Family carries on after a tragic day at Rose Bowl

It’s Friday, four days after the fact, and the three women in Ron Zavala’s life are laughing. Lisa, 20, has been having a problem with the company computer, which proves she’s Ron’s kid, all right.

Patrice, 24, known as the cellphone queen in the family, gets the ringer on Dad’s phone working, which means everyone in the small Glendora office at Purrfect Auto Service is now listening to the USC fight song.

“Obviously, we haven’t turned the service off,” wife Sandy says. “I guess I’m just waiting for him to call.”

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THERE WERE only a couple of moments remaining Monday in the Rose Bowl, the Zavala family whooping it up because, for longtime USC season-ticket holders, there’s nothing like a Trojans victory.

Ron bought a huge motor home in the summer so the family could really tailgate. They had gone together to Arizona for a game, and it’s still a family joke.

Ron took the motor home to the Rose Bowl days before the game, and the family spent the weekend tailgating. They got dressed up for New Year’s Eve, went into Pasadena for dinner, and as Patrice says, “We haven’t had that much fun in a long time.”

They returned to the Rose Bowl to party into the night, and Ron joined the girls’ boyfriends the next morning to play football. “The way he was throwing the ball, I’m surprised he didn’t throw his arm out,” Sandy says.

When it came time to go into the stadium, it wasn’t soon enough for Ron. Ron’s idea of showing up for a noon start is to be on hand by 8. He’s always been that way -- just eager to watch his USC football.

“You miss a kickoff and he’s flaming,” Sandy says. “So we go into the Rose Bowl, but he knows we’re going to be late and he’s complaining. Now the tunnel is clogged with people and they’re stopping us from getting to our seats. And I’m praying to God, please don’t let them kick off.”

They make it in time, Ron, Sandy, Lisa and boyfriend Brady sitting behind the goal post at the Michigan end, while Patrice and boyfriend Noah sit three sections away because the family could not secure six seats together.

Lisa has a new camera, a Christmas gift from Dad, and she realizes the game is ending and she hasn’t taken any pictures. Lisa is Daddy’s little girl, working with him at the auto store every day, and so she asks someone to take their picture together.

Ten minutes later, just before the game ends, Ron falls on top of his daughter. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t do anything, just collapses.

Some people laugh, knowing it’s been a long day of drinking for some. Lisa figures right away her diabetic father needs some food. Sandy asks him if he’s OK, and as soon as they prop him up, Ron falls the other way toward Brady.

“The whole section goes quiet, and it’s obvious it’s not some old drunken fool who has fallen down,” Sandy says. “I’m standing there about to lose my cool because they’re trying to find a pulse and can’t, 90,000 people and I’m yelling they can’t find a doctor. Then this man looks at me, he’s got a Michigan sweatshirt on, and he says, ‘I’m a doctor.’

“The paramedics and firemen arrive, they’re trying to revive Ron and the doctor in the Michigan sweatshirt steps back and says, ‘I did all I can. I’m an obstetrician.’ ”

It’s hard not to laugh the way Sandy tells the story, and she appreciates that. “I had exactly the same reaction,” she says. “He probably thought I was insane, but 90,000 people and I get an obstetrician. If I had asked for a lawyer, I would have been swarmed.”

The paramedics work on Ron. Three sections over, Patrice notices the commotion and figures Lisa’s boyfriend has probably gotten into a fight. Everyone else just stands and watches. Sandy says, “But God bless those paramedics the way they worked. They never stopped. Never.”

*

THE GAME ends, the USC celebration on the field starts and officials close a tunnel so Ron, medics and his wife can get to an ambulance.

“I’m still thinking he will come around,” she says, although five attempts to shock him fail to get any movement. “I’m such a Pollyanna, I think once we get to the hospital magically things are going to get better. But two seconds after we’re there ... [it’s over]. I’m expecting an adrenalin shot to the heart, a glucose shot, and I’m thinking, what’s the matter with these people, you don’t have any needles?

“This man just turned 53. He’s at a football game, he loves USC, he’s having the best weekend ever with his family, he’s feeling fine and he drops dead.”

She’s told it’s sudden cardiac arrest, and it’s sudden, all right. “If someone told me I would be going to the Rose Bowl and coming home a widow, I would never have believed it.”

*

SANDY AND Patrice return from White’s Funeral Home in Azusa, dropping off the clothes Ron will be wearing for Monday’s viewing.

They are going to have Ron dressed in the USC shirt he bought at the Rose Bowl -- under his white shirt and suit. Sandy is also putting one of his favorite USC hats in the casket along with a copy of Tuesday’s sports section on the Rose Bowl.

“I thought that was a nice headline,” she says, holding up the paper, which reads, “Trojans come to pass.”

Each of the pallbearers, once they leave church, will be wearing USC baseball caps. The plan is also to have nothing but cardinal and gold flowers.

Neighbor Mike Kurkierewicz, who has had a standing UCLA-USC six-pack wager for years with Ron, calls the USC athletic department and USC makes plans to send flowers to the funeral home.

“If they sent Matt Leinart, that’d be really cool too,” Sandy cracks.

She also reminds herself, because Ron didn’t get the chance to get around to it, “I owe Mike a six-pack.”

A customer here and there interrupts the conversation, Lisa still fighting the computer and Sandy trying to remember what to charge for some brake repair.

Each one takes a turn over the next couple of hours wiping away tears, shifting comfortably back and forth between the memory of what has just happened and so many funny stories to tell.

“I come from an Irish family, so we think everything is funny, but the girls and I have had our pity parties too,” Sandy says. “I know Monday and Tuesday [the day of the funeral] are going to be tough, but I’ve got five families to support -- my own and the four employees who work for me. If I worked for someone else, maybe I could go home and pull the blanket over my head....”

Brady, the boyfriend, interrupts: “He was the funnest guy I’ve been around. I wouldn’t say hanging around with a 53-year-old man is very much fun, but it was like hanging around with my 21-year-old buddy.”

It helps explain the picture on the wall of the guy wearing the goofy hat.

“He was my best friend,” Sandy says, while suddenly sounding perturbed. “Yeah, I’m quite angry -- angry at him for leaving me.

“Why did you leave me?” she says, one of her daughters handing her a tissue. “We still had stuff to do. He was going to get a physical -- if you didn’t want to see the doctor, all you had to do was say so. But he just checked out on me.”

She sits up and smiles. “This girl here [Lisa] was weeping for two days straight but had a little moment of clarity,” Sandy says. “She looked at me and said, ‘Dad didn’t just walk to the light, he went running to the light.’ ”

It’s been four days, and so many details to take care of before next week, while still running the auto shop.

“Every so often it just overwhelms,” Sandy says. “You know, I got up in the middle of the night and found myself checking to see if the toilet seat was up. We’ve all fallen in, thanks to him. Oh God, I just can’t believe it, but then as badly as I feel, I still reflect on the more positive things because I had 27 years of good stuff and just one real crappy day.”

*

IF A man’s family is a reflection of how he lives, he really does get the last word here, of course, although Sandy asks for one favor.

“If there’s any way you could -- could you set the record straight?” she says. “The Pasadena newspaper said a 60-year-old man died at the Rose Bowl.

“He’s not 60, and he has a name. And Ron was a great father, a great husband and a wonderful boss.”

T.J. Simers can be reached at t.j.simers@latimes.com. To read previous columns, go to latimes.com/simers.