Monday, September 5, 2011

Our Day in Hell Part 4 "Feed Me".


Our exit from the hospital came with a lot of conflicting information.  Some doctors told us that India would be just fine and would have no serious residual issues.  Other doctors told us she might be terribly damaged and might not survive long.  As parents, we gravitated towards the positive prognosis.  We couldn’t imagine the other, brain damage.

Home was different when we arrived.  Actually, home wasn’t different, we were different. We’d all been brutally traumatized, and in India’s case, physically. We settled in as best we could but it was hard.  Despite the love and help from family and friends, we couldn’t really get our bearings and  it quickly became clear that India had substantial problems.  This was terrible for me to accept.  I’d look for any sign of normalcy but these became fewer and fewer. 

I can remember sitting with India, looking at her little hand that was already retracting into a fist, a symptom of Cerebral Palsy.  Her tiny body was clearly damaged.  There was no muscle tone and she was like a ragdoll.   She cried all the time, constantly.  We were stressed, damaged, terrified of seizures, and couldn’t sleep.  In addition, I had to jump back into my new career and find a way to come up with unimaginable amounts of money for insurance deductibles, non-covered expenses, living expenses, future expenses and God knows what else.  It was an impossible time.  If my memory serves me correctly, we quickly found ourselves $130,000 in the hole and I was bringing in a meager $19,000 per year.

Every step of every day was difficult.  India would choke, she’d scream, she fell further and further behind in every imaginable way.  She’d often become ill, get dehydrated and have to be hospitalized.  Our lives became unrecognizable.

As new issues with India unfolded, we did everything we could to counter them.  We began to research and learn about every possible intervention that might make so much as the smallest improvement in our child.  In all fairness, I’m giving myself a bit too much credit at this point.  During India’s first year of life, I was spending the majority of my time trying to earn enough money to cover the bills.  Veruca was incredible; she did everything she could for our baby.  I heavily relied on her to figure out what the hell we needed to do.

We were literally bombarded with ideas, therapies, medicines, equipment, and on and on and on.  The problem was that we had no real idea what was worthwhile and what was useless. We relied heavily on “professionals” for guidance but if I only knew then what I know now. 

One of the “professionals” who was influential to us at the time was a young physical therapist.  He seemed knowledgeable and level headed.  What I didn’t know was that he practiced an outdated version of physical therapy.  According to his version it wasn’t recommended to allow children to make certain movements unless they had reached the developmental milestone that normal children reach prior to making that movement.  Thus, a child would not be allowed to stand up unless they mastered independent sitting and so on.  I now understand how harmful and destructive this approach is, but back then I didn’t know any better.  This physical therapist’s influence on us, especially on Veruca, was horribly damaging to India.  The following paragraph highlights just one event that happened as a result of this misinformed professional disgrace. 

I was outside with India one day.  As I was holding her, she was pumping her legs as if she were walking.  I put India down on the ground in the standing position, supporting her arms.  India began to take one step after another.  It was amazing.  She walked the entire width of our yard.  I called to Veruca to tell her what was happening. My heart was pumping so hard I could feel each beat in my temples.  Veruca came outside, frowned, and told me to not allow India to walk because she wasn’t able to sit unaided yet.  I was shocked and confused.  Here was our little disabled girl walking!  India was doing what I knew was a good thing.  There could be nothing bad about this!  I argued with Veruca, I told her that it was common sense that we should allow India’s natural instincts to take their course right now!  Veruca insisted that she was correct and that I didn’t know what I was talking about.  Veruca dismissed all of my pleas for continuing to support India’s walking.  Every bone in my body told me to continue, but Veruca was the master of belittling others’ opinions and knowledge and did her utmost to make everyone wrong at all times.  She had opinions about everything one can imagine and she continuously forced her opinion on others.  Unfortunately, I was new in this marriage, didn’t know Veruca very well, and had no concept how to enforce a boundary, much less stand up to an aggressive spouse.  I gave in, I stopped helping India walk. I will regret this for the rest of my life.  The damage that was caused that day by stopping our daughter from walking can’t possibly be calculated. 
Over a year later, Veruca admitted that her opinion about India’s first steps came from the young physical therapist.  She acknowledged that this was a terrible thing to have said.  However, the time that had passed was just too long for India and when I put her to stand again, she wasn’t taking steps any more. 

I kept the soiled socks that India wore that day for years.  I kept them even though it hurt me to look at them.  She didn’t walk again for many years and when she did, it was never again like the first steps she had taken.  Her body had been too ravaged by that point.

We didn’t dare let India leave our sight.  We were terrified of her seizing or choking while in someone else’s care, so we were constantly monitoring her.  But after much persuading by concerned family and friends, we finally agreed to get some help.

Because of India’s disability and our low income, Veruca and I qualified for state sponsored “respite care.”  This meant that we could have somebody from a state qualified agency,trained in caretaking and emergency medical procedures, take care of India for little to nothing for about 20 hours a month. 

When our first respite date came, we were beyond nervous.  The thought of leaving India alone with somebody else was overwhelming.  Veruca and I decided that there was no way we could be far away from our daughter, at least not on this first respite visit.  So we decided to just walk around the block, which was as far as we could be from India.  The respite caretaker arrived, she was a very large rosy-cheeked lady who seemed nice enough and as if she knew what she was doing. We talked with her for about 30 minutes explaining everything she needed to know for the care of our daughter.  Then Veruca handed the caretaker a baby sling to carry India around the house.  Veruca asked her if she knew how to use it, the respite caretaker said yes, and she ushered us out the door.

We walked around the block several times, holding hands.  It was nice to get out.  The sun was setting, the temperature was nice and cool, and this alone time was just what we needed.  It was the first time in awhile that we’d been outside, just the two of us, and I felt almost human.  After about 30 minutes, we decided we’d been gone long enough.  I was feeling a sense of rejuvenation, like the dark cloud had been lifted and I could handle another day of this new life.  As we walked in our front door  that nice feeling evaporated instantaneously.

The first sign that something was wrong was that the respite caretaker was very red and her face was wet with sweat.  I stood there staring at her trying to figure out what the hell was going on.  Then I saw my daughter, or rather, I saw my daughter’s foot.  It was sticking up from the top of the sling.  The respite care provider had put my daughter into the sling upside down.  What I hadn’t realized was that I had been so shocked with what I was seeing that my hearing was literally muted; I was standing there dumbfounded.  As the volume of my surroundings elevated, the next shock hit me; I could hear my daughter’s muffled screams from the bottom of the sling. 

Veruca ran over and pulled India out of the sling and away from the respite caretaker.  India was discolored and sweaty from a lack of oxygen and the heat.  The caretaker was clearly flustered, became defensive, and blamed everything on the device rather than her lack of common sense.

