Brockett Blog

Editor’s note: This story originally was published Jan. 15, 2003. In a sad postscript, Torres could not overcome his cancer and he died later that year. His wake filled the local funeral home to capacity.

The ACT hovers like a vulture over high school juniors, circling until the fateful day when No. 2 pencil meets paper and college entrance hopes have a number to hang on.

And Carlos Torres has forgotten completely about it.

He glides through his house, a thin frame creating the clinks of crutches meeting exposed wood. Down the stairs he hops, avoiding the remnants of his father’s home construction project.

Through a door without a knob, Torres sits in front of his new prized possession. When he remembers, he’ll study for the ACT through a Princeton Review computer program. For now the new computer’s downloaded songs create a soundtrack for Torres’ new room.

In time, the results of the ACT will be mailed off as one of many numbers in a college application. But on this night, those days seem far off. Tests just three days away will reveal a more immediate future.

Difficult news
As a soccer player, legs were everything to Torres. As a sophomore for Reed-Custer’s varsity team, he accumulated the bumps and bruises common to the sport.

In a September 2001 game, the play unfolded like thousands forgotten. Close to the opponent’s goal, Torres says the opposing goalie “cleated” him. The resulting pain shot up his leg and never left.

Games passed and the swelling never went down. Thoughts of a sprained knee or a deep bruise persisted, but Torres limped on. After six months had passed, the Braidwood resident’s tough exterior relented and the hobbled athlete finally sought medical attention.

“I was like, ‘Aww, it’s going to go away,’” said Torres. “It didn’t go away.”

An MRI revealed a growth around Torres’ femur. After talking with doctors from the University of Chicago hospital and Christ Hope Hospital in Oak Lawn, the diagnosis grew clear.

“My dad told me,” said Torres. “My mom didn’t want to tell me.” A form of cancer known as osteosarcoma had wrapped itself around a portion of Torres’ leg roughly an unsharpened pencil long. The news sent Torres into tears. Then, after 15 minutes, the tears stopped.

“I thought, ‘All right, now it’s time to deal with it,’” Torres said.

Doctors told Carlos’ father, Javier, that the malignant tumor looked to be low-grade and treatable with an operation and the avoidance of chemotherapy. The operation, though, meant a choice.

Would you like a metal rod or a dead man’s bone?

As he leafs through images of the removed part of his leg, Torres laughs like they’re baby photos from a family album.

“It’s kind of weird, because you can see through my leg and everything,” said Torres.

As the page turns to graphic photos of flesh and bone, he says he chose the cadaver bone to limit the hospital time required. A metal rod would have required an additional surgery, so he went with the real bone.

He puts the packet of photos down and shows what the cadaver bone allows. Although he still can’t bend it more than a few degrees, the leg walks the road to recovery.

A daily recovery
The hair started falling out during a shower.

Despite a May operation deemed a success, doctors still went ahead with chemotherapy. The weekly sessions came with their own side effects, as Torres’ sisters soon fell out.

The oldest boy in the family, Carlos enjoys the unique relationship only a sibling with five sisters could understand. So when the hair began swirling into the drain, Carlos of course asked his sisters to help pull it out.

“I took out the hair in front and I was like, ‘I wonder if this is how I’ll look when I’m old,’” said Torres, as his sisters laughed at the tale.

Each weekly session meant a dose of chemotherapy and a few days rest in the hospital. When he returned home, he found a house (and himself) filled with kindness … or at least as much kindness as siblings can allow.

“Yeah, a lot of changes here,” said Javier Torres. “They’ve been really good to him.”

Despite the new nickname of “hop-along,” Torres slowly adjusted to his weakened immune system and tired body. When he wasn’t memorizing dialogue from the teen comedy She’s All That, he began tutoring lessons consisting of all the things learned in a school his body wouldn’t let him attend.

Then, with a month left of chemo, the process stopped.

Doctors discovered abnormal growths on Torres’ lung, upper leg and near his tailbone. In order to find out what those growths were, the chemo had to stop while testing for a possible spread in the cancer was planned.

“What’s all the chemo doing? Is it doing any good?” asked Javier Torres. “If you’ve got cancer, that means the chemo didn’t work.”

Carlos, though, knows full well what the doctors said.

“It could have been there, but it was way too small and the chemo sometimes lifts it up to see it,” said Carlos to his father.

That November discovery meant a transformation for Torres. A full head of hair — hinted at in a Homecoming photo with friends now adorning his computer’s wallpaper — slowly grew back. And early last week, he began attending Reed-Custer High School for three periods a day.

“It’s a good thing, going to school,” Torres said. “Because you’re concentrating on homework and books and stuff, and you kind of forget about it.”

As further tests loom this Thursday, some of the weight is back on and only the crutches give anything away. His current look reveals the young man in that Homecoming photo growing up.

Carlos Torres looks healthy.

Wealth of charity
The new computer, on which Carlos snaps a picture of his father on the webcam, sits as a symbol of the support Carlos has received.

