Darrell Burris

On a cool November day in 1934, in a small Oklahoma house with a dirt floor, Darrell Gene Burris began his journey, touching the lives of thousands. What day, exactly, that was, became a point of contention, because the doctor went on vacation and ultimately forgot the exact date he was born.

“I remember,” his mother Ruby would tell him. “I was there.”

From that humble start, Darrell began a life filled with service to others, not only because it was his faith, but also part of his being. He helped his late father Gene Burris paint and wallpaper houses at a very young age. When his sister Paula (Burris) Casey and brother Randy Burris were born, he helped his mother shower them with love.

When he was just 17-years-old, he saw a tall, beautiful girl walking to school and asked if she wanted a ride. Despite being a baseball, basketball, boxing, and football star as well as a handsome high school teen, she told him “no.” Day after day he would drive by her and ask again until finally, she agreed to have a coke with him after school. Less than a year later, when Mary Lou Porter was just 15-years-old she and Darrell snuck off to get married.

For six months they kept their marriage a secret by continuing to live with their families and longing to be together. Her father was furious and threatened to annul the marriage when he discovered it. Darrell fought to keep Mary Lou and they remained married for 35 years until one freezing day in 1987 when she was taken too soon in a tragic car accident on the Overholser Bridge on Route 66 near Bethany, Oklahoma. She was just 50-years-old. He would never remarry.

Besides Darrell’s love for his wife Mary Lou, he loved his family and many friends. He enjoyed the service members he met during his basic training in the U.S. Army at Ft. Sill, Ft. Polk and Ft. Belvoir. He excelled at artillery, but one day he confessed to his commanding officer that he didn’t think he could ever kill another person because he was a Christian. Instead of sending him for further combat training, they sent Darrell to the Ft. Belvoir print shop, where he learned a trade that would carry through the rest of his life.

Civilian life allowed Darrell to use his printing skills by working at several companies including OPUBCO while always dreaming of owning his own shop. In 1979 in Oklahoma City he finally achieved his goal and opened Burris Printing. The company printed material for many clients including Braum’s Ice Cream & Dairy, the National Weather Service Training Center in Norman, Oklahoma, and Stucky’s Diamonds in Houston, Texas, just to mention a few.

When his granddaughter Sarah Katheryn was born, Darrell and Mary Lou’s lives changed forever. After his wife’s death, it was his time with Sarah he said, that saved him. “You’re going to have to learn how to use the dishwasher,” Darrell remembered Sarah telling him. At age 6, Sarah literally saved him when he accidentally caught his kitchen on fire while cooking as he watched a basketball game on TV despite the house filling with smoke. There were also times Sarah tried to force him to eat his vegetables and she would later find them hidden in his napkin. Darrell struggled with diabetes and she would frequently find his freezer full of Nutty-Buddies and chocolate milk.

His Yukon, Oklahoma home frequently became a favorite place for his granddaughter’s giggling teenage friends to hold their slumber parties and New Year’s sleepovers. To this day, a whole generation of Yukon graduates, teachers, and administration staff refers to him as “Papa.”

After retiring from printing, Darrell joined the team at Lowe’s working part-time, always promising his customers 10% discounts. He enjoyed using his time away from Lowe’s at the Yukon Bowling Alley where he volunteered to teach over a hundred children in youth bowling classes. Many of his students even went on to win tournaments. Darrell’s family and friends lost track of the number of perfect score-300 games he bowled but each game would bring a gold ring he kept lined up in his sock drawer.

Darrell joined his wife Mary Lou in Heaven on Wednesday, April 22, 2020. His granddaughter Sarah and his sister Paula lovingly held his hands while playing his favorite Elvis songs.

Those left behind are his sister, Paula (Burris) Casey and husband Mike Casey of Oklahoma City, brother Randy Burris and wife Vicki of Sautee Nacoochee, Georgia, son Michael Burris and wife Susan of Yukon, son Samuel Burris of Los Angeles, California, granddaughter Sarah Burris of Washington, D.C. as well as nephews Michael Siekel and wife Jeri of Oklahoma City, Scott Wallace and wife Jennifer of Southlake, Texas, nieces Jennifer Burris and Andee Allen of Georgia as well as great-nephews and nieces Lucas, Lilyan, Jacob, Brandon Kyle and Dee.