Without saying a word to each other, Veruca and I both knew that we wanted this human train wreck out of our home and lives as quickly as possible.  Veruca rushed into our bedroom to get the checkbook, and came right back out with the check filled out plus a generous tip included.  I felt a massive sense of relief when my wife handed the woman her check so she could leave.  But to my surprise, she didn’t get up off the couch. She leaned back, put one leg over the other, and started watching TV!  Veruca and I stood there flabbergasted, almost as if we had been transported into an episode of The Twilight Zone.  Veruca finally got up the nerve to say, “Well, thanks for the help, I think you better go now.”  The respite caretaker looked at Veruca with astonishment and said, “You’re supposed to feed me. I’m hungry so you need to feed me before I go, it’s our agreement.”

You could have heard a pin drop in my living room. The caretaker sat there staring at Veruca, Veruca stood there trying to absorb what this woman just told her, and I found myself wanting to crawl under the coffee table, insert my thumb into my mouth, and curl up in the fetal position.


So there the three of us sat, Veruca on a hard wooden chair, me perched on another, while the caretaker lounged on our soft couch, slowly eating a hastily-put-together meal and watching TV. She was oblivious to our presence.  As I watched this oversized woman, all I could think about was Mr. Creosote from Monty Python’s movie “Meaning of Life”.  In this skit, Mr. Creosote eats so much he projectile vomits into a bucket and finally explodes.  As I sat there waiting for this lady to explode, I realized that it would be a very long time before either my wife or I could trust anybody again to take care of our little angel. This experience screwed any chance of us having alone time in the near future and that’s exactly what happened.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Holding Out Hope

My daughter has beaten all the odds throughout her 13 years on this planet.  She's a true champ, one of my best friends and my hero.     

Up until late 2007, early 2008, she progressed so much that she could walk, dance, stand and jump with just a little assistance.  This was due to intense interventions and therapy all throughout the United States and Canada.  In 2008 though, everything went wrong.  


India spiraled downhill before my eyes and the worst of it wasn't witnessing India's bitter disappointment as she tried in vein to make her body work.  The worst of it was the pain that ravaged her.

As a father, this is horrific to witness and the helplessness can't be properly described. Sometimes late at night, the pain gets so bad that India asks me to hold her on my chest as we are lying down.  She curls up in the fetal position while I rub her back and legs to relax her little body and hope to alleviate the pain. 

We’ve gone through a series of doctors, all of whom have good intentions.  But despite the best of intentions, some of the doctors have been very wrong.  In fact, several of the suggestions from Physicians could have caused India a lifetime of intense chronic pain and infection. 

Fortunately, I’ve been at this for 13 years now and am wise enough to know to question everything.  We did some research and found a world-renowned doctor in Summit, New Jersey who specializes in working with children with disabilities.

We recently made the trip from our home in New Mexico to New Jersey.  Our visit with this doctor was beyond belief.  For the first time in a very long time, I felt overwhelming hope and happiness. 

This new doctor was the first to not want to do intensely invasive surgery.  He explained in detail what the bleak outcomes would be if we allowed India to go under the knife and saw of the surgeons.  Keep in mind, the previous surgeons wanted to saw off the top of my daughter’s femurs and pack the leftover void with some sort of substance in the hope to keep the remaining femur from pushing its way through the muscle and skin; leaving bone exposed.  This new doctor talked about the infections and pain that would be caused from the plethora of screws and hardware that would have to be attached to India's bones. 

So he we sit, excitedly preparing and patiently waiting for September 27th, the day of the new doctors outpatient procedures.  My little girl will have what’s called an Alcohol/Ethanol Chemoneurolysis to take away her chronic pain in her hips. This is procedure where the nerves that are causing my daughters pain will be treated with a solution that deadens them.  She will then have a Soft Tissue Lengthening to loosen up her hips/legs.  And finally, my baby-girl will receive a Transtympanic Neurectomy and Chorda Tympanotomy.  This procedure eliminates her excessive drooling.  India is absolutely beautiful and currently has 2 boyfriends.  I can clearly see her embarrassment when she drools in public so this procedure should really help her self esteem.


I’m feeling like I can see the light at the end of the tunnel right now.  I’ll let everybody know how it goes at the end of this month.


On a side note, I have to admit that we are incredibly fortunate to have good insurance.  Just the doctors fee for the Transtymapanic Neurectomy is $9,000.00, not including hospital fee's.  The entire bill will exceed $40,000.00.  I feel so sorry for those parents who don't have insurance.

The following are 3 of the 4 stories of what happened to my daughter that left her with Cerebral Palsy:






India Walking On The Beach 2007


India Standing 2008


India Skiing 2009


Monday, August 29, 2011

Deadly Evening At The Tijuana Border Crossing


In 1988, I was in the NAVY in San Diego, California.  One weekend night, some friends and me decided to go down to Tijuana to party.  There were about 6 of us packed in a small economy car flying down the 5 freeway.  The traffic was pretty heavy but moving quickly. 

Not far before the Tijuana border crossing, I saw something ahead of us in the road moving from right to left.  At first, it looked like a dog, and then I realized it was a man running very fast, out of control, trying not to fall.  He was trying to stay upright; he was using his hands on the asphalt to keep from sliding face first across the road.

Just as we came upon him, he fell and slid on his belly, we ran over him.  There was a long silence in the car, then I said “We need to stop”, we just hit somebody.  The driver in the car was in disbelief and said that we hit a dog.  I just sat there stunned for a few moments then insisted that we pull into a parking lot.

We were at the border crossing by this point, pulled into a parking lot and got out of the car; the driver was still insisting that she’d run over a dog.  Another passenger in the car got under the car and a few moments later said, “oh fuck”.  He stood up holding a bloody jean jacket.

I’ll never forget the look on the drivers face; she was horrified.  We called the police, my friend explained where and what had happened.  The officer on the other end of the line was making inquiries on the police radio as he was talking to my friend.  He finally let us know that the accident had already been reported, emergency crews were on the scene and that we’d not been the only car that had hit the pedestrian. 

The next morning the police explained to us that the pedestrian that we hit was a “coyote” transporting illegal aliens from Mexico.  He had been pulled over with a van full of illegal Mexicans.  He ran, jumped the fence alongside the highway and ran out into the traffic. 

A car clipped the pedestrian before he got to us, which is why he was trying to regain his balance.  We hit him and then according to police, a series of cars ran him over after us; he was dead.  The police said that they were not going to press charges against anybody because they knew he was running from police and dashed out onto the highway giving the vehicles no chance to miss him.

My friends’ car was damaged from this incident.  A few days later, she took it in for repairs.  Not but 2 hours later, the mechanic calls to let my friend know that he’s found 3 severed fingers wedged up under the car.  He was pretty freaked out and asked what we wanted to do with them; he had to be calmed down.  The police were called again to collect the remains. 

If you drive down the Interstate 5 south near the Tijuana border crossing, you’ll now see highway signs showing a family holding hands and sprinting.  This is to warn drivers of the dangers of people crossing this massive Interstate on foot.  There are also huge chain link fences on stretches of this roadway to prevent people running across the highway.

I wish the fence was there in the 80’s.

My Sister the Buddha


When my sister graduated from College (with honors), she made the decision to go to medical school.  We were all very excited for her although the thought of coming up with the money for her tuition was a bit daunting.

