| The first in a series Certain dates on the
calendar jump out at you the second you turn the page. Birthdays. Christmas Day. Your
wedding anniversary.
For former pro football star LB Nick Buoniconti, there is a date that leaps from the
calendar like Bob Beamon long-jumping to glory at the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City.
October 26th.
This date, however, is not a loved one’s birthday or anniversary. It is not a date
filled with happiness. It is a date in which one of a parent’s worst fears came true.
Oct. 26, 1985.
Buoniconti was visiting an old college roommate’s house in New Jersey. It was a
beautiful fall afternoon. The friends were having a glass of champagne to toast a good
day. Norman Rockwell would have painted a picture of the scene.
Then the phone rang, shattering the tranquility of the moment. The chairman of the
company Buoniconti worked for was on the line with news about Nick’s son Marc —
a linebacker for The Citadel. Nick learned that Marc had been hurt in a game against East
Tennessee State. Nick was told to call a neurosurgeon in Johnson City, Tenn.
Nick made the call, and the first words the neurosurgeon said to him were, "Your
son dislocated his neck, and he’ll be a quadriplegic for the rest of his life."
Nick fell to his knees.
"I was in shock," he says.
He just sat on the floor with the phone still in his hand.
"I couldn’t believe what I was hearing," Nick says.
The chairman of Nick’s company had his company plane fly to New Jersey, pick up
Nick and take him to Tennessee in a matter of hours.
When Nick walked into Marc’s hospital room, he saw tubes in his son’s nose
and throat.
"It was a very frightening experience because he was heavily sedated," Nick
says. "He was in shock. It was a pretty difficult moment."
Nick spoke to the neurosurgeon and then he sat and waited with family. A million
thoughts rushed through Nick’s head regarding his son. Thoughts of a young man always
in motion. A dynamic kid full of enthusiasm. An action-oriented young man whose social
scene with girls and friends and sports had always been so full. Now all of this was
severely jeopardized, and Nick had one more awful but honest thought:
"I don’t know whether I’m praying for Marc to live or die. I just
don’t know what’s best for him."
The next day Nick was back at the hospital. He got an update on what was going on and
then walked into Marc’s room, walked to his son’s bed and kissed him. Marc could
not talk at that moment. Nick looked into his son’s big brown eyes.
"All I could see was, ‘Daddy, please help me," Nick says.
Then a terrible realization struck Nick like a thunderbolt.
"For the first time in my life I couldn’t help my son," he says.
Then and there, Nick knew what was best for his son. He knew he wanted Marc to live. He
knew it was time to fight. Right then and there, "I made a commitment to him that
money would never stand in the way of finding a cure for spinal-cord injury." Nick
says.
Nick knew that there was a mountain to climb. What he didn’t know at the time was
that this mountain was the size of Mount Everest. He would soon learn that by making his
promise, he may as well have vowed to eliminate inner-city crime armed with nothing more
than a water pistol.
Nick called around to a variety of universities to find out what research was being
done.
"Virtually nothing was going on," he says. "Back then, people were not
spending money, were not spending intellectual time trying to develop a program that would
attack the problem."
It was the kind of news that would have knocked the wind out of a lesser man. Nick
fought back, which should come as no surprise when you consider his career as a
professional football player for the Boston Patriots and Miami Dolphins from 1962 to
’76.
He was supposedly too small to make it in the NFL. All he did was have a career that
will see him inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame Aug. 4.
Nick Buoniconti was never one to back down from a challenge as a player.
"He was fierce, determined, intense," says Gino Cappelletti, a teammate of
Buoniconti’s on the Boston Patriots from 1962 to ’68. "Losing wasn’t
acceptable on any terms."
Spinal-cord injuries picked on the wrong guy’s son. His playing days may have been
over, but losing was still unacceptable to Nick. If spinal-cord injuries wanted a fight,
he’d give them a war.
"I’ve never been a quitter," Nick says. "I’ve always been a
battler and a fighter. That’s my nature. I’m a very strong-willed person."
Cappelletti says, "When he decides he’s going after something, he goes after
it, and he won’t stop."
Initially, this brewing clash looked to be as one-sided as Taiwan vs. China. Initially,
Buoniconti appeared to be as outgunned as Joe’s Computer Shack trying to put
Microsoft out of business.
The odds facing Nick were astronomical. He didn’t care.
"I don’t think you can think about it in those terms," he says. "If
you did then nothing would ever get started. I don’t know if anybody would have
started trying to get a man on the moon if they looked at the odds."
