Michael Doman this summer is taking his first classes at the University of Dayton School of Law. He might not be there if not for a man dead for more than a third of a century.
“The program in law and technology,” Doman said, “is one of the main reasons I chose to attend UDSL.”
He points to the qualifications of the faculty and to an annual event — The Scholarly Symposia Series: Current Issues in Intellectual Property Law. “The program provides great opportunities to connect with alumni through the intellectual property symposiums. These events are not only great for networking but also provide an opportunity to hear perspectives from attorneys who are currently practicing.”
Jason Williams, who received a UD juris doctorate in 2010 and a master of laws in 2011, saw the same benefits of the symposium as did Doman. “A number of us in the IP track attended the symposia regularly,” he said. “It’s a great networking event. We go to meet attorneys in the area. We got to know them; they got to know us.”
It didn’t hurt that the people they met at the symposia were people they also met when interviewing for summer jobs. And, said Williams, now an associate in the intellectual property department of Dinsmore’s Dayton office, that networking “helped me in landing this job.”
Williams and Doman both see significance in hearing the perspectives of practicing attorneys. The topics are often current and of a kind not found in class. Bringing that perspective back to class, Williams noted, added depth to the classroom experience.
And the symposium’s treatment of current, cutting-edge subjects draws practitioners to campus, noted Kelly Henrici ’94, director of the program in law and technology.
The symposium is able to exist because of a man dead for more than a third of a century. That man, Hubert Estabrook, before he died in 1975, made a decision that continues to affect the profession that he served.
In 1920, Estabrook was one of the founders of the firm Estabrook, Finn & McKee, the predecessor by merger of the Dayton office of Porter Wright Morris & Arthur. At his death, he and his wife, Gladys, left their estate to be used to fund legal education in Ohio. The fund distributes its funds to Ohio’s nine law schools and other institutions that advance the study of law in the state.
According to R. Bruce Snyder, current trustee for the trust, the first trustee was John Henry, an adjunct professor at UD. Upon Henry’s death in 1989, Snyder succeeded him.
“From then until now,” Snyder said, “the trust has distributed about $150,000 a year to try to jump-start programs at the nine Ohio law schools, programs that were perhaps risky and might not be tried.”
On campus in May during Alumni Weekend to accept the Honorable Walter H. Rice Honorary Alumni Award, Snyder remarked that the school’s “professors and students have made a career of making me look good as a trustee; we give seed money and often these things fail; at UD, they don’t.”
Snyder indicated that during his trusteeship, donations to the School of Law from the trust and Porter Wright have supported a number of programs at the school besides the program in law and technology. One of those in tune with the University’s mission as a Catholic and Marianist institution is the Symposium on Law, Religion & Ethics.
“Most recently,” Snyder said, “the trust pledged $100,000 to renovate the student lounge [the Jury Box]. The trust’s first grant to the law school was to create a student lounge.”
As Henrici said in speaking of the format of the intellectual property symposium: “We feed the mind, the heart, the soul and the belly.”No Comments
I’m not a fan of boxing — watching hits that barely dent muscled flesh threatens to shatter my eye sockets — but I am a fan of the boxer. Michael Gaffney’s story of his year with Muhammad Ali [“Muhammad and Me,” Page 28] intrigued me because of the intimate lens the photographer had into Ali’s life; I also must admit I glow each time a Flyer does something of wonder and worth. But the photographs completely overwhelmed me. In Gaffney’s book, I can see the physical transformation Ali undertook to rid his body of any softness that contributed to his title loss against Leon Spinks. I see calves famous for conveying deft footwork, arms triggered for the assault. Gaffney captured Ali’s mischievous smile, behind which I see cheek muscles that could crush a can.
By those images, I am both awed and envious.
It’s the same feeling I get when I watch the Dayton Contemporary Dance Co., which begins another year as UD’s community artist in residence. That bodies can be so graceful and powerful seems implausible. In the darkened theater, I squeeze my husband’s arm as a man who seems twice my size leaps in interpretation of an ostrich or airman or pusher or preacher, each muscle moving precisely thanks to training and talent.
I do not look like a boxer. I do not move like a dancer. I occasionally run because I know I should (and because my dog is bored). I poke at my soft spots and order the Peanut Buster Parfait. And I love to watch others move.
This summer will be a cornucopia for spectators who believe bodies are finely engineered temples. Among my favorites at the Olympics will be Jamaican sprinter Usain Bolt. I will refuse to breathe for the five minutes before — and the 9-point-wow seconds during — Bolt’s race to again prove he’s the fastest human alive. I will devour everything from shot put to sailing, and my dog will be bored.
Before Gaffney met Ali — and before Cassius Clay took the name Muhammad — Ali won the light heavyweight boxing gold in Rome in 1960. In 1996, the former boxer, ravaged by Parkinson’s, set the Olympic torch afire in Atlanta. As I watched through my living room TV, I could see that his loss of strength had not diminished his spark. I said I am envious of exhibitions of strength. But I am equally amazed by what that strength — or lack thereof — says about obstacles overcome, goals attained and limitations accepted. The muscles are not the story; the man is.
What I crave more than anything is a good story, to feel close to people tough as nails or mushy as soft-serve. When they are made real — through words, images or interactions — a sliver of that enigma called humanity is revealed. And I am once again awed.No Comments
If laughter is the best medicine, the members of the University’s improv team On The Fly are the best doctors around. Founded in 2006, this student-run comedy troupe performs improvisational theater based on audience suggestions and sketch comedy written by the cast. As any member will tell you, there’s a lot of truth in comedy. Here are some tips on living life on the lighter side.
1. Stop trying “Life is improv,” says Paul Azzi ’12. “I have no idea what is going to come. … I just roll with the punches.” Adds Michael Winn ’12, “Wait for something to happen. Just react.”
2. Make music Even in improv, a little forethought is necessary. “When you rhyme a word you have to think ahead to the next couplet,” Wil Morris ’13 says. But it doesn’t have to be perfect. “Just put a word out there and babble until you rhyme it,” Paul Azzi says.
3. Have back-up On The Fly is all about team cohesion. Foremost, they like to make one another laugh. And occasionally, they share their comedy with an audience. “We’re people before we’re performers,” Winn says. If someone flops on stage, another member comes to the rescue. “Everyone exerts their own expertise because no one is an expert.”
4. Figure out what you want “We’re all attention hogs,” Morris says. “We want attention from the audience and we love getting it.”
5. Be yourself “Everyone thinks I’m a dweeb,” Paul Azzi admits. The team members consider themselves more playful and weird than funny, but Winn says, “The more comfortable you are with yourself, the more free you are.”No Comments
If you’re looking for three words that sum up the love Chad Larkin ’00 has for the Phoenix area, these will do as good as any: golf in December.
