Richard Pickens

My father was a strong physical presence. He was shorter, but thick and muscular. My body tends to reflect his. My older sister and my childhood was filled with waterskiing, fishing, tubing, and attending University of Tennessee football games. As a young soccer player, I would challenge my father to races next to our grandmother’s garden, on a football field, from one tree to the next, and he would always make sure he won. He was a football prodigy in his hometown of Knoxville, Tennessee, where football was king. He played high school ball at Young High School and had an outstanding career with the beloved Tennessee Volunteers, coached by Doug Dickey. Wearing #34, he played in the ‘66 Gator Bowl, ’67 Orange Bowl, and ’68 Cotton Bowl, and won the All-SEC Fullback of the Year award in 1968. After his career at UT, he made the preseason team for the Houston Oilers and was later inducted into the Tennessee Sports Hall of Fame.

 

Dig deeper, though and there is an uglier, more painful layer to my father’s story. His time with the Oilers ended after he lost his temper with his coaches. He exhibited tantrums on the sidelines of my college soccer games at referees or players, which always embarrassed me.

 

In our personal lives, while our childhoods had glimpses of happiness with our father, cracking jokes over “RC Colas and moon pies,” using his video camera to make our own fishing shows, and eating his famous steak and mushrooms, we were always nervously anticipating the next violent episode. We closed our eyes and held tight while he drove recklessly with us in the car. We locked ourselves in bathrooms, or frantically packed our things to jump in the car and drive away. We never knew when he would erupt.

 

When we were old enough to understand, and long after our parents divorced, we attached this behavior to his alcoholism and anger management issues. We later realized, though, there were confounding issues.

My dad’s playing career included close to 200 concussions by his estimation. After his death in July, 2014, we donated his brain to the UNITE Brain Bank, where scientists confirmed primary diagnoses of Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE) and motor neuron disease associated with CTE. His substance abuse was a contributing diagnosis.

The symptoms of CTE can be expressed erratically, including violence, mania, depression, dementia, among others. Once a physical presence, my father was reduced to stumbling across the room, shuffling his feet and holding onto furniture because he was too stubborn and proud to use a walker. He liked to refer to his debilitation as a “hitch in his giddup.” In addition to his outbursts and aggressive behavior, he developed difficulty with concentration and organization in his 30s. By his 50s, he suffered from language difficulty, weakness in his legs, and progressive decline in his behavioral, cognitive, and motor functions. He was misdiagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s Disease, to which my sister organized a team in his honor for an ALS walk. The diagnosis, for a variety of reasons, didn’t quite fit, and was changed to Primary lateral sclerosis (PLS). Once again, he was misdiagnosed. He was losing his mental and physical capacity, and he didn’t know why.

 

As his symptoms progressed, the glimpses of happiness we once saw of our father in childhood lessened. We knew our visits with our father must not exceed 36 hours, or we would tumble into dark topics of despair. We brought lists of uplifting topics and stories to share, my sister playing the soothing, empathetic nurse, and I would operate as the ultimate jokester. Once, as a 20-something, I broke our golden rule and extended beyond a 36-hour visit. He attempted to physically attack me, but I was fresh out of college and fast as hell. He was reduced to holding onto furniture, shuffling his legs, lest he might fall. From that moment on, I broke communication with my father.

My sister and mom gave me updates on his condition from then on. He moved into a nursing home after totaling his car. He showed Sundowning behavior often, and his drinking contributed to him dying, with lots of life to live, at age 67.

In his nursing home room there was a display case with one of his Vol helmets, boasting a deep crease from a violent collision at Neyland stadium. My father’s football friends rallied around him, taking care of him, his finances, and his funeral, as he refused our help. Even though we now know his football career caused him so much pain, my father requested for his football friends to spread his ashes where he once played the game he loved.

 

I share this version of the story to shed light on the very real narrative of a man whose life was stolen by the decay of his brain. While parents continue to send their children out on the field in helmets and pads and memorize stats to draft their favorite players to their fantasy team, I believe CTE becomes something easier to ignore than to recognize. CTE is a hindrance to our culture’s Saturday and Sunday (and Monday and Thursday) pastime. This year marks the fifth anniversary of my father’s death, and I am at peace with the chaos and destruction my father caused on our lives. I am beginning to fondly remember the happy times with my father when he was free from the hold of his confounding diseases. And I am hopeful for continued progress on the efforts to combat the fatal impact of CTE.

 

Sam Pichinini

Sam Pichinini grew up in a rural community outside of Seattle, Washington. He had an incredibly tender heart and loved people, nature, music, learning, and comfort food. He loved to make shepherd’s pie for holiday dinners. He had a great sense of humor – the best laugh and smile – and he noticed and appreciated all the good things in life.

Sam’s beautiful spirit was magical. He also had a fearless sense of adventure. The greatness Sam embodied led to many adventures. He loved to skateboard and snowboard and did this often in his teenage years. His love of snowboarding followed him to adulthood as he eventually taught snowboarding classes at Snoqualmie Pass in Washington’s Cascade Mountains.