The Wish Upon a Star foundation provided the $2,600 in computer equipment. Torres was asked to choose between the computer and a trip to Disney World. Once he realized his whole family couldn’t make the trip, the choice became clear.

As he tinkered with the electronics, organizers of a benefit dinner continued planning for the Jan. 25 event. The dinner, which will include a mariachi band and numerous fund-raising opportunities for the family, does turn Torres a little red in the face.

“I hope they don’t call attention to me and everybody looks at me,” he joked. “I’ll pretend that something’s wrong with my leg.”

The fund-raising comes at an opportune time for the Torres family. Chemo and surgery costs have soared into what Javier estimated at nearly $250,000, with no telling how much more will come.

With everyone from the school to local churches to the employees at Grandstand in Coal City helping out, though, Javier Torres said he’s been amazed at the generosity.

“There’s a lot of people who have helped us and for many we don’t even know their names,” he said.

Sitting in a room adorned with posters featuring scantily-clad women, an everpresent cell phone and the television, Torres immerses himself in the normal teenage boy’s life. Even in the most trying of situations, he’s able to carry on the centuries-old tradition of father-son arguments.

When speaking of the computer, Javier Torres hints to his son that maybe he should look online to find out more on his new round of tests. On the ACT, Torres’ answer would have been “D — None of the above.”

“I don’t want to know what’s going to happen,” Carlos explains. “I don’t like worrying.”

This story originally was published Dec. 11, 2002 in the Braidwood Journal.

This little boy thought he had fooled everyone.
After a year of pummeling his siblings and disobeying his parents, he stood in line to see Santa Claus. On his lap, he would rattle off all the great new toys he wanted under the Christmas tree this year.
But before reaching Santa’s lap, one of the jolly man’s secret helpers tipped him off to the true story. Somewhere, the soundtrack faintly played …
He’s making a list, checking it twice
Going to find out who’s naughty or nice …
As he reached Santa’s lap, the man in the red suit asked simply if the boy had been good this year. Then, in a low voice, Santa dropped a Yuletide bombshell. He knew.
On that day, the boy’s eyes grew wide and his voice stayed silent. Somehow, he worked up the words to admit he would change his ways.
As the boy left Santa’s lap, passing by the line of children with visions of presents dancing in their heads, Santa smiled.
Santa Claus is coming to town.

‘It’s work’
On Saturday during the Braidwood Elementary School Craft Fair, Santa greeted hundreds of kids for nearly five hours straight.
The stream of children broke only for a short five minute break — even Santa has to use the washroom sometimes.
After hearing hundreds of requests (as the children sat on alternating legs to prevent a Grinch-ian cramp), the man known as St. Nick and so many other names took off. There were other children to meet, after all.
As he sat down in his recliner telling of his adventures, nothing on Bob Swisher would give away his secret identity. Sure, the white beard hangs perfectly and the cheeks are rounded just right, but there was something missing.
In a few minutes, though, there could be no doubt. As he zipped up his red coat and tucked his ponytail into his cap, something changed. His cheeks reddened, his eyes squinted and soon one could be forgiven for wanting to tell this man about wished-for toys, no matter the age.
“It’s amazing the power the red suit has,” said the Godley resident.
Swisher dons the red garb every holiday season, and has done so professionally for the past four years as Santa Sightings. After a first year of about eight events, he finds himself flying all over the northern Illinois area meeting children.
Well, mostly children, that is. Swisher’s own start as Santa reveals as much. For nearly 10 years, Swisher and his friends have gone out on their “Christmas shopping day,” which sometimes consists of beverages stronger than eggnog. The day always culminates with a photo on Santa’s lap and big smiles from the Harley-riding gang.
During one of those trips to the Louis Joliet Mall, some sleigh bells rang in his head.
“I made a better lookin’ Santa than that Santa did,” he said.
Now, days like last Saturday are almost the norm between Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve.
“It’s work,” he said.

Christmas rapport
During events like the annual “Santa Train” in Naperville, this Santa finds more than enough work. The day consists of two round-trip train rides to Chicago with five Santas working the 10 cars.
Add that experience to house calls, donating his time for local Boy Scout troops and other events and it’s enough to keep Swisher and his family busy.
What keeps him coming back, though, are the interactions with the children.
“I usually have more fun than the kids do,” he said.
This conflicts with what he sees in some of the others who don the red apparel, Swisher said.
“Most Santas don’t take time with the kids,” he said.
With a candy cane (Santa Sightings goes through hundreds each season) and some attention, Swisher tries to gain the kids’ trust. Most happily oblige, offering him a unique view on a child’s mind. Some of the more memorable moments have included:
• A request for a pet pig
• A young girl asking for a microwave for her mother
• A little boy who wanted a Mustang convertible
Swisher also sees the broader trends. At 10 or 11, boys decline the seat on Santa’s lap, with girls reaching that point at a younger age. And there’s always a few who grow silent when face to face with St. Nick.
In addition to donations of his time, Swisher also gives $5 to the Muscular Dystrophy Association and $5 to local food pantries for the events he is paid.
But he talks more of the little things. For three straight years, a house call to a certain residence always sent one young girl screaming for the closet.
This year, the girl came out.
“I’m still not very Christmas-y, but I really like being Santa,” he said.