After graduation, the former varsity golfer and Dayton native packed a suitcase and his golf clubs, booked a flight and headed west.
“When I graduated, I thought, ‘I can go wherever I want,’” Larkin says. “I can always move home, but it’s hard to establish yourself somewhere new.”
Over the past decade, he’s watched the region emerge from its reputation as a retiree haven. Young people like him have flocked to the metro area — now the country’s fifth-largest — drawn by its robust economy and outdoor, active lifestyles. The area’s average age is now 34.
“It’s a very young city now,” he says. “We have Intel, Honeywell, Boeing. Google has an office at Arizona State.”
He sees the changing demographics in the UD alumni who attend Phoenix chapter events, which draw a wide range of ages. As alumni chapter president, it’s something he keeps an eye on.
His chapter does a very popular Christmas off Campus each year, most recently to benefit Maggie’s Place, which offers support for single mothers. In other years, they’ve assisted Foundation for Blind Children and St. Vincent de Paul. Changing partners each year “gives us exposure to different service opportunities,” he says. There is a quarterly networking event, and Larkin is looking at opportunities to offer more cultural activities, particularly ones that might draw young families such as a trip to the children’s museum.
But there’s one annual event that he says is “just for us”: golf in December. As students on UD’s campus are typically shivering on a walk to the library to study for fall semester finals, Phoenix alumni are trying not to get sunburned on Arizona State’s Karsten Golf Course. In the distance are hiking trails at Pinnacle Peak, Camelback Mountain and other geological showcases begging to be explored.
There are 653 UD alumni living in the Phoenix area. As Larkin says, it’s a good place to be.
“Even having lived here for 12 years, I still look around at all of the scenery,” Larkin says. “It never gets old.”
What’s the city’s high point?
“Tucked right in the city and known as ‘nature’s stair-climber,’ Piestewa Peak is a great place to go for a quick morning hike when you want a great workout and a great view of the city.” —Emily Miller ’07
“Located 10 minutes east of downtown is Sun Devil Stadium, situated between two buttes on the campus of Arizona State University in Tempe. You get more than just the views of the game. From the top of the stadium you have fantastic views of downtown Phoenix to the west, Scottsdale and the McDowell Mountains to the northeast and downtown Tempe just to the south.” —Chad Larkin ’00
“Near my stomping grounds in Phoenix is South Mountain Park/Preserve. At over 16,000 acres, it is the largest municipal park in the country. This mountain range is not as high as Camelback Mountain but provides easy to difficult trails with beautiful scenic views.” —Andy Neal ’97
“My sister and her family live in Phoenix, so I visit as often as possible. Camelback Mountain is footsteps from their back door. I usually start each morning with a run/hike up the mountain, practice my yoga and watch the sunrise from the summit. Afterward, I reward myself with a breakfast from my favorite cafe, La Grande Orange, just on the other side of the mountain.” —Erika Patterson ‘06
“High point? No snow!” —Den Komaromi ’63No Comments
As I walk across campus, I’m often greeted by a friendly student voice, “Hey, Dr. Dan. What’s up?”
I appreciate that students casually seek me out for a chat between classes. That kind of comfortable rapport keeps the lines of communication open and helps us learn from one another. During a recent “Dialogue with the President” town hall meeting in Sears Recital Hall, I chatted with students for more than two hours on issues as wide ranging as housing and curriculum to academic reputation and the faith life of campus.
How will campus change in the next five years? Are you going to tear down our houses? What are the plans for Brown Street? These were just a few of the questions they peppered over a lively and candid exchange.
Students promoted the informal gathering in a way that made me laugh. It’s certainly an odd feeling walking across Kennedy Union Plaza and coming face to face with a nearly life-size cardboard cutout photo of yourself.
It’s even more startling to glance over at the rowdy Red Scare student section in UD Arena and spot your giant face bobbing up and down with the likes of the Wright brothers and Flyers basketball coach Archie Miller.
I realize it’s all in good fun.
Like most college presidents, I spend much of my day moving the strategic plan forward, participating in alumni gatherings and fundraising. The job is energizing, but the moments I interact with our students are very special to me.
In my presidency, we’ve built more houses than we’ve torn down. And while we’re committed to modernizing Founders Hall, the oldest residence hall on campus, I assured students at the town hall meeting that we’re also turning our attention to academic buildings. The places where they learn and study — the Science Center, Roesch Library and Chaminade Hall — are all due for upgrades. We’ll be introducing new majors, such as a proposed master of physician assistant practice, and opening an academic and research center in China. The renaissance of Brown Street will continue with bike lanes connecting the campus to downtown.
Claire and I love having students over to our house for meals. I attend Flyer basketball games, but I’m just as likely to cheer students at a volleyball match or a soccer game. I feel such a sense of pride when I listen to students share their research projects at the annual Stander Symposium on campus that celebrates undergraduate research and creativity.
I’ve driven into the heart of Appalachia to visit students running a summer day camp for children in Salyersville, Ky., a campus ministry service project now extending into its 49th year. Another time, I found our students camped outside a Biloxi, Miss., church held together by wooden beams, its walls blown out by a hurricane. They had traveled there over their fall midterm break to aid the relief effort.
Our students help me see life through their eyes, remind me of the power of life’s possibilities. Their curiosity, intellect and compassion never cease to amaze me.
Not to mention their ability to make me laugh when I least expect it.No Comments
I lived in a batcave during my senior year at the University of Dayton.
After several snags with the housing lottery, Carrie Clements, Liz Martens, Lauren Simcic and I scored 49 Woodland Ave. The single-floored structure was the last real house available during our two-minute housing registration slot.
We fumbled with the lock from the first day until cold fall weather finally let the front door contract to fit its frame. Across the threshold was a living room, then another, and a kitchen beyond. While we waited for facilities management to bring a breakfast table big enough to seat all of us, I nicknamed the second living room “purgatory.”
Expansive, cold white walls shot up to exceptionally high ceilings. We covered every surface with framed artwork, tapestries, photographs and collages. It didn’t feel so cold anymore.
I was the first to move in and had the luxury of choosing the bedroom I would share with Liz.
The middle room was perfect for one, perfect for Lauren with her enviable wardrobe. The frontmost room, intended for two, had large windows facing Woodland Avenue — sunny, but not spacious enough. Liz and I instead hauled our furniture to the back bedroom, which had a closet-like space. This was my batcave.
The bathroom was even smaller, but weekend nights typically brought us all into the cramped space, two huddled over the sink while another showered. As we finished getting ready, Liz dragged the futon onto the porch and Carrie’s speakers, placed in her window, led us outside.