But the sports he loved took their toll. Sam was knocked unconscious twice snowboarding and endured many blows to the head doing skateboarding tricks, never wearing a helmet. Sam was in a car accident where his head broke the windshield and was in more than one fight where his precious head was the focal point. His head injuries did not result from a single high impact sport or incident. CTE took him even more stealthily – hit by hit, slowly, over time.

The effects of these injuries didn’t start to show themselves until he was in his late 20’s. He moved to San Diego and lived there for three years and had a career working at Whole Foods. To cope with the effects of how he was feeling, he turned to drug use. But he desperately wanted to get away from the drugs and decided to move back home to Washington.

To make a fresh start, he decided to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. With a weary weight upon his shoulders and a conflicted but hopeful heart, he set out to ride that rough and rugged, ever changing, beauteous trail from Mexico all the way up to the Canadian border. His was a journey full of momentous mountain tops, deep valleys, intermittent meadows, and heavy storms. Sometimes he had company. But there were many miles he set out to tread with only the Lord as his companion.

Before he knew it, winter was rolling in and he had to pull out at Crater Lake, Oregon, falling short. He never quite made it home via the PCT. He kept a journal during his quest and the following is an excerpt from it:

“Everything is so sound. I’m just making coffee in the morning and admiring the world. Everything makes exactly the sound it should. Dear Lord, please walk with me and guide me according to life and all creation, that I should make the perfect sound.” 

After the PCT, Sam had hope for his future. He worked at a farm in Fall City, Washington and started his own produce delivery business. He attended Evergreen College and then moved to Boulder, Colorado and earned a bachelor’s degree in Comparative Religions and Cognitive Psychology. The degree did not come easily, and he was proud of the accomplishment. He loved research and had more than 1,000 books in his personal library.

In the pursuit of achieving his goals, his CTE symptoms became more and more debilitating. Challenges with executive function plagued and frustrated him, but that turned out to be the least of it. He became angry, irrational, verbally abusive, compulsive, anxious, depressed and threatened violence. No matter how hard we tried and wanted to help him, we couldn’t; he didn’t trust anyone. It’s important to add that though this enemy was unnamed at the time, Sam worked desperately to battle it. He paid diligent attention to his diet and exercise regime. He researched intensely.

Eventually communication with Sam became impossible and he was miserable, experiencing what must have been a lonely hell. It was heartbreaking to watch and terrifying to be a part of. All these behaviors were the opposite of who Sam had always been.

When you think about all those miles Sam did not get to walk, it is easy to wonder if they might have held the answers Sam was always so earnestly searching for. But if we stare too intently upon them, we miss all the miles Sam did breathe in the beauty of this magical world and all the truths we know God whispered to Sam along the way.

Somewhere along his way, with a bruised and battered mind and a heavy heart, Sam got lost. Sam felt the brokenness in himself, in us and in the world in a very real and raw way. It took hold of him and he could not shake it. He lived it. He breathed it. He desperately tried to understand it, mistakenly believing he alone could fix it. A darkness, thick and thirsty, slowly sucked the light out of him, until Sam was blind to the healing salve of the beauty he once believed in, and he could not receive the one thing that really does conquer all. Everlasting love. It never left him. Sam just couldn’t see it anymore.

It is important to know where Sam was when he left us. To honor Sam’s struggle and learn from it. And to help our hearts understand why he didn’t get to travel along this way a bit longer. But it is Sam’s perfect sound we hope to hold to the most.

So, we set our hearts upon all the miles he walked before the cold winter came. When this world’s persistent beauty, everlasting love and the brightest of lights glistened in his brilliant blue eyes and echoed in his wondrous laughter, beamed through his beautiful smile and overwhelmed you in the strength of his sure embrace, infused the brilliant words he penned to paper, saturated those he touched with its goodness and grace and fed his adventurous spirit.

Sam was that kind of beauty.

The sound Sam made was perfect and still it remains, if we still ourselves enough to hear it. A soft and golden melody of love and light in this world – that will never fade.

Sam traveled as far as he could.

It’s easy to miss it in the depths of our sorrow. but love won here. In the end God pulled Sam out of a very dark place, an endless aching void and healed his broken mind forever. He is now covered in a pure and lasting, all consuming, conquering kind of love – the truest salve and sweetest salvation. Sam has finally made his way home.

We are forever grateful to the Concussion Legacy Foundation for taking Sam’s brain and helping him complete his quest to reveal the thief that stole away his light. Our entire family is thankful they took his brain donation, as he’s not the typical sports-related CTE donor. Researchers at the VA-BU-CLF Brain Bank found Sam had Stage 2 (of 4) CTE, atrophy in his front lobe, and cavum septum pellucidum, among other issues in his brain.

We are hopeful that the research from his donation and other donations will help others in the future. We look forward to the breakthrough where CTE can be diagnosed while someone is still living.

 

Keith Pinkham

Keith was born in Cleveland, OH on February 23, 1951 to Frank and Frances Pinkham and was the eldest of six kids. Keith always liked the outdoors and it was evident growing up. While in school he had trouble concentrating in class due to always staring out the window looking at the birds, squirrels or anything that had to do with nature. He learned how to hunt and fish with his father and grandfather. His younger brother Kevin was his favorite hunting and fishing buddy.