So off my sister went to learn how to wield the scalpel, analyze the anus and operate the machines that go “beep”.  Her medical school of choice for the first 2 years was in the sunny Caribbean, 365 days of sun and nakedness.  The 2nd half of her schooling was in the land of people with bad teeth – The United Kingdom.

What we didn’t realize was that as my sister was studying medicine, she was also studying Buddhism, big time.  We knew she was dabbling in the Buddha Buddha stuff but we had no idea about what was about to happen.

When her 4th year of medical school was finished and it came time for the graduation ceremonies, we all flew to New York City to watch my sister receive her diploma at Radio City Music Hall.  The pride we all had for my sister was huge.  We set a dinner at a very fancy restaurant a few hours before the graduation ceremony so that we all could celebrate as a family.  Everybody came with gifts and heartfelt speeches for my sister.  We were going to properly send her off into the world of medicine.

Everybody but my sister arrived at the restaurant, she was late as usual.  The excitement was palatable.  People were speculating on what area of medicine my sister would practice.  I of course placed my money on Proctology, since there were so many assholes in our family, she’d make millions.  Then my sister arrived.

She was as radiant and beautiful as always but there was something that nobody expected.  My sister had a shaved head and was wearing all orange, dark orange.  My first thought was that she picked up some new strange fashion in the UK; they’re weird like that.  I could tell that everybody was trying to figure out why this young lady with beautiful long blond hair had shaved it off and why the hell she was dressed so badly.   

My sister greeted everybody, sat down and told us she had something important to tell us.  I figured that she was going to finally admit that she was going to be a Proctologist, boy was I wrong.  She proceeded to say in a very calm voice that she’d made a life changing decision.  My sister, my dear sister, my dear misguided sister, after 4 years of medical school and hundreds of thousands of dollars in tuition had become an ordained Buddhist Nun and was going to spend the rest of her life following the Buddhist teachings.

Believe it or not, I sat there thinking, “cool, a Buddhist Nun Doctor – Proctologist”!  But again, boy was I wrong.  My sister went on to inform us that she’d accept her medical degree diploma tonight at Radio City Music Hall but she really wanted to make a difference to humanity so she was not going to practice medicine, she was going to travel from temple to temple refurbishing Buddhist deity statues while spreading the word of the big jolly guy – Buddha himself.

This is one of those times that I wish was being recorded, it would have gone viral 10x over on YouTube.  My mothers’ head dropped, I spit Coca-Cola out my nose and my sisters’ father turned so red, I thought he would have a stroke right there at the table.

I don’t think I need to explain more about the night, you can just imagine.  But in all fairness to my sister, years later, she is still traveling all around the world with the Buddha Buddha’s doing whatever Buddha’s do and she’s as happy as a Buddha can be.

The End



Sunday, August 28, 2011

"Wog Day" Initation Onboard the Aircraft Carrier USS Ranger CV-61 1989


"Wog Day" Starts at 1:21


The two-day event (evening and day) is a ritual of reversal in which the older and experienced enlisted crew essentially takes over the ship from the officers. Physical assaults in keeping with the spirit of the initiation are tolerated, and even the inexperienced crew is given the opportunity to take over. The transition flows from established order to the controlled "chaos" of the Pollywog Revolt, the beginnings of re-order in the initiation rite as the fewer but experienced enlisted crew converts the Wogs through physical tests, then back to, and thereby affirming, the pre-established order of officers and enlisted. Like the old physically and emotionally intensive boot camp, the "Crossing the Line" ritual deconstructs and then reconstructs the initiates' experience from newbie outsider into the experienced military fraternity.

The eve of the equatorial crossing is called Wog Day and, as with many other night-before rituals, is a mild type of reversal of the day to come. Wogs—all of the uninitiated—are allowed to capture and interrogate any shellbacks they can find (e.g., tying them up, cracking eggs or pouring aftershave lotion on their heads).[citation needed] This is not a thing that a true shellback will ever have happen to them.[opinion] The wogs are made very aware of the fact that it will be much harder on them if they do anything like this.

Polish line-crossing ceremony (Chrzest równikowy)
After crossing the line, Pollywogs receive subpoenas to appear before King Neptune and his court (usually including his first assistant Davy Jones and her Highness Amphitrite and often various dignitaries, who are all represented by the highest ranking seamen), who officiate at the ceremony, which is often preceded by a beauty contest of men dressing up as women, each department of the ship being required to introduce one contestant in swimsuit drag. Afterwards, some wogs may be "interrogated" by King Neptune and his entourage, and the use of "truth serum" (hot sauce + after shave) and whole uncooked eggs put in the mouth. During the ceremony, the Pollywogs undergo a number of increasingly embarrassing ordeals (wearing clothing inside out and backwards; crawling on hands and knees on nonskid-coated decks; being swatted with short lengths of firehose; being locked in stocks and pillories and pelted with mushy fruit; being locked in a water coffin of salt-water and bright green sea dye (fluorescent sodium salt); crawling through chutes or large tubs of rotting garbage; kissing the Royal Baby's belly coated with axle grease, hair chopping, etc.), largely for the entertainment of the Shellbacks.


Once the ceremony is complete, a Pollywog receives a certificate declaring his new status. Another rare status is the Golden Shellback, a person who has crossed the Equator at the 180th meridian (International Date Line). The rarest Shellback status is that of the Emerald Shellback (USA), or Royal Diamond Shellback (Commonwealth), which is received after crossing the Equator at the Prime Meridian.[When a ship must cross the Equator reasonably close to one of these Meridians, the ship's captain will typically plot a course across the Golden X so that the ship's crew can be initiated as Golden or Emerald/Royal Diamond Shellbacks.


Swimming With Sharks




My paternal great grandfather – William Anton Rank was Conrad Hilton’s partner in the very early days of Hilton Hotels.  He was also a distant relative.  After Conrad and my great grandfather went their separate ways, my great grandfather started a chain of hotels in California and El Paso, Texas.  My grandfather – Bill Rank took over the family business after his father William died but unfortunately was mugged and killed in El Paso as he was delivering payroll for the hotel; the killers were never caught.


My grandfather had been a very wealthy man and as a result of his murder, my father inherited millions of dollars in the mid 60’s for his 18th birthday.  My father took his millions and moved to Los Angeles where he got into the television and music business, just after I was born.  Unfortunately, he’d not have much to do with me again until I was 13.  My father enjoyed some success, producing a few TV shows and one record that hit the top 20.  My father too was killed while he was still young in a hot air balloon accident; I was 14.

In my early 20’s, I felt like I needed to learn more about my father and his life since I didn’t have much time with him, so I began looking up his old friends and partners.  One of my fathers’ partners was a very successful television producer in Los Angeles by the name of Sam Riddle.  Sam had produced shows such as Almost Anything Goes and Star Search, he was also featured in the Elvis Presley movie “Clam Bake”.  At the time I met Sam, he was the Executive Producer of Star Search, he was on top of the world.  I arranged a dinner with Sam in Beverly Hills and little did I know just how much my life would change that night.

