Jeff Manes: Dan Luce, family standing tall through hard times

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Dan and Jenny Luce are pictured on the front porch of their St. John home with their sons, Danny, 8, and Donovan 3. | PHOTO PROVIDED

“... Well, we’re on this earth together and we’re all gonna die

So let’s forgive a little more and let others live their lives ...

... And I don’t need no rich man tellin’ me how I’m supposed to think

Because he owns some TV stations and some newspaper ink

’Cause it’s the common ones, like you and me

That keep the country running, keep the flag flying free ...

... So I wanna see them dues, yes I wanna see that respect

For that blue-collared shirt and that weekly paycheck ... .”

— American Graveyard

Jenny Luce told me the lyrics of American Graveyard’s “Common Ones” reminded her of the folks I interview for this column.

Jenny is the wife of Dan Luce; they’ve been married nine years and live in St. John. Dan has an adult daughter, Amie, from a previous marriage. Together, Dan and Jenny have two sons, Danny, 8, and Donovan 3. Dan is 53; Jenny is 37.

I’ve known Jenny since she was a little girl; her maiden name is Rosinko. The Rosinkos moved from Griffith to Lowell in the mid-’80s when she was in the third grade. She is the daughter of an ironworker and the seventh of seven children.

I’ve known Dan longer than I’ve known Jenny. In 1979, we began our welding apprenticeships at East Chicago Roosevelt High School while working for Inland Steel Co. A couple decades later, we ended up in the same department when we became overhead crane repairmen.

Dan was a state qualifier in wrestling as a sophomore for Highland High School and hardly was sick a day in life. But, he has had some major health issues since 2008.

Jenny did all the talking during our interview; Dan had his larynx removed a while back. He used an erasable board to “converse.”.

* * *

Dan, are you officially retired?

“Yes, the guys at work chipped in and gave me this clock,” Dan wrote.

Let me read what it says: “To our union steward, co-worker and great friend. Enjoy your retirement. The Crane Crew, October, 2010.”

“I worked in the weld shop for 20 years and the crane crew for 13,” Dan wrote.

Added Jenny: “He would’ve stayed longer if he hadn’t gotten sick. On June 30, 2008, his birthday, Dan found out he had larynx cancer. From there, he had radiation and kept working at the mill. His dad died right after that.

“Eventually, Dan got a clean bill of health. But when they did the scan to see if the cancer was gone, they found a very large brain aneurysm; he’d had it for a long time and could have died at any moment.”

What happened?

“In January of ’09, Dan went in for brain surgery,” Jenny said. “When they were clipping the aneurysm, Dan had a stroke; it paralyzed the entire left side of his body.”

You have quite a scar, Dan.

“It took 144 stitches and staples to patch my head back,” Dan wrote. “Donovan told me the other day, ‘Daddy, your zipper head is looking pretty good.’ He thinks I had a zipper inserted into my skull.”

Added Jenny: “Dan was at the University of Chicago for three months after the stroke, then he was in a nursing home for three months. They didn’t say he could come home, I just brought him home. I figured I could take care of him as well as they could; I’m a (licensed practical nurse).”

Continue, please.

“On Thanksgiving weekend of ’09, Dan got pneumonia and ended up back at the University of Chicago. When they were putting in the feeding tube, they found the cancer had aggressively come back.”

Dan, you’ve been knocked through the ropes, but you’re still standing.

“In January 2011, Dan had a 20-hour surgery,” Jenny said. “They took out his larynx and esophagus, then took muscle from one leg and skin and flesh from his other leg and rebuilt his entire throat and sewed it back in.”

Amazing.

“That’s why we went to the University of Chicago; they were the only ones who could do it,” Jenny said. “In early March, they started the chemo and radiation. You should have seen him not that long ago; he was naked looking, like a baby bird — no beard, hair, eyebrows ... .”

Is he done with chemotherapy?

“Yes, but he started having seizures and has to take medication for that,” Jenny said.

This must have been hard on you and the boys, too.

“Donovan has only seen his father as he looks now. It’s been hard on Danny because he remembers when his dad was healthy.”

Dan wrote, “I’m going to have to sell my Harley because of the seizures.”

Added Jenny, “But he can still ride his lawn tractor; he mows almost every day.”

Dan, what are some of your hobbies?

“Woodcarving, gardening, antiquing, hiking and fishing,” he wrote.

Remember when we had the booth together at Uncle John’s Flea Market?

“Good times,” he wrote.

Jenny, do Dan’s friends stop by?

“It’s funny; when stuff like this happens, you’re always surprised at who comes around and who doesn’t. At Christmastime, the guys from the mill brought us $300 cash and $500 worth of Christmas presents, all wrapped ... . We were really broke at the time.”

Some good people in that mill.

“Previously, they collected $800 for Dan. Those guys are amazing.”

What are you writing, Dan?

“Jillson and Hamilton.”

Doesn’t surprise me that Al and Jeff were two of the guys passing the hat.

* * *

For now, Dan can’t do all the things he’d like to do with his young sons. But Jenny can.

The Rosinkos were our neighbors when my family lived outside the city limits of Lowell. Jenny was a tomboy, and she is the perfect mother for the boys.

They went for a nature walk the other day and collected a small container of tadpoles, some of which are starting to sprout legs. They also witnessed a huge snapping turtle lay her eggs.

As I pulled out of the Luce driveway, I took a good look at those folks as they stood on the porch of the house Jenny’s grandfather built just before the Great Depression: American flag, the rocking chair, and a mother with her arms around two boys — fallen catalpa blossoms at their bare feet.

And the son of a steelworker who became a steelworker, standing proud with the aid of a cane — still standin’.

The common ones.