This story originally was published Nov. 13, 2002.

Under a wizard’s cap and behind bespectacled eyes, the mind of young Kevin Lardi spits out information like a magical stock ticker.
Fueled by steady chomps on Twizzlers, Lardi tries to explain his knowledge when he hears a question. Duty calls again, and his mind can’t help but answer. The question regards the type of knowledge most forget on a daily basis, and of course Lardi nails it. Forget minor characters, try remembering the author and title of the last book you read.
Odds are for Lardi, those answers would be: “J.K. Rowling” and “something Harry Potter.”
“I like the magic and think it’s cool,” said the fourth-grader and South Wilmington resident. “I want to be able to play Quidditch.”
Such sentiments weren’t out of line Friday night, when 20 grade-schoolers took Fossil Ridge Public Library and renamed it Hogwarts for a day.
The opening of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in movie theaters this week has conjured up a new wave of Pottermania. But as these kids (and many adults) anxiously await the next fantasy installment, a new enjoyment has developed.
Kids aren’t just reading the three books, they’re re-reading them. The accumulated knowledge helped widen smiles in the library’s unique form of role-playing.

Magical mystery tour
With a “Welcome to Hogwarts” banner and insider references abounding, the grade-schoolers entered a library transformed. Beyond the likeness of a tall wizard lay a meeting room now known as the grand hall.
Suspending disbelief comes easy, especially after catching a glimpse of library personnel decked out in shiny robes and tall, pointed hats. Each played a role in the night’s festivities, including youth service librarian Vicki Blackburn. Her headmaster garb covered up the strains of an eight-hour preparation.
With the touches of the film soundtrack as a backdrop, the kids settled into their fate. The random nature of the drawing hat sorts them into “houses”: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Each name is called, just like when Harry Potter entered the Gryffindor house in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.
As the kids tittered with excitement, they looked over the class itinerary. Despite no mention of encounters with Hagrid the groundskeeper, there was no feigning ill for these classes. “Transfiguration” and “Preservation” drew much more excitement than the normal science or social studies.
Amid the clatter, the uninformed would go crazy. A reference to Muggles sounded like Muppet defamation … but made perfect sense to the assembled. Even the structure of the festivities drew a question.
“Well, if Slytherin has Potions class, it’s not going to be very fair, because in the book …”

Popular opinion
The same things that propelled the film version of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to the second largest box office of all time are the same factors that made the books perennial best-sellers. And most likely, they’re the same things that will make the second film and oft-delayed fifth book successful as well.
Call it the magic touch.
More specifically, call it richly detailed writing and a world that plays into the childhood notion of fantasy and adventure.
Setting up a crafts class or trivia quizzes isn’t hard for the Fossil Ridge staff. They enjoy reading Harry Potter’s adventures just as much as the kids.
“They’re so well written and they have a moral so most people that read them come away feeling good,” said library director Janie Votta.
The legend of Kevin Lardi grows during the Potter quizzes. As each house battled to accumulate the most points (and avoiding behavior like talking out of turn, which reduces the point total), the quizzes offer the best chance for victory.
Or at least a chance for second place. Lardi’s knowledge of the arcane drew cheers from his house and dropped jaws from the library staff as he rattled off answers with a speed that would fell a math teacher.
Kevin’s mom, Bonnie Lardi, read the books before allowing Kevin to read them, just to make sure the subject matter was safe. Since her okay, he’s rarely stopped reading since.
“My son’s a reader to begin with,” said Bonnie. “He’s read all four … and re-read them and re-read them again.”
And her opinion?
“I think they’re really good books,” she said. “I see why kids get hooked on them … Anything that gets a kid reading is a good thing. More power to Ms. Rowling.”

The spell continues
The other houses’ defeat was softened by sugar-coated treats and the enjoyment of never-ending Potter talk. Plot details were whispered and then shouted like old timers detailing local legends.
No matter the next book’s release, the Fossil Ridge-Hogwarts connection will continue. The summer reading program will allow Friday’s students to graduate to second-year status, with all-new classes. It’s enough to draw a high-five at the Slytherin house.
Votta said the Potter series serves as a starting point for fantasy novels. Some might go on to check out the Wrinkle in Time series, or even that other made-into-movies monolith, the Lord of the Rings series.
“Before, [kids] only wanted a book that’s 100 pages,” said Votta. “Now, they’re reading 700 pages because they want to.”
And if there’s a question about any of those pages, just ask Kevin Lardi.

This story originally was published Nov. 6, 2002.