Sam took me to what was the fanciest restaurant I’d ever been to in my life.  It was beautiful, there were celebrities, the food was amazing and very, very expensive.  I was young, Sam was successful and famous and right there and then I made a decision, I was going to become a Hollywood Producer like Sam Riddle.

I didn’t see Sam again for several years but I had my plan in place and I’m here to tell you that I executed it perfectly.  I called Sam constantly asking him for a job, I was relentless.  I had no experience, no idea what to expect but I was going to get a job with Sam Riddle if it killed me.  Finally, after over 2 years of pestering him, Sam Riddle called me.  He was preparing to produce a new kids’ show in Orlando, Florida called “Out of the Blue”.  Sam told me that if I could find my own way to Orlando, find my own place to stay, work for free and do everything he told me to, that I could have a job.

At the time Sam called me offering me the non-paying job, I lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico.  In record time, I had my pickup truck loaded with my stuff and was on my way to Orlando, Florida!

My stay in Orlando was absolutely amazing.  My plan was to work my fingers to the bone so that Sam Riddle would offer me a permanent "paying" job and that’s just what happened.  I’d go to work before the sun came up and return home late at night, seven days a week.  Within a short period of time, I went from being the guy who got coffee and shuttled laundry to the dry cleaner to an Associate Producer on “Out of the Blue” and working on shows all over the United States.  This was easily one of the happiest times of my life.  I felt pride and confidence like I’d never experienced before.

One of my most memorable experiences producing TV was a show that I did at the Apollo in Harlem.  This was way before Bill and Hillary Clinton set up their offices in Harlem, it was still very rough and not many white folk spent time there.  We were producing a show called “The Lou Rawls Parade of Stars”.  This was a telethon benefitting the United Negro College Fund.  We had dozens of great acts and celebrities; Will Smith, Shaggy, Naughty By Nature, Boyz to Men and President Clinton – to name a few.

When I flew into LaGuardia Airport for the show, it was my first time in New York City.  My only knowledge of NYC was from the movies “The Warriors and Fort Apache the Bronx”.  In my mind, it was a rough city with dangerous gangs, burnt out cars on the side of the roads and abandoned buildings; I was a little nervous. 

As I got off the plane and headed out of the terminal to my limousine, I was welcomed to New York with a surreal fistfight between two cab drivers.  I just stood there looking at these two men kick the shit out of each other right in front of me and thinking to myself, what the hell have I gotten myself into?

The night of the live show came, it was a Friday night and we were about 20 minutes out from going live.  It was a sold out show and it was time for me to let our host know that we needed him on stage.  When I walked into his dressing room, I was greeted with a plume of marijuana smoke.  Our host, who I’ll leave unnamed, was stoned out of his gourd and to make matters worse, he looked it. Our host had 2 women in his dressing room who were both equally as stoned.  When he asked the girls to give him some Visine, they both started to giggle; they didn’t have any.  This really pissed off our host who became very angry and started arguing with the girls. 

I didn’t have time for this nonsense so I said I’d go get some.  Our host told me to go out the front door of the Apollo, take a right and go down two blocks to the drug store.  I was running out of time and tunnel visioned, I needed to get to the drug store and back ASAP.  I was oblivious to my surroundings as I ran down the street.  I entered the drug store, found the Visine and stepped up to the counter.  This is when I had a serious moment of clarity.  There was a large black woman behind the counter.  She was staring right at me shaking her head.  She said “Uhh, uhh, uhh, Crazy White Boy”.  I stood there staring at her, realizing something was very wrong.  As I stepped out the front door of the drug store, it all became crystal clear to me.  I was the only white guy on one of the largest boulevards in Harlem on a Friday night; absolutely everybody was staring at me.

I quickly walked back to the Apollo, very aware of the attention I was drawing; it was frightening.  As I walked up to the Apollo, there were about 5 NYPD officers standing there.  Ironically enough, we’d hired them as security for our production.  One of the officers walked up to me and said in a thick NYC accent “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”.  He then told me to get my ass inside and never do something so stupid again.  This became quite the joke for everybody in the production company and I’ll admit, it scared the shit out of me.

During part of the time I was producing TV, my fiancée at the time lived in Albuquerque where she was attending the University of New Mexico.  I’d commute from Los Angeles to Albuquerque as often as possible to be with her.  During one trip to Albuquerque, I had a bad case of the flu.  I was stuck in bed, no chance of getting out.  We were very tight on money so we didn’t have cable TV.  I had a choice of watching a PBS sewing show, 2 soap operas or the game show Family Feud with Richard Dawson.  So there I lay, wheezing and shivering while watching Family Feud; I wasn’t a happy camper.  Halfway through the show, I found myself horribly bored and wishing for something better to watch.  I began to imagine how much more exciting Family Feud would be if Richard Dawson was actually playing with his own money!  Then it hit me; this was a great idea for a TV game show.  I grabbed a pen and pad and went to work outlining my show.  By the time the weekend was done, I had the entire format of the show in place and ready to go, all I needed was a host and a sidekick.

My timing couldn’t have been better to have come up with a TV game show like this as the Writers Guild of America was talking about a strike so the networks were looking for shows that wouldn’t rely on the union writers.  Because of this Writers Guild strike, the mid 90’s was the origination of the “Reality TV” phenomenon.  When I returned to Los Angeles, I immediately got together with a former friend and legendary producer – Al Burton.  Al produced numerous famous shows like Charles in Charge, The Boob Tube, Silver Spoons, Diff’rent Strokes, The Jefferson’s, Square Pegs, The Facts of Life and One Day at a Time.  He was very connected and always willing to listen to new ideas.

I told Al that I had a great idea for a new TV game show.  I shared my treatment with Al.  I explained the concept was that the host of the show was given a per episode fee of $5,000.00.  He would then take on 3 contestants each show.  Whatever money the contestants won came directly out of the hosts $5,000.00.  The meant that the host could conceivably go home after an episode with no money!  Al was very excited about my idea; he cleared his schedule and began reaching out to the networks. 

We first pitched the show to Fox Television.  This was very interesting as Al and I were sitting in one of the executives’ offices at Fox preparing for the pitch when 3 well dressed people from the legal department came into the room with recorders and legal pads.  They sat there and scribbled every word we said; it was unnerving.  I finally asked them what they were doing, they told me that Fox had had a bad time with people accusing them of stealing ideas so they were documenting everything at pitch meetings.  Looking back, I should have realized that I too needed to do the same.

My show eventually landed with Buena Vista (Disney).  Our first meeting at Buena Vista was very exciting; their facilities are absolutely amazing.  We met with a man by the name of Andrew Golder.  I’ll never forget Al Burton proudly introducing me to Andrew as “The Golden Boy”.  Andrew loved my idea and wanted to move forward with the show.  I literally had to pinch myself and Al and I left Andrew’s office.  I’d come up with an idea that was going to actually be on television!

Now it was time to really get to work.  I felt that my show needed to have a “Monty Python” feel and suggested we approach John Cleese about being the host and possibly contributing writer.  Al told me that John would never consider this type of show; he was untouchable for a project like this.  I then suggested David Lee Roth of Van Halen, he had been the first person I’d thought of as a host when I came up with the idea for the show.  I knew that he was very smart and witty.  I’d hoped that we could pare him with Pamela Anderson; she’d make a perfect sidekick.  I had been communicating with David’s’ manager at that time about another project.  Al loved the idea of David Lee Roth and suggested we approach him immediately. 

