was fifteen his parish priest arranged for him move to Phoenix, AZ and enroll in St. Mary’s Catholic Boys School. He went to school there through high school. At St. Mary’s he was a three star athlete, culminating in a four year football scholarship to Arizona State. At ASU he was homecoming king, a four-year football letterman, and captain his senior year.
After graduation Charlie was drafted by the San Francisco 49’ers, later moving to the Baltimore Colts. He interrupted his professional football phase to fulfill his obligation to the R.O.T.C., serving his country in Korea. While in Korea he played football for the Army, winning the Far East Kimchi Bowl.
Returning to civilian life he spent five years as a football coach at Missouri. The next 22 years he was with the Dallas Cowboys and Tom Laundry as a talent scout. The last eight years of his career he was with the Chicago Bears and Mike Ditka. His career was exciting and successful, but if he were to tell you of what he was most proud it would be his service to his country and his Mexican/American heritage.
Charlie is survived by his wife Diane whom he adored, son Jon, brothers Richard and Howard Mackey; children Melanie and David Watson, Pearson and Sharon Frank, Carter Frank, and five wonderful grandchildren, Laura, Kody, Sam, Savannah, and Cheyenne, who all loved and cared for him during his long illness. Charlie will forever be in our hearts. We miss him.
A memorial mass [was held on March 26, 2014] at St. Vincent de Paul in Salt Lake City, internment [followed] at the Utah Veterans Memorial Park.
In lieu of flowers, love your loved ones and bless every new day.