A thousand games ago, Pat Faletti developed her love for ball diamonds in pick-up battles throughout the 1970s.
Just a short walk away from her Division Street home in Braidwood, Faletti cut her teeth on the intense competition only two older brothers could provide. From 8 a.m. until the call for dinner, the Falettis lived out sporting dreams. The games never ended, just continuing from day to day.
“It’s just something the Falettis did,” recalled Pat.
Faletti, who now goes by the married name of Pat Jansen, looks back on those games fondly. Of everything that followed, from high school regional championships to a celebrated collegiate career, not one accolade was possible without those sunny games of summer.
Jansen now can call herself a hall-of-famer after a mid-October ceremony. She was bestowed the honor for being part of the 1988 Northern Illinois University squad that finished in the final eight nationally, one of NIU’s most successful sports teams ever.
Fourteen years after the successful season, the team met again. And it was like not a game had gone by.
“The best part was that it wasn’t about softball at all,” said Jansen.
As 15 players on the 18-member squad traded stories of husbands, lives and kids, the friendships fostered on the field thrived outside the fences once again.

Braidwood days
In the early 1980s, the Reed-Custer softball program thrived, thanks in no small part to Faletti.
In her four years, the team won both conference and regional titles each year. That’s at a time when all high schools were lumped together without A and AA classifications. Even then, the teams she competed on featured talent much greater than school size or reputation.
“That was a great start for me,” she said. “You get used to winning and hope that continues.”
Softball still remained a game for the catching star, a mindset that contributed to her surprise in receiving an athletic scholarship for her talent.
“I didn’t even know what a college scholarship was,” said Jansen.

Dream season
NIU, as is the case today, was considered a mid-major program in the world of sports. While the school boasts a large student population, it isn’t considered a threat to most Big 10 institutions.
That made NIU’s meteoric rise into the national consciousness all the more improbable.
After a successful 1987 campaign, the Huskies took down softball’s Goliaths without once feeling like a David.
“I don’t think we ever looked at our role that way,” said Jansen.
They never expected to lose, and seldom did. As one of four seniors, Jansen led by example, not needing the title of captain (the team did not name captains).
“You just know some people look up to you and you just have to do it,” she said.
After strengthening skills in summer ball – which featured competitors from more well-known schools – NIU started strong and never looked back. The Huskies beat three ranked teams and were ranked No. 10 nationally.
The little battles that make up a season included a 16-game winning streak, an undefeated home record and an NCAA regional title. After the regionals, Jansen was selected as part of the All-Regional team.
But the laurels couldn’t obscure the next step – the Final Eight. Seeded eighth, NIU was pitted against the mighty UCLA Bruins, a perennial softball power.
After a season of powerful blasts and timely hitting, the bats fell silent. A 1-0 victory sent NIU to the losers’ bracket in the double elimination tournament, and Texas A&M ended the Huskies season two days later.
Despite a program that seemed so faraway from success and ended up so close, Jansen said the defeats couldn’t deflate the team.
“It wasn’t ever a sad thing,” she said. “You look at it as an achievement.”
But soon, the realization set in. These young women who grew so close soon must part.

Goals achieved
Jansen remains no stranger to the infield dirt and foul line chalk. She currently teaches physical education in Watertown, Wisc. and coaches the high school softball team there.
“It sure makes all the efforts, when your kids succeed, worthwhile,” she said.
At home, Jansen looks after her two children; Jordan, 10, and Taylor, 7. The Faletti blood still courses through the veins of the next generation, as the youngsters begin their sandlot careers.
It’s a situation this catcher always called for, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
This month’s induction served as a reminder of how her life’s dream became a reality. And Jansen, who feels no different with that “hall-of-famer” moniker, only wishes the old team could play together more often.
“If they could induct us every year, it would be worth it just for that,” said Jansen.

This story originally was published Nov. 6, 2002 in the Braidwood Journal.

In the world around Bonnie Schranz, nothing stands still.
On stage, the crew coats the edges of the set in a nothing-to-see-here black. While Schranz takes a few cast members’ mug shots, she calls out to her assistants with the latest detail that can’t be forgotten. The message drowns in a cacophony of static and recorded voice, all part of the sound check.
Schranz knows this world well. It must be six days before showtime.
On pads of paper and clipboards, the details come together. The production of Twelve Angry Jurors barrels toward its opening night at the Reed-Custer High School auditorium.
Her experience tells her these things happen, but the problems are hard to ignore – bad mic, an erased recording, a sick cast member.
“We’ll get it fixed by next week,” chants Schranz, a confirmation to herself and all those around her.
This year’s high school productions will be the last for Schranz, who will retire at the end of the year. Her ninth year of directing brings with it a play with a message that hasn’t faded in time. As the students memorize lines and block out movement, the state deals with the same issues on stage.
In the play, 12 jurors decide whether a boy accused of murder will die. Meanwhile, with Gov. George Ryan demanding an examination of the death penalty, each death row case receives one more examination – small details and all.
“Crime and punishment are such major issues in the United States today, along with all of the related issues of gun control, fear of terrorist and sniper attacks and retribution against the perpetrators,” said Schranz. “This script, written for an audience of the late 1950s, does connect.”