Keith Pinkham was kind, funny and an avid outdoorsman who loved to hunt, fish, and garden; he was smart and a jack of all trades. Keith could hold a conversation with people from all walks of life and fix just about anything, if he didn’t know how he would figure it out even if it took him all day.

Keith enlisted in the U.S. Army after graduating from high school in 1969. After completing basic training, he was deployed to Vietnam. His duty was to detect land mines and spray Agent Orange to clear the fields for the troops. One story he would tell was the time he stepped on a land mine; however, it didn’t detonate because it was not positioned in place correctly for it to go off. Upon his return from Vietnam, much like other Veterans, he had trouble adjusting to normal life. Back then there was no such thing as PTSD and Vietnam Veterans did not receive warm welcomes upon their return. He struggled with substance abuse and the demons that can come with being a war Veteran. Keith married, had two daughters, Krista and Julie, and divorced.

I meet Keith in Denver, CO in 1982 and we were married in 1983. I was a flight attendant at the time and lived in the apartment across from his brother Kevin. To this day I still can remember the first time I laid eyes on him. We both fondly remembered that day. He could recall what I was wearing and what I was doing. Keith came knocking on my door a couple weeks later.

Keith experienced a lot of trauma in his life, including the death of his brother Kevin in 1982 shortly after we met. Kevin was working overnight at the shop he managed. He had an accident and fell and hit his head. Keith found him the next morning when he went to relieve him. The paramedics did all they could, but it was already too late. Keith was devastated. Kevin was not only his brother but also his best friend. Keith struggled with night terrors about finding his brother and memories of Vietnam. Eventually, he overcame the loss. In 1998 his mother passed away after being diagnosed with stomach cancer just six months earlier. Her death was so sudden and was another big blow to Keith. She was the glue that held the family together. Despite these losses Keith persevered and went on to become an accomplished auto body repairman and painter, a trade he learned from his father.

In May of 1991, we moved to Austin, TX where Keith continued in the auto repair field eventually working his way up to manager of a successful local auto body repair shop. Being in this field throughout his adult life he started getting restless and looking for a change. He was offered a job working for a south Texas hunting outfitter and gladly accepted. You name it, Keith did it. He served as a hunting guide, cook, and learned everything he could about the business because his dream was to start his own outfitting service.

Keith did this for a couple of years before starting his own business “Old Buck Outfitters.” He thought the name was appropriate, an old coot starting his own business. He worked hard to get Old Buck Outfitters started, he would drive all over southern Texas to scout out properties he could lease for hunts until he found 500 acres with a ranch house in Sabinal, TX. Keith started advertising everywhere he could, and the business started growing, booking deer, hog, and dove hunts during season. I always teased him that it must be nice that his job is his “hobby.” Keith couldn’t have been happier, and I was delighted that he was finally doing something he thoroughly enjoyed and woke up every day feeling he had a purpose.

During the energy crisis in 2004-2005, gas prices rose and less people were booking hunts, but Keith still tried to keep the business going. Then as fate would have it, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer in late 2006. The cancer was serious but contained and hadn’t spread. With treatment, doctors gave Keith a good prognosis. Keith endured eight weeks of radiation therapy every day, followed by the implanting of 80 radioactive seeds.

In the middle of the radiation therapy Keith’s personality began to change; he became angry and distant, he started having nightmares of his mother and brother, and started drinking heavily. I assumed it was due to the diagnoses, treatments, and the business not doing well. I suggested therapy, however he declined. After months of pushing me away, Keith came to the realization that he needed help in dealing with his issues and realized he had to shut the business down. I found a psychologist that specialized in PTSD and couples and family counseling. Dr. Albanese ended up being a blessing. Keith was reluctant at first but started to open up about his feelings, night terrors, and experiences in Vietnam. Keith was suffering from PTSD and had a nervous breakdown. Dr. Albanese explained how traumatic life events can cause a person to start reliving situations they hoped to have forgotten.

Mentally, Keith started making good progress by seeing Dr. Albanese regularly. Unfortunately, months later he started having trouble breathing. After having numerous tests done, he was diagnosed with COPD and was prescribed medication to assist in breathing. Shortly after he developed jaundice followed by a diagnoses of Stage 3 cirrhosis of the liver; which led to ascites and constant outpatient visits to the hospital. After treatments and medication, things seemed to be under control when he developed radiation cystitis from the prostate cancer treatments. Keith ended up needing three blood transfusions due to blood loss and was in the ICU for a week. Because of the seriousness of the cystitis, his urologist suggested Keith get hyperbaric oxygen therapy to heal the wound from the radiation and help prevent a recurrence. He received oxygen therapy Monday through Friday for 40 days. Once again, his health started to stabilize and looked like he had made it through another health scare.

He wasn’t able to work due to the COPD but was still able to get around on his own and decided to get a companion to keep him company at home. In 2011, we adopted a beautiful, spunky chocolate lab puppy he named Hondo. Keith’s plan was to train Hondo to retrieve birds so he could take him hunting.

