Lance Alan Wicker

Last Updated on August 14, 2026 by Cass County Communication Network

If you’re reading this, it means my story has reached the part where the pages run out.

And that’s alright.

I’ve had a good run – a messy one, a funny one, a hard one, and a meaningful one.

I left all earthly cares aside Monday afternoon, August 3, 2026, in Woodbridge Health Campus, following a battle with cancer that I tried so hard to beat.  

Born August 15, 1957, in Logansport, I was the baby of the three Wicker boys, Jon, Robin and myself, Lance. Now, I’m 68 forever. My oldest brother, Jon, survives with his wife, Rebecca. Robin died far too soon, at age 50, Oct. 20, 2003, leaving a wife, Julie Best, who is now married to Joe Dilts, and they survive. My brothers gave me the honor of being Uncle Lance to their kids – Sean Wicker, Ashley Brown (Eric), Sarah Wicker, Beau Wicker, Seth Wicker (Nicole), and Jenna Peppers (Adam)

My mom, Phyllis Smith Wicker, was just a kid herself when she married my dad – seventeen – and she loved her boys with everything she had. My dad, Raymond L. Wicker, didn’t have much of a blueprint for being a father. His own childhood didn’t give him much to work with. To be fair, like most dads of that day, he wasn’t really tuned in to the softer side of life – you know – the expressing your feelings part. So, I learned a lot of what a good dad looked like by watching the other dads in our little southside neighborhood. I’m proud to see my son being the kind of dad I wish my dad, as well as myself, could have been. And that gives me great hope for the future.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about a couple songs, “Landslide” by Stevie Nicks, with the changes we go through growing older, and also the song sung by Neil Young, “Old man, look at my life. I’m a lot like you were.” And while my purpose here isn’t to offer advice – I just want to share my story – because I’ve seen a lot. Twenty months ago, during a routine dental exam, I was diagnosed with some issues and ignored them. Then towards the end of 2025, I was diagnosed with throat and neck cancer. Having spent the past 9 months fighting for my life, I can see how fast it all goes. How it all comes full circle.

When I was 5, I learned early that some people carry burdens far heavier than anything I knew, and it taught me to be grateful and careful about the paths I chose.

In junior high, I thought I was God’s gift to the ladies. I made it my personal mission to kiss every girl in my class – and I did. Except one. She was a little harder to catch. A blonde with thick wavy hair – Laura Jean Warner. We were friends first, and maybe that’s why it took longer. But I got that kiss eventually. Life was full of good friends and good moments in those years. I graduated from Logansport High School in 1976, and my first car, a blue ’69 Chevelle, met its end on the second day I owned it. It was the Dazed and Confused era in every sense – 1976, small‑town life, and the kind of teenage adventures that defined the time.

Life has a funny way of circling back. And it did. Time moved on, and I crossed paths with Laura again. We got married, had a beautiful daughter, Courtney Wicker Kitchell. Sixteen months later, our son John Wicker was born. We were young. Our family was complete. We tried. We really did. But you can’t force love. You can’t manufacture it. So, we divorced – but we stayed teammates in raising our kids. And that part, we did right. I love my kids and I am so proud of them. The best thing they ever did was give me grandchildren. Courtney blessed me with my granddaughter, Gracie Kitchell. John married Courtni Wilson Wicker, who made lasagna so much better than I ever did – I just let her take over. Their children, Christian, Jackson, Chloe, and Janna Wicker, were great blessings in my life, too.

I followed my dad into Small Parts, but I took it further. I had a knack for the mechanical side – became a set‑up man. Ten years to learn it right. One‑thousandth of an inch could make or break a part. I was one of the cogs in the wheel that kept Logansport’s progress moving. Long hours. Hard work. And somewhere along the line, I started rewarding myself with a drink. Then another. Addiction runs in families. Break the cycle. Don’t falter when life gets you down. I’m not ashamed to say it. I faced it. You have to, or it’ll take you under.

I fell in love once – the real kind. The kind you feel in your bones. And I messed it up. That one was on me. I carry that truth without excuses. I share that only because it may save someone else from doing the same stupid thing. You see, I used to be the smartest dumbass there ever was. Thought I had life figured out. Turns out life had me figured out long before I caught up.

Born in ’57 – history has a way of sticking with me. Of course, the things I’ve witnessed don’t fade easily. I remember watching Black Americans being sprayed with hoses during civil rights marches. I remember where I was when JFK was shot. I’ve seen enough to worry about the world my grandkids will inherit. We’ve only got one planet. And we waste too much time fighting stupid wars instead of fixing what matters.

Please check back for my life story – woven together using my words…for just you and I…in a heart-to heart chat, so to speak. 

Now, we’ve come to the part where you gather. That’s what a memorial is for -putting life on pause long enough to remember what matters. Nobody should stand alone in a moment like that. So now that I’m gone, I want my family and friends to come together and celebrate my life. Say my name with laughter. Tell my kids they were the best thing I ever did, and that I’m proud of them.

There will be a gathering of family and friends on what would have been my 69th birthday, August 15th from 2 p.m. – 4 p.m. at Fisher Funeral Chapel. A Celebration of Life will begin at 4 p.m.

Please dress casually and comfortably – you know me. I was easygoing. No stuffy suits – not my style. Come celebrate my life and know that you were special to me.

And it’s okay if you rat me out and tell stories about me or post pictures – just don’t go too far. I’m sure the officiant of the memorial service, Dawn Fisher, will weave them into my story. I asked her to interview me earlier this year so she could write my obituary and eulogy as if I were speaking – and I would have recorded it if only my voice hadn’t gone downhill so fast. Share your memories on my Tribute Wall at www.fisherfuneralchapel.com.