John Bell

The College Years

Since 1950, Nebraska Football has honored one of its players each year with the Tom Novak Award for a player that “best exemplifies courage and determination beyond all odds in the manner of Nebraska All-American center, Tom “Train Wreck” Novak.” John Bell earned the Tom Novak award in 1973 for playing the game with intensity—reckless abandon as the coaches called it. Fighting through injuries and personal setbacks, John, #66, was tough and a critical part of Nebraska’s 1971 National Championship team, 1972 Orange Bowl championship team, and 1973 Cotton Bowl championship team. This was in addition to his mention on the All-Conference and All-American academic award roster and to John being a two-year letter winner on the Husker wrestling team. Middle guards don’t often get that level of notoriety. John was blessed with exceptional quickness and power as he leveraged his 202-pound body among interior linemen of a much larger stature.

Raising a Family and Building a Career

John was known to have a strong work ethic, working through his teen and college years. He obtained a teaching credential from Nebraska. Wanting to work with adolescents, he started as a youth counselor with the California Youth Authority detention system. Family priorities changed and a move closer to family took John to high school teaching and administration for the majority of his career. He loved working with kids and connected with them at all levels through a knack for good ideas and resourceful programs. His spontaneous nature for making things happen enriched many young peoples’ lives.

As children (Jared-son and Carrie-daughter), growing up with their father was always an adventure. He was always trying to introduce his children to new things and broaden their horizons. He challenged them every chance he got. He was at every game, every debate, every play, dance or choral recital, and every parent-teacher meeting. He was honest with his children and treated them with respect and listened whenever they had complaints and problems. Their communication was open and safe whether it be about sex, drugs or world events. John and his then-wife Paula divorced, and John insisted on joint and equal custody for his children in court.

He continued to include his children in his life even when he started dating his eventual second wife, Kathy. He always checked in with Jared and Carrie to make sure that they liked her. He even included the two kids on dates. John married Kathy in 1988 and they remained together until his death. Carrie and Jared were in the wedding and were also included on a family hiking trip/honeymoon—a “family-moon” long before it became trendy.

Carrie (Car-bear) and Jared (Jar-bear), as he called them, would attest to John’s level of enthusiasm via the many outdoor adventures and family trips as John’s reputation as papa-bear became legend. Until about 2007, Jared and Carrie would describe their dad was a bright shiny person. His Memorial Day parties were legendary. Their family and friends would gather. Everyone ate like kings, listened to music turned way up, and swam for hours. The kids were always going on road trips and encouraged to explore and try new things. He was firm and pushed the kids to their limits but was always kind and full of love and instruction. Carrie’s desire to see the world and live life fully were seeds planted by her dad. He also taught her how to be loyal and brave, to fight for the weak, and stand up to bullies. John was very proud of his kids.

As time went on, however, his lack of mobility and constant pain from arthritis restricted his need/desire to work out and remain physically active. The loss of this physicality in sports, which was so validating to John and so much a part of his youth, created issues. In his younger years, it was the physical contact inside and outside of wrestling and football that kept him focused.

John died on March 31, 2016, from a very aggressive onset of polyneuropathy, septic shock, coupled with complicating infections. The prognosis for recovery was not positive and after a week in ICU he was put on life support. Sadly, after two days of continued decline the family had to make the decision to take him off life support. Upon hearing of John’s passing many said that their lives would not be what they were today without John Bell. The family had just a small ceremony, but they received many cards, and Facebook posts in addition to the newspaper notice acknowledging John’s contributions.

Battling the Demons

John’s life was not easy, as his bi-polar II and ADHD diagnoses tormented him throughout adulthood. He just didn’t feel normal. Anger, irritability, binge drinking, hurtful comments, fault-finding, blaming, and rages triggered isolation. He often got very upset with friends and family and became disappointed with who they were. This led to negative comments as he would “just let them have it.” It was hard to recognize at times, and his kids internalized that this behavior was “not their father” and that he was not a “horrible person.” But it was painful to watch and also painful to be the brunt of the side effects. In an attempt to mask his demons, John’s risk-oriented personality lead him to more alcohol and recreational drugs. It was possible that the alcohol and drugs were a subliminal strategy to mask or suppress the undefined underlying medical issues. It was not a solution that worked and likely led to a psychotic break in his late 40s. Medication was prescribed but not always used.

His body wore down from the years of battle. With the loss of a physical outlet he turned to writing poetry and engaging in the arts more and more. But, as time passed the poetry became darker and darker and his trips to “outer space” went from once every six months to every couple of months. He would call his family several times a day at all hours of the day. He was always upset about things from the past, things that were unfinished or unresolved. Jared would sit and talk with him as much as he could. Sometimes John’s anger was directed at Jared for something he did or for not being there to answer his phone call. Most of the time he praised Jared for things he accomplished twenty years earlier or for the great father he was. He would end every call with, “love is love” and Jared responded with “not fade away.”

 

From their perspective, not being able to do as much physically made their dad grumpy and sad as he started cycling between being up and manic and down and depressed. He always had a fiery temper but it was easily provoked as he got older and deteriorated to where the littlest things would set him off. Maybe someone said the wrong thing or you slept in too late while visiting or weren’t ready to walk out the door the moment he was. Or, he would call within minutes of the last call and his messages would usually start nice and normal and then would get angrier. In the last few years he had left some pretty accusatory messages and would often call them names or swear at them. He started to act paranoid about how we were not being loyal enough or grateful enough.

John was not great at taking his bipolar medication because he didn’t like being “flattened out.” It wasn’t him, but then again neither was the person he was becoming. At a certain point we always wondered what dad we were going to get when the phone rang or when we went to visit. These rages within the family would lead Kathy to warn the kids that John was in “crazy land right now” and not to try to deal with him. Often, the events involved a very specific timeline that wasn’t honored and John would become unhinged. It was as if the unresolved details themselves would upset him. At times, John’s desire for closure would trigger an almost “stalking” response to get things settled. The many layers to the issues he was dealing with made productive employment unrealistic.

