Benny Perrin

Obituary for Jesse Bennett “Benny” Perrin

Jesse Bennett “Benny” Perrin was born October 20, 1959, at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Orange County, CA, to Joe and Barbara Perrin. Benny was the younger of two sons. He was 18 months younger than his brother, Braxton Perrin. When Benny was in elementary school, Joe’s retirement from the military landed the Perrins in Decatur, AL. Benny found his love for sports at The Boy’s Club. He attended Decatur High School, where he stole the stage with his extraordinary talents in baseball, basketball, and football. He was a quarterback and defensive back for the late coach, Earl Webb, at Decatur. He earned High School All-American and All-State Honors in football in 1976 and 1977. Decatur made the Class 4A State Semifinals in football in his junior and senior years. Decatur went 20-5 in Benny’s two years as starting quarterback. He was named All-State in baseball and basketball in 1977 and 1978. He was a starting guard for the basketball team in 1977 – 1978 season. That year, Decatur made it to the semifinals in the class 4A State Tournaments under Coach Earl Morris. He also started at shortstop for Decatur’s baseball team for four years.

After high school, Benny played football and baseball at The University of Alabama. He had the honor of playing under the legendary Coach Paul “Bear” Bryant from 1978 – 1981. Benny’s two interceptions against Auburn in 1981 helped the “Bear” reach his 315th record-breaking win. He was Defensive Player of the Year for Alabama, and played in the 1982 Senior Bowl. During this time, Benny had to ask permission from Coach Bryant to marry his high school sweetheart, Debbie Morris Halbrooks.

Perrin was drafted in the third round of the 1982 NFL Draft by the St. Louis Cardinals, and played four seasons in the league. He was the first player to win Defensive Player of the Week in his first ever start as a rookie. In addition, he was an alternate to the 1982 Pro Bowl. He played in 48 games, had 9 interceptions, and 1 touchdown. He was Defensive Captain as a rookie, and had numerous game balls. After a routine physical detected a cervical fracture, Benny was forced to retire from the NFL.

The Perrins then returned to Decatur and opened BB Perrins BBQ. They gave birth to three wonderful children, Jesse (Anna Marie), Mary Caitlin Brown (Alex), and Sara Beth. On February 2, 2007, Benny married his wife, Courtney. The have had 10 years of marriage and a lifetime of memories together. He was fortunate to experience the birth of his first grandson, Brooks Bennett Perrin, on July 4, 2016. Benny spent his free time assisting his son, Jesse, coaching freshmen and JV baseball for the Hartselle Tigers. Coaching was a passion he loved dearly. More than anything else, Benny enjoyed spending time with his family. They were his love and his priority.

Benny’s success from football didn’t come without a price. Throughout his football career he suffered several concussions. The past few years he silently fought a battle he ultimately could not overcome, although he tried with all his might. Benny suffered from chronic migraines, ringing in the ears, blurred vision, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, and insomnia that he could not escape. His family witnessed his mental health declining. Despite seeking medical help, Benny took his own life on February 3, 2017. Our family is determined that neither his pain, nor his death will not be in vain. We will fight to shed light on Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy and the effects of multiple concussions on the brain. It is for this reason, the family requests that, in lieu of flowers, monetary donations be made to the Sports Legacy Institute. Donate online by visiting https://trusted.bu.edu/s/1759/2-bu/giving or write checks to: “Trustees of Boston University” with “BU CTE Center” in the memo line, and mail to: Boston University School of Medicine, 72 East Concord ST, L-219, Boston, MA 02118.

Benny had a relationship with Jesus Christ, and because of that we know that we will see him again. We want to encourage everyone to continue his legacy by loving, serving, and caring for others the way he always did. Please join us on Sunday, February 12, 2017, at 5:23 p.m. at Epic Church to celebrate the life of our hero, our number 23!

To send flowers or a memorial gift to the family of Jesse Bennett “Benny” Perrin please visit our Sympathy Store.

Morris Phipps

His family said he was the child that was always outside playing a game that involved a ball. Football was his passion but he was also very gifted in baseball. He played his high school football and baseball for the South Garland Owls, where he made All-State in football and played in the All Star Game for the North All Stars. He had offers to play both football and baseball in college, but made his choice to play for Baylor University beginning in 1965 through 1970.

 

Morris Trent Phipps was the eldest child born to Morris Lynn Phipps and Billie Rae Phipps. His family and friends all called him by his middle name, Trent.  He had two younger sisters.

His family said he was the child that was always outside playing a game that involved a ball. Football was his passion but he was also very gifted in baseball. He played his high school football and baseball for the South Garland Owls, where he made All-State in football and played in the All Star Game for the North All Stars. He had offers to play both football and baseball in college, but made his choice to play for Baylor University beginning in 1965 through 1970.

 

At Baylor, Trent played on the defensive line as nose guard. The coaches thought he was too small but his tenacity, quickness, and strength always earned him his starting position.  He loved strength training and his past time was handball. He graduated in 1971 with a Bachelor’s degree in Physical Education/History. He was the first in his family to ever attend or graduate from college.

In 1971, he married Donna Clark Phipps during her sophomore year at Baylor. They moved to Lubbock where Donna could finish her degree to be a speech pathologist and Trent began his coaching career at Lubbock Cooper High School. Trent and Donna have two sons: Brett, who coaches in the Dallas area, and Garrett, who has a dental practice in Guymon, Oklahoma.

 

Trent and Donna had the typical coaching moves around Texas to find that “greener pasture” where the athletes had the perfect combination of skills and motivation. Trent coached at Lubbock Cooper High School, Lubbock High School, Sweetwater High School, Graham High School,  and Uvalde High School.  While in Uvalde, Trent completed a Master’s in Administration. He was a principal for one year in Van Horn, Texas, and felt his glory days still called him to coach. In 1986, the family moved to Amarillo, Texas.  While in Amarillo, Trent coached at Tascosa High School, Bonham Middle School, Palo Duro High School, and Horace Mann Middle School. He retired from coaching and teaching in 2003.

In hindsight, Trent was beginning to show the effects of CTE as early as 1997. His diminished cognitive skills and depression were such that Donna took Trent to seek answers in late 2002. His diagnoses ranged from sleep apnea to serious depression to Early Onset Alzheimer’s disease and his final diagnosis from post mortem autopsy was primary Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy.

Trent’s family misses him greatly but would want you to know the devastation of this disease and ask you to support, in whatever fashion, the research that may some day prevent others from suffering the effects of CTE.

Given with great love for father, husband, teacher, and coach, Morris Trent Phipps by his wife, Donna, and sons, Brett and Garrett.

 

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.