December 11, 1949 – May 9, 2026
Michael Paul “Mike” Lucido, 76, of Carson City, Nevada, died on May 9, 2026.
Mike was curious, analytical, independent and resourceful. He liked knowing how things worked, fixing things that didn’t, and questioning explanations that didn’t satisfy him.
Born in California in 1949 to Paul and Irene (Smyth) Lucido, Mike was the oldest of four children. His father ran a printing and typesetting business, and his mother later ran her own bath shop. His technical streak appeared early. In the “crystal ball” section of his 1964 Our Lady of Mercy class book, classmates wrote, “Sorry! We can’t see Michael Lucido. He is on his way to the moon.” Elsewhere they asked, “Can you imagine Mike Lucido a famous scientist?” In the class’s mock will, Mike left his skateboard to a classmate.
Mike earned an associate degree from the College of San Mateo and received additional training through IBM school. He entered the Bay Area computer industry, working at Ampex, Magnuson Computer Systems and Tandem Computers before later operating Lucid Enterprises.
The early Bay Area computer nerd culture followed Mike home, sometimes literally. Tandem Computers had a text editor called TEDIT, which Mike somehow turned into an expression of highest praise. He would affectionately exclaim “T-edit!” when something particularly pleased him, such as Sally’s pesto sauce. Coworkers once stuffed computer punch-card pieces into the vents of his Sapporo; when he turned on the fan, confetti blew through the car. Even when he sold it years later, little pieces could still be found.
Mike and Sally married in 1975 and made their home in San Jose’s Berryessa district. The yard began largely as dirt, and Mike put enormous effort into transforming it. A swimming pool followed, along with dogs Brandy and Misty and big pool parties for relatives and his large circle of friends. Family life could also be thoroughly Mike: household chores were assigned points on a printed chart, with allowance calculated exactingly. Valentine’s Day brought Sally a heart-shaped box of chocolates; anniversaries meant lobster. Monterey, where they had honeymooned, became a recurring family destination.
Computer programming suited him. On a later project supporting the U.S. Air Force, he integrated several separate Fortran programs into a single front end that automatically passed results from one stage to the next. An Air Force representative who watched the demonstration asked, “Why didn’t you do this for us years ago?”
Mike loved electronics and repairs. He collected technical manuals and was quick to offer an idea, usually accompanied by a tool. His house provided a dependable supply of projects during visits: trees to trim, gates and antennas to fix, and rooms to remodel. He also guided Brian through replacing a head gasket. His confidence occasionally exceeded his experience, but the desire to help was genuine. One night after San Jose’s Christmas in the Park and midnight Mass, he stopped to repair a stranded woman’s car so she could get home. His son remembered that kindness for decades and later paid it forward.
Mike left traditional work relatively young but never stopped researching or tinkering. Through Lucid Enterprises he maintained websites, sold technical materials and software, and kept programming. He wrote about government, economics and constitutional ideas on RevolutionaryIdeas.org, and could discuss – or recite portions of – the U.S. Constitution. He valued privacy, independence and individual liberty, and eventually made his home in Carson City, Nevada.
Mike preferred home to travel, but made exceptions for road trips with Judith, his longtime partner. She was an important part of his Carson City life, and she encouraged him to get Shadow, who became a beloved companion. Mike liked to point out that dogs seemed to like him; Shadow provided fairly strong evidence for his case.
Carson City brought Wine Walks, new friends, dinners, and another chapter of hosting. Visits were often planned around the Wine Walk; when the timing didn’t cooperate, the days filled with hikes, geocaching, four-wheel-drive outings, train museums, car shows, and long conversations about politics. Evenings might include Mike’s tarragon chicken, cheesy potatoes, a bottle of wine he wanted to share, and a movie. He always loved it when someone mentioned his “tarragon chicken.”
Mike cataloged practically everything, down to the silverware. Turn over a dinner plate and one might find a “LOC-XXXX” code linking it to his database. He could locate a song or select a bottle of wine with a database query. His interest in preserving information extended to Lucido and Smyth family history. He assembled memorial pamphlets about his Uncle Joe and his father, scanned and restored old photographs and slides, built web pages so relatives could identify and caption them, and created DVDs to share the collections.
That archival instinct became especially meaningful after his death. Among the things Mike had kept for decades were some of his son’s childhood “disciplinary assignments,” including one that declared, “I have not learned my lesson from writing this essay, but from needlessly splatting on my head after being warned.” He had also saved an old Father’s Day clipping about fatherhood and other small pieces of family history. These things revealed something about Mike that was sometimes harder to see while he was alive: he noticed more than he said, remembered more than people sometimes realized, and kept things that mattered to him.
Mike held strong opinions and could defend them at considerable length. He wasn’t always easy to persuade, nor was affection always expressed conventionally. Sometimes it came as dinner waiting at the house, advice about a repair, a question about someone’s travels, or simply asking when they were coming home.
During his final illness, friends in Carson City continued to visit and check on him.
Mike and Sally had three children: Brian, Michele and Mary. He is also survived by his mother, Irene; siblings Pat, Kathleen and Kevin; and grandchildren Meika and Milo.
His ashes were placed in the Lucido family crypt at the Italian Cemetery in Colma, California, among generations of the family whose history he had spent so much time researching and preserving.
And there are a great many stories about Dad still worth telling.
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