Kathy, John’s constant companion and soulmate, sought support in counseling, visits to AA and Kaiser with John, visits to Al Anon on her own and the loving support of friends and family to cope with the many challenges. Naturally, social contact with others disappeared with John’s difficult interpersonal issues.

Carrie and Jared struggled to reconcile the idea that they had grown up so loved and supported and with so much magic and fun only to see the last 20 years end with what seemed like a totally different person as a father. The family saw John’s great big smile less and less, heard that jolly uncontrollable laugh less and less.

In the last two years of his life John spent more time lost in his head than with the rest of his family. He and Kathy would come visit for a day to watch the grandkids play sports. But after a few hours, he would get antsy and was ready to go. He never seemed 100 percent at ease with his surroundings. It was like the man they grew up with was trapped inside. The changes happened slowly at first, but as time passed, the decline of the man his children had called dad sped up with every year. They would all agree that one day he was his normal self and then suddenly it seemed like a switch had been flipped and he had a different personality. With sadness, anger, and confusion as a forefront to his emotions—complications set in with continued self-medication with alcohol. His love for his family was never a question. It was always there, but sometimes residing too far down to be seen.

Donating John’s Brain

After seeing the movie, Concussion, it was Carrie that made the connection with John’s behavior issues and CTE. When we realized he wasn’t going to make it, Kathy contacted Boston University’s Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE) Center, as well as Lisa McHale at the Concussion Legacy Foundation (CLF) to find out if they would take John’s brain after he died. Both Boston University and CLF were enormously helpful in their efforts and in time John was diagnosed with Stage III-IV CTE. With this diagnosis, the family achieved a sense of peace and forgiveness in having to take John off life support. There was a sense of reconciliation with the two dads whom they had come to experience. Part of what made it so hard for his family was that John had always been a pillar of strength and athleticism. He was rarely sick and he recovered quickly. He was always active, athletic and strong—in the end he was none of those things.

How has your attitude toward football changed?

Kathy remains steadfast in her support for football. She feels strongly that football provides an outlet or release for the aggression needs of many young men. The physical nature of the game, while not for everyone, is perfect for some. While her concussion awareness is much better today, she hangs onto the hope that the equipment will continue to become better and that testing of athletes will help improve the player safety aspect of the game. She is optimistic that we can become smarter and that the game will evolve.

Jared’s wife now worries about him with the eight concussions he experienced over his playing time.

Carrie feels that John’s story is important for people to read so they can understand that CTE can happen, even if the athlete did not play professional football in the NFL.

 

Love is Love…

Not Fade Away

Copyright © 2017, James Proebstle

 

Wes Bender

Wes Bender had a kind heart. He would take the time to speak with anyone and share his experiences and challenges.

Wes started playing Pop Warner at the age of six and was passionate about football. The very first time he took a handoff, he ran 80 yards for a touchdown. Wes was smaller than the average kid, but overcame that challenge with his speed.

Wes was bright but sometimes his words and numbers were scrambled. His teachers, coaches, friends and family helped him until a key teacher recognized he had dyslexia. At the time, learning disorders like dyslexia weren’t common knowledge. Still, Wes overcame this challenge thanks to programs to help dyslexic students.

By the time high school rolled around Wes began to emerge with uncommon size, speed, strength, smarts, and competitiveness. The results? A powerful offensive running back who started as a freshman and sophomore at Burbank High School in southern California. But at the start of his junior year, the coaching staff wanted to move Wes to the offensive line. The proposed switch challenged his dream of being a college running back so he transferred schools to the cross-town rival, John Burroughs High.

Wes’ transfer to John Burroughs produced one of the most productive high school offenses in Southern California history. Against his old team, Wes scored a 50-yard touchdown run in a 41-0 victory.  Wes’ success led to his induction into the John Burroughs Hall of Fame in 2015.

Dyslexia made it difficult for Wes to learn a foreign language, a college requirement. Many colleges were interested and offered scholarships, so he attended Glendale Junior College to refine his skills. Wes went on to set several Glendale College records and lead his team to win the Western State Conference title. His time at Glendale earned him a full athletic scholarship to play for the only college he would consider, the University of Southern California.

Wes started for two years at USC and set several weightlifting strength records that still stand posted in the weight room today. Wes was a powerful, hard-hitting fullback, routinely stuffing linebackers at full speed, blocking players in the open field, knocking them to the ground, and creating holes for the tailbacks to follow.

Mazio Royster was the tailback who benefitted from Wes’ blocks at USC.

“Wes was a great teammate, but an even better person,” Royster said. “It was my job as the tailback to read the fullback’s block. These were some of the most violent collisions imaginable and Wes never shied away from contact, complained, or even asked for praise.”

Wes’ incredible blocking earned him a shot in the NFL. Marty Schottenheimer, then head coach of the Kansas City Chiefs, said Wes was one of the best blocking running backs he had ever seen come out college.

Wes accomplished his dream to play in the NFL with the Chiefs. Wes earned the nickname “Fender Bender,” delivering crushing hits, knocking out All-Pros and Hall of Famers while team members would joke and tell him to tone it down a bit. An ankle injury sidelined him that year, leading him to his hometown Los Angeles Raiders. Wes was referred to as “Bam Bam” with the Raiders, receiving game balls and Monday night honors until he moved to the New Orleans Saints two years later.

New Orleans was Wes’ final stop in the NFL. He played for the “Coach” Mike Ditka. Coach Ditka preached tough, hard-hitting football. Wes was at home in New Orleans, winning more game balls, and creating key plays with his blocking.

Wes’ position and style of play led to countless head impacts. He suffered a reported 23 concussions in his football career. He retired from the NFL in 1997.

The football chapter of Wes’ life was closed, opening the door to the business world. Wes always loved to modify cars and trucks, so he started a successful business building modified four-wheel drives and other auto specialties. Wes was very good with people, had a kind heart and would chat with anyone. One of his clients thought he might enjoy the sales and service elements of the concrete business.