Armed with this can-do approach, Nick and Dr. Barth Green co-founded The Miami Project
to Cure Paralysis. They saw a challenge, a passionate cause. Everyone else looked at the
odds and saw wasted effort.
"When we got into it, it was pretty grim," Nick says. "People literally
laughed and mocked us because we named our project The Miami Project to Cure Paralysis.
Everybody, all these wonderful scientists around the country, said that’s impossible,
you will never find a cure for spinal-cord injury."
You can’t land on the moon without building a rocket ship, and rocket ships cost
money. Lots of money. So Buoniconti started raising money. Lots of money.
He went to then-Dolphins owner Joe Robbie and asked him if a fund-raiser could be held
at the Orange Bowl. Robbie said of course. The first benefit raised $400,000. The Miami
Project now had a heartbeat.
Nick had a simple message for the scientific community: "Look guys, I’ll
raise the money, you do the science."
Asked how much money he has raised to date for The Miami Project, Nick shares the
credit and says, "The Buoniconti family has raised over $75 million."
It is said that money can’t buy you love, can’t buy you happiness. Fair
enough. But $75 million can buy progress in the battle against spinal-cord injuries.
"Human nerve cells put in the right environment can be regenerated, and I think
this was a huge breakthrough," Nick says.
He adds that he believes the environment now exists for these adult human nerve cells
to be implanted surgically and then grow across the damaged area of the spinal cord and
reconnect on the other side. The work that then must be done is to learn how to control
the growth of the cells. Otherwise they will grow wild and create more problems than
they’re worth.
The work is not done, but now there is momentum. The finish line may still be off
somewhere in the distance ahead, but square one is far behind in the past.
"The project has been in the forefront, and I think through the interaction with
other scientists around the world we’re able to bring a body of knowledge now to
spinal-cord research that was never thought of before," Nick says.
The Miami Project is based on The Manhattan Project, which developed the atomic bomb
through a cooperative effort among scientists. Buoniconti’s vision has not yet
resulted in the bomb being dropped on spinal-cord injuries, but the group effort that was
envisioned is in place.
"We took spinal-cord injuries out of the closet," Nick says. "We
actually brought it to the forefront whereby scientists then became interested in doing
research on spinal cord and the complexities of the problems regarding spinal-cord injury.
Scientists are no different than other experts in their field. They go where the hot topic
is. It’s almost like the financial markets, whether it’s Nasdaq, tech stocks,
Internet, biotech. Young people are drawn into those areas depending on what’s hot.
The same thing with scientists.
"Scientists are making decisions whether they want to do research in the
neurological areas or the heart or the kidneys. So you’re competing for these people.
I think we were able to stimulate interest with other scientists to come and join us and
also join other neurological disorder programs. And I think this is very important because
they’re not just going to walk into a laboratory and then all of a sudden find a cure
for spinal-cord injury. It’s going to take multidisciplines, scientific disciplines
in order for this to work. So we’re not saying we’re the end-all project. But
what we’re saying is that we just want to get as many people involved in spinal-cord
research as we can."
Nick says the progress that has been made in spinal-cord research since Marc was
injured in 1985 has "accelerated 10-fold because we have so many great scientists
around the world who are very involved, and it’s wonderful because all of these
scientists talk to each other now, and I think it’s accelerating the prospects of
finding a cure.
"I just think the progress that we’ve made has been unbelievable, and I
really believe in the next three to five years we’re going to be restoring function.
I’m not saying total function, but we’ll be restoring some function in paralyzed
people, and I think that is remarkable."
Marc Buoniconti no doubt waits with great anticipation for that day to come. It’s
about the only thing he waits for in his life. Like his father, he is a full-speed-ahead,
constantly-on-the-go kind of guy.
Displaying amazing determination, Marc waged a battle to rid himself of dependence on a
ventilator.
"It was probably the most courageous thing I’ve ever seen anybody do,"
Nick says.
To build up the muscles around the diaphragm to support his breathing, Mark would be
taken off the respirator until he would pass out and have to be revived. At first this
would take five seconds. Then 10 seconds. Then 15 seconds. Then 30 seconds.
"A lot of people would have just accepted the ventilator, but Marc
didn’t," Nick says.
After nine months, Marc won. The ventilator was history. From there he went on to
college at the University of Miami and earned his degree. He is very active in managing
and raising money for The Miami Project.
"Marc does anything he wants to do," Nick says. "The only thing he
can’t do is he can’t walk. But Marc does everything. He’s about as social
and about as active and his mind is about as sharp as it’s ever been. He trades his
own stocks. He’s on the Internet. He does everything that I think anybody his age
would be doing. He’s just a very active, very social, very involved young man.