There, we took in Woodland. Cyclists and families passed by from Woodland Cemetery, to our left, and adjacent Brown Street abounded with after-class snackers.
Our front door was always open, our fridge was always full, and for one year, it was home.No Comments
“The door was unlocked, I swear!”
Coming from someone like Matt Zielinski ’10, a resident of 228 College Park in his senior year, one can’t help but laugh at the words.
Zielinski and four of his seven housemates returned to the house during Reunion Weekend, June 8 – 10 , just hoping for a peek inside — without breaking in.
“It’s really cool to be able to walk right in and see what all they’ve done to the place,” Bill Fairweather ’10 says. “Looks like some new stuff is here.”
“We were probably the first house most people noticed when they got here for their tour,” Danny Harms ’10 says.
Believed by the men to be UD’s only house with a balcony, it catches the eye of nearly every person in passing.
“Everybody wants to get a porch in the Ghetto,” John Bedell ’10 says. “We had two awesome porches.”
“Having a basement was great too,” adds Mike Werner ’10.
Water ballooning was one of the housemates’ favorite pastimes.
“This window was great,” Bedell explains, pointing to the window in his room. “We always had balloons loaded up and ready to go.”
“We never hit anyone … at least not that we know of,” Fairweather says, “But that’s probably just as well.”
“It was in a great location for my classes,” says Zielinski, whose main academic building was the Frericks Center.
Each of the men say they have dozens of great memories but agree that the theme parties were some of the most spectacular.
“We had a lot of them,” Werner says. “We had a ’90s party (in September) … later we had a geriatric jamboree where we dressed up as old people.”
You know what they say: there’s nothing like a good ’90s party to get senior year started right.No Comments
Take the most elemental force:
Mix it with
In the face of grave struggles, it is a miracle when human nature does not crumple but instead rises, compelled to make a difference. Here are stories of alumni who turned sorrow into service.
When Mary Lauterbach ’94 steps in front of a microphone or a member of Congress — as she has done many times, in many places, since January 2008 when a detective uncovered her daughter’s murdered body in a shallow backyard grave — she senses a hand on her shoulder. “I feel that it is the Holy Spirit speaking through me,” says Mary. “It is not me.”
However the words come, she speaks about the life and death of her daughter, Lance Cpl. Maria Lauterbach. How in May 2007, Mary had urged Maria to report that she had been raped by a Marine superior, Cpl. Cesar Laurean, at Camp Lejeune. And how Maria was belittled, minimized and further traumatized after she came forward with that allegation.
Bringing attention to sexual violence was not part of the Marine culture.
Twenty-year-old Maria was slain Dec. 14, 200
7. In August 2010, Laurean, her accused rapist, was convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison.
The basics of the case may sound familiar; the media heavily followed the gruesome murder and trial, with varied and sometimes contradictory facts.
And as the tragic story became public, back in Vandalia, Ohio, Mary’s phone started ringing. She took more than 100 phone calls, from military women and a few men in different branches of service across the country who wanted to tell her what had happened when they had reported sexual assault. The common threads: They had no credibility with their superiors. Their truthfulness was questioned; their careers were derailed.
“It was like a broken record,” says Mary.
Mary was reeling from shock, grief and regret. Regret, because a month after the rape, an emotionally traumatized Maria had confided to her mother about what had happened. Mary had encouraged her daughter to report it, though belatedly, to her superiors.
“A month after the fact, Maria, no way you will get a conviction,” Mary remembers telling her daughter, “but get this guy a record.”
“It’s the worst advice I’ve ever given in my life,” Mary says. “I didn’t realize that I was telling her to do something dangerous. I feel responsible for her death in that.”
But as the phone rang with these callers, Mary saw that Maria’s experience was not isolated. She decided it was important to talk openly and frankly about Maria — her qualities and her imperfections — so she might be a vehicle for prompting improvements in the military’s attitudes about and actions after reports of sexual violence.
“At that moment in my life, I felt I was handed that mission. And it won’t stop, because I am being called to do that,” says Mary, an assistant director in donor relations at UD.
Hers and other voices are being heard in Congress and the Pentagon. A report issued October 2011 by the Department of Defense’s inspector general took a hard, critical look at Camp Lejeune’s response to Maria’s rape allegation. In December, Congress’ defense budget included measures for improved sexual assault prevention and response. And on April 16, Secretary of Defense Leon Panetta announced strong new measures to combat sexual assault in the ranks.
Officials, Mary says, have acknowledged that several of the changes are a direct response to Maria’s situation.
“I’ve always been a person of great faith,” says Mary, her voice in a near-whisper. “And I really believe Maria is in a better place. This brings meaning to Maria’s short life, and I am trying to extend that because her life has had an impact on more people and institutions than any of ours will, put together.
“Because of her, lives could be saved.”
The pediatrician kept her office open after hours so Shaun Westfall ’02 and Alison Kelly Westfall ’02 could bring in 11-day-old Carson for yet another weigh-in.
Baby Carson was not gaining weight the way a healthy newborn should. And now the doctor had received abnormal results from one of the newborn screening tests.
In March 2009 in the quiet of t
he deserted office, the pediatrician broke the news: “Carson is testing positive for cystic fibrosis.”
“And we were, ‘OK, what’s cystic fibrosis?’ We had no idea what it was,” says Alison. “And she said, ‘The worst thing you can do is go home and look on the Internet about this.’
“So we went home and looked at the Internet,” Alison says, laughing, “and read all the different terms and about the short lifespan, and just started to freak out.”
But freaking out is not a way of life for Shaun and Alison, who met while running cross-country for UD.
Further testing had confirmed that Carson had inherited a particular gene defect from both of them. Shaun and Alison, it turned out, are among the 10 million Americans who silently carry a single defective, recessive gene. The faulty gene improperly regulates a protein involved in moving certain fluids through cell walls. With two faulty genes, Carson’s body produces thick, sticky mucus capable of clogging his lungs and leading to life-threatening lung infections. Without treatment, other thickened byproducts would obstruct his pancreas and stop natural enzymes from helping his body break down and absorb food.
But less than two months after Carson’s diagnosis — while Alison was on maternity leave and the couple was still trying to get their baby’s treatments under control — they jumped into a Dayton fundraising walk, benefiting the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. With family and friends, they created a team, christening it Carson’s Crew.
Coincidentally, Ohio is home to a second Carson’s Crew: a family in a small northern Ohio town whose two children have CF. In fall 2010, Shaun and Alison drove up to attend a CF Foundation benefit that family had organized. They were moved — and inspired.
“The next day we were driving home,” Alison says, “and we said, ‘We could do that.’”
