At 77, This Vietnam War Pilot Still Dominates the Lacrosse Field — and Inspires Players Half a Century Younger

A 77-Year-Old Who Refuses to Hang Up His Stick

Every Tuesday night at Pine Grove in Camillus, New York, a familiar figure arrives long before anyone else.
He steps onto the field wearing a pair of worn white New Balances, red shorts, a white shirt printed with the Onondaga word for lacrosse, and an STX chest protector.

His name is Jon Ryan, a 77-year-old Vietnam veteran, beekeeper, and the heart of an invite-only men’s pickup lacrosse league — even though most of the players are between 30 and 50.

Ryan drives an hour from his home in Venice, near Moravia, and he’s the last to leave after the postgame gathering at The Wildcat Sports Pub. Nobody has better attendance. Nobody has more passion.

“I don’t go for the exercise,” Ryan says. “I go because I love lacrosse. I always have.”

And even now, he’s not just showing up — he’s producing. On a recent Tuesday he put up two goals and two assists, leaving younger players shaking their heads in admiration.

A Teammate, A Leader, A Standard

The league organizer, Ken Kimpel, trusts Ryan so much that when he had knee replacement surgery, he handed Ryan the job of collecting the weekly dues — because he knew Ryan never misses a night.

Players often joke about his age, but always with respect.

“He turned 55 when I was 10,” midfielder Jake Gyder says, “and here we are, still watching him score on all of us.”

But what they admire most isn’t his durability — it’s his spirit.
He is endlessly encouraging, relentlessly positive, and unfailingly thoughtful. Every Christmas, he brings each player a jar of honey from the bees he’s kept for nearly 50 years.

This is what makes him the soul of Pine Grove’s league.

A Childhood Stick, A Life Changed

Ryan’s connection to lacrosse started in childhood. When he was 6 or 7, he begged his father — a professor at Hobart — for a stick. Eventually, a friend from the athletic department gifted him one. It was wooden, heavy, and priceless to him.

There was no youth lacrosse program in Geneva then, so Ryan and his friends practiced on Hobart’s lawns, tearing them up with makeshift games.

He played throughout high school, graduating in 1967 with a deep love for the sport — but unsure about his path in life.

“In those days, if you didn’t have a plan,” Ryan said, “the Army had one for you.”

He enlisted, partly because the Army was the only branch that allowed non-college students to train as helicopter pilots.

Vietnam: Shot Down Six Days Before Going Home

On Nov. 14, 1968, Ryan began his yearlong deployment in Vietnam as a helicopter pilot. Near the end of his tour, on Nov. 8, 1969 — less than a week before he was scheduled to return home — he volunteered for a single-ship resupply mission along the Mekong Delta.

As his helicopter lifted off from an outpost, gunfire erupted.
Ryan seized the controls, trying to accelerate out of danger, but the aircraft was struck. A damaged hydraulic line sent the helicopter crashing into a minefield.

Miraculously, no one was killed. Ryan survived and was awarded a Purple Heart.

When he returned to the United States, the military had an oversupply of pilots, so he chose a new path.

Back Home, Back to Bees — But Not Immediately Back to Lacrosse

Ryan enrolled at Cornell and attempted to join the lacrosse team. But after years away, he struggled to regain his form and was cut after two and a half seasons.

“It hurt,” he says. “Lacrosse has always meant everything to me.”

For two decades, he had nowhere to play.

Instead, he built a life around beekeeping. He bought a commercial operation in 1978 and at one point managed 600 colonies, producing up to 100 barrels of honey a year. Today he and his wife still run 130 colonies.

“I probably shouldn’t still be keeping bees,” Ryan laughs. “But it’s who I am.”

Finding His Lacrosse Family Again

About 12 years ago, Ryan heard about the Pine Grove pickup league. That changed everything.

The league isn’t just a weekly game — it’s a community.
Indigenous players refer to lacrosse as the medicine game, and the men who gather on Tuesday nights echo that belief. Everyone touches the ball. Everyone shares the therapy.

For some, Ryan is more than a teammate.

After Kevin Gundersen’s mother died in 2016, Ryan called him every Tuesday at 6 p.m. — not to remind him of the game, but to check on him.

“He’s like an older brother,” Gundersen says.

Goalie Joe Andaloro, 63, feels the same way.

A Living Example of Purpose and Positivity

After each game, Ryan can be found collecting trash, grabbing people’s empty plates, and insisting they take home leftover pizza. He stays until the last conversation ends.

The next morning, everyone returns to jobs, families, and responsibilities — but for 80 minutes each week, they share something special.

A game.
A community.
And a 77-year-old veteran who refuses to retire from the sport that shaped his life.