Wes was very successful running large concrete jobs in Los Angeles, but some things in his life were not clicking fully. Sleep became more challenging, as Wes would wake up frequently at night. He became overwhelmingly stressed by simple things most people can cope with easily. The concrete business was very competitive, stressful, and becoming too much for Wes, so he decided to retire from that business due to health concerns.

The final chapter was starting a business with family in the medical and dental industry. This was perfect, helping the business get started at his Alma Mater USC and crosstown rival UCLA. The UCLA dental program loved Wes, despite him being a USC alum.

Wes could always make you laugh and could remember movie lines from 30 years ago or jokes from childhood. But he strangely couldn’t remember what he had for dinner the night before, or a conversation he had with a salesperson a week ago about training.

“What was going on?” we’d ask Wes.

Wes would get frustrated and say, “I just can’t remember.”

Simple tasks, things most people don’t think about became a challenge. Wes would run to the store to get milk and then forget why he went to the store.

My brother Wes passed away in his sleep on March 5, 2018 at age 47. The stress of his life was too much for his heart and his brain.

Four months before his death, Wes completed his will and stated his intention for his brain to be studied at the UNITE Brain Bank in Boston. At the time, we thought this was an interesting decision, but we followed his request and sent his brain to the Brain Bank.

There, researchers diagnosed Wes with Stage 2 (of 4) Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE). We didn’t know it at the time, but Wes’ intuition about his brain was correct.

 

Matthew Benedict

Matthew Benedict’s One Last Goal

Looking back on Matthew’s life we often wonder: what went wrong? We believe the brain injuries he sustained in his youth played a significant role. His first concussion came at a very young age. It was a collision with a baseball and his eye socket. There were other hits to the head we did not know of – childhood games in the back yard, collisions in football, hockey, and lacrosse. Matthew never wanted to be a burden. Matthew was three years old when he started playing organized hockey. He started soccer soon after, then lacrosse and football all by the age of 12. Matthew was a fierce competitor who would sacrifice himself for a win.

He was rarely sick, and when he was, he would will himself better. We can count on one hand the number of times he went to the doctor because of illness. He was healthy physically and mentally until late in 2013, when he sustained a couple of hits to the head in a game while playing defensive back for the Division III Middlebury College football team. True to form, he tried to “will” himself better and hid his PCS out of embarrassment. Plus, he didn’t want anyone to worry about him. We never even knew he started experiencing symptoms of PCS after those hits until he fessed up two months later when he was home for winter break, and he couldn’t hide it from us any longer.

Matthew never complained, but in January of 2014, when we took him to the doctor for his lingering concussion symptoms, he revealed that from a very early age he had his “bell rung” more times than he can remember. He never considered his “bell rung” incidents as sub-concussive hits or concussions, and he never told us about them until it was too late, and the damage had already been done.

In May of 2015, one-and-a-half years after he suffered those debilitating hits, and the day after he graduated from Middlebury College, Matthew wrote a piece called “Start the Conversation Now…Life is Precious.” This was the first time we realized how badly Matthew was hurting. Before then, we were concerned, but not alarmed. This piece rocked our world and deep down we knew Matthew may be in serious trouble. Here are some of his words from that piece:

“Before I begin, I do not want to hear any words of how courageous I am because frankly it is the opposite. It is much easier now that I graduated to tell my story, so I apologize for not having more courage…I do not like to draw attention to myself and often get embarrassed in front of crowds or when other people talk about me. I have suffered two severe episodes of depression these past two years. These times have been the scariest times of my life and have lasted many months. Not scary because I was actually scared, but scary because I felt nothing at all. The emptiness was devastating and it was beyond frustrating not knowing what really caused it.

The first episode was right after the football season of 2013… the season ended and I was honored 2nd team all-NESCAC and then was voted team captain by my peers and teammates at our awards banquet a few weeks after the season ended. This was one of the worst things for me that made my depression even worse. My self-confidence and self-worth tanked so much that I figured I was not worthy of any award or leadership position and any thoughts of the future made it worse. How was I supposed to be a captain when I didn’t even have confidence in myself? Or what would my teammates think when they found out about it? I wanted to hide from everyone and everything. I could not carry on a conversation of any depth and most conversations were people congratulating me. Congratulating me on what? Not being able to get out of bed? For taking hours and hours to work in the library only writing a paragraph? I had no reason to be congratulated. I wasn’t working out and I was setting a terrible example for my team. I stopped calling home, going out with friends, or having any joy in life. I withdrew from everyone and everything and could not even look the wonderful beautiful girl in the face to say I could not carry on our relationship after a few months leaving her heartbroken and confused. Every time I hid I later on regretted it more and more which made me feel even worse. Self-harming thoughts began to creep in… I felt like everywhere I went people knew right away about me and were judging me ruthlessly. I refused to tell my friends and family the extent I was feeling because I was embarrassed. I was ashamed of myself… I was such a coward. I was a terrible person. My teammates thought I was this great guy and to be honest I was not being that at all. I thought I was going to flunk out and my future was over. I thought I had made it all this way only to fail the first semester of my senior year. I thought I would let my school, team, friends, and ultimately family down. Some captain I was…”

After Matthew wrote those words and published them online, he felt the stigma in revealing his weaknesses to the world. He later wrote: “it is the most frustrating thing to feel ostracized from others or feeling like they look down on you because you have been suicidal in the past. It is bad enough the guilt we carry around for considering suicide that we do not need to feel judged by others.”

Matthew often commented that after he went public with his mental health struggles, people looked at him and treated him differently. He tried to go on with his life, reluctantly agreeing to meet with different doctors, but he avoided them as much as possible because he didn’t feel there were any answers to his problems. He believed most people didn’t understand him. It’s not like he had a broken leg that could easily be diagnosed and fixed… he had a broken brain. We were in constant search for a proper diagnosis, treatment or a cure for Matthew, but we simply couldn’t find the answers he so desperately needed.