David Lee Roth was offered the position and to my surprise he accepted.  I couldn’t have been more excited as I’m a huge Van Halen fan and the thought of working with Diamond Dave was amazing.  Unfortunately, a few weeks after Dave accepted, he reunited with Van Halen and walked from my show.  I was really let down.  As fate would have it though, his reunion with Van Halen only lasted a couple weeks; he shouldn’t have turned me down. 

Our next potential host was Bobcat Goldthwait.  I wasn’t very excited about this, in my opinion he wasn’t a good fit for my show.  Luckily, he was offered another show and passed on my project. 

Even though I was happy I lost Bobcat, I was also very frustrated; I was back to square one.  Al and I sat down at his house to brainstorm about who could be our host.  We went through hundreds of headshots of known actors, nobody was a fit or they were untouchable.  Then Al Burton looked at me with a big smile and said, “I have an idea”.  He went onto tell me about an old friend of his who was brilliant and had been in a few movies.  The most famous movie he was in was “Ferris Buellers Day Off” and the character he played was the teacher who in a monotone voice said “Anybody, Anybody?”, it was Ben Stein.

We contacted Ben who at the time was teaching at Pepperdine University in Malibu. We asked him to come to Buena Vista Studios to do a “run through”.  A run through is when you do a mock up of a show to see how it flows.  Buena Vista brought in 3 mock contestants to compete with Ben, one of the contestants was a champion from the game show Jeopardy.  Ben didn’t know that this guy was Jeopardy champion; he thought they were just 3 regular people that Disney hired for this run through.  We proceeded to do the run through with Ben taking on the role of the host.  We had prepared a large quantity of questions from easy to very difficult.  Ben played the role perfectly and to our surprise, easily beat the Jeopardy champion; we had our host!

Al and I started fine-tuning the show with Ben Stein in mind.  At one of our meetings, we were trying to come up with a name.  I had found a photo of Ben Stein, cut out his head and pasted it onto a dollar bill.  I showed Al Burton the bill and said to him “Ben Stein’s Money”.  From that moment on the show was called “Win Ben Stein’s Money”.

We now needed to find the “sidekick” for the show, Ben was the perfect host but he was very “dry” so we needed somebody to counter Ben’s personality.  Somebody mentioned that they knew of a great comedian who might be a good fit.  This comedian was brought in, he was great and right away everybody knew we had a hit show; the comedian was Jimmy Kimmel.  Jimmy has since gone onto hosting Jimmy Kimmel Live.

As we were preparing for preproduction, we were also finalizing the contractual documents.  I was contractually supposed to be the “Creator, Developed For Television By and one of the Executive Producers”, I was ecstatic, in only a couple of years, I’d gone from being an assistant to an Executive Producer!  Being the Creator and Executive Producer on a television show is a big deal; it can mean huge money.    

One Friday night I’d gone out to dinner and decided to go by the office afterwards to get a little work done.  It was about 11:00 pm, I was the only person there.  When I arrived, there was a fax coming in, it was from Buena Vista.  It was the contract for Win Ben Stein’s Money!  I grabbed the contract and started reading, then I saw it, I was horrified.  Al Burton and another man by the name of Byron Glore Al’s partner had instructed Disney to remove my name as Executive Producer and Creator.  I don’t think I’m capable of expressing the betrayal I felt at that moment. 

The next business morning, I confronted both Al Burton and Bryon Glore.  They told me that Buena Vista wouldn’t allow anymore Executive Producers nor would they allow my Created By credit.  I knew this was absolute bullshit and I called them on it.  I pointed out that I’d created the show and I should be the last person who should lose a credit.  Shortly after this confrontation, I was told that they were closing the company so I’d need to leave.  My head was spinning, my moral was crushed and I had no idea what to do.

Looking back, I could kick myself.  I was so young and naive, couldn’t imaging somebody would do something so bad to me.  A few days before I found out what Al and Byron were up to, I was sent an email from one of Al’s long time assistants.  This assistant warned me to look out for Al and protect myself.  I ignored his warning, I thought Al’s assistant was just pissed off at Al and jealous of me, trying to make trouble.  

I moved back to Albuquerque as quickly as I could. I couldn’t bear to be in Los Angeles another moment.  I’d realized that I’d been swimming with sharks and had just been chewed up and spit out.  Just after I got home, I consulted an attorney who by chance was the father of the actor and friend Neil Patrick Harris.  Neil’s father told me that I had a good case and should go after these people. 

By this time, I’d married my first wife, we were dirt poor and frightened to death about our future.  We knew we should sue the rats that had stolen my show from me but we had no idea how the hell we were going to afford an attorney.  Mr. Harris said he could help us but since he was based in Albuquerque, he highly recommended that we find an attorney in Los Angeles.  I was having no luck as all the attorneys I met with in Los Angeles wanted large retainers and charged incredible amounts of money per hour.  They didn’t want to take my case on contingency either as Win Ben Stein’s Money wasn’t going to air on a major network; it was going to air on a relatively new cable network called Comedy Central.  The money on Comedy Central wasn’t near what it would be on one of the major networks like NBC, CBS or ABC.  I was feeling completely defeated.

I was forced to negotiate with Byron Glore and Al Burton myself.  We wrangled over a settlement for a long time, into 1997 when the show first aired.  By this point I was completely worn down, I’d been stepped on and taken advantage of by two thugs.  Byron Glore had gone from blaming Buena Vista for my being stripped of my rightful credits and compensation to then claiming that I was “work for hire” for his company so my meager salary as an Associate Producer was actually compensation for the TV show.  Al Burton and Byron Glore’s partner Sam Riddle stepped up and acknowledged that I wasn’t work for hire and that I’d created the show but it was just too late; I had no more fight left in me, I walked away.

The day the show aired was crushing for me.  I knew I was to get a “Developed for Television By” credit so I had some friends over to see the show and watch my name on the credits.  When the credits rolled we were all glued to the screen.  The beginning credits were at a normal, viewable speed but when it came to mine, they flashed it across the screen so fast it was hard to read.  There was a long silence in the room, then one of my friends said “I’m so sorry Donnie”.  I sat there and just started crying.  I never imagined that anybody could be so evil and hurtful as Al Burton and Byron Glore.  I’d been baptized into the cutthroat world of business and I wanted nothing to do with it.

My show went on to win 5 Emmys.  At one of the Emmy awards shows, Al Burton and Byron Glore got up on stage to accept the award.  I watched in shock as these two men were taking credit for my idea and my show on national television.  A lot of people called me after this to ask me how this could have happened.  I wish they hadn’t, it just put me into a deeper depression.

The show lasted for many years, which didn’t help me to heal much as I constantly saw print and television advertisements for it.  I was relieved when the show was cancelled, I felt like I could move on.