Neurologists were never able to fully diagnose Darrell’s dementia. There were suspicions of Alzheimer’s Disease, questions about CTE and others. So, Darrell donated his brain to the Boston University’s study with the Veterans Administration investigating how concussions can contribute to degenerative brain diseases. The family’s hope is that their struggles to diagnose him and searches for solutions for care can help other families.

Barrett Callaghan

Son, brother, loyal friend, athlete. Barrett Callaghan had many titles and lived his life with love and compassion for those around him.

Barrett loved sports and was an incredible athlete from an early age; his family even calls him “sports obsessed.” Sports were his life, and he was interested in many of them: baseball, football, basketball, and golf. His level of sports knowledge was unmatched, and he was an athlete for years.

Barrett played baseball from the age of five through the end of high school and he played on his high school’s basketball team during his freshman year. Golf was also a favorite of his and he accomplished his goal of a “hole in one” the year before he passed.

One of Barrett’s favorite sports was football and he fell in love with it at a very early age. As a kindergartner, he watched his older brother play and begged his parents to find a team for him so he could start in first grade. At the age of seven, his football career was launched. Being one of the smaller boys on the team, he quickly discovered using his head was his biggest asset. He played football through high school, where he was a standout player and teammate.

Besides athletics, Barrett, affectionately known as “Bear” and “Bearbo,” was known for his big heart. His love for his family was indescribable and he truly enjoyed gatherings, holidays, and vacations and attending Chicago White Sox games together. His family described his motto as “When in Need, I’m There.” Barrett was the kind of person that protected underdogs and always stood up for anyone in need. He was a loyal friend who always had the back of anyone he knew.

As time went on, his family noticed changes in his demeanor. He had mood swings and moments where he was out of character. His temper was quick and his sleep schedule was very erratic. It didn’t take long to notice that what was happening to him was out of his control.

Barrett struggled with his mental state for years. He went away to college for a couple of years but couldn’t finish. Coming home and attending a local college was his next step.

These changes scared Barrett and he often was embarrassed and remorseful for things he had said or done. His mother recalled a conversation where he begged her, saying, “Mom, please make it stop.” His desperation to figure out what was going on in his brain led him to discover for himself what he was battling. Barrett suspected he may have CTE, and his mother had thought the same.

Barrett passed away on September 26, 2021, in a car accident when a wrong-way driver hit him head on. He was 25 years old at the time and only 10 days shy of turning 26.

Barrett’s family, parents Rich and Jan, and siblings Richie, Mary Caroline, and Catie, donated his brain to the VA-BU-CLF Brain Bank, where he was diagnosed with stage 1 CTE by researchers. His diagnosis was not a surprise and the symptoms he experienced are common among individuals suffering from CTE. His mother said the disease robbed him of his education, ability to hold a full-time job, and his independence.

Even as Barrett’s personality changed, his family recalled that his heart stayed the same and his compassion and love for those around him never wavered. One of his last gifts was to his Aunt Julie. She celebrated her birthday over Labor Day weekend while still recovering from a recent major surgery. Though big outings were still a little overwhelming for her, Barrett insisted they go to a White Sox game together and she agreed. The game did not disappoint, and she said Barrett was the only one who could have convinced her to go. In his final days, Barrett’s profound love was a reminder to his Aunt Julie to always live life to the fullest, just as he always did.

Barrett once said, “In life, I don’t care to make money, I want to make a difference.” That was something he achieved in his lifetime and will continue to do so: his brain donation will contribute to numerous research studies with the goal of identifying CTE in living persons and eventually finding a cure. His story and legacy will continue to live on and impact current and future athletes for generations to come.

Joseph Campigotto

Have you ever tried to hold on to a runaway train? Just grab ahold and not let go even though you know where it’s headed? A year ago, I tried.

I got the call early Monday morning, April 25th. Angela, listen, she said, your dad stopped eating. It’s time to come home. I broke out in a rash. I couldn’t really breathe. I bought a plane ticket.

I knew it was coming. There was no avoiding that the years of slow decline would one day speed up and then it would just hit. Hit him. Hit all of us.

You think you are ready. For years I watched my funny, smart, creative, caring dad just drift away. I would catch glimpses of him every now and again. Even at his worst, I knew he was doing everything he could to protect me from what he knew was happening to him. We would talk as if it would someday just get better. We all know. It never got better.