And they did, with help from their parents, a ton of friends and generous Dayton-area businesses. In late September 2011, 220 supporters showed up at the UD Arena Flight Deck for Flying Towards a Cure. The evening included a buffet, silent auction, basket raffle and video that Shaun made about a typical day with Carson — from his lung treatment regimen and diet to his tearing around the house like a typical, adorable 3-year-old boy.
The event netted $20,600, part of the $36,636.54 that Carson’s Crew has donated to the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation since May 2009.
Alison, a graphic design project manager, and Shaun, who works in information technology, are deep into plans for the second Flying
Towards a Cure, Sept. 15, again on the Flight Deck of UD Arena.
The couple’s motivation is simple. They want a cure. Ninety percent of donations to the CF Foundation go to research, Alison says: “And we both feel really strongly that we are seeing the benefits of that research really quickly, and that right there is an amazing thing. It pushes us to want to do more and give them everything we can think of to continue that research.”
This past January, the federal Food and Drug Administration approved Kalydeco, a drug that treats one of the less-common of the hundreds of cystic fibrosis mutations. Carson suffers from a more-common mutation, which would need two mechanisms corrected. The Westfalls are thrilled because clinical trials are under way that combine Kalydeco with a second drug.
The Kalydeco breakthrough, on the heels of their benefit, filled the Westfalls with a sense of purpose and accomplishment. And, says Shaun, they have been surprised and humbled by the number of individuals and Dayton businesses eager to join them in their efforts, even though CF is but one of many worthy causes in the world today.
Such support, he says, “makes the ‘work’ seem easy.”
At 12:30 a.m. one summer night in 1991, Gail Brown Callaway ’81 was running laps in San Jose, Calif., along with 30 other volunteers. As she rhythmically circled the track — her leg of the American Cancer Society’s fundraising 24-Hour Run, as the Relay for Life was called back then — a realization struck her.
“Something,” she thought, “isn’t right in my life.”
But what? An electrical engineer, Gail had gone to work for Hewlett-Packard straight out of UD, advanced to R&D, then to teaching field-service engineers. Her work had taken her to Australia and Hong Kong; her lifestyle allowed for fundraising activities such as the run. A problem solver by nature, she puzzled through that lingering thought as the summer wore on.
Shortly after the run, her brother and only sibling Gary ’79 flew out from Columbus, Ohio, for a Bay Area visit. Gary had been diagnosed three years earlier with multiple sclerosis, a chronic, unpredictable disease that attacks the central nervous system. During the visit, Gail was struck by her brother’s physical struggles. He used a cane, he moved slowly and he had bladder issues that left her waiting a very long time outside the men’s room at a San Francisco Giants game.
That fall, HP presented a severance offer: A year’s salary for employees who left. With that news, Gail knocked on the door of admissions at San Jose State University and landed with the chair of the biology department. She wanted to study physical therapy, she told him, so she could become the family expert on her brother’s condition and a resource for helping him deal with increasing disability.
The chair shook his head. “You are a troubleshooter,” he told her. “You want to figure out what is going on with your brother? You should be a doctor.” He took out a pad and pencil and laid out the course of study that would turn an electrical engineer into a medical school candidate.
Six years later, in 1997, Gail graduated from the University of Cincinnati College of Medicine, chosen because of its proximity to her brother’s Columbus home. She did her residency in internal medicine and pediatrics. And now, in western Maryland, where she practices at Smithsburg Family Medical Center, she has a reputation as a primary care physician who is skillful with treating MS.
Gail thanks her brother for inspiring her to circle back to her high school love of biology and for her deep interest in MS. However, Gary was unable to keep an early promise he made to her, that his disease would not be fatal. In 2002, at age 44, he died from complications of MS.
With his death, Gail found a new cause: raising money to support research funded by the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. She started with the Walk MS, and then in 2005, Bike MS — a two-day, 150-mile ride that takes place on different routes throughout the U.S. Taking to her bike was fitting because, each summer day as kids, she and her big brother pedaled to the neighborhood pool in the Chicago suburb of Niles, Ill.
When Gail and her husband, Lee Callaway, train for Bike MS, “it helps me remember my brother,” she says. “Even though he’s not here anymore, it’s great motivation to help people after him — and hopefully find a cure so people don’t have to endure what he did.”
In her seven Bike MS rides — with 2012’s to come — Gail has raised $76,605, mainly from modest donations. Local companies provide items for a raffle, and for three months her medical office sells tickets for the drawing at $1 each. She asks friends via email or postcards to sponsor her.
And she organizes an annual Girls Night Out with an admission fee and activities such as manicures, massages and jewelry making. Professionals donate their serv
ices, Gail pays for the food and drink, and the gate all goes to the MS Society.
Back in her office, Gail is mindful of how she felt during her 14 years as the sister of an MS patient. She wanted things explained clearly to her. She wanted to know about resources such as information, equipment and family support. She knows too well how tough a serious disease is on loved ones.
As a lasting gift from her brother, says the engineer-turned-healer, “I have more compassion.”
The details of the mishandled birth of Adam Susser, detailed in Florida Senate Bill No. 38, are such a horrifying case of medical negligence that reading them is almost too much to bear.
So it is enough to know that Gary ’79 and Judy Susser’s fraternal twin boys were born on July 10, 2000, in Coral Springs, Fla. After two weeks in neonatal intensive care, baby Brandon was fine; today he is a soccer-playing honor-roll student.
Adam, however, was severely oxygen-deprived. He is now wheelchair bound, uses a feeding tube and will forever require vigilant attention and help with basic daily activities. He can speak but a handful of words.
A trust established by the court provides an annuity that helps support his needs. But the reality remains for Adam that he is cortically blind; that means brain damage caused his vision loss. And the prolonged lack of oxygen during birth left him with quadriplegic cerebral palsy, a disorder caused by damage to the developing brain.
“He can see with his heart and with his ears. So basically we surround him with love and affection,” says Gary, a consumer rights lawyer in Boynton Beach, Fla. “We were blessed with two special sons.”
In July 2004, Gary and Judy started a foundation in Adam’s name, “to promote awareness and to help others,” he says, “including the college students who want to help these
Adam, who turns 12 in July, has a heart-melting smile and thick dark hair. While he continues to live with severe deficits, he has made progress, thanks to good nutrition, education, enrichment activities and medical care.
At age 3, a month after a stem cell transplant in Mexico with umbilical cord blood cells from a U.S. lab, Adam gained a limited amount of vision. Whether it was by coincidence or cause-and-effect his parents cannot say for sure, but they are elated. His eye health improved further with experimental laser surgery at Washington University’s medical complex in St. Louis. Double hip surgeries and regular physical therapy have enabled him to walk by being placced into a custom walker. He attends special classes in public school.