Several times since the show was canceled, people who know me have run into Ben Stein and brought up my name.  Every time, Ben denies my involvement and reiterates that his old friend Al Burton created the show.  I doubt that Ben will ever acknowledge me because of his friendship with Al.

I just might have the last laugh though.  It’s now 2011, 14 years later and I’ve come up with an idea for a new show and it’s really creating a buzz in Hollywood.  I’ll soon go to meet with the networks to pitch the idea and possibly have a new show on a major network where I’m the Creator and Executive Producer!  And if that’s not enough, Sam Riddle, my mentor and only person who stood up for me through the whole Win Ben Stein’s Money fiasco will be my partner is this project.  Can you say Karma?



More on my father’s death can be found at: http://donniebrainard.blogspot.com/2010/05/el-global-grande-my-fathers-last-flight.html

My Grandfather & Great Grandfather at Their El Paso Hotel - 1950's


My Father - 1960's

Me and Sam Riddle at a Wrap Party - 1995 

Me with Shaq After a Lou Rawls Shoot

Al Burton With Cast Members




Here is a clip from Win Ben Stein's Money


Saturday, August 27, 2011

60 Minutes Story About What My Daughter Does Daily

My beautiful wife Vikki does what this 2004 CBS 60 Minutes Special talks about; Conductive Education.  Vikki has traveled all over the world helping children with Cerebral Palsy.

Monday, August 22, 2011

"2nd Opinion"

By 2011, India had been spiraling downhill at a very rapid pace. My little girl went from standing and walking assisted, dancing, sitting on her own and almost completely pain free to not being able to walk, stand, sit, dance and in constant pain to the point of not being able to attend school for a full day. Here is a video that shows India's gains and losses.

This has been a terrible experience for all of us, the helpless feeling as my daughter cries in pain is chilling.  Either Vikki or I were up in the middle of the night, every night trying to comfort India.

Until 2011, we had been putting our faith in a pediatric orthopedist from our home state.  This physician's bedside manner was rough but I believed this doctor was focusing on India’s needs, the "whole picture"; not just slice and dice.  This doctor said our only real option to reduce India’s hip pain was a very intense surgery called the McHale procedure.  To describe this procedure in the simplest way, they cut off the top of the femurs, leaving a void in the upper thigh that they fill with fat from other areas of the body.  This didn’t set well with us, something was very wrong.  In addition, this doctor put my little girl on a monthly Pamidronate infusion.  This wasn’t a pleasant experience and India was clearly not happy about it. The infusions made her sick and we saw no positive results. We were confused and scared.

As luck would have it, my wife came across a world renowned physician in New Jersey while reading published material related to cerebral palsy.  This doctors writings were absolutely amazing. I felt a new sense of hope with each word I read.  We immediately made the decision to book a flight to New Jersey and meet this man.

Our meeting was fantastic and to say I'm elated would be an understatement.  This doctor, Dr. Roy M. Nuzzo, was hands down the most knowledgeable, no bullshit physician I've ever met.  He took his time, hyper focused on us and was very concerned about the "overall picture" of India's life; she wasn't just another patient.

Dr. Nuzzo told us that the procedure that our doctor wanted us to do, McHale procedure, was not only inappropriate, but it would cause my daughter a lifetime of pain and infections. When I asked about other "replacement" surgeries, he didn't pause for one second with his response; NO.  Unlike other doctors who were willing to put my daughter through a year of traction/recovery, certain pain and no guaranteed outcome, he went the opposite direction. Dr. Nuzzo gave us an outpatient option that would take away India’s pain and allow her to get on with life and being a kid.

The first procedure he recommended was called an "Alcohol Block".  This is where the nerves causing the pain are treated with an alcohol solution that deadens them.  This lasts anywhere from 1 to 10 years or more.  Then he recommended a series of "Soft Tissue Lengthening" (My daughter had this once before).  I asked if India could do the things she loves after the surgery like standing and dancing.  Dr. Nuzzo told me that his instructions post surgery will be "let India get on with her life". Those were the sweetest words I'd heard in a long time.

Dr. Nuzzo also spent a long time explaining to me why the infusions my daughter was getting are not only useless but harmful.  He said that India’s previous physician should never have started these treatments, there was no reason and some of the outcomes that were promised were 100% false. There I sat feeling

I booked my child’s surgery on the spot.

I was incredibly thankful that we came across Dr. Nuzzo and especially after all we’d been through with India, I was once again reminded that doctors are "educated guessers" and I should never hesitate to do my research and get a 2nd opinion.

Dr. Nuzzo can be found via his website: http://www.pediatric-orthopedics.com


Sunday, May 2, 2010

"El Globo Grande"


My Father's Last Flight



The El Globo Grande on fire as it drifted towards the Rio Grande River.

On October 3rd,1982, the El Globo Grande caught fire, causing the gondola to explode. This picture was taken just moments after my father and pregnant step-mother were killed in this tragic accident. You can see in the photo that there is very little left of the “gondola” other than a portion of the superstructure. To date, this is the worst ballooning accident in New Mexico ballooning history.


My mother left my father in 1968 when I was only a few days old. The final straw was when he came home one night especially drunk. He was a full-blown alcoholic by this point but this night was different; he became physical. My father took me from my mother and forcefully threw her out of the house. She was 2 weeks out of the hospital from my birth and still had stitches in her stomach.  My father and I were locked inside alone and all my mother could do was watch us through the windows.  He stumbled about the house with me in his arms, eventually passing out.  My mother was able to get back into the house. She grabbed me, and a couple changes of clothing and left my father.  My parents were divorced shortly after and I’d only see my father a few times in the next 8 years.



My father in Albuquerque 1967


In 1976 when I was 8 years old, my dad wrote me a letter.  He wanted to re-connect with me. He was living in Colorado where he owned an insurance company.  Not long after receiving his letter, my dad let me know he was driving to Albuquerque to see me. I’ll never forget the day.  I stood out at the corner down the street from our house at the southwest corner of Los Alamos and Laguna so I could see him coming.  He was supposed to arrive at 2:00 pm.  I remember vividly looking into every car that passed by for my dad. At 8:00 pm,well after dark, my Grandmother Marion "Bama" Cornish walked down the street, put her arm around me, and held me tight as she walked me home; not a word was said.  I fell asleep that night crying with my pillow over my head so nobody could hear me.  I still can’t forget the feeling of being worthless, my own father had forgotten about me.  He never did showthat spring and I didn't see him for a very along time after that.










My dad’s life was intense. He was born to William Anton Rank and Mary Collaer. William, my Grandfather, was partners with and a very distant relative of Conrad Hilton of Hilton Hotels.  William was killed in a mugging in El Paso, Texas, when my father was a child.  As a result of my grandfathers’ murder, my father inherited millions of dollars when he was eighteen.  My father enjoyed his inherited money and lived the life of a jet setter.  He was drawn to Hollywood where he produced music and television.  My dad however,was just another young good looking rich kid who eventually was chewed up and spit out by Tinseltown.  He wasn’t cut out for swimming with the sharks.  He retreated to Colorado to rebuild his life.




