Frances Scott Reagan

Frances Reagan figured things out. When things didn't work as planned, she adapted and found a way forward. She did that for ninety-nine years. But she never figured out time, and on January 26, 2026, she ran out of it, though she made time work for it in the end.

She was born Frances Scott on May 26, 1926, in St. Augustine, Florida, to LeRoy Walter Scott, an accountant for the Florida East Coast Railway, and Helen May Axton Scott, a homemaker. She had two younger sisters, Charlene (b. 1938-2021) and Teddy (b. 1941-2021), and outlived them both.

Her childhood spanned the Great Depression and World War II, but her memories of that time were happy. She loved to recall dancing on her father's shoes and climbing high up in a magnolia tree with her books. Worried she'd fall, her father nailed a tin cigar box to the tree to hold her books, an early concession to her will. She had many memories of the war, but her favorite was of fish fries her parents threw for sailors. Her father would drive to the base, bring them home to eat and dance late into the night, then drive them back, one carload at a time.

The family moved to Kentucky in the early 1940s, and Fran enrolled at Atherton High School. Her teachers didn't think much of a Florida education, a slight she recalled with amusement for the rest of her life. After Atherton, she talked her way into a job at Selman's department store, then convinced them to put debutantes in the store window display to sell dresses. It worked, and she was made a buyer and sent to cities like New York to source merchandise.

In January 1947, she married Robert James Reagan, Jr., a veteran of the 457th Amphibian Truck Company on Guadalcanal. Mr. Reagan founded several successful businesses, and they raised three children in a ranch house in Broadfields. In the 1960s, Fran threw herself into advocating for children with learning difficulties. She helped found the de Paul school, served on state councils, and attended a White House Conference on Children in December 1970.

Between November 1987 and April 1988, Fran lost her mother and her husband. After forty years as a wife and sixty as a daughter, she was suddenly neither. She was sixty-one. She would end up being a widow nearly as long as she was a wife.

Growing up the eldest of much younger sisters, she wanted a dozen children of her own, a goal her mother told her to keep quiet about until after marriage. She organized the rest of her life around kids. Her third grandchild was born in the window she lost her mother and husband. When her grandson gave her three great-grandchildren, she insisted on traveling to New Jersey as often as she could. Between those trips, the Thompsons' four kids next door filled the gap. She didn't hit her goal, but she ended up mattering to a baker's dozen anyway.

But children weren't the only thing that brought Fran joy. Being the eldest of much younger sisters meant that being in charge was a close second. It wasn't something she chased. It was just the natural condition of things. In her family, she was the steadfast matriarch, showing up in everyone's life.

She brought the same instinct to her church, St. Mark's. She first found it as a teenager, after friends helped her climb out of a basement window of her parents' church. She liked St. Mark's better, and she convinced her parents to switch. She became a member of the vestry. The church also gave her a core group of septuagenarian friends. They played bridge and had a weekly night out that made them regulars around St. Matthews.

They ventured out of St. Matthews too, going to Italy, Ireland, and other countries. While Fran will be remembered at home for determination and seriousness, she was a good travel companion and a lighter side came out on the road. In her eighties, she zip-lined through Costa Rica, and she outdanced people decades younger at her grandson's wedding when she was just shy of ninety.

In her nineties, Fran lost her independence in pieces, and each time she met the loss with resistance and then quiet acceptance. It took years to convince her to move her washer and dryer up from the basement. When she wouldn't give up going down the stairs, her family put a lock on the basement door, which proved less successful than one would hope a lock to be. Leaving the home she made and the yard she tended for more than seventy years was a harder concession than the basement, but she did it. When she arrived at the nursing home, one of the first things she did was order a case of her favorite bourbon. After she broke her hip in November 2024, her world narrowed again. With the help of dedicated caregivers, Pearl and Sherita, she adapted to that as best she could. When the end came, she lasted another month, surprising the doctors and nurses, but not her family. On January 26, 2026, as bitter cold and snow settled over Louisville, Fran let go. Even she had her limits.

Fran is survived by her son, Scott Reagan; her grandchildren, Cole (Lauren), Robert, and Emery; her great-grandchildren, Coleman, Soren, and Calvin. She was predeceased by her husband, Robert James Reagan; her daughters, Laura and Cathy; and her sisters, Charlene and Teddy.

Visitation will be held at St. Mark's Episcopal Church on Saturday, February 7, 2026, from 12:00 to 1:00 p.m., followed by a service at 1:00 p.m. A private burial will follow at Cave Hill Cemetery.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to St. Mark's Episcopal Church or Simmons College of Kentucky.