A core value of the Adam Susser Foundation is to support students who choose careers devoted to assisting the developmentally disabled. The foundation funds scholarships for r
ecipients selected by Florida Atlantic and Florida International universities who are studying occupational and physical therapy, speech therapy and special education.
Over the years, the foundation’s mission has evolved into raising public awareness and public involvement for special needs children, advocating for legitimate stem cell research, and counseling other families, particularly against fraudulent treatments.
“My wife is very involved and speaks out, as do I,” says Gary. “But I attend more of the political events because I am not afraid to speak up, and I don’t give a rat’s patootie about crossing swords.”
At age 4, Adam appeared on Oprah — wheeled onto the set by his devoted twin — for a segment about medical malpractice and patient protection laws. In January, 60 Minutes broadcast an investigation of bogus offshore labs selling stem cell cures. The producers worked with Gary and Judy, who arranged for the first of four stem cell purchases.
When Duke University tested the cells, results showed that only 100 out of the 20 million purchased were still alive. The cost: $5,000 for each purchase, plus medical fees. Cash. Hope can carry a high price tag.
“Adam cuts across so many issues,” says Gary. “Stem cell research, medical malpractice, limitation on damages, children’s rights, rights of the disabled, education.”
The Sussers cannot recall a particular moment that prompted them to start a foundation. The need was as obvious as a hurricane. Their efforts are not a form of emotional healing. In fact, the couple’s sense of heartache and anguish has grown, says Gary, because the more he and Judy give, it “just gives more insight into what the need is, and how our society and our government have failed those in need.”
His parents and Judaism, he says, taught him a responsibility to help others.
“My wife and I don’t tithe per se,” Gary says, “but we give thousands of dollars to charities that deal with children. We love doing that. Everything you can think of, we get involved in.
“And we speak out, because there’s not enough being done for these kids, in our opinion. Because they are all innocents.”
Domus Pacis Family Respite, a nonprofit program in the majestic mountains of Colorado, had many beginnings before it actually began.
In a way, the seed for Domus Pacis — Latin for “House of Peace” — was planted in 1990, during the year that Vince White-Petteruti ’73 drove between Chicago and Cleveland nearly every weekend to be with his ailing father and offer comfort to his mother. Later, Vince treasured the sense of peace he felt from having spent that time together.
After Vince’s dad died, there was the suggestion of his wife that they take a short break to cross-country ski in Colorado. When the couple arrived in December 1990, the ski town of Breckenridge had no snow. So instead, they looked at property. By the time Vince and Marylouise returned to their kids and corporate lives in Chicago, they had bought 10 forested acres with a view of Baldy Mountain and an intention to relocate there in retirement.
There was also the last-minute girls’ getaway to Vail, Colo., that Marylouise — known as “Duck”— organized in July 1997 with her two sisters and mother. Her mother had advanced lung cancer, and doctors warned this was her last opportunity to travel.
Duck learned two things from that Vail trip: First, it is very complicated to plan a medically safe, enjoyable vacation for someone seriously ill — yet it is critical that the honored guest see none of that effort. And second, that the joy from a relaxing week with family was long lived. Duck was heartened by the post-trip glow that her mother carried through her final days.
All those experiences melded together one sunny Colorado day in 2001. Duck and Vince, now retired, had just cleared the footprint for their mountain cabin. Vince left with their son Nic and daughter Sarah ’01 on a weeklong hike to maintain forest trails. Alone, Duck turned to the July sky and asked the Lord why they had been able to move here as planned, why their children were doing well, why she and Vince felt secure enough financially and emotionally to leave corporate America.
“And as soon as I let go of that thought,” Duck says, “it came back to me: ‘Do for other families as you did for yours.’ And I knew without a doubt, it was the respite.”
That meant devoting their blessings to provide other families the happy memories of a week together, cradled by nature and caring strangers. Duck spent the rest of the day formulating the strategic plan.
When Vince emerged from the backcountry, she informed him of this revelation. They immediately called the architect, who redesigned their home to easily host visiting families and donor activities.
Their resulting nonprofit, Domus Pacis Family Respite (DO-mus PAH-chis), extends a free week in Colorado High Country for families in the throes of cancer, celebrating the end of treatment or in hospice care. Duck, a former senior vice president in global advertising, is executive director; Vince, a former steel industry executive, is treasurer. The community of Summit County, Colo., acts as volunteer pool and patron. Domus Pacis welcomed eight families in 2008 and has grown each year, to 58 in 2011 and potentially 100 this year. Patients have ranged in age from 8 months to 87 years, says Vince, and “we let the patient decide who ‘family’ is.”
Duck and Vince made good use of their business acumen in planning the practicalities. Through churches, synagogues and property managers, they have built a list of more than 80 available properties; many mountain vacation homes are normally occupied only a few weeks a year. More than 75 partners from Colorado’s medical and social work worlds provide the patient/family referrals, a process that reassures everyone from the IRS to donors.
Summit County businesses, residents and youth groups donate meals and recreation passes, fill welcome baskets and bake treats. In 2011, Domus Pacis was named Outstanding Nonprofit of the Year as part of the local Summit Foundation’s Community Collaboration Awards. “The project is also a way to teach philanthropy,” Duck says, “across all generations and economic levels.”
At times, it is tough to face so much suffering, especially when the patients are children. But Duck finds comfort in knowing that she and Vince recognized and met their life’s purpose.
Excerpts of heartfelt letters fill the Domus Pacis website. The landscape itself builds a sense of peace, says Vince: “Nature and God and the mountains, the lakes and the flowers: They just all contribute.”
Janet Filips ’77 has done thousands of interviews in her journalism career, which began at The Journal Herald and Dayton Daily News and continued in Portland and Eugene, Ore. She remains interested in hearing people’s stories because of human beings’ incredible capacity to persevere, inspire and amaze. This article made her feel extra proud to be a UD alumna. Janet is also author of The Luscious Cookbook.
Readers had more questions for Father Marty Solma, S.M. ’71, provincial of the Marianist Province of the United States, than we had space in the Big Questions section of the Summer 2012 issue of University of Dayton Magazine. Here are additional questions with answers from Father Solma:
How do you see your role in ensuring that Marianist college faculty convey respect for human life and the teaching authority of the Church in ethics and philosophy classes and in other situations, even where teachers and students may not be Catholic? —Marcia Schiele, Solon, Ohio, parent of four UD students
The question you ask is an especially important one for us these days. The University of Dayton, by virtue of its Catholic character and Marianist educational tradition, must endorse and publicly support the Catholic doctrinal and ethical teaching of the magisterium. The office of the vice president for mission and rector is more formally charged with overseeing compliance, along with the ultimate responsibility vested in the president and the board of trustees, of which I am a member. The board itself has two supervisory committees, one dealing with the mission and identity of the university and the other with the ethics involved with university research. We stay in close contact with the archbishop of Cincinnati to ensure his support and endorsement. When issues arise, we address them from our Catholic and Marianist commitment. This is of particular importance around the many life issues, including abortion, euthanasia, the death penalty, and respect for human life from conception until natural death.
