A LIFE WITHOUT SURRENDER - Blogs.courant.com - Hartford ...
A LIFE WITHOUT SURRENDER - Blogs.courant.com - Hartford ...
A LIFE WITHOUT SURRENDER - Blogs.courant.com - Hartford ...
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The <strong>Hartford</strong> Courant: Archives Document<br />
3 / 12 - Tuesday, April 22, 2008<br />
THE HARTFORD COURANT<br />
A <strong>LIFE</strong> <strong>WITHOUT</strong> <strong>SURRENDER</strong><br />
Edition: 5 northwest connecticut/sports final<br />
Section: CONNECTICUT<br />
Page: B1<br />
Type: COLUMN<br />
Source: Rick Green<br />
Page 1 of 2<br />
Read my book, Paul Szantyr urges in an e-mail, "the story of a regular guy, who<br />
encounters a very irregular problem."<br />
It starts with "seven little words," Szantyr explains in this unpublished manuscript,<br />
that "still ring in my ears to this very day."<br />
I believe you have Lou Gehrig's disease.<br />
Szantyr first heard this back in 2000. He was a high school teacher in his prime -<br />
head of his department, cross country coach, karate black belt, an aspiring college<br />
basketball referee, a hard-charging son of a gun who never thought much about giving<br />
in.<br />
He was - and still is - a defiant Red Sox fan, a Waterbury boy who endured the<br />
heartbreak of 1967, 1978, 1986 and 2003 because there never was another team. Only<br />
when amyotrophic lateral sclerosis derailed his life does his team win the World Series.<br />
The Sox keep winning. ALS keeps snatching more pieces of his life. Szantyr<br />
be<strong>com</strong>es something he never imagined.<br />
"How Does a Red Sox Fan Get Lou Gehrig's Disease?" he asks in the title of his<br />
book, only recently <strong>com</strong>pleted, letter by letter.<br />
Because for this former teacher at Kaynor Tech in Waterbury to write, he must move<br />
the iris of his left eye while looking at a keyboard on a special <strong>com</strong>puter screen, tapping<br />
out letters, words and sentences.<br />
"I finally have <strong>com</strong>e to embrace the fact that who I am should not be confused with<br />
how I look," he writes in the book, which he labored over for the past two years. "This<br />
was a piece of wisdom, however, that I haven't latched on to with ease and grace;<br />
rather, it has been forced upon me in a desperate attempt to survive."<br />
When I got to his room at the Hospital for Special Care in New Britain, he was lying,<br />
largely immobile, on his bed. Szantyr can push a button with his toe to signal for the<br />
nurse. He has a tracheotomy tube, a ruddy <strong>com</strong>plexion and eyes that smolder. He is<br />
49.<br />
There is a Red Sox banner on the wall, a picture of Josh Beckett on a bulletin board.<br />
We talk about last night's loss to the Yankees.<br />
"Little by little, it takes away," Szantyr told me about ALS, methodically clicking -<br />
blinking - out the words before an electronic voice reads them.<br />
We continue talking, digitally, and with help from his wife, Angela, and his burly 85year-old<br />
father, Tony. Down the hallway, I hear the wheeze of ventilators and<br />
televisions blaring.<br />
The chapters of Szantyr's meticulously constructed text are poignant and brutal,<br />
from the shameful behavior of his former employer, the state Department of Education,<br />
http://192.168.53.249:8080/Save/classic/doc?docid=5114585&q=paul szantyr&stem=...<br />
10/15/2009
The <strong>Hartford</strong> Courant: Archives Document<br />
after his diagnosis, to the metamorphosis of a 60-miles-a-week runner into "ALS guy"<br />
shuffling down the hall.<br />
"As I turned to resume climbing the stairs, the toe of my shoe caught the lip of the<br />
stair tread and I fell face-first to the rubber-coated steps - barely getting my hands out in<br />
front to break the fall. I sat up to gather myself together when the thought came to me<br />
that I was powerless to keep this disease from marching forward," he writes in the book.<br />
"With a muffled sob, my head drooped forward and my shoulders sunk under the full<br />
weight of the realization that I may have just worked my last basketball game."<br />
In the hospital room, Szantyr's father gently strokes his boy's arm as we move from<br />
the Yankees to deadly serious topics.<br />
As a guest at this very intimate scene, I feel embarrassed by the mundane garbage<br />
that fills my mind - paint the kitchen, rake the lawn, call the cable guy.<br />
"I am trying to reclaim some control over my future," Szantyr blinks, the words<br />
appearing on his small <strong>com</strong>puter screen. "However long that may be."<br />
So, of course, I read his book. Who knows how long any of us will be around?<br />
The Sox are home against the Angels tonight. Paul Szantyr will be watching. So will<br />
I.<br />
Rick Green's column appears on Tuesdays and Fridays. He can be reached at<br />
rgreen@<strong>courant</strong>.<strong>com</strong>.<br />
ID: 5114585<br />
Copyright © 2008, THE HARTFORD COURANT. Unauthorized reproduction or Web posting prohibited.<br />
http://192.168.53.249:8080/Save/classic/doc?docid=5114585&q=paul szantyr&stem=...<br />
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