Unfortunately, in 2012 Keith started having a harder time breathing. We tried changing medications and increasing his dosages but he still struggled. He was placed on oxygen 24/7 and had to carry a tank everywhere he went. A year later the prostate cancer returned, however due to the COPD, a biopsy or surgery was not an option. Doctors were afraid to put him under sedation, so he was treated with hormone therapy. All they could do was attempt to slow it down and keep it from spreading. Keith received this treatment every six months, however in 2013 he was diagnosed with Stage 4 COPD and advanced cirrhosis of the liver.

As Keith’s health slowly worsened, ironically Hondo was growing into a strong, healthy dog. Hondo was a great companion and loved and looked after Keith. If he felt he was coughing too long, he would run around the house to find me and barked until I followed him to check on Keith. He would stare at Keith while he slept; at times he would yelp two or three times to wake him. Once he was sure he was awake and okay, he would go lay down. Hondo rarely left his side.

By the end of 2013, Keith had been in and out of the hospital. He had breathing issues, a collapsed lung, and head injuries from falling. He was also having trouble remembering things. At times he seemed confused, he could remember things clearly from the past but wasn’t sure what he did in the morning or would take his medication twice forgetting what time of day it was. I attributed this to his lack of oxygen and the encephalopathy from the cirrhosis, which his doctors said could happen.

Keith was still seeing the psychologist. His dreams and night terrors seemed to subside, and he would practice the exercises she suggested to deal with them. He hadn’t talked much about his time in Vietnam except for a story now and then but Keith started sharing the stories he kept to himself with Dr. Albanese. Talking about his experiences seemed to help, especially when he started sharing them with me after his sessions. It pained me to know what he and other Veterans went through. I never judged him and just said I loved him. I could see how these memories had affected his life throughout the years.

By now the only times Keith left the house were for doctor’s appointments or for medical tests. The last two years for his life were very hard on Keith. He had come to the realization that he was never going to be able to do the things he had enjoyed all his life. One Sunday morning in April, 2016 he started having trouble breathing and looked gray in color. I rushed him to the ER, they immediately tried to stabilize him however nothing worked, there was no option but to intubate him to help his breathing. After careful monitoring he seemed to be stable, they removed the tubes and he was breathing on his own with the help of oxygen. Over the next few days, Keith had to be intubated three times, with the third time briefly stopping his heart. Nothing helped Keith breathe on his own. Doctors said there were only two options; do a tracheotomy and insert a tube to help him breathe, however there was the risk of infection since it’s an open wound and he would need 24-hour care in a nursing home with no guarantee this would even work. The other option was to make him as comfortable as possible and let him go peacefully.

Even though Keith never wanted to be kept alive by artificial means and had an Advance Medical Directive, it was up to me to honor it and make the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make in my life. For the last few years Keith hadn’t had much of a life or anything to look forward to. It was time to set him free. On April 21, 2016 at 5:30 p.m. he took his last breath and died peacefully with me holding him. He was only 65 years young; that year we would have been married 33 years. I struggled with this decision for months.

I was asked if I wanted to donate Keith’s corneas upon his passing, however with his medical issues he was not a potential donor. I asked the representative of the cornea bank if he knew of any other organization that I could donate his lungs or liver especially for medical research to help others. He called back to inform me about the research that Boston University was doing for traumatic brain injuries. Being a football fan I had heard about this, but Keith never played football. He said they were doing research on combat Veterans to see if there is any correlation to CTE. If I was interested, he could get the paperwork emailed to me immediately as it needed to be done quickly. I agreed not only because of the importance of this research but it could provide me with some answers on Keith’s behaviors over the last nine or so years.

I received the call from Lisa McHale, CLF’s Director of Legacy Family Relations, to explain the interview process, how long it would take, her role and history of how she became involved in this research I knew I had made the right decision. Lisa was so very kind and compassionate. In December of 2016, I received the final diagnosis. Keith did not have CTE, however he did have age-related tauopathy with severe frontal and temporal lobe atrophy and the early stages of dementia. I had struggled with the decision to stop all treatments for Keith but this research allowed me to have closure and realize I made the best decision for him. It explained so much of his behaviors.

I’m so grateful for the research the Boston University CTE Center is conducting and I thank all the doctors who I spoke to as well as the ones behind the scenes. I cannot thank Lisa McHale enough. Her guidance though this process was incredible and appreciated.

I was blessed to have Keith in my life for many years, he introduced me to the outdoors and experiences I would not have had if it weren’t for him. My years as a flight attendant allowed us to travel and see new places. I was glad to have been able to give Keith this opportunity he might not have had otherwise. When Keith passed away I not only lost my husband but also my soul mate and best friend. When he took his last breath, Keith took my heart with him.

Greg Ploetz

 

Gregory Paul Ploetz was a Renaissance Man. He was brilliant, clever, and could do most anything. He was not only a gifted teacher and artist, an educated speaker, but he could also change the oil in his car and plumb and wire an entire house.

 

 

His success as an athlete was proven by his participation on the 1969 University of Texas National Championship Team. He was a formidable Defensive Tackle and was elected to the All Southwest Conference team twice and 2nd team All-American. Unfortunately, this success caused him to suffer and die from Stage Four CTE after battling the disease for more than ten years. He had no other health issues.