Matthew continued his life as best as he could. Enrolling in law school, earning an excellent GPA some semesters and having to medically withdraw from other semesters because of anxiety, depression, and feeling like he was the dumbest student in school. In January 2019, about five years after his initial diagnosis of Post-Concussion Syndrome, he wrote thoughts about ending his life, but like the other times, he did not share his thoughts with anyone. After he passed, we found these notes he wrote about six months before his death:

“The first time I thought about suicide was my junior year of college. My football team had won a share of the league championship. I was voted team captain. I was seeing my dream girl and she was a golden girl herself. I fell in love for the first time. I was killing it, no pun intended.

Despite all the success, I fell into a deep depression for the first time in my life. All of a sudden, my whole livelihood was ripped from my eyes. I had no idea how it happened. Towards the end of the football season I had the game of my life versus Trinity College our nemesis. In the 4th quarter the quarterback, who was a 200 pound 5’ 10” raw athlete, ran me over full speed. I do not remember getting up from the hit. But the coaches would have had to drag me off the field to remove me from the game. I kept silent and hid from it. It was for the Championship. I made 19 tackles and was named player of the week for my league. I knew I was concussed but I was too proud to admit it. The adrenaline was through the roof. All I had trained for and worked so hard for was on the line during that game. I was chasing the glory of being a Champion. We did it. We won the flashy rings. A game I will never ever forget. Besides the quick bit after that hit. After the game, I went out and got drunk to celebrate. My teammates knew my head was bothering me but I told them I was fine. I wasn’t.

Three weeks later I went home to see my family for Thanksgiving. They had no idea how bad things were. I played it off like I was still the golden boy. I had learned how to put on a good show for the outside world. When I returned I slept for most of the day. Stopped going to class. Lied to my friends about going out while I was by myself. Stopped responding to my friends. Ran away from the girl of my dreams. I felt worthless… My whole life was a lie. I was no Golden Boy. I was a coward. I was weak. That is what I told myself…I went on a drive one night to try to clear my mind…It was a life altering experience.”

Six months after Matthew wrote this, nearly six years after he was diagnosed with PCS, Matthew died by suicide. His PCS robbed him of his ability to see the value in his life and how much others loved and respected him. It robbed him of his ability to think clearly and love deeply. On the day Matthew died, we believe his soul had already been stolen from him.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health suicide is a complex public health concern, and there is no single cause. Suicide most often occurs when stressors and health issues converge to create an experience of hopelessness and despair.

At the time of Matthew’s death, he was a summer associate for a law firm. He cherished his inalienable rights of liberty and freedom. In life, he relentlessly tried to search for the truth. Unfortunately, we remain without answers about his death. We do know, though, when Matthew attempted to be transparent about his mental health, he felt judged. This led him to avoiding opening up to loved ones and discontinuing appropriate treatment. Even though he realized this was a problem, he was reluctant to properly address it because the stigma was so powerful. We feel Matthew would have wanted us to resume his battle by helping others realize that mental health is just as important as physical health, and “it’s OK not to be OK.” He would have hoped others could live and be free from the shame associated with mental illness. We believe he would have encouraged us to spread the message so others would not feel the guilt he felt. We know he would have wanted all of us to be kind and not abandon each other during our times of need. In one of the pieces Matthew wrote and published, he had some advice for all of us:

“…Start the conversation. No more hiding. No more silence. Speak up. Reach out. Tell people you love them. Make the community and the world a better place. Mental health is no fun but it is necessary to talk about. Don’t be like me. Don’t wait. Be brave…You see what others have and often compare yourself… I still regret my actions and will never fully be able to forgive myself but I challenge you to not be like me… If we want to make the world a better place we must act. We cannot be silent…Tell everyone you love them every single day and treat those you don’t know with the same love… start the conversation now… life is precious…keep the conversation going…and listen…don’t just hear, but listen to those you love and listen to everyone around you…make sure they know they matter.”

Suicide is preventable and help is available. If you are concerned that someone in your life may be suicidal, the five #BeThe1To steps are simple actions anyone can take to help someone in crisis. If you are struggling to cope and would like some emotional support, call the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 to connect with a trained counselor. It’s free, confidential, and available to everyone in the United States. You do not have to be suicidal to call. If you’re not comfortable talking on the phone, consider using the Lifeline Crisis Chat.

If you or someone you know is struggling with lingering concussion symptoms, ask for help through the CLF HelpLine. We provide personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. Submit your request today and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.

Jeffrey Blake

Fear. True Fear.

It was 6:36 p.m. on Monday, November 7.

I was finishing up a meeting in my office and noticed I had received two calls from the same unknown number. But then a text came through.

“If this is Ms. Laura Lee Blake, would you call me please?” And then there was a detective’s name, from the Sandy Springs Police, with his phone number.

I somehow instantly knew this involved Jeffrey.

There is no greater fear or despair for a mother than hearing that her child is gone. Her firstborn son. An incredibly talented, highly competitive, never afraid of a challenge, always ready for the next big game, son — her Jeffrey.

On Nov. 7, the day after his 22nd birthday, it happened. My precious Jeffrey was gone.

I had to face my greatest fear, the deepest despair, my unspeakable darkness.

But I have been gifted with strong faith from my earliest years. I had prayed fiercely over Jeffrey since his before his birth. When I had confirmed I was pregnant at two weeks, he was being knit together inside of me. When all the days ordained for him were written in the book of life before one of them came to be.

So in my darkest moments, I focused on three truths:

  1. The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
  2. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou oh Lord art with me.
  3. For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

So today, I can lift my head. I have the courage to share Jeffrey’s story and celebrate his life. His incredible 22 years. His marvelous birthday celebration and what it means for his passing.

It is Jeffrey’s life that speaks, not his death. And oh, what a life it was.