When you are dark, when you are weary, when hope seems silly and greed and violence the coin of the realm, where do you go to be restored, resurrected, refreshed? What brings you back up to joy and defiant courage? —Brian Doyle, Editor, Portland Magazine
I rarely feel dark and weary. Frustrated, sad, discouraged — yes, at times. But that is part and parcel of doing anything worthwhile. I like people and, as Anne Frank said in her diary, “Despite everything, I still believe that people are basically good.” That doesn’t discount weakness, stupidity or sinfulness; but a deep respect for each person is what sustains a lot of my day-to-day activity. On a deeper level, if we take the resurrection seriously, the redemption has already happened and the Spirit has been given. The theological task today is to become what we already are through the mystery of Jesus’ death and resurrection. That’s Karl Rahner, by the way. That’s the core of my life, something that doesn’t easily give way to “dark and weary.”
The greatest female Catholic writer in American history: Flannery O’Connor or Annie Dillard? —Brian Doyle, Editor, Portland Magazine
I’m less familiar with the work of Annie Dillard although I’ve liked what I’ve read of her. I really like Flannery O’Connor: an honest, gutsy, determined believer and Christian.
What do you consider to be the most challenging and rewarding aspect of your present position? —Father Norbert Burns, S.M. ’45, Dayton
The Society of Mary in the United States is clearly getting older and more lean. At the same time, we have a number of very fine young men joining our mission and committing themselves by vow to the charism of Blessed William Joseph Chaminade. But, we have to be smart and have to make choices that promote both our religious life and our mission for the future. We cannot do things the way we did them even 40 years ago. But, this is the time and place in which the Lord has called us to fidelity and to faithful service.
As a member of the board of trustees, what gives you the most hope in terms of UD’s Catholic and Marianist mission and identity? What are the challenges from your perspective? —Joan Wagner, Dayton
At one time, professed members of the Society of Mary were numerous on the campus of UD, serving in administrative post and teaching in classrooms. The Catholic and Marianist identity was embodied in these men. The situation today is much different. Professed Marianists are fewer and older. But, this is not something to be discouraged about. When Father Chaminade returned to France from his exile in Saragossa, Spain, after the initial years of the French Revolution, he found a Church and society that was devastated. He set about rebuilding the Christian faith and the Church by forming communities of lay people who progressively grew in their faith and commitment. These “sodalities” were the fertile ground out of which grew the Marianist Sisters in 1816 and the Society of Mary in 1817. Father Chaminade was hailed as the “Apostle of the Laity” when he was beatified in 2000 by Blessed John Paul II. We continue his tradition of partnering with lay members of the Marianist Family and with other lay collaborators. Together, we have been entrusted with the Marianist charism and this partnering will continue to keep alive the Marianist spirit at the University of Dayton. Of special note is the presence of the Marianist Educational Associates (MEA) who have taken on a focused and committed role in promoting and sustaining the Marianist spirit at UD. The same is true at the two other Marianist-sponsored universities. We see this as a harkening back to our original foundation and to the original initiative of Blessed Chaminade. We do this together as a Marianist Family. This is a change of perspective for us, but one consistent with our charism and tradition.
Our Marianist charism is said to be both a gift and a task. What are the life-giving gift and the responsibility of the charism for you? —Maureen O’Rourke ’05, Dayton
For Blessed Chaminade, the place of Mary in the history of redemption was of primary importance. She was the channel through which the Word of God entered human history. As presented by St. John in his Gospel, she is the woman who stands at the foot of the cross and becomes the Mother of all the disciples of Jesus, his brothers and sisters, sharing the same mother. Pondering Mary’s mission was central to the life and ministry of Chaminade. As sharers in this charism, we need to do the same: like the Beloved Disciples, to take Mary into our lives and, with her, to foster the Christ-life in others. Understanding this, living it, sharing it is what Marianists do, whether religious or lay.
Please give us an update on the school in Kenya. —Maureen McGrail ’67, East Lansing, Mich.
Our Lady of Nazareth Primary School in the Mukuru slums of Nairobi just celebrated its 20th anniversary at the end of February. Begun by the Sisters of Mercy in 1992 to offer some basic math and language skills to slum children, the school has been administered by the Society of Mary since 1997. This year, it has an enrollment of 2,000 students and placed No. 5 in the district in the recent national exams. Not bad for a slum school! Through the kindness of donors in the UK and in Dayton, every child in the school now gets a hot breakfast of “uji” every morning, a porridge made from high-nutrient flour. Providing a good breakfast (and lunch) every day to 2,000 children in the middle of the slums is no small achievement. The Kenyan Marianists, under the leadership of Brother Chola Mulenga and Brother Joseph Maricky Okoth, continue providing a quality Marianist education to these children.
The following are the questions and answers — some in a longer form — that appeared in the Summer 2012 issue of University of Dayton Magazine.
A provincial seems like an admirable but often rather thankless task; so much of your work must not provide much instant gratification, and to even see results must often be the measurement of years. What are the subtle gentle rewards and kicks of being provincial? And I don’t mean the Jaguar and the superb wines. —Brian Doyle, Editor, Portland Magazine
Right, try a Ford Taurus and Crane Lake wine! Reinhold Niebuhr said that nothing of lasting value can be accomplished in a single lifetime, so we live with faith and hope. Of course, parents also know this in raising their children, and teachers in educating them. It’s the same with this responsibility: walking with people, leading, trying to make wise decisions for the future, relying on the help and insight of others. There are so many glimmers of grace in this job: Brothers who witness extraordinary generosity and self-sacrifice; experiences of forgiveness; goals reached and differences made; working with some incredibly good people on my Council and on the boards of the three Marianist-sponsored universities; walking with Brothers during their final journey to God. I have been deeply touched by the confidence that Brothers have placed in me and by their expressions of gratitude and support. Much better, to my mind, than a Jaguar or superb wines.