Greg and I were married for 37 years after only dating for five months. It was love/like after the first date. He had his Masters of Fine Arts from the University of Texas and used his talent for sharing his knowledge of art through teaching at the college and high school levels for forty years. He was also a committed and loving father of our two children. We were going to spend our golden years owning and living in an art space/gallery in San Antonio, TX near his family. CTE robbed Greg of fulfilling his dream.

 

In 2009/2010 the neurological community did not feel comfortable calling it CTE before death and three neurologists kept telling us it was Alzheimer’s. CTE causes dementia, thus, it is the only dementia that is preventable. For Greg, using medical marijuana the last two years of his life helped diminish his suffering and gave him some peace of mind. In 2014, we moved to Colorado, and got him a license to use the oil. I stopped all of his prescribed behavioral drugs and used MMJ.

If he knew he was going to die from this disease, I think he would have chosen not to play. He ended up loving art over football. During his art career he was mostly an abstract painter, but in 2010, with full blown dementia, he tried to execute the realist art form in a naïve football painting. It was one of his last attempts to make art.

 

Like others that have lost a loved one, my grief and pain is with me every day. It gives me comfort to share his art and journey. He has a very important legacy and story to tell.

Greg’s niece, Meg Dudley, directed and produced a short film, “Art of Darkness: A Story of CTE,” capturing his decline and its effect on his family. View the film below.

Greg’s work was featured in an art exhibit at Fort Works Art in Fort Worth, TX in September 2017. A portion of the proceeds benefitted the Concussion Legacy Foundation.

 

John Polonchek

Jim Proebstle, Author of Unintended Impact, sat down with the family of John Polonchek to gain insight into his life and legacy. 

 

John immigrated to the United States from Granastov, Czechoslovakia with his family when he was a young boy. As he grew older it was his love for sports of any kind that helped him become a part of the American culture. That story built momentum with his talent as a halfback at Roosevelt H.S. in E. Chicago, IN, which led to a scholarship at Michigan State University. At Michigan State John was the first recipient of the Potsy Ross Award, an honor given to the football player making the most contributions to the team on the field, as well as in the classroom. After graduation, John joined the Air Force and after serving he returned to MSU to begin his coaching career. His talent for the coaching profession can only be properly described by a Google search that documents six years of college coaching and twenty-eight years of coaching in the NFL, AFL, and USFL (United States Football League), including coaching two teams in the Super Bowl (the Raiders in Super Bowl 2, and the Patriots in Super Bowl 20). His athletic talents and native intelligence gave John the opportunity to earn a college degree. Football was part of his essence and being, allowing John to build a career that was characterized by success at all levels and a lifestyle centered on his family and the sport. That passion for football and coaching came full cycle with the donation of his brain to the Boston University School of Medicine CTE Center after a bittersweet end when he passed away on January 26, 2015. It is his family’s intention that John’s contribution to football continue through the use of his brain in researching the long-term consequences of repetitive head impact through concussions.

Who was your dad outside football?

Joan, John’s wife of sixty-eight years, and he met while in the Air Force where she was an Air Force nurse. Afterwards, she quickly adjusted to his hard working life style of full-time coaching. Regardless of the time demands, he maintained his commitment to his faith, his friends and his family. His children describe their dad as gentle, friendly, quiet and humble. “He always wanted to know what he could do for us. It was never about dad’s accomplishments, but always about others.”

How did the topic of concussions and head contact come up during John’s coaching years?

The family looks back at the environment involving concussions as very different than what we think of today. “The topic of concussions didn’t come up,” Joan said although later expressed concern for the players and the possible long-term consequences of head trauma. Professional football bred a “tough as nails” attitude, which included a culture that concussions were part of the atmosphere, part of the expectations of the sport, especially during the early years of building a new league (AFL) without the big money. The evolution of equipment was thought to be of great benefit to the players as the physics (player size and speed) of the game changed. That idea was turned on its head with the Darryl Stingley/Jack Tatum collision at the Oakland Coliseum in 1978. Although controversial, the hit on Stingley, one of John’s players with the Patriots, was not against NFL rules at the time, as it was not helmet-to-helmet contact (it was a shoulder-to-helmet contact). No penalty was called on the play. Today, however, the NFL has banned all blows to the head or neck of a defenseless player, and has disallowed players to launch themselves in tackling defenseless players. With Darryl reduced to life as a paraplegic, the team was spooked. While concussion and head trauma protocols have improved none of the family members believe that the issue of player safety has been resolved.

In retrospect, there is no one incident that the family could recall that represented a marked change in John’s behavior. He just gradually withdrew into himself. The mental and cognitive preparation for the season was more time consuming resulting in several occasions where John spent the entire night preparing for the next day’s practices and upcoming games. After the end of the 1991 football season, he retired.

 

When did you notice that something was wrong with John? How did the symptoms progress?