No simple case
The stage is barren, just a table surrounded by three walls. This play won’t be about set design.
Reginald Rose’s play all takes place in one room, the deliberation room. In this room 12 actors slowly unravel, just like the case.
“It’s the most boring set I’ve ever created,” said Schranz, “but it’s boring on purpose.”
A plain set does not mean a simple set, though. With no scene changes, Schranz looked for a way to spice things up. She found her answer in television.
More specifically, in a television crew. In this version, cameras are allowed into the room, providing a close-up glimpse at the characters. A reporter provides the bookends for the case, acting as an intermediary between the stage and the audience.
“I needed an angle to give it more visual interest,” said Schranz, “ as well as a way to stage it so that the actors don’t look like they are sitting at the Last Supper.”
The addition requires more technical expertise, in which Schranz relies on senior Jamie Formea. As technical director, he often finds himself with his back toward the stage. As character motivations come clear, he busies himself with the sound and light systems. And as the stage lights come up, he props a flashlight between his chin and chest in the darkness.

A shift in character
The television cameras capture another of Schranz’s brainchilds. In the role of Juror No. 8 – a character made famous by Henry Fonda in the film 12 Angry Men – is senior Brittany Emrich, very much a girl.
The gender switch provides a new dynamic to the script, Schranz said. Emrich agreed, saying she tries to toe the line between being persuasive and overly aggressive on stage.
“Most of my roles have been cute little things in comedies,” said Emrich. “I’ve had fun – this has helped me develop myself.”
Her determination runs smack dab into a mixed-gender group of stubborn characters. D.J. Carter portrays a narrow-minded juror who calls for the accused’s guilt throughout the deliberations.
“When I get mad, sometimes I get like my character gets,” said Carter, a veteran of R-C’s musicals but appearing in his first play.
That personal connection wasn’t so easy for Nicholas Nolan.
Nolan, who recommended the play after seeing his sister perform in it nearly 10 years ago, must act very cold and calculated. In the oppressive summer head, his character never sweats.
“This is definitely against my own personality,” said Nolan. “Mrs. Schranz rally tries to challenge us.”

A last fine-tuning
The challenge now for Schranz is cramming all of the important dates and times into heads filled with dialogue … let alone schoolwork and social happenings.
With the countdown shifting into hours, everyone knows their role. A combination of nervousness and impatience leads to louder conversations and horseplay.
And while Carter wonders about the cast party, Emrich already knows what she’ll be celebrating come graduation.
“My experiences here could not be replaced by anything in the world,” she said outside the auditorium, waiting for her cue.
Maybe, when her world stands still, Schranz can share in that sentiment.

This story originally was published Sept. 25, 2002 in the Braidwood Journal.

Sitting in his mother’s arms, Tyler Jacob Roberts gurgles and spurts and wiggles.
For the moment, his bulging eyes are transfixed on the way the late afternoon sun shines off a metallic clock. Soon, though, his attention shifts back to his baby bottle.
His parents seldom take their eyes off the three-month-old. It’s an affliction common to new parents the world over.
Despite the worried eyes, or maybe because of them, Tyler puts on a show. He’s one of the happiest babies you’ll find, and in this case that’s of utmost importance.
Because there’s a chance that if Tyler cries, he could die.
Dave and Kellie Roberts know this, and by this point they’re almost used to spotting potential irritants. In keeping Tyler smiling, they deal with the daily reminders of a son with a congenital heart defect.

All mixed up
Dave Roberts knows more than he probably ever wanted to know about the inner workings of the human body. After three months of doctor consultations, he can rattle off all of his young son’s peculiarities.
Tyler’s heart only has two chambers, instead of four.
Tyler doesn’t have a spleen.
Tyler’s stomach is on the right side instead of the left.
Tyler’s liver is in the middle, instead of the right.
Tyler looks to have a pair of right lungs instead of a right and a left.
All these details bring a smile to Dave’s face.
“It’s kind of neat how he’s built,” he comments.
The lungs, liver and stomach won’t be a concern for Tyler. Despite the jumble, the organs should function normally.
Lacking a spleen presents more of a problem. Tyler’s immune system is weakened, so he’ll take antibiotics most of his life. His mother now must wash her hands before handling him, all the while guarding against touchy-feely strangers entranced by Tyler’s charm.
The heart condition – technically referred to as double outlet right ventricle (DORV) with pulmonary stenosis – will require two surgeries. Right now, unoxygenated and oxygenated blood are mixing within the heart. Some of that unoxygenated blood then is pumped throughout the body, lowering his oxygen level.
Which brings us back to his tears. The emotional state most parents loathe creates outright fear in Dave and Kellie, because when we cry, less oxygen comes into the body. That small deficiency in air would be enough to turn Tyler’s pale skin blue.
“He’s a very happy little baby, thank God,” said Dave. “He doesn’t cry much. It makes our job a lot easier.”
The secret to Tyler’s happiness lies in a simple one-word answer.
“Mommy,” said Kellie as Tyler gurgled with approval. “Spoiled is a good word for it.”