What message do you wish to give to the thousands of UD alumni? —Father Norbert Burns, S.M. ’45, Dayton
I had decided to attend UD even before I joined the Society of Mary in 1966. What a marvelous place! Under the really fine leadership of Brother Ray Fitz, now of Dr. Dan Curran, the school has grown to national prominence, increasing its offerings and strengthening its academic program. But, it’s the “feel” of the campus that is most enduring. Our founder, Blessed William Joseph Chaminade, spoke about “family spirit” and that is very much in evidence on the campus and in the interactions of students, faculty, staff and administrators. This is much more than a “feel good” environment. It is rooted in our Catholic faith, in the Marianist charism and the Marianist characteristics of education, and in the person of Mary who stands at the very center of our Marianist life. She is the woman who formed Jesus, and she is the woman who continues to form us in His likeness. UD is a special place. I am also highly impressed that the very same sense is evidenced at St. Mary’s University in San Antonio and at Chaminade University in Honolulu, both sister schools to UD and sponsored by the Society of Mary.
There has been a lot of talk in the political news about Social Justice lately. What is the definition of Social Justice to a Marianist and how does it fit into the Marianist mission? —Jerry Walsh ’87, Alexandria, Va.
Rooted in Catholic Social Teaching is the notion that justice is not just an individual concern but a social one as well. We are not simply focused on the good of the individual but on the common good: What makes for human flourishing and development for every human person? Our vision must include both fair wages and humane working conditions for the men and women who care for the grounds at UD but also the promotion of respect for and among students and faculty, part and parcel of the “Call to Community” initiative. As well, it means that we are committed to respect for the environment and challenging students to live in such a way that this becomes a lived value for them. It means providing opportunities for students to serve in Appalachia with University of Dayton Summer Appalachia Program, as engineers in the ETHOS [Engineers in Technical Humanitarian Opportunities of Service-learning] program, as interns with the Fitz Center. It means keeping a wide perspective on the world, on issues of peace and justice and on the policies and laws that either promote or hinder a world that is more peaceful and just. These are the issues that must form a big part of the Common Academic Program, imbuing students with a deep sense of their Catholic tradition and their responsibility for the world with which God has entrusted us. Marianist education is holistic.
Do the Marianists, and does the University, have a responsibility to share with the Church, bishops, clergy, religious and lay people, their honest assessment of how to make Christ present to all people in this time and this place? Or is our responsibility simply to communicate to lay Catholics and the public what the pope and the bishops present as essential Catholic teaching? In short do we or do we not share responsibility for the current life and future prospects of the Church in the United States? — David O’Brien, O’Brien recently completed a three-year term as University Professor of Faith and Culture.
Grounded in the teaching of the Second Vatican Council, Lumen Gentium and its “Universal Call to Holiness,” we are all called to a vibrant living of the Christian life and to a sharing in the building up of the Body of Christ. That is our pledge and our responsibility by baptism. But, as St. Paul says, each part of the body must contribute what it can. There are roles of teaching and leading, but there are also prophets, preachers, healers, those who care of the needy, and many other roles of service. In the best Marianist tradition, we build a sense of community where all are invited to share their gifts for the benefit of the whole. The university community has a special place in all of this. It is the arena where faith and culture meet, where science and theology together seek for truth, where the Catholic faith forms the bedrock for the education of the whole person and touches every part of the university culture. Magisterial teaching is important and has its place, obviously. But that teaching needs to be understood, explored and appropriated in a human and deeply religious manner. The university is a place where the deepest human questions can be met by the wisdom that comes from the Catholic tradition.
Will the Society of Mary continue sponsorship of high schools in the future and, if so, how will the order keep the Marianist charism alive with no or very few vowed Marianists staffing the schools? —Myron Achbach ’58, Dayton
The province is in the process of developing a sponsorship model for all of these schools. Rather than simply withdrawing from them or closing them, is there a way to maintain a Marianist spirit and ethos in the high schools and middle schools? We think so. A sponsorship relationship would entail certain benefits and obligations on the part of these institutions in the Marianist educational tradition. On our side, we need to determine what is required in order to put the name “Marianist” on a school: in spirit, in governance, in commitment. It will require the Marianist Province of the USA to devote considerable time and resources to the process of “formation,” sharing with lay partners the meaning and dynamism of the Marianist charism. We have recently initiated an Office of Formation for Mission that will serve these Province needs. This, along with whatever Office of Sponsorship we eventually establish, will hopefully ensure the continuance of the Marianist spirit in schools for a long time to come. Far from a diminishment, this new way of our doing ministry can extend the Marianist influence far beyond what we alone can do today.
For our autumn issue, ask CAROL RAMEY ’68, director of the North American Center for Marianist Studies, about what the Marianist founders offer today’s world, about Mary as inspiration and role model, about community, about what Marianists bring to the table today.
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With only a camera lens between himself and the heavyweight champion of the world, UD graduate Michael Gaffney uncovered the intimate moments of Muhammad Ali’s life. Here is his story. For more images, see the UD Magazine spreads.
Elvis Presley was dead. I had always wanted to photograph The King, and I had missed my chance.
There was no way I was going to miss photographing The Champ.
Elvis died Aug. 16, 1977. Later that month, I leafed through the newspaper and stopped on a story of three Ohio guys who had jumped in a car and driven to Muhammad Ali’s mountaintop training camp near Deer Lake, Pa. If they could do it, I could, too.
Muhammad — The Champ — had already established himself as one of the greatest heavyweight fighters of all time; he had captured worldwide attention; and, at 35, he was an aging boxer in a young man’s game. I was chief photographer at New Jersey’s The Daily Record on a two-week vacation. I threw my Nikons into the back of our royal blue Volkswagen — my wife named it “Herbie” — and drove the two-and-a-half hours west into the mountains.
The camp was completely open to visitors. I pulled up and met Gene Kilroy, Muhammad’s manager, who led me into a room. There, Muhammad lounged on a couch, robed and with bare feet, waiting to start his day’s training. I explained I was on assignment for Gamma-Liaison, an international photo agency. Muhammad welcomed me with a wave: “Shoot whatever you want.” I quickly understood why he was the world’s most photographed person. There was something rare about his openness, accessibility and honesty that I knew would make for great pictures.
Three days into the assignment, in the dark of morning, we drove down the mountain to the flats of Deer Lake. Muhammad and I ran two miles, him training, me photographing with flash blazing. Back in the Oldsmobile, I cozied in the backseat with Muhammad’s brother and his trainer when Muhammad made a dramatic pronouncement: “No man alive has run up my mountain.” We drove on, and he said it again. I realized I was the only one in the car with running shoes on.
He must be talking to me.
“Stop the car,” I said. It was still dark as I ran with Muhammad’s cornerman, Bundini Brown, driving behind and lighting my way. I was in great shape, I was a runner, I got halfway up, and I was sucking eggs. I thought, “This is ridiculous, I have to keep going, I have to keep going, I can’t let him down.” Fifteen minutes was an eternity. As we approached the top, Muhammad was first out of the car, yelling, “You’re the only man alive to run up my mountain.” It wasn’t until after I finished that I realized he had pulled this on many people; I was the only one to succeed. In me, he saw something that he liked — a drive and ability to push and get what I wanted.