One of the albums my father produced with partner "Sam Riddle"

Tract 1: http://snd.sc/OjWZIz

Tract 2: http://snd.sc/VsPnma

I eventually reconnected with my father and began going Colorado to spend time with my dad twice a year. This was absolutely an amazing time for me.  My life in New Mexico was chaotic and confusing; I was bouncing from home to home. But twice a year, I was with my “dad”, he was great and we had a ton of fun; he could do no wrong in my eyes.  I was never with him long enough to see his character defects, his human side.  I just saw the man who was always excited to see me, was new and exhilarating and lived a life that I desperately wanted to be a part of. 


I'm on the far right, then my half-brother Tom, dad's 3rd wife Martha and my father.


When I was thirteen, my grandparents let me know that my dad was moving back to New Mexico. They told me that he’d checked himself into a treatment center and when he got out, he’d permanently live in Albuquerque.  I was ecstatic.  I spent the next month fantasizing about how good my life was going to be with my dad home. My dad lived up to absolutely every expectation I had for him.  His first year home was an amazing year and to this day, it was the best 12 months of my life. 


My father and PJ at their wedding.

My father had remarried and his new wife, "PJ", was an extremely cool and beautiful woman.  We had so much fun together.  She had a great sense of humor,which made her a perfect stepmother for me.  My dad was working part time at a law firm and part time as a disk jockey at a local fm country station.   I used to love to go down to the station with my dad and just watch him work.  He had a wonderful deep voice and always said cool stuff.  One night, I went down to the station with my stepmother to hang out with dad.  My dad was pretty busy doing something so PJ and I started exploring the radio station.  We found another broadcast booth and started pretending to be disk jockeys.   We were singing into the microphone and saying the silliest things.  PJ really got into it and was acting like a complete clown.  Partway through her silly skit, I decided to play a joke on her.  I gave her an incredibly shocked look.  She stopped her routine and asked what was wrong.  I said, “the microphone is on, you’rebroadcasting over my dad!”  Well PJ absolutely freaked out.  She went tearing down the hallway to my father’s broadcast booth.  He was on the air, live as PJ slid into the room.  She was mouthing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over.  My dad, headsets on, cigarette in his hand, microphone to his lips, talking to 100,000 people over the airways gave PJ the funniest look I’d ever seen.  I was behind PJ in the hallway bent over laughing, snot coming out of my nose.  My dad shifted his confused look from PJ to me.  The look on his face went from confusion to a wonderful grin and obvious understanding of the situation. 

Dad signed off by saying “This is Nick Brainard at KRST; I’ll see you all tomorrow night.” He flipped the switch in the microphone, spun around in his seat and started to laugh.  PJ was still trying to explain that she’d drowned out his broadcast with the silly skit in the next room.  She was convinced that she'd been talking and singing to all the listeners out there in Albuquerque and she was mortified.  My dad of course knew this wasn't true and that I’d played one hell of a trick on PJ.  His laugh went from his chest to his belly; a deep cheerful laugh.  PJ was a great sport about my joke but I did have to watch my back for weeks after.  She never did get me back.

My father and PJ Christmas 1981


Although my father and PJ were not drinking anymore, they smoked lots of marijuana.  My great grandmother who we called “Granny” was the president of the African Violet Society.  She had a huge green room at my grandparent’s house that was filled with flowers.  Granny would help my dad grow his pot.  The two of them would start the plants in her greenhouse under the grow lights. Then, they’d transplant the marijuana into the back yard amongst the various garden bushes and trees.  I was fourteen, it was 1982 and I loved to swipe off my dad’s pot plants and get stoned.  I’m sure he knew but never said anything.

My father cleaning his "dope" with a little assistance from me.

By the fall of 1982, I was starting my freshman year in high school and my dad’s new wife was pregnant. It was a happy time.  For the first time in my life, I felt completely secure.  It was also time for the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta.  This event draws up to 500 + hot air balloons; it’s amazing.  Since PJ was new to Albuquerque and had never seen it, my dad decided we needed to take her the next morning.


My freshman high school ID - 1982

That evening, I got a call from a really cute girl I’d met at the beach in La Jolla earlier in the summer.  Her name was Erin, she had blonde hair, and I had a huge crush on her.  Erin was in Albuquerque for a couple of days and wanted to go to a movie with me the next day.  Of course, there was no way that I was going to the balloon fiesta now!  I was an Albuquerque native and had already seen it.  But a blond cute girl asking me out on a date, well that just doesn’t happen every day and my hormones weren’t going allow me to pass up this opportunity!


"Erin" in La Jolla, California 1982

As my dad and PJ got ready to go home for the night, I told them that I couldn't go to the fiesta the next day.  My dad told me that was fine and they'd decided to go up to the top of the mountains to watch it from there. The Sandia Mountains tower over Albuquerque.  There is a spot at the top where you can look down at the entire city.  I was surprised that my father wanted to take PJ up therefor her first Balloon Fiesta experience.  It was a long drive and would be nothing like being at the launch site.  I spent a long time trying to convince my dad to not go to the mountains. I told him that PJ would have a much better time walking through the balloons as they inflated and launched.  It is a breathtaking event to be a part of.  I persisted until my Dad finally relented and promised to take PJ to the fiesta instead of the mountains.

The next morning, I awoke early; I was excited to go on my date.  Granny and I where the only ones in the house.  Both my grandparents and parents had gone to the balloon fiesta.  Granny and I were talking about my date with the cute blond from the beach while we ate breakfast.  She wanted to know all about the girl and what we were going to do.  Of course as my words told her about going to a movie but my hormones were telling another story!  The television was on; live scenes of the balloon fiesta were coming in over the airwaves.   As we were talking, a “breaking news” broadcast came blaring out of the television.  The reporter announced that there had been a balloon crash and the following scenes were not suitable for children.

The screen jumped to a very large balloon whose’ gondola was filled with passengers.  As the balloon landed we could see somebody jump out as if something was wrong. Flames appeared and the balloon began to rise back into the air. Several more people jumped out, the quick drop in weight caused the balloon to ascend rapidly.  By this point, both the gondola and balloon were on fire.

As the balloon reached a substantial altitude, there were a series of explosions and a lot of fire rolling in every direction.  I sat there with Granny, our attention fixated on what we were watching.  Yet another large explosion followed by two people falling from the balloon.   These people were holding onto each other as they fell to their death.  Smoke following their bodies as they plummeted to the earth.  The impact was brutal and there was no doubt that they could not have survived that fall.

It was a terrible scene, we’d just watched 2 people fall to a gruesome death and there was no doubt that other passengers had died as well.  People were scurrying all over the place trying to help.  The camera would occasionally focus back in on the balloon, which was engulfed in flames and disappearing over the horizon.  Until my dying day, I’ll never forget Granny, without taking her eyes off the TV screen saying, “I sure do feel sorry for the families of those people.”