‘Nothing at all’
The young parents couldn’t have had a better pregnancy. Dave jokes now that the only problem was extended morning sickness, a comment that provokes a sigh and a smile from Kellie.
“Nothing went wrong with the pregnancy, nothing at all,” said Kellie.
The day Tyler was born, a Thursday, a pediatrician came in and told the couple their newborn had a couple of heart murmurs that could be cause for alarm. The next day, a cardiologist from Loyola Medical Center came down for a closer look in the afternoon.
By 9 p.m. that evening, Tyler found himself in a helicopter on his way to Loyola. His parents followed by car close behind.
“That Thursday was the best day of my entire life,” said Kellie. “And then that Friday was the worst.”
The March of Dimes says some sort of congenital heart defect affects one in 150 births. In this case, Dave said doctors have told him about one in 10,000 kids have a defect similar to Tyler’s.
“Doctors don’t know the cause of this,” said Dave. “It’s just one of those things they can’t explain.”
Although doctors do not know the exact causes, some have considered genetics and environment as two potential factors. To what extent is still unknown.

A strong heart
Tyler will undergo two surgeries before the age of three. At first, doctors put the number of surgeries at three, but good progress and a normal growth pattern eliminated the need for an emergency first surgery.
The surgeries actually won’t deal with Tyler’s heart at all. Doctors will create new arteries and re-route the blood flow to create a normal oxygen level. Tyler’s blood will go to the lungs to pick up oxygen and then his heart will pump out the healthy blood.
“It’s hard for us, putting him through it,” said Dave. “But we know it has to be done.”
Tyler won’t remember any of this as he grows older. A small scar and the daily precautions will be all that remain from his ordeal.
Doctors say he’ll have to visit a cardiologist every six months. Later in life, Tyler may need a Pacemaker. He’ll never be a marathon runner, but he will be able to run.
And don’t count on Tyler joining the Reed-Custer football team in 15 years, although his parents don’t mind too much.
“He’ll be a golf player instead,” said Kellie. “We’re golf people anyways.”
Although the reminders may be scarce, the parents won’t soon forget how the community has helped them through their trying times. With the couple facing the financial burden of two expensive surgeries, a variety of sources have helped pick up some of the future costs.
“We haven’t even talked price,” said Kellie. “We just want to get through it and then talk price.”
A pancake breakfast, a split-the-pot raffle and donation canisters throughout the area will help aid the family. And both Dave, who works for the Channahon Park District, and Kellie, who works for Morris Hospital, said their employers have shown kindness as they care for Tyler.
“A whole community has come together,” said Dave.
“And thank you is not even enough,” added Kellie.
Deposits still can be made to the Tyler Roberts Fund at Kankakee Federal Savings Bank to help defray some of the future costs.
But Tyler doesn’t worry about any of this as he squirms in his mother’s arms. To him, there’s not a care in the world … and nothing worth crying about.

Editor’s note: This story originally was published April 18, 2008.

Geologists begin looking at samples kept far away from modern life

Wrapped up in aluminum foil, it looks more like a crackpot’s alien detector or leftovers gone horribly, horribly wrong. But the apparatus serves science, believe it or not, in potentially finding microorganisms hidden far below Antarctica’s ice.

A team led by NIU associate professor Melissa Lenczewski used the apparatus, functionally called a core splitter, to neatly break a bagged sample of Antarctic earth in two. It only took a few pumps of the hydraulics, especially given that the samples are stored at –70 degrees Celsius. Once sufficiently broken, the gloved hands of the team quickly stored the samples in more airtight bags.

“It looks like mud,” said Lenszewski as she finishes transferring the samples. “Frozen mud.”

The reason for the temperature, bags and even the aluminum foil is the same: this mud has been kept far away from the rest of the world, and the scientists want to keep it that way. This is the latest step in ANDRILL, a $30 million international project led in part by NIU geologist Ross Powell. Lenszewski hopes to test these samples and compare them to other bacteria known to the worldwide scientific community.

“We can compare and contrast these with samples we know are impacted by human activity,” she said. “We can see what kind of influence we do have.”

So far, the ANDRILL (Antarctica Geological Drilling) project has drilled twice, and the samples currently on campus come from drilling Oct. 15-30, 2007. In all, the core stretched almost 1,000 meters in length before broken down into more manageable specimens.

Lenszewski said a big part of her testing will involve whether the drilling fluid used to gather the core “contaminated” the specimen in any way. Drilling teams use a special fluid thicker and heavier than water to get underneath any water at the bottom of a drilled hole. If all goes well, the fluid helps access the core while simultaneously cooling the drill.

If there are no signs of the drilling fluid, then Lenczewski will proceed further with identifying the bacteria contained in the core samples (see sidebar). The research could help in the development of drills for other extreme environments, even on other planets.

“Either there will be a ‘Oh, wow, look what we found,’ or we will have to come up with different ways to reach these special samples,” said Lenczewski.

The shipping of such sensitive materials would make any eBay buyer envious. Dry ice surrounded the samples at a temperature where any bacteria could be preserved as it existed. The box included a recorder that tracked the exact temperature throughout the two-week journey to NIU’s campus.

Lenczewski’s previous research has focused on pollution in geology. That specialty caught her interest as an undergraduate at the University of Arizona and has continued throughout her educational and professional career. Because of that experience, she tries to share her projects with undergraduates seeking specific areas of study.