He’s very well-respected. Not because he’s in a wheelchair, but because he has a
sharp mind. He just makes things happen. He’s just a real doer.
"His summer, so far, is so unbelievably packed with things I just don’t know
how he’s going to get it all done. I really don’t. He’s got trips planned.
He’s coming north, and he’s going west. He’s going to Canton for my
induction to the Hall of Fame. As a matter of fact, he’s the one who’s
introducing me at the Hall of Fame. His plate is just so full, I really don’t know
how he’s going to keep up with it."
As much as Marc currently does, his father dreams of the day when he can do even more.
"I’m just hoping that science and The Miami Project allow him a little bit
more independence," Nick says. "Maybe he can feed himself or brush his teeth or
be able to put a hat on or be able to hug a loved one. That’s what I’m hoping
for. That there’s some positive results that allow him more independence."
Marc has even bigger dreams.
"Marc tells me he dreams that he walks," Nick says. "I think that says
it all.
"He’s never looked back, he’s never blamed football and he just has
great confidence that he’s going to get use of his arms and legs again."
It is a dream kept alive by The Miami Project. It is a dream kept alive by a
father’s promise to his son to never let money stand in the way of finding a cure for
spinal-cord injuries.
Nick has raised millions and millions of dollars. He will raise millions more in the
years to come. Will this money buy a cure during his lifetime?
"Absolutely," he says. "I mean, it depends when I die. I think
we’re going to restore function, and I think it’s going to be remarkable. I
think once we turn the light on that we’re going to turn the light on in every room,
and I think that’s what it’s all about. Then the game plan works. I think
it’s just a matter of getting the first one, and once we get the first one done
it’s a matter of replicating it."
Nick can raise the money, but he has to sit back and wait for the scientists to find a
cure. In that regard, he is just like every other parent with a child battling a
spinal-cord injury.
"I think it’s difficult for any father with a son who’s in a
wheelchair," Nick says.
Nick the fund-raiser will keep stuffing the cash register until a full cure is found.
Nick the father will keep savoring every step of progress along the way.
"I’m just hoping that Marc gets some independence," Nick says.
"Would I like to see a full cure? Yeah, I would love to see a full cure because I
just don’t like to see young people having to spend the rest of their lives in a
wheelchair. That’s not a viable alternative to me."
Nick sounds like a father to more than just Marc with this last comment. He sounds like
a father to all youngsters in wheelchairs because of spinal-cord injuries. It is as though
he has adopted the cause of each and every one of them. Not just his own son’s.
There is some irony in this. Nick’s mother had eight sisters and no brothers. They
were always coming to visit Nick’s grandfather, who lived next door to Nick.
"So I grew up in a family where I had nine mothers," Nick says. "I was
the beneficiary of all that love."
Thus, it seems perfectly normal for a man who had nine mothers to act as a father
figure to so many children in need. Nick is one of the fathers of The Miami Project. He is
the father who gave birth to the hope of so many youngsters dreaming of someday getting
out of their wheelchairs. If children with muscular dystrophy are known as Jerry’s
Kids because of all the money Jerry Lewis has helped raise for the cause, then children
with spinal-cord injuries surely must be Nick’s Kids.
The real parents of all of those children are no doubt saddened that Nick shares their
plight, but at the same time they thank their lucky stars that he is emotionally tied to
their cause.
With great regularity, Nick will walk into The Miami Project building and be introduced
to the parents of a wheelchair-bound child involved in the project’s research. Over
and over, the same scene plays out.
"They’re so grateful that there’s a place that really cares about their
child and (is) really trying to do something about finding a cure, and the parents
normally will cry and just basically embrace me and thank me," Nick says.
"It’s a pretty emotional moment, but it happens very frequently. That’s the
satisfaction I get — seeing that they know that their child has not been forgotten
and that someone really cares about trying to help their child. And I think that’s
all anybody can ask for. I’m not looking for a pat on the back, but seeing that
people at least have a feeling that there is some hope, I think that’s probably the
most gratifying part of the whole deal."
Cappelletti says, "Anytime you see someone in a wheelchair, (Nick) walks up to
them and gives them a bit of encouragement, and they all look to him as a beacon of hope
because of what he’s doing. They’re all aware of what he’s doing, and so
they look at him in such a manner that it gives you goose bumps."
For more information on The Miami Project to Cure Paralysis, go to www.miamiproject.miami.edu |
