I’m doing this for Ray Lucas. Not for anyone in this room. And especially not for the man in this coffin.
I have to be honest. I don’t want to be up here. At funerals, the eulogy should be given by someone who cares about the person. It should be given by someone who can talk about what a good person the deceased was — or tried to be. The eulogist should be fair and balanced. They find the good in the recently departed and allow us to celebrate their spirit.
I can’t do any of that.
Because Frank Lucas was a jerk. He was rude and hurtful toward many of his loved ones. And although he had moments of care and concern, he was mostly a brute who liked to shout at people. If he was waiting for paperwork from his attorney, the man got cursed out before he could hand it over. If his wife was a few minutes late making breakfast, he threatened to divorce her. If one of his children came over and didn’t have a quick answer to whatever random task he’d assign, the shouting would commence. He was used to bossing people around.
Now, for decades, he was a heroin supplier. We know that in the ’60s and ’70s, hundreds of thousands of people lost their lives to addiction — many directly connected to Lucas’ million-dollar drug empire. He asked for forgiveness later in life. But the fact remains: Frank killed people, directly and indirectly.
So, how do I eulogize someone like Frank Lucas? Everyone gathered here had a different connection to this complicated man. His children, loyal and forgiving. His wife, Julie, his caretaker for decades.
There are people here who are saddened by Frank’s death.
I’m not one of them.
I’ll say this again, I am only standing here speaking to you because of his son Ray. Let me explain.
The last time I saw Frank Lucas was in his kitchen 10 years ago. Ray was there, trying to listen to our conversation, as always, although Frank often shooed him away when I came to work. Frank and I had just finished the last chapter of his book, Original Gangster, and it was time for me to move on to my next project.