With his handsome good looks and a smile that could light up our mornings, his high intelligence and extraordinary athletic talents mixed with a fierce competitive spirit to always win, his goofy stunts and childish play, and how he was continually seeking to pull crazy pranks on his younger sister Vandela, Jeffrey lived life to the fullest.

Jeffrey was born in Newport Beach, Calif. and grew up in Atlanta. He attended Vanderlyn grade school at first, then Dunwoody Elementary and finally transferred to Greater Atlanta Christian School (GAC) in fifth grade for his junior high and high school years, excelling at both football and basketball. He was known for his hard work on and off the field, gifted athletic talents, and love of cafeteria sandwiches that he would stuff into his backpack at every lunch hour to eat right before a practice.

Jeffrey connected with everyone, and he was well-known. I recall, even as a young child, we would go to the local Target store in Dunwoody. As we would walk up and down the aisles, people would come up to us and say, “Hi, Jeffrey.” They’d then ask if I was Jeffrey’s mom. I would chuckle to myself and proudly state I was indeed.

Jeffrey won many athletic awards and honors and was recruited by more than 25 Division I universities, including 15 P5 teams, to play football. With a desire to return home to Southern California, he chose San Diego State University (SDSU) for his first year of college football. Following an on-again, off-again, uncertain football season during his second year due to the COVID-19 pandemic, Jeffrey then transferred to the University of New Mexico (UNM) to play for an esteemed former SDSU Coach, Rocky Long. Jeffrey left UNM in January 2022, with plans to pursue opportunities in arena and semi-professional football.

There were so many blessings. And through it all, as I watched Jeffrey’s life, I learned three important lessons:

The first was to always be thankful.

As a young boy, before he would leave for school, his grandpa Cornelius (whom we lovingly called Case) would often grab him in the morning and sternly say, “Jeffrey, this is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Jeffrey would look up at his grandpa with big eyes, nod his little head, and run off to grab his backpack for school.

I remember when Jeffrey got his first tattoo. I was so angry that he would mar his perfect body with a tattoo and even more disturbed that his sister Vandela had accompanied him on this misadventure.

When he got home, Jeffrey took off his shirt, and showed it to me. On the underside of his left arm, in very large letters, he had inscripted in large letters ’Forever Grateful.’ And he was. It was his life and his legacy.

The second lesson Jeffrey taught us was that love is stubborn.

Now, many are familiar with the passage from 1 Corinthians 13: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud…” and the passage continues.

But for Jeffrey, love was stubborn. He would not let go. He would fight for it and defend it and protect it. When he loved you, it was a decision that could not be broken:

  • I am reminded of how he highly respected and loved his coaches and sought to excel to make them proud.
  • He loved and bonded with his teammates, supporting them on and off the field.
  • He fiercely loved his gang of neighborhood boys. They would get in so much trouble. But they would link arms, stand strong, and no one could harm them.
  • But family was Jeffrey’s first love, and he would do anything to protect them. He loved his crazy fun cousins across the street and all the shenanigans they would get into.
  • But he especially adored his sister Vandela, and from the earliest years would find new and creative ways to prank her daily, pull silly stunts, and create complete chaos, all to annoy her and/or just get her to scream.

I remember one neighborhood game of tag and tackle. A larger neighborhood boy had somehow caught up to little, fast Vandela, knocked her to the ground, and was ready to pin her hands over her head — when Jeffrey came flying around the corner, tackled this larger boy, and loudly declared no one picks on my sister, except for me.

The third lesson was to celebrate often and celebrate always.

Even from a young age, Jeffrey was always celebrating something. I remember walking into the kitchen and seeing he had taken a slice of frozen pizza, put it on our best china, and filled one of our most expensive crystal wine glasses with Sprite because he had just won the basketball game.

And that is true of everything. Jeffrey did not want to wait or keep something for a later celebration.

Even the night before his 22nd birthday, I had given him a new pair of black dress shoes to wear to church the next morning. Jeffrey tried them on, loved them, and went to practice basketball in the yard in a T-shirt, basketball shorts, and new dress shoes, because he did not want to wait to wear them.

I share these with you because it also defined his 22nd birthday.

His Sunday birthday was marvelously blessed with a strong worship and church service. The very last song of the incredible service was “My Jesus.” We were sitting in a small section on one side of the church, standing and praising along with the lyrics.

Jeffrey had many dreams that didn’t pan out. He had made some wrong turns, some wrong decisions, and there were some unfortunate circumstances that intervened. But this second verse was for Jeffrey:

“Who can wipe away the tears
From broken dreams and wasted years
And tell the past to disappear? Oh
Let me tell you ’bout my Jesus
And all the wrong turns that you would
Go and undo if you could
Who can work it all for your good
Let me tell you about my Jesus
He makes a way where there ain’t no way
Rises up from an empty grave
Ain’t no sinner that He can’t save
Let me tell you ’bout my Jesus
His love is strong and His grace is free
And the good news is I know that He
Can do for you what He’s done for me
Let me tell you ’bout my Jesus
And let my Jesus change your life
Hallelujah
Amen”

As we were leaving the church, we started talking to a family walking out with us. I told them it was Jeffrey’s birthday. The grandmother stopped and said a prayer to bless him:

The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.

We went to run some errands, including picking up a birthday cake and candles. Jeffrey asked if he could go to Barnes & Noble down the street to buy a book. For those of you who know him, that was quite a surprise. Jeffrey did not read novels.

But he purchased his very own Bible as a special birthday gift and explained that he wanted his own.

We celebrated that night with spicy wings and a Corona beer at Taco Mac, alongside his favorite red velvet birthday cake holding 22 little candles with his Nana. He gave her a big hug.

Less than 24 hours later, he was gone.

The call from the detective was impossibly difficult. I had to wait at my office while police gathered evidence. Then they came to speak with me for quite some time.

It finally ended at a little after 9:00 p.m. I went to my car all alone. I broke down. It was dark. It was cold. And I had just received the news that my precious Jeffrey was gone.