I wanted photos of Muhammad and, in those two weeks, I got them.
When I told Muhammad I was leaving, he asked me to be his personal photographer for a year. In his best Marlon Brando Godfather voice, he said, “I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
I laughed and said I needed to talk to my wife. Halfway home, I pulled up to a pay phone in front of a motel in Easton, Pa., dropped in my coins and dialed Debby. “What does this mean?” she asked. I told her it meant a lot of traveling all over the world covering his fights. She said, “We need to talk.” When I walked in the house, Debby said, “If you don’t do this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. It is the opportunity of a lifetime.”
I gave my two weeks at the paper.
In 1968, I was a sophomore at UD from a family of five kids just trying to make my way. I was slopping trays in the Marycrest cafeteria for a meal ticket, and me and Johnny Kennelly were unloading trucks for the Teamsters during the holiday season for extra cash.
Then I got a present. My brother, on R&R in Bangkok from the Vietnam War, bought me a Yashica 125 twin lens reflex camera. I had never owned a camera before. The closest I had ever got was running home from school on Fridays to be the first in our family to pull Life magazine from the mailbox and page through photos from all over the world while lying on my belly on the living room floor.
I bought a roll of 120 film and started shooting. In an alley in Dayton, there was a young Spanish girl, maybe 12 years old. She stood in front of a garage door with peeling paint and looked right into the camera. It was haunting. A friend showed me how to develop film and make a print. I took that paper and put it in the developer, and the image of this little girl came out. Even with just the black light of the darkroom, in that image I saw that this was what I wanted to do.
I took all the fine arts courses I could find, and I graduated with a degree in marketing and a minor in fine art, which no one I knew had ever heard of before. I went on to learn how to tell stories from Newsweek’s Thomas Orr and then into newspapers, where I always had three cameras hanging around my neck and got to shoot my favorite Yankee, Willie Randolph, and fall in love with Joe Namath and the Jets, all before I met Muhammad.
My year with him became defined by a fight trilogy — Muhammad winning by decision after 15 brutal rounds with Earnie Shavers in September 1977, losing his championship belt to Leon Spinks in February 1978, and besting Spinks in a rematch September 1978, winning the heavyweight title for a record third time, a feat never accomplished before or since. He was “The Greatest,” “The Champ,” champion of the world.
The mastery of Muhammad Ali can be summed in a single hit he took in the second round of the Shavers fight, my first heavyweight match. Shavers came in low and landed a right on Muhammad’s chin. In the photos, you can see the sweat knocking off Muhammad and the compression in his back from the force of the blow. Muhammad was essentially knocked out; I saw his knees buckle, and anyone who has fought knows that when the legs go, you’re down. But Ali bounced off the ropes. He started feigning wild bolo punches, yelling at Shavers, “You didn’t get me!” Muhammad was near unconsciousness, but he convinced Shavers, the judges and me that the punch didn’t count. And it bought him time to recover. Later, after 15 rounds and a decision in Muhammad’s favor, Shavers admitted his mistake. Shavers should have knocked him out then, but instead he believed Muhammad’s ruse and conserved his energy for the rounds to come.
From the beginning, I saw my work as a documentary. In that year, I captured more than 8,000 photographs and tape-recorded his voice. I even channeled George Plimpton and danced around the ring to prove that The Champ and I had both made the right career choices.
When Muhammad sparred, he would take a beating, going three rounds without throwing a punch until the last 30 seconds. He trained to function in an unconscious state. He theorized that he could make himself immune to the punishment by toughening up. He had great skin — he didn’t cut like most boxers — and his recuperative powers were amazing. It was his strength. Did it contribute to his Parkinson’s? I don’t know. But the fights were damaging his liver, and Dr. Ferdie Pacheco, his personal physician, quit because he felt Muhammad was destroying himself.
But the documentary was about more than the boxing. I took the responsibility to show what most people couldn’t see. My goal was to pull him away from the crowd, which was hard, because he was the most popular person in the world. In Miami Beach, Fla., I asked him to go running. “I don’t run on sand,” he said. I told him it would strengthen his legs, and he played along. He pulled on combat boots, and I took pictures of him running, alone, on the beach.
On that trip, I also took photos of Muhammad with his newborn daughter, Laila. Recently, in People magazine, I saw a story about how Laila hung that photo above the crib of her new baby girl. She told the magazine, “It’s like a light shining down on her from my dad.”
People love a story of redemption. That is the story of Muhammad Ali.
I first told that story four years ago in an exhibition to raise money for the Morristown Neighborhood House in New Jersey, where generations of boys like me learned as kids to box. Bert Randolph Sugar, the foremost authority on boxing, sent an ESPN crew to cover it. Then the exhibit traveled to London.
The exposure and the reaction showed me people were still interested in Muhammad, and I decided to write a book. His image and his words put him in the context of history. He once told me that, after he took conscientious objector status for Vietnam, most people came to his fights to see him lose: “They came and they booed.” When the war finally ended and the country realized what a mistake the war was, they came back to his side. You couldn’t help but be around someone so powerful and so courageous. I’m not glorifying him; he had his flaws. But he lived a principled life founded on religious beliefs of peace, tolerance and understanding. There was a contrast between the violent world in which he earned a living and how respected he was for his acts of humanitarianism. He looked at his position of fame as a means to give a voice to the people who needed to be heard.
There were many special moments during my year with The Champ, which began with my run up the mountain and Muhammad lighting the way. What I learned was that Muhammad’s message, the light that he shared with the world, was a message of hope. I photographed it in the tears of a proud man who with thousands welcomed Muhammad to Detroit. I saw it in the beggars to whom he handed $100 bills outside his hotel room in Bogotá, Colombia.
Everywhere we went, it was always the same, always found in their eyes. Muhammad made them proud of who they were and dared them to dream and hope.
When Muhammad fought Sonny Liston in 1964 for Muhammad’s first heavyweight title, my brother and I listened to the fight out of Miami Beach on a transistor radio. I was 14 years old and made a $5 bet that that big, bad Sonny Liston would win. It was the first and last time I would bet against The Champ.
Gaffney now specializes in corporate photography out of his office in Morristown, N.J. His exhibition has been released as a book, The Champ: My Year With Muhammad Ali, which is available in print and ebook through Diversion Books at online retailers. Gaffney gave an advance copy to Ali’s wife, Lonnie, who presented it to The Champ on his 70th birthday, Jan. 17, 2012. Gaffney’s photos will be part of an Ali exhibit at Foreman’s in London during the 2012 Summer Olympics.No Comments