“I know it made a big difference in my life,” said Lenczewski.

The approach
Create a microbial profile — Much like fingerprints or plant study, compare identifiers found in the samples with those found in the drilling fluid to make sure there was no contamination

Isolation — If no drilling fluid is found, then isolate the genes/DNA of the bacteria and sequence it, like you might see in TV shows like CSI. This allows for comparisons to other bacteria in a voluminous database. If the samples are unique, “we know we have something special,” said Lenszewski.

This then would offer a springboard for further scientific study.

Editor’s note: This story originally was published April 17, 2008.

Sarah VonderHaar makes the leap from ‘America’s Next Top Model’ to music career

The first album by any musician can be filled with firsts: first time in a studio, first time performing all new material and even the first time professionally photographed for an album cover.

In this last endeavor, Sarah VonderHaar veers sharply from the rest of the debut artists. Even at age 21, that photography thing is old hat.

The Chicago-area native appeared on the eighth cycle of America’s Next Top Model, reaching the final six contestants in the popular Tyra Banks-hosted reality show. Now, she finds herself seeking a new form of expression through singing and songwriting.

“When you’re modeling, it’s not really personal,” she said. “What’s the saying, ‘You’re a coat hanger with a heartbeat?’ With songwriting, it’s much more intimate.”

The somewhat-disparate career interests intersect in weird ways. For one, the press release touting the April 22 release of Are You Listening Now still manages to list VonderHaar’s height and weight. And she wonders whether the listening public will take her seriously after hearing her pop culture resume. But she doesn’t regret being on the show.

“I had such a wonderful experience on that show, and gained friends that will last a lifetime,” said VonderHaar.

Instead, she relays things she learned while on the show, like how many people in Asian countries watch the show and offer support through her MySpace page. And she thinks in some ways, the ANTM fans will help her cut through a clutter of bands seeking an audience through similar digital means.

Even the “pretty, young and female singer-songwriter” genre isn’t lacking for popular artists these days. VonderHaar’s guitar-based debut recalls artists like Kate Voegele and Colbie Callet, who along with Sara Bareilles have gained a stronghold on the popular music charts and VH1’s Top 20 countdown.

“People are getting sick of the rap songs that make no sense and want some substance to the songs,” said VonderHaar of the trend.

To this end, Are You Listening Now flies by with upbeat pop hooks — the album even opens with VonderHaar cooing “Doo da do do do” — and the lyrics trend toward optimism. The song “It’s Not the First Time” cries out for a teen comedy montage showcasing, say, a young woman getting over a breakup by goofing off with friends at a summertime carnival. The drumming and springy synthesizer hiding in the back of the mix serve as a spoonful of sugar for the more personal lyrics: “You hurt me completely/ But I’m not crying today … It’s not the first time, but it’s the last time.”

“Everyone goes through bad breakups,” said VonderHaar. “I know, I’ve been through a few.”

VonderHaar said her musical appreciation began at the age of 6 or 7, when she received a karaoke-type machine. Eventually, she was singing along to Elton John’s songs on the Lion King soundtrack and staples of the Disneymania album. As she grew older, she appreciated her close proximity to Chicago and its independent music scene.
“It’s better living in Chicago than Idaho,” she joked.

In one year’s time, VonderHaar hopes to be touring nationally, “sharing my music with the entire nation and the entire world,” she said.

There are some fans in Asia anticipating those concert announcements.

Editor’s note: This story originally was published April 10, 2008.

Pizza Pros employee finds Relay for Life help in fellow waitresses

Even in the darkened atmosphere of a restaurant, what light exists catches the moistness forming in Coral Ware’s eyes.

She talks about her first experience with Relay for Life, walking with a friend and seeing the luminaria representing cancer victims and survivors. She remembers her father, Jerry, as one of the former.

“Somebody recognizing that my father went through this battle … it’s just awe-inspiring to see all of those candles lit,” she said.

This year, Ware will participate in her third DeKalb County Relay for Life, and she’s determined to make it her most successful in terms of fundraising. The American Cancer Society holds such events all over the country to raise funds for cancer research, community educational programs and support services for patients and their families. She will walk with a team from Bethany Animal Hospital, one of her two employers. And as she walks with hospital co-workers June 21, she will have her Pizza Pros co-workers to thank for financial assistance. On April 18, four fellow waitresses will donate their tips to benefit the Relay for Life team.

At first, Ware said, she just planned on doing the fundraising herself.

“Then the other girls heard about it and, basically, everybody jumped right in and wanted to take part in it,” she said.

Trisha Stratton, one of the waitresses participating Friday night, said a good night can mean $150 in tips. But like many people, her life has been touched by cancer — her grandmother died from breast cancer.

“I just thought it was a very good way to give back,” said Stratton.

Reasons for walking
Ware said her father battled lung cancer for a year and a half. During that time, she served as primary caretaker and had power of attorney as a 22 year old.

“A lot of it was put on me,” she said. “But my employers at the time and my family, everybody was really supportive. I don’t think that any person could get through that alone … It taught me that family is very important. You get an early look at maybe something people experience later, realizing that you take for granted your parents. I’ve just made a rule since then that I’m never going to take for granted my family or my friends.”