I used to think…at least he is still here, if only physically. I can see him. I can call him, even if he really can’t say much back to me. He is still here. But as years went on, and it got worse and I could see just how much he was suffering, I knew he really didn’t want to be here anymore, my thoughts changed.

So many days I just wished he had cancer. I wished he had anything that would spare his mind, and just take his body instead. Maybe he will just have a heart attack. Maybe there is another way to make it end better, faster, for him…because we all knew how much worse it was going to get.

I never thought I would live on a planet where I would wish my dad a fast and unexpected death. But there I was. Wanting the man who I looked up and loved my whole life…to just die. It was so heartbreakingly painful. Absolutely devastating in every sense knowing there was nothing else I could do. That anyone could do.

I got to the nursing home and my dad’s bed had been moved to the corner. Now on a dramatic angle into the middle of the room. Walls bare. His favorite Pavarotti CD playing on the crappy little CD player we got for him. The plant I bought him still blooming in the window that faced a sad courtyard. Wearing his favorite Ohio State t-shirt, eyes closed, covered with a quilt, struggling to breath, turning grey, still looking so strong, still so much like a football player. He was surrounded by our amazing family and his loving and devoted friends. The hospice nurses administered morphine while everyone explained to me that he wasn’t in pain and the breathing sounded worse than it felt. He didn’t know what was happening.

I got there at 9pm. My brother at 11:30. Dad passed a little after midnight. We all held on to his body, sweaty and on fire with death. We all just hung on like we could stop it somehow. It did…it felt like jumping on the side of a train that was going over a cliff and you knew there were not brakes but you did it anyway. He took one last big breath. Opened his eyes to look around the room as if to confirm everyone he needed was there…and then he was gone. Just like that.

I still don’t know where I found the strength to be in that room. I would have placed all bets against myself to be able to stand there and just watch someone I loved more than anything disappear. But I had been watching him disappear for years.

Just slowly fading away, little by little with every phone call. Every visit there was a little bit less of him to visit. Every trip to the basement revealed more dust on his wood working tools. Slowly all his shoes replaced with Velcro. His shirts no longer had buttons. His vocabulary down to just a few words or sounds.

This is what football did to my dad, and my family. My dad was an all-state player. A really tough guy on all accounts. But he could not withstand this final blow from the sport.

My grandparents, Dee and Jim, are still alive. My grandpa just turned 90. My grandma in her 80s.

Angela, we just didn’t know. We didn’t know he could get hurt like this. Damn, I wish we would have known.

My grandpa and I suspected CTE as soon as dad’s symptoms became more pronounced. We would talk about it a lot. My dad’s doctors laughed me off the phone when I brought it up. Most didn’t even know he had played until I called and insisted it went into his chart. 7 years? No NFL? No way this is CTE.

But now we know. We know what my grandparents wish they would have known all those years ago. Every hit hurts. And in the end hurts more than just the player.

In a cab, on the way to the airport, I called the Boston University Brain Bank.

Hi there. My dad is going to die and I want you take his brain.

Not a call I thought I would ever make and not a call I want anyone else to feel like they need to make. The woman on the phone was sympathetic and thanked me. They moved swiftly to get me paperwork and had someone ready to take my dad’s brain the next day.

His brain went to Boston and where, just like in life, in death, my dad proved to be an exceptional case. With an unusual presentation, my dad’s brain is continuing to teach lessons to anyone who comes in contact with it.

So now, one year later, I have learned a lot about myself, my family, CTE, the amazing group of people working SO HARD at the Concussion Legacy Foundation (and I am SO happy to be helping them), and about how to live my life without my dad, who for so many years validated every decision I made.

Hey dad, you think I should buy a TV?

Well hell yes! Let’s go to Best Buy!

God damnit, I miss you dad.

I am who I am because you were who you were.

I will never stop working to stop this from happening to other players and their families. So buckle up people. We have a long ride ahead of us and we need some cash to make it happen. I kicked off a fundraiser Concussion Legacy Foundation and all the amazing work they do. My belief is the work they are doing today won’t only benefit those who have suffered repeated head injuries from contact sports, but also those who suffer from all types of degenerative brain diseases such as Alzheimer’s, which has touched so many of our lives.

Thanks for helping me remember my dad and thanks for helping to support the cause. Let’s stop this from happening to anyone else.