During a family celebration in 1998 at an airport, the kids had engaged the parents in a clapping-coordination game requiring dexterity of hand movements. John had always been “mister motor skills” but he couldn’t keep up with the pattern of the game. His family noticed that John began to speak less frequently and was less involved in conversations when in a group, and that his prolific photographic skill just stopped. Problems with confusion led to a visit at Mass General in early 2000 with the preliminary diagnosis being a likely beginning stage of Alzheimer’s. The family never quite accepted that diagnosis. John never became aggressive and his personality stayed the same. Word search skills became challenging and daily living issues started to become evident. In time, more progressive signs presented themselves as he just talked less and less. He would just sit in a chair and watch football or any sport on TV for long periods of time. His memory declined to include a loss of recall of events that were very important to him. He was very happy to receive visitors while at the nursing home, but had no recall of who they were.

It was not a surprise to the family that when John’s brain was examined by Dr. Ann McKee there was no evidence of Amyloid protein stains typical of Alzheimer disease. There is satisfaction among family members that a correct diagnosis of CTE was determined so that a validation of the signs and symptoms they were seeing may lead to answers from a scientific standpoint so that others can benefit.

How has your attitude changed regarding football?

The family expressed concern about what’s happening to the player’s bodies. With the competitive culture of the professional game, “It’s just going to get worse.” Research, rule changes, precaution through better officiating are long overdue, but changes are not happening fast enough. “If we can put people into space and protect racecar drivers in collisions; why can’t we develop equipment to protect our players better. We have a long way to go. And, the issue is compounded further when you consider the players at the college, high school and youth levels. Flag football might be a much better alternative until a later age. Some of the hits are gut retching and make you cringe. Risk factors are increasing and we have a long way to go to make the game safer for players.”

 

How was your experience working with Concussion Legacy Foundation (CLF) and Boston Medical?

“Fantastic, available, helpful,” were the first words Joan used to describe the Concussion Legacy Foundation. “Lisa was indispensable in coordinating research with everyone in different places. The medical staff are world-class and the CLF programs going forward are terrific. It was motivating, interesting, and meaningful to participate in the leading edge science involved. We are hopeful that a difference can be made in player safety as the game of football evolves.”

Dick Proebstle

 

Richard James Proebstle Eulogy

I am honored greatly to be able to express myself with you on behalf of my brother, Dick. But first, I would like to thank each of you for your presence here and the wonderful compassion and kindnesses in your cards, emails and phone calls to the family. They really did make a difference.

In 2005, Steven Jobs addressed the Stanford University graduation class and in his commencement address he was quoted as saying, “No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there.” He expanded the point by saying, “Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. In his conclusion he said, ”Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”

I started thinking about this more. While the physical and metaphysical changes for Dick are self apparent, changes that came as a byproduct of his death became interesting. I’d like to mention a few:

  1. Mike and Patty and Carole and I were privileged to tag team what turned out to be a week-long vigil with Dick. During that time it became very apparent as to how much Mike and Patty had grown into their responsibilities in managing the complication of Dick’s affairs over the last few years—right through until today when we say farewell. They loved their father very much as he loved them.
  2. I changed because Dick’s situation gave me an opportunity over the last few years to give back to a brother who gave so much to me. Our connection at all stages in life was very strong. It was Carole, however, who noticed that despite my changes, Dick and I had grown to look more and more alike. She came into Dick’s room at the Peabody the night before he died. I was asleep on a recliner chair next to Dick’s bed. My head was back, mouth open, breathing heavily; just as Dick’s was. Carole laughed out loud with how much we looked alike and nearly put a Post-it note on my forehead saying, “This is the visiting brother…do not medicate.”
  3. Dick was a challenging resident in the beginning at The Peabody. I saw their staff change over time, however, and continually make the second effort in order to make Dick feel at home. It was heartwarming to hear their stories while we were there as to how Dick had become part of their family.
  4. Some of you know that Dick’s brain has been donated to Boston University where leading research is being conducted into Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy or CTE dementia. It’s a growing concern for players receiving repetitive head concussions in contact sports and can only be diagnosed post-mortem. Isn’t this just classic Dick Proebstle overachievement. His greatest contribution in sports may be yet to come…after his death. Hopefully, it will facilitate change.
  5. Throughout the process of Dick’s death, family and friends, like yourselves, made comments that aren’t a normal part of day-to-day living. Sometimes these acts of love and compassion go unsaid in our lives, but not this time. I was particularly comforted by everyone in my immediate family and in particular by a voice mail message from my son, Jeff, which I will probably never erase.
  6. Lastly when considering these changes and I’m sure there are many others, the ultimate question arises…Are we really going to change? Will we actually become better as a result of reflecting on the experiences of the death of someone we love?

As a brother, I look at Dick’s role in life as a Warrior…”a man of honor experienced in the battle and willing to lead and take on the fight.” Positive characteristics for a Warrior include: competitiveness, achievement driven, leader, high personal code, etc. These all leave us with very big shoes to fill. I know first-hand from St. Joan of Arc, Central Catholic and Michigan State just how big those shoes were. But, just as there are strengths to being a Warrior, there are also weaknesses; ego driven, hard on relationships, inflexible and self-destructiveness to name a few.