I put the key in the ignition and turned on the car. The first song that played on the radio was “My Jesus” that we had heard at the church service the day before.

And I knew, I knew, I knew in that moment, without a doubt, that this was the Lord’s message to me that He had my Jeffrey. That my Jeffrey was with my Jesus. And this was His gift to encourage and support me in these days and months until the time that we will be together again.

What an incredible Savior we have.

What an incredible gift.

Jeffrey has blessed each of us with so much. Right now, it would be so appropriate to bless him as he has done in our lives.

A final prayer of blessing over my son:

My beautiful, beautiful Jeffrey. The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.

Rest well, JEFFREY. We will miss you and love you.

We hold you in our hearts.

To Him be the glory.

He owns it all.

Alleluia and Amen.

Sam Boghosian

“Where’s Sam’s book?” was a common refrain in the Boghosian household.

Sam Boghosian kept a detailed notebook about every single day in his life. The notebook was stuffed with business cards from everyone he met. If a question arose, the notebook had the answers.

His tedious notetaking started when he was young. His daughter, Jody Schiltz, even found a notebook from when he played on the offensive line for the 1954 UCLA National Championship team. He drew each play out and meticulously listed his responsibilities to accompany each diagram.

But flash to 2015, and Jody had to intervene to help her dad file his taxes. The following year, he forgot to ask for help on them. By 2018, his family had to take the mail away from him because otherwise it would never get read.

“He’d be abhorred with this person,” Schiltz told her mom. “This is not who he is.”

The Boghosian family fled from Turkey during the Armenian Genocide in the early 20th century. The family settled in Fresno, California and made a living as farmers.

Sam was born on December 22, 1931. His family was a magnet for tragedy. In a 14-month span, when Boghosian was just 11 years old, he and two of his siblings contracted polio. The polio killed one of his sisters, his older brother went missing in action as a jet fighter in World War II, Boghosian’s father died, and then his family farm burned to the ground.

His polio led doctors to believe Boghosian would never walk again. One of his calf muscles had severe atrophy and he had to wear a lift in one of his shoes, but Boghosian defied the odds and taught himself to walk again at a young age. He compensated well enough for his disease to become a very good athlete. At just 5’10,” he starred on his high school football team and earned a scholarship to play offensive and defensive guard for UCLA.

Before enrolling on campus, head coach Red Sanders sent Boghosian a letter warning him about being out of shape. Boghosian embraced hard coaching then and throughout his life. Schiltz believes his coaches filled a void in his life.

“He didn’t have a father figure,” Schiltz said. “But he had these people in his coaching career that he emulated and strived to be like.”

After finishing at UCLA, Boghosian was drafted by the San Francisco 49ers but turned down professional football for the more lucrative option of joining Sanders’ staff as an assistant. It was the start of his 30-year coaching career.

Sam Boghosian, far left, with the rest of the Oakland Raiders coaching staff in 1982 when they received their Super Bowl Championship rings from the prior season.

After UCLA, Boghosian held various coaching jobs at Oregon State University and then in pro football with the Houston Oilers, Seattle Seahawks, and the Oakland and Los Angeles Raiders.

His players called Boghosian “The Whip” because he held an impossibly high standard. He kept a sign on his desk that said, “WINNING SOLVES ALL PROBLEMS.” He won two Super Bowl rings with the Raiders in 1981 and 1984 under head coach Tom Flores.

“He just didn’t accept failure,” Schiltz said.

Bogohsian was a harsh coach but a loving friend and father who did anything for those close to him. Coaching created distance between Boghosian and Schiltz, his only daughter. He cried any time he had to part from her.

Family meant everything to Boghosian. He had a deep love for his surviving siblings and adored his many nieces and nephews.

“He was the gatekeeper for the whole family,” Schiltz said.

In 1961, the Bel Air Fire wrecked the community surrounding UCLA. Schiltz tells the story of how Boghosian knew his friend’s home was in peril so he rented a water pump. Boghosian pumped the home’s pool and used the water to put out the fire. He asked for nothing in return.

Boghosian and his wife Judy moved to Indian Wells, California before the turn of the century. There, Boghosian’s generosity manifested in countless charity golf tournaments. He was especially active in the Triple X Fraternity, an organization rooted in expanding the rights of access of young Armenian Americans.

In just the eight years he played, football took an immense toll on Boghosian’s body. He had cervical neck surgery and several knee surgeries. His feet hurt constantly.

He adored Schiltz’s son, Braden. Braden was diagnosed with autism early in childhood. Boghosian’s difficulties grasping his grandson’s disability were one of the first signs of his cognitive failure. He couldn’t understand why Braden would have outbursts or not pick up golf like he wanted him to.

Still, Boghosian showed his grandson off to anyone who would listen. He took Braden with him golfing and to the many breakfasts he had with friends. Until Braden stopped wanting to be in a car with his grandfather.

The family saw Boghosian slip, bit-by-bit. His affect was always the same, but the frequency with which he would repeat himself increased over the last five years of his life. Even after the DMV revoked Boghosian’s driver’s license he insisted it was still in his pocket.

By late 2019, Schiltz made frequent trips to Palm Springs to help care for her father. At the time, a neurologist who saw Boghosian posed that his problems were not due to dementia but could be caused by CTE.

Schiltz and her family kept CTE in the back of their minds but hadn’t considered the idea of donating Boghosian’s brain for research until early 2020, when her husband Brian was watching the Aaron Hernandez documentary on Netflix. The film’s discussion of CTE sparked the idea of brain donation.

Shortly after seeing the film, Schiltz connected with Lisa McHale, CLF’s Director of Legacy Family Relations to arrange for her father’s brain to be studied after death.

“Dad would have loved that,” Schiltz said.

On February 23, 2020, he died from congestive heart failure at 88 years old. Upon his death, Schiltz received an outpouring of support from people whom he had coached or helped at some point. A former Oregon State player remembered Boghosian paying him a dollar to cut his hair as he had no time for hippies. Others remembered how he used his rolodex of business cards to help them find jobs or make connections.

