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Tuesday, August 26, 2014

About my grandfather, ALS & the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge


My memories of my grandfather, John Simpson Alexander Ettinger, are filtered by time &  conversation & photos.  

Memory is like that.  It is not always clear or concise.  It is created by the influence of who we talk to & interact with & who we become.

But some memories are clear.  I remember when my grandfather took me to Love Field