 

Carole has a saying in her psychology practice that, “Life is all about learning.” With that thought in mind, Dick got a Ph.D in life. His amazing talents translated into outward success, as well as major setbacks. When I combine his experiences (both the high’s and low’s) with what we now recognize as literally decades of progressive suffering from CTE dementia—Dick’s last 20 + years were very troubled. With the benefit of hindsight, it is easy for me and those around him to track the debilitating signs of the disease (withdrawn, aggression, depression, failing executive functioning leading to judgment, decision-making and financial management issues, anxiety, panic attacks, paranoia, and even psychotic breaks with the final result being an overall diminishment of mental and physical capacities). As a Warrior, his natural instinct was to cover these up by fighting back…believing he could overcome…as a Warrior does…as he had always done. As the saying goes in sports, “The great ones play hurt.” This was no more evident than at his induction at the Stark County HS Football Hall of Fame. I knew I would have to do his acceptance speech, which I was honored to do, but that wasn’t enough for Dick as he insisted on taking the MIC to talk. For several minutes he held the audience’s attention attempting to say what was important to him. He could not articulate a single audible word as much as he tried. What everyone in the room did hear, however, was the heart of a champion.

Participating in Dick’s life and reliving it over during the last few weeks was a fantastic journey that I’ll treasure as a brother. Growing up with parents who showered us with love and solid direction; Dick’s life started here at St. Joan of Arc in grade school as an altar boy, voice in the choir, student and athlete. That led to a phenomenal student-athlete experience at Central Catholic, and to Michigan State University where he graduated on time and received 5 varsity letters in baseball and football. Afterwards, canoe trips with older brother John, vacations together, building a family and spending time in MN are just some of the remembrances that will be missed. As his career in business developed, many achievements followed with his responsibilities at IBM, NML and Mid-States Equipment.

For me, however, it’s the loss of a brother who always bailed me out of difficulties while growing up, Dick gave me solid advice when I was about to make a wrong turn, he was helpful beyond expectation on projects involving time and labor, and his subtle yet powerful words of encouragement, just when I needed it “about how proud he was of me” and “how he always referred to me with others as a winner,” left their indelible mark. In football the first rule of an offensive lineman is to protect your Q-back. I could have never asked for a better Q-back to protect.

I found a place to conclude this eulogy in Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace, which is probably appropriate considering the time I’ve taken. The quote comes from the character, Prince Andrew, “Love is life itself. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists only because I love. Everything is united by love alone. Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to this eternal source called God.”

The wound we feel now losing Dick, as a father, brother, uncle, friend or teammate will turn to a scar. We just have to remember that the scar we carry is a sign that the wound has healed and that life is moving forward.

Thank you.

Mike Pyle

 

 

Mike Pyle attended New Trier High School in Winnetka, Illinois, where he was a multi-sport athlete with several state championships to his credit. He graduated in 1957 from New Trier and went on to Yale University, where he was a member of Skull and Bones. He was an offensive linemen for the Bulldogs and captained the undefeated, co-Lambert Trophy winner 1960 team. The 1960 team was ranked 14th in the final AP college football poll and 18th in the final UPI college football poll. Mike played nine seasons for George Halas with the Chicago Bears from 1961 through 1969. In 1963 he was named a Pro Bowler and served as the Bears offensive team captain from 1963 through his retirement. He was named to the Sporting News First Team – All Conference and the UPI Second Team – All NFL in 1963 and to the New York Daily News All NFL team in 1965.

 

Chicago’s own

Mike’s return to Chicago to play for the Bears was special—it was home. He brought with him from Yale a unique ability to lead and, in this case, the Bears possessed a very talented group of performance driven athletes who would respond.  He simply valued each player for their ability to contribute. It may also have been his sense of humor that complemented his effective leadership style as captain of the Bears for so many years, as the team chemistry and locker room comradery became a trademark of their success. Regardless, whether it was on the field or through his successful involvement in the many fundraiser and charity events filling his post-playing years, leadership and generosity of his own time was at the heart of Mike’s success. His life was always about “doing for others.” He is remembered as a good and loyal friend.

In 1969, Mike became a broadcaster for WGN radio, where he was the Bears pre and post-game program host, as well as the host of a Sunday sports talk show. He later co-hosted the “Mike Ditka Show” when Ditka coached the Bears. In 1974 he served as color commentator on the broadcasts of the WFL’s Chicago Fire on WJJD.  This celebrity status fueled the countless requests to be in the public eye.  In some respects it provided Mike a way to stay in the game even though his playing days were over, not an uncommon reaction on the part of many athletes who have reached the rarified air of becoming a household name.

Undefined change became the norm

In the early ‘90s Mike’s behavior problems became an issue. No one knew about CTE and its related demonstrations of rage and temper outbursts. Bad behavior shifted from logical reactions of disagreement when he was young to absurd, over-the-top reactions when he was older. OCD and micromanaging in a mean-spirited and judgmental manner became the norm. He went from being a people person who was the last to leave a party to a deep stage of withdrawal, not talking other than to answer questions, and when he did talk he yelled, always finding fault with what was wrong. It never occurred to the family that Mike was suffering from a disease –they just didn’t know—nobody knew. An excessive consumption of alcohol, a common form of self-medication, contributed to a skyrocketing display of difficult, antisocial behavior.

