Lessons abound at Lassiter’s Lutzie Field

On Friday night his name was given a home all around the stadium where he once played, from the new signs at every entrance to the scoreboard to down there on the field, painted on both sides between the 20- and 30-yard lines.

It was an evening overflowing with the spirit of family and community. Around 50 players from Lutzenkirchen’s 2008 Trojans team returned for the ceremony. Rather than being retired, Lutzenkirchen’s old high school number (13) will be given to a high-achiever each season. On Friday night, it was worn by the Lutzenkirchens’ godson, a teary-eyed receiver Brent Penter.

Rare is the high school field named after a one-time player. Rarer yet is the field named for someone whose story was as complicated as Lutzenkirchen’s. He was neither a soldier who died at war nor a young man who fought and lost to a cruel disease. He was a big kid with a big personality. A generous soul, said those who knew him. A natural leader, too, who nevertheless spent the last day of his life constructing a daisy chain of bad choices.

Lutzenkirchen was only 23 when after a day drinking with friends, a group of them went on an early-morning drive for provisions. Police said the car was traveling at more than 70 mph when it hurtled off a country road near LaGrange. Both Lutzenkirchen and the driver were killed. Blood tests later revealed that both had blood alcohol levels well above Georgia’s legal limit, with Lutzenkirchen’s nearly five times the limit. Neither was wearing a seat belt.

Shortly after the news broke of Lutzenkirchen’s death, family friend Bob Penter already was restless. “It gnawed at me how to take his death and make something positive out of it,” he said.

One day, nearly 18 years ago, on a drive around his neighborhood, Penter noticed a young boy and his father flinging a football in the front yard. It so happened his elder son’s youth team was a player short. He stepped on the brake. “It looks like you can play,” Penter told the little Lutzenkirchen on that first meeting. That bit of drive-by scouting paid years of dividends on the field.

Penter’s eldest son and Lutzenkirchen became fast friends, and the families bonded (the No. 13-wearing godson Brent is Penter’s youngest). The inspiration of replacing Lassiter’s worn-out field while serving Lutzenkirchen’s example — in all its facets — struck Penter almost immediately.

When Philip’s father, Mike Lutzenkirchen, formed the charitable Lutzie 43 Foundation after his son’s death, Penter signed up as a board member. As the family embraced the idea of the field project while not wanting to be seen as actively campaigning for it, Penter took the point in organizing the fundraising and navigating the bureaucracy.

That meant raising the $350,000 for the privately funded project. A large contribution from the owner of the landscaping firm, Property Masters, jump-started the drive. Various Lassiter booster clubs filled in, as well as other donors from the community.

That also meant acquiring county school-board approval, rushing to complete the field in time for this football season, and ultimately rallying around the concept of naming a field after someone whose flaws were so much more public than those of the standard honoree.

“As far as I was concerned, this was not going to happen unless a vast, vast majority of the people wanted it to move forward,” Penter said. “I have not gotten one email criticizing the idea which was, frankly, surprising.”

“One of the pillars of the (Lutzie 43 Foundation) is helping our community,” Lutzenkirchen’s mother, Mary, said, “and this field is a real nod to that.”

The stadium is a place where Lutzenkirchen’s parents are among those area residents who visit regularly. Aside from game days they may walk the track or even hike the stadium steps during off-school hours.

“Some days there is a normalcy to it, other days it brings tears to your eyes,” Mike said.

“To have a field named after Philip is an odd feeling, but it’s a special feeling,” his father said.

But the real significance of Lutzie Field won’t show itself for years yet, Lutzenkirchen’s father said, after the details of Friday night have faded like newsprint in the sun.

“I hope sometime in the future some kid asks, ‘Who is that guy and why is his name out there on the field?’” he said.

“And I hope someone tells him that he was a great guy who had a great life and that a series of bad decisions ended his life.”

And just when that future student thinks he or she has escaped the classroom for a Friday night lark, a teaching moment leaps out in ambush from the plastic grass.