A short time later, a friend came over to hang out and get stoned with me.  We went out into the back yard, lit up a doobie, talked about the balloon wreck and started throwing the football.  Partway through our smoke, my friend glanced into the house.  From the back yard, you could see the street in front through a large window.  His jaw dropped wide open, he turned back to me and said that a police car was parked out in the street.  I froze; I knew that they were there because of my dad’s marijuana plants.  Before I could say a word, my friend ran and jumped over the back wall.  I ran through the house and got to the front door just as the policeman knocked.

When I opened the door, there was a policeman in a suit and two uniformed officers.  I thought I could see my father and PJ standing out in the street, their backs to me.  The police came in and to my surprise didn't say a thing about the pot plants.  They told Granny and me that there had been a terrible wreck involving Mr. and Mrs. Brainard.  The policeman didn't say that they were dead; he just said “terrible wreck.”  Granny, being the wise old soul she was, looked the officer in the eye and said “are they dead.”  There was a long pause while the policeman stared at me.  He then looked back to Granny and whispered “yes.”

Rescuers on scene of the El Globo Grande crash

Granny sat there with her hands over her face, crying.  The policeman gently rubbed her back and tried his best to comfort her.  I was still standing there stunned, my grandparents had been killed.  I’d never experienced anything like this before.  I had no way to process what had just happened.  I stood there frozen, trying to make sense of it all.  How did it happen, where was the car wreck, why did it happen?


Granny sitting on my fathers lap in 1967

After a few moments, I looked outside towards where I thought my dad and PJ were. I needed my dad right now, I needed to hold him. I ran past the police officer and out the front door towards them.  Just as I ran out the front door, another car pulled up into the driveway.  As I ran, I looked over to see my grandparents pulling up. They were alive.  I stopped cold in my tracks.  I could see the wide-eyed look on their faces as they took in the scene taking place in the front yard of their house.




I was shocked, I’d just been told that they were in a wreck and were dead.  I was trying to comprehend what was happening, did the police have the wrong family? 

I turned my head back towards my dad and PJ.  They were no longer looking away from the house, they were looking towards me and they were not my dad and PJ, they were two more police officers dressed in civilian clothes.

In an instant, my world came crashing down around me.  Everything went into slow motion.  I couldn't stand, my legs didn't work.  I fell to the ground. I watched the young police officer run across the yard to intercept my grandparents.  I could see my grandmother’s face grimaced with agony as she was told that her oldest son was dead, the officer had to help her sit down; she too couldn't stand.  Then my grandfather, the toughest man I’d known in my life, started sobbing like a child.  It was an absolutely horrible scene.

I clearly understood now that there was no car wreck, this had nothing to do with a car.  My dad and PJ were the two people we’d watched being blown out of the balloon, falling to their death.  I’d just watched my parents die a drawn-out and violent demise.  I’d watched the whole thing not knowing it was two people who I dearly loved. Granny had said that she felt sorry for the family of those people and it turned out that we were those people. I don't know if this was Nick, PJ or another victim. 

I went into a deep shock that lasted for a long time.  To make matters worse, I got a little lost in the confusion.  My father was so popular and loved, not only in the family but in the community.  People were flooding the house and everybody was beside themselves with grief.  I can remember sitting in the corner, no able to move, not able to cry, not able to do anything but sit there, stunned.

At one point, a family member noticed me sitting by myself in the corner.  She walked up to me, rubbed my head and said that she had just the thing to make me feel better:she handed me a joint.  This was such a common solution to problems with my family, inebriation.

The person who really touched my heart and allowed me to grieve in the days following their deaths was my uncle Dar.  I was sitting in my father’s van. It had just been towed back from the Balloon Fiesta parking lot. I’d been sitting there for a couple hours.  It smelled like my dad and PJ so there was nowhere else on the face of this earth that I wanted to be.  Dar came out to check on me.  He opened the door and asked me if there was anything I wanted. I said “I just want them back.”  Dar grabbed onto me and we both started crying.  It was really the first time I’d broken down since their death.  I’ll always be grateful to my uncle Dar for that moment. I believe in my heart it’s what I needed to survive.

The next few weeks were a nightmare.  All the television stations kept replaying the scene; we didn't dare turn on the TV. People were coming and going and there seemed no time to decompress and grieve.Then I watched as people started to come and take my father’s things, right in front of me. I don't think the thought even crossed their minds that my father’s and PJ’s belongings should go to their children.  It was awful.  Their personal belongings were being carted off as if we were having a free yard sale.  People who had little to do with my father helped themselves to his belongings.  As I write this today, I still have a tough time keeping my resentment in check for these individuals.  I wish I still had every item of my fathers.  The few that remained, my brother and I have cherished as if they were the Hope Diamond; they're irreplaceable to us.  I've often wondered if anything was given to PJ’s daughter. I've been reconnected to her for a few years now but never had the courage to ask.

During the period that the looting of my father’s belongings took place and the constant stream of people flowing through the house, I found the perfect coping mechanism:Alcohol.  My grandparents’ house always had booze here and there but now it was overflowing.  People were bringing liquor by the gallons and nobody was paying close attention to me.  I found that a cup full of booze, the headsets over my ears to drown out the sounds, and Dan Fogelberg playing on the 8 track put me in a frame of mind that I could handle.  This was the beginning of a long and brutal battle with alcohol and drug addiction for me but I’ll save that story for another time.

It came time for my father’s funeral and this too was a terrible experience. There were so many people and I only knew a few of them.  I can remember during the service, I was up near the casket, I looked into the audience and there were two girls I went to school with; Kerry and Tanya.  I was grateful to see their faces, two friendly faces that I knew and liked very much.

When they put my father’s body in the ground, I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  I’d just been with him at the radio station having fun. He’d just let me drive on the road without my license!  We'd just sat in his cool green van and listened to music with PJ.  This couldn't be happening. I couldn't go back to my old life!  He couldn't leave! And that’s when it hit me; I’d talked my father into going to the balloon fiesta instead of the mountains. The realization that I’d killed them spread throughout my body.  All these people watching his body being lowered into the ground, mourning this tragic loss and it was because of me.  I couldn't look anybody in the eye. I just stood there staring at my father’s casket.  I desperately wanted to touch his coffin and say goodbye but I couldn't bring myself to move.  To this day I still regret not walking over and touching his coffin.

The level of guilt that I carried for the next twenty years was absolutely brutal. No fourteen- year-old should ever have to shoulder this kind of responsibility.  It warped my life in the most incomprehensible ways. I feel incredibly fortunate to have survived.

My addiction took me to exceptionally dark places.  I lived a viciously destructive life which put me in many deadly situations that normal healthy people wouldn't dream of getting near.  After all these years of reflection, I know that I was in a constant state of deep depression.  

Postscript

I was compelled to relive this experience when my brother tracked down the autopsy report for my father. I still don't understand why he did it. He gave a copy to me twenty-seven years after his death.  I was rattled by the brutality inflicted on my dad’s young body.  I’d always thought that although his death was clearly violent, his body was intact and relatively unscathed.  I believe that this was a coping mechanism of a young boy.  All these years later, I now know better and it hurts as much as it did in 1982, if not a bit more.

2012 - Albuquerque Journal Article


2013 - Surprise.

Various Photos                                    Nick and PJ's wedding