Besides the family connection, Ware and the Bethany Animal Hospital staff also will walk in remembrance of Dr. George Balster, the hospital director and veterinarian who died in late January after his battle with cancer. His work at Bethany began in 1984.

“He was a huge part of the community,” said Ware. “There are a lot of people rallying behind us because of that.”

Dr. LeAnn Gruber also will walk with the 13-member hospital team, named “Balster’s Boxers” in a reference to the event’s theme of “fighting and uniting” for a cure. She said Balster’s passing gave the hospital all the motivation it needed to raise as much money as possible.

“George meant a lot to clients,” said Gruber. “He was what got us stuck together – he was our glue.”

So far, 23 teams have signed up for the DeKalb County version of the Relay, made up of 108 total participants. Gruber herself already has raised $805 with two months to go.

The hospital experience has encouraged Ware enough to pursue a career as a certified veterinary technician. She takes online classes as part of a two-year program offered through the American Animal Hospital Association.

Ware hopes to raise about $700 in tips and as much as $1,500 overall. Carry-out patrons can contribute to a jar in the DeKalb restaurant, and delivery drivers also have shown interest in contributing to the cause.

Editor’s note: This story originally was published April 2, 2008.

Sycamore’s Christian Gade rallies interest in his new invention, the Wipe Away Glove

The seed for Christian Gade’s idea planted in amongst the zeroes and ones of a DeVry binary code tutoring session.

As he helped a fellow student, Gade miswrote a digit. Using his hand to wipe the marker off the dry erase board, he came away with what he likes to call “technicolor hand.” There had to be a better way.

His idea didn’t fade as quickly as the marker. He stuck with the concept, and just recently earned patent pending status on the Quick Wipe Glove, a tool he hopes will take over classrooms and boardrooms just as quickly as dry erase boards replaced chalkboards.

“There are two ways (to erase) right now: the eraser that everybody loses, or your hand, and that makes it disgusting,” said Gade, 28, and a Sycamore resident.

Gade carriers around a handmade prototype to bridge the gap between concept drawings and real-world application. The glove features felt on the inside of the hand, from the wrist to the tips of the four fingers. The felt detaches so it can be washed. On the outside of the hand, small loops allow more colorful users to store their markers. When produced, Gade envisions some high-tech add-ons, including a spot for a watch and a laser pointer.

Gade tested the glove’s use through family ties – including his grandfather, a longtime educator.
“It took me weeks to get the prototype back because they wanted to keep using it,” said Gade of his makeshift example, built from a baseball batting glove. “That’s when I knew I’ve got something here … To me, that’s more than enough evidence that the demand’s out there. But I have to prove it in mass numbers.”

Patent-pending status means an inventor has applied for a patent through the United States Patent and Trademark Office. Gade used the Advent Product Development company to guide him through this process, and to market news of the concept to manufacturers and media outlets. An inventor must prove there is a market for the product before being granted the full patent — which excludes others from making a similar product, according to the USPTO Web site.

To prove such usefulness, Gade plans on meeting with as many teachers as possible, both locally and throughout the state. He wants to get a manufacturer on board that could make the gloves, then direct all the teachers he meets to call up that manufacturer with testimonials.

“They’re skeptical, because I’m going after a market the glove market hasn’t gone after before,” Gade said.

Mother of invention
Gade’s original prototype didn’t feature the marker loops (he admits it “looked like crap”). But he viewed his idea with two, equally discerning eyes: how could he make this better, and how could somebody tweak this just a little bit and create another patent.

Such an ability to change developed early on, Gade said. He was born in Eau Claire, Wis. and moved throughout his childhood.

“I had to adapt to people quickly, or die, basically,” Gade said.

He found enjoyment in video games just as Nintendo entered the market. He couldn’t help but fiddle, though, taking the console apart to change its appearance and function.

“It really made my parents mad,” he said. “But I always put it back together and it always worked faster with less parts.”

He attended DeVry to further explore his appreciation for electronics. He came up with the Quick Wipe Glove three years ago. Upon graduation in late 2006, he pursued his vision with the help of girlfriend Emily Long.

“She is responsible for 95 percent of the stitches in this glove,” said Gade. “She’s supported me completely this entire time. There was a time I wasn’t working, and she helped pay all the bills and get all the materials we needed. I wouldn’t be as far without her.”

As he touts his invention, Gade makes a living where he can. He delivers pizzas for the recently opened Giordano’s, but hopes to land a job more in line with his interests soon. The waiting hasn’t dampened the inventor’s confidence in the least.

“If I know I can do it, I’m going to do it faster and better than the next person,” said Gade.

If all goes according to plan, Gade hopes to prove his idea’s worth and sell that patent to the likes of marker manufacturer Sanford. Then, he’ll have the financial backing to start his own company and develop the ideas that pop up in his head “constantly,” he said.

“I want to be one of those people you’re forced to learn about in history class,” said Gade. “Then I know I actually changed the world.”