As the family mourned Boghosian’s passing they learned he was diagnosed with Stage IV (of IV) CTE. Schiltz is thrilled she reached out to McHale before her father’s death.

“Now we know that’s going to help other people,” Schiltz said.

Boghosian loved football and the game took him out of his modest beginnings in Fresno. He loved sports but Schiltz believes her father would have advocated for children to play soccer before they start tackle football, preferably in high school.

Schiltz and her family live in Atlanta. Because Boghosian kept everything he ever owned, she found his UCLA uniforms, notebooks, helmets, and other treasures he kept. She sent the memorabilia to Atlanta’s College Football Hall of Fame, where it is now displayed. Recently, Braden visited the exhibit and was awed by his grandfather’s place in football history.

Schiltz once gave her father a book to fill out with details about his life. Its pages remained blank. She wishes she had recorded her father talking more about the early parts of his life. She would advise any child who suspects their parent may have CTE to do the same. But even if her father never got to tell her about everything he went through, she’s heard about the profound impact he made in life from plenty of others.

“No one’s ever said anything unkind to me about him,” Schiltz said.

Dorian Boose

 

Warning: This story contains mentions of suicide and may be triggering to some readers.

Every few months, Brenda Boose receives another adoring message about her late ex-husband, former NFL player and Washington State University star Dorian Boose. They pour in from strangers, old teammates, friends, and even people who only met Dorian once. Brenda printed out a particular message she received from a young man in 2021. The note reminded her about Dorian’s generosity and the effect he had on others:

I met Dorian in the fall of 1997 when I was 16 and a junior in high school. A friend of my family was a big booster for the Cougars and he invited me to join the team for an away game at USC. Most of the players were too busy but that changed when my dad had me approach Dorian. He was incredibly friendly and took me around, introducing me to everyone. After the game, we snapped a few pictures and exchanged information.

Some point later, Dorian reached out to me and we got to chat like old buddies. I remember I had told him I loved to sing, and we even sang together on the phone. After the Rose Bowl, he sent me his practice jersey and WSU warmup suit. Though our correspondence ended as the years passed, I still remember Dorian fondly and bring up him up whenever I get the chance.

“That’s just the kind of person Dorian was,” said Brenda.

 

Coming together through faith

When Brenda first met Dorian in 1991, he was attending Walla Walla Community College in eastern Washington. Dorian and Brenda were members of the local church choir. In addition to sharing the same faith, she was drawn to his gregarious personality and kind heart.

“Dorian had a natural joy that drew everyone in,” said Brenda.

Certain talents came naturally to Dorian. He could sing very well and learned how to play piano completely by ear. Dorian was extremely athletic and at 6’6,” loved to play basketball. He picked up tackle football for the first time as a freshman at Foss High School in Tacoma, Washington. His combination of size and speed immediately turned heads and led him to Walla Walla CC and eventually to a scholarship to play defensive end for the Washington State Cougars.

Dorian and Brenda started dating in 1992 and married in 1995 while Dorian was at WSU. Having each grown up in strict households, the couple shied away from drugs and alcohol. Brenda recalls how silly she and Dorian felt when they were served champagne during their honeymoon. Family and faith were the bedrock of their marriage.

High hopes

Brenda and Dorian’s first son, Taylor, was born in 1996. Brenda remembers Taylor’s early years fondly for how much Dorian embraced being a father. Dorian loved his family immensely and could often be found horsing around and playing with Taylor.

Dorian balanced fatherhood and athletics well. He played a major role in putting Washington State University’s football program on the map with the “season of destiny” in 1997. The Cougars went 10-2 and made it to their first Rose Bowl appearance in 67 years. Dorian’s teammates voted him defensive captain for his outstanding play and leadership.

Dorian’s breakthrough in 1997 created the possibility of a bright new future. At the NFL Combine before the draft, Dorian was told he could have a 15-year football career. The New York Jets saw his potential and selected him 56th overall in the 1998 NFL Draft. An overnight star in New York, Dorian spoke for hours with everyone from then-Jets coach Bill Parcells to Regis Philbin and Kathie Lee Gifford for an appearance on Live with Regis and Kathie Lee.

“We were extremely excited about the future and for what was ahead,” said Brenda. “We thought we would be together forever and raise our boys and live a very fulfilling life.”

A different Dorian

Dorian’s time with the Jets didn’t live up to expectations. Injuries made it difficult for him to get consistent playing time. After two years in New York, he joined the Washington Commanders for another injury-riddled stint. Eventually, he signed with the Houston Texans but was waived again after a knee injury.

Brenda gave birth to the couple’s second son, Brady, in 2000. Within two weeks of getting cut by Houston, Brady was diagnosed with autism. For the Boose family, the already anxious stretch of Dorian’s career became even more stressful and overwhelming.

Around then, Brenda noticed a slightly different Dorian. Rather than embracing the challenge of Brady’s diagnosis, he became distant and aloof, developed a careless attitude, and was disappearing on his own for many evenings. When Brenda pressed him on what he was doing those nights, Dorian told her he had been drag racing.

“I was just shocked,” said Brenda. “It was so out of character for him, and I couldn’t make any sense of the situation.”

When he was healthy again, Dorian decided to try to rejuvenate his football career in the Canadian Football League. His career in the CFL couldn’t have started any better – he made seven sacks and won the Grey Cup his first year with Edmonton in 2003.

Dorian’s marriage was still strained and his residence in a different country only exacerbated the issue. When Dorian did call home, Brenda could hardly recognize the person on the other line and was heartbroken by how much he had deprioritized his family.

“It was like, ‘Who am I talking to?’” said Brenda. “The whole thing just fell apart.”

Exhausted from the uncertainty of their relationship and needing to provide stability for Taylor and Brady, Brenda made the difficult decision to file for divorce in 2003. Dorian played just one more season in the CFL in 2004 before retiring from professional football.

