A great era ends when two legends of state of Oregon sports pass on.

Byline: Ron Bellamy / The Register-Guard

It was a gray day in November four years ago, Civil War week, when Len Casanova and Dee Andros came to The Register-Guard to pose together for a photograph, and talk about football, and games of yesteryear.

They were the lions in winter, Cas 94 then, Andros 75, moving slowly, yet with dignity.

The old college football coaches were the symbols of the sport in this state. They were beloved by their universities, the University of Oregon and Oregon State. They still worked for them, raising money, shaking hands.

They were the embodiment of an era, and Dee's death Wednesday - just more than a year after the passing of Cas - represents the turning of the last page in a chapter in this state's sports history.

No one fortunate enough to see them here that day in 1999 will forget the moment. Will forget the respect the old civil warriors had for each other, or the aura they exuded, of integrity, first of all. Will forget how they reminded us of a time when college football was a hard-nosed yet simpler game.

A time when the best coaches, disciplinarians though they might be, inspired a loyalty among their athletes that endured for decades because the coaches cared for those athletes so deeply.

A time when friendship and rivalry weren't mutually exclusive, the games transcended by mutual respect.

Cas wore the same green jacket and yellow shirt he must have worn thousands of times, and used a walking stick with a head of a mallard carved at the top. Dee wore an orange sports jacket, black sweater and orange shirt.

They'd have bled those colors, too.

Cas came with his wife, Margaret, chauffeured by his longtime friend, Herb Yamanaka, who brought an old Wilson football used for a prop in the photograph.

Later, at Yamanaka's suggestion, Casanova signed it, in silver ink; it remains in my office, still.

Dee signed an autograph, too, that day, for a news reporter who introduced himself as an OSU fan. He wrote "Dee Andros, the Great Pumpkin."

By then, Dee had had two hip operations and he was driven from Corvallis by an OSU staff member. The gesture was touching then, and even more so now - Andros making the trip to Eugene and back home to Corvallis, devoting much of an afternoon to pose maybe 10 minutes for a photograph.

Because it was a photograph with Cas.

It was, Margaret Casanova said Wednesday, the last time the coaches saw each other.

"Cas had great respect for Dee," she said. "They cared for each other. ... Dee always made you feel good. He was always outwardly happy. I don't think anybody could forget him. He was a lovable man. Once you knew him, you always knew him."

On that November day four years ago, the smiles for the photographer were genuine. Afterward, we went downstairs to the lunch room, where the coaches had a sandwich together, and asked after each other's health, and predicted that the team with the fewest turnovers would win the Civil War the next day. (Oregon won, 25-14, and the turnovers were even, one each.)

Wednesday, I found my notes in a file, and heard Dee's rasp once again.

"In all my coaching career, I have never heard anybody criticize Cas," Andros said that day. "He's that kind of a gentleman. He's so nice to everybody. I knew him as a coach when I was a player (Andros, a tough Oklahoma lineman, played against Cas' Santa Clara team in the late 1940s), and we had a relationship when both of us were coaching. Then, when I became athletic director, I had a lot of dealings with Cas.

"We probably cussed each other over the Civil War, but we got along real well throughout the years. ... I always felt that you played that game for the right to live in Oregon. My feelings haven't changed, neither."

Back then, Casanova still went to Black Butte each year, for a gathering with some of his former players. That year, on Andros' 75th birthday, 60 to 70 of his former players staged a surprise party for him.

"I walked into the room and I couldn't imagine all the kids were there," Andros said then. "It was shocking. I didn't expect anything, and I walked in the door, and my mouth dropped to my chest.

"If I'd tried to say anything right then, I'd have probably cried."

Wednesday, some of the folks who tried to talk about Dee cried themselves, remembering his warmth, and his loyalty. He had, after all, never moved from Corvallis after arriving there to coach in 1965, and still lived in the same house.

"My whole objective right now is to be a good Oregon Stater," he said that day. And he was.

CAPTION(S):

Dee Andros (left) and Len Casanova pose for a pre-Civil War photograph at The Register-Guard studio on Nov. 18, 1999.