Mike’s true friends from years as an athlete and public event promotions were forgiving and tremendously loyal in his decline. His choice of jobs and job prospects, however, predictably declined rapidly, as the behavior changes became uncontrolled. It’s important to remember that NFL players did not make a lot of money in the ‘60s. The 2007-2008 hip replacement represented a low as the rehab forced an unforeseen alcohol withdrawal and drying out period involving hallucinations, physical threats and needed security support. After his recovery, Mike carried on in limited public engagements because of his enduring celebrity status. People would enable him to stay involved as long as the endorsements held out. Not surprisingly, the conflict from the growing CTE behaviors brought an end to the public role. Sadly, Mike’s ability to “do for others” disappeared. Organizations such as Better Boys Foundation, Juvenile Diabetes, and the Jack Quinlan Charity Golf Tournaments, to name a few, lost an effective and avid celebrity promoter. In time, Mike was blocked, pushed aside and marginalized as a past president of the NFL Retired Players Association from the ‘60s. His psyche was devastated as he attempted to continue the good fight for the older players. The focus and politics were shifting to the newer players, however, and away from the physical and medical needs of the older players who built the NFL.

The homefront

Candy, Mike’s second wife for over thirty years, kept the blended family with four children intact as Mike’s need to do for others occasionally worked to the detriment of the kids. He was always doing for others—a favor, a letter, a charitable engagement, etc. competed with his family duties. The priorities of “doing for others” always came first. In the end, he would never say no to a request—the player inside of him always wanted to be in the game—making a difference. Living with a retired professional athlete led to weekly individual, couple’s and family therapy sessions as they coped with the entitlement of the famous athlete that was losing his place in the sports headlines. Depression and dysfunctional family dynamic issues were addressed with anti-depressants in order to mitigate Mike’s rages. Through the process however, the family members ultimately recognized Mike was suffering from a serious illness. Mike was the love of Candy’s life and witnessing Mike’s decline was the hardest thing she’s ever had to endure. It was sad that the family didn’t know what was happening and that the disease had a name—chronic traumatic encephalopathy.

Despite the obstacles, Mike pushed forward choosing jobs in sales that didn’t always work out, and when customers wouldn’t buy his product his anger became obvious. Mike may have been taken advantage of because of his name recognition, as it appeared that he frequently was not the right person to sell many of the products he represented. This lack of success, coupled with unsound money decisions on his part, furthered family difficulties.

The 88 Plan

Around the years 2000-2001, Mike’s symptoms of dementia became apparent even though Mike acknowledged only two or three concussions in his career. His condition worsened as a result of the repetitive sub concussive blows to the head, common to a center’s position, and in 2013 his family was forced to put him into a full-time assisted living facility. Mike was accepted into the Silverado, a national chain of assisted living facilities and a preferred provider to the NFL.

The NFL had created The 88 Plan, a brain trauma program named for Hall of Fame tight end John Mackey, whose number was 88. Mackey was suffering from CTE dementia by the time he died in 2011. The 88 Plan’s goal was to treat all former players with at least three years of service that were suffering from dementia. The plan had very strict NFL guidelines and would only reimburse the families for the first $88K of expenses incurred. Since many of these players had little money they could only afford the Silverado because of The 88 Plan. Ironically, however, The Plan didn’t always cover all of the expenses, often leaving families in debt. Two hundred and twenty-three players have been approved thus far for The 88 Plan since its inception in 2005.

Mike Pyle suffered in a vegetative state at the Silverado and died on July 29, 2015 from a brain hemorrhage complicated by an additional diagnosis of Stage IV CTE dementia and advanced Alzheimer’s.

 

Football in the future

Two of Mike’s grandsons (12 and 14) play flag football and enjoy it. Both mom and grandma agree that the few new skills learned in tackle football at their age aren’t worth the risk considering the vulnerability to the developing 8-14 year-old brain. Samantha, the boys’ mom, has deferred any decision to support the boys’ involvement in tackle football until the game becomes safer. She does recognize that some boys have the need for rough and tumble contact, but ultimately, her boys’ safety is of primary concern. Samantha has been very involved with the great things being done by the Concussion Legacy Foundation. With her help, Team Up Speak Up Day was successfully launched in the Palm Desert schools. Candy, the boys’ grandmother, is not convinced that football, as we know it, is worth the risk. Both agree, however, that if either of the boys play tackle football it will be in a world very different from their grandfather’s

In summary

When you consider the body of Mike’s work throughout life, whether in football, the public eye of non-profit organizations or with his family, his purpose was always true—adding value with his devotion and passion. He was a wonderful man and it was a terrible waste to lose him. Even with the many benefits that come with celebrity status, it’s unfair that so many players in a similar position to Mike’s are paying the price for ignorance regarding the devastating impact of concussions. A very close friend of Mike’s, as well as of the family, would agree that losing such a good friend and beautiful person was an empty outcome considering the commitment he gave.