For the next decade, Brenda’s contact with Dorian was at best inconsistent and mostly non-existent. Brenda tried to protect the boys’ emotions as much as possible and didn’t want them to hear from Dorian if his communication was going to be scattered and incoherent. Because of the distance between them, they were mostly in the dark about where Dorian was and what he was doing.

Around 2015, Dorian’s acquaintances began messaging Brenda to tell her he needed serious help. Brenda reached out to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and was able to connect with a detective who would investigate his whereabouts. He found Dorian and let Brenda know her ex-husband was living on the streets of Edmonton. The officer also told Brenda how well-loved Dorian was in the unhoused community. Later, Brenda learned Dorian prayed and served as encouragement for others in the community.

Despite the pain of learning that Dorian was living on the streets and the frustration and confusion of the past decade, Brenda was comforted to know his core values of faith and generosity were still on display. She passed along a message for the officer to tell Dorian to contact his parents and that God loved him. The officer relayed the messages and told Brenda they moved Dorian to tears.

In 2016, after years of distance, Taylor wanted to reach out to his dad and wish him well. With the help of Dorian’s mother, the family got in touch with Dorian, who was in a shelter getting help. Taylor and his father were able to have a conversation over the phone that spring.

A few months later, Brenda was awakened by a phone call the night of November 22. Dorian had died by suicide. He was 42 years old.

Brenda is thankful her family was able to speak with Dorian before he passed away.

“It was nothing but God that made that moment happen and we are grateful to this day,” she said.

Brenda doesn’t remember Dorian ever discussing concussions while they were together, and they had separated years before CTE had ever been diagnosed in a former NFL player. But after discussions with Dorian’s former agent, Brenda decided to donate his brain to the UNITE Brain Bank. There, Dr. Ann McKee diagnosed Dorian with stage 3 (of 4) CTE. Dr. McKee told Brenda how Dorian had one of the most severe cases she had seen in someone his age.

Brenda had two reactions to the diagnosis: first relief, then grief.

The relief came when Dr. McKee suggested the severity of Dorian’s CTE could have caused his behavior to change quite early in his life. The pathology explained why Dorian’s actions and behavior were so drastically different from the man Brenda knew Dorian to be.

Then came the immense grief. Brenda struggled to eat and sleep as she thought about how much Dorian would have suffered by himself without understanding exactly why he was changing.

“The CTE took Dorian’s life,” said Brenda. “It took his future. It took his being a husband. It took his being a father. It took everything.”

 

Redemption

Brenda wants to share Dorian’s story to show why he struggled near the end of his life and to dispel the notion that his lack of NFL success drove him to despair.

“Dorian wasn’t bitter about his career not panning out,” said Brenda. “There was so much more to him than football. CTE caused this.”

These days, Brenda still has many beautiful memories about Dorian’s time in football, but her family’s relationship with the sport has changed since the diagnosis. With the knowledge she has gained through this experience, Brenda is now a strong believer in Flag Football Under 14. Even through Dorian didn’t start tackle football until high school, she sees moving away from youth tackle football as the best way to prevent future cases of CTE. Brenda urges parents to have the conversation about flag football early on for the health and safety of their kids.

Brenda is grateful for how much more information there is about CTE than there was when she and Dorian were married. If anyone finds themselves in a situation like she was in the early 2000s, she recommends leaning in on the resources available on CLF’s website and elsewhere. For other partners of suspected CTE, she has three pieces of advice: get educated about the disease, reach out for support, and have as much compassion as you can.

Though Dorian passed away far too soon and left her life well before his death, Brenda can see how the best of Dorian lives on in her two sons. In Taylor, Brenda can see Dorian’s many talents and strengths. And in Brady, Brenda sees glimpses that remind her of the beautiful man she met in the church choir all those years ago.

“He has his father’s spirit, always with a smile on his face and a joyful presence,” said Brenda. “I just want everyone to remember that part of Dorian more than anything.”

Suicide is preventable and help is available. If you are concerned that someone in your life may be suicidal, the five #BeThe1To steps are simple actions anyone can take to help someone in crisis. If you are struggling to cope and would like some emotional support, call the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 to connect with a trained counselor. It’s free, confidential, and available to everyone in the United States. You do not have to be suicidal to call. If you’re not comfortable talking on the phone, consider using the Lifeline Crisis Chat at 988lifeline.org/chat 

Are you or someone you know struggling with lingering concussion symptoms? We support patients and families through the CLF HelpLine, providing personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. Submit your request today and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.

 

Daniel Brabham

 

Daniel Brabham was an Air Force veteran, a teacher, a family man, an accomplished college and professional football player, and a lifelong crusader for change.

 

A former operator with Shell Chemical, native of Greensburg and resident of Prairieville, he passed away Sunday, January 23, 2011, in Baton Rouge, at the age of 69. He belonged to Carpenters Chapel United Methodist Church in Prairieville.  He also formerly taught high school chemistry and math in Tangipahoa Parish. He was a veteran of the U.S. Air Force Reserves. He attended the University of Arkansas and LSU, receiving a bachelor’s degree in vocational agriculture and numerous academic recognitions through honor societies: Omicron Delta Phi, as well as being an Academic All-American.

He played football at college and professional levels, receiving distinction as an All-Southwest Conference recipient (1962) and as the third leading rusher in the SWC during his first year as a fullback. He was the first-round draft pick for the Houston Oilers and later traded to the Cincinnati Bengals, his career spanning from 1963-1968. He was a lifelong crusader for change, having smoking banned in his workplace in the 1980s and founding the Louisiana Fisherman’s Forum. He enjoyed genealogy (tracing his family history to Scotland and organizing reunions), handgrabbing for catfish (featured sportsman in Louisiana Conservationist and in a filmed documentary), aviation (acquired his pilot’s license), writing poetry and music, and spinning yarn surrounded by family and friends. Additionally, he was a steam locomotive and history buff, a self-taught player of the guitar and piano, and an avid reader.