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THE DAILY OKLAHOMAN
Page 1-D
Tue, 25 Dec 2001
Determination not just talk

Radio personality Lutz displays strong spirit in second cancer bout

Jenni Carlson

If you're expecting the typical Christmas story, the one with a sappy plot and a happy ending, this isn't it. This is a story with more heartbreak than heartwarm, a tale with more tears than cheers. And as for that conclusion, this is still a work in progress. It might have a happy ending. It might not.

Not even Dan Lutz knows how his story will end. The sports radio personality is battling cancer for the second time in as many years. When he kicked the cancer that had invaded his esophagus, stomach, lymph nodes and left lung last year, the doctors said it was a miracle. If he beats it again, if he drives the cancer out of his lungs and liver, the doctors might not have a word for that.

They might want to start looking for one, though, because Lutz plans to do it. "I believe I'll be back on the air," he said. "I believe I'll get to do what I want to do." That attitude comes as no surprise to his co-hosts on the Sports Animal radio network's "Morning Animals."

"He has that incredible spirit that will not give in to anything," Mike Steely said. "He refuses to feel sorry for himself. He's never thought of himself as a victim." Said Curtis Fitzpatrick, "He's overcome so much just to be able to work and become what he's become."

Afflicted with cerebral palsy at birth, Lutz has been confined to a wheelchair for the past four years. His speech is also impeded slightly by the disease. None of it has kept Lutz from becoming one of the best-known sports-talk personalities in the state. Some call Lutz annoying and brash. Others call him fantastic, a man with a keen insight of sport and a wicked sense of humor.

Those who know Lutz best call him something else entirely. A role model. "Not only professional," Fitzpatrick said, "but personally."

Cancer free... until Lutz had a great fall. After several months of chemotherapy and radiation, doctors declared him cancer free in June. He
discontinued treatments but still had monthly checkups when doctors would do blood tests or CAT scans.

Lutz's November checkup showed nothing suspicious. The blood test was clear, the cancer absent. Doctors even removed a feeding tube that had been inserted into Lutz's stomach.

"Everything seemed to be going good," Fitzpatrick said, his voice hushed.
Then Lutz started coughing. That was a constant problem during Lutz's first bout with cancer, but considering the doctors' positive prognosis, Lutz
explained it away as allergies or a cold. He continued life as normal.

Lutz and Fitzpatrick planned a trip to Gallagher-Iba Arena. Even though Lutz had been to almost every sports arena in the state, he hadn't been there. He and Fitzpatrick planned to see the Oklahoma State men's basketball team play Wichita State on Nov. 30. The coughing had become so persistent, however, that Lutz decided to have it checked. He would see the doctor that morning and Gallagher-Iba that evening.

"We didn't make it," Lutz said of his evening plans. After running a battery of tests, the doctor confirmed the worst. The cancer had returned. With a vengeance. Steely was at the studio when the call came. "He might not make it through the weekend." No self-pity.

Steely went to the hospital early Saturday. As soon as visiting hours began, he went to Lutz's room and found him asleep, hooked to monitors and poked with tubes. He grabbed a hand and woke his friend. Steely said the only thing he could muster. "I'm sorry."

Lutz said the thing only he could muster. "This is me, your dying buddy again."

Lutz has talked with his family members and his closest friends about death. He has had those serious conversations that only dying men have. But those talks are few, those moments rare. Lutz spends most of his time joking and deadpanning and making everyone around him feel comfortable.

"He doesn't let you feel real sorry for him," Steely said. Because for the most part, he doesn't feel sorry for himself. Not when the mouth sores caused by chemotherapy treatments make it almost impossible to talk. Not when the cancer in his lungs rack his body with coughs. Not when a few minutes on the phone force him to nap.

Lutz has never thrown himself a pity party.

Years ago, Lutz produced Steely's pre-game show on Saturdays. To eliminate drive time, Lutz stayed at Steely's apartment on Fridays. Steely lived on the second floor in a building that didn't have an elevator. Lutz chose to crawl up the steps.

"Dan," Steely would say, "I'm not going to let you do this. Let me pick you up and carry you. It'll take one minute ..."

"No!" Lutz would interrupt. "Somebody'll see that!" Steely would insist.

"No. Nobody will see. Let me carry..."

"No. I'm not going to let you do it."

Lutz would tell him to figure out what they were going to eat for dinner, and Steely would call for pizza delivery.

"The pizza guy got to my apartment before Dan," Steely said. Sports talk
Lutz didn't crawl into the studio last Monday morning, but if that's what it would have taken, he probably would have. He wasn't about to sit at home - "It's like an athlete who gets hurt," Lutz said. "You don't feel like you're a part of the team" - but he stunned his co-hosts when he wheeled out of the elevator around 5:30.

"It's 30 degrees," Fitzpatrick said. "The guy just went through a round of chemo three days earlier."

Fitzpatrick chuckled, not in humor but in awe. "You starting thinking, 'There aren't a lot of problems in my life.'" The show was a struggle, a gasping, wheezing struggle. When Lutz had something to say, he would wave, hit a button and pull himself toward the mic.

It...

He could barely talk.

...was...

He could barely breathe.

...a great game.

Fitzpatrick and Steely didn't know whether to cry or cheer.

"Half of you is wanting to rip his head off for coming here," Steely said, "and half of you is wanting to hug him because he's here. "This radio show is such a small piece of the equation, but it's huge to him."

Then, like everything with these sports-talk guys, Steely turned
to humor. "He could go over to Afghanistan, have every limb blow off,"
Steely said, "and I have no doubt the next day they'd wheel him in on a gurney."

Lutz dismisses such talk. He concedes that he's stubborn. Admits he's independent. He believes he should earn every paycheck. And even though the radio station's management forced him into taking time off after the show last Monday, he doesn't see anything special about his going to work.

"I don't do some physical, manual labor," he said. "I just talk about sports."

These days, talking about sports is less important. "I take my job seriously, but I don't take sports seriously," he said. "It's not like life or death." Every day now, Dan Lutz goes to the hospital, not the studio. Doctors monitor the cancer ravaging his body and check the immune system faltering after a month of chemotherapy.

He is tired much of the time, sleeping for hours, popping painkillers like Christmas candy. "I don't think it's easy. I don't think everything's meant to be easy," Lutz said. "I don't handle it well every day, so I'm not like some hero."

Many disagree. "He's got more pride than anybody I know," Steely said. "He's got more spirit than anybody I know. He's amazing."

Lutz said, "I have a pretty simple philosophy. You get one chance. You do the best with what you've got.

"I feel like I should do something with my life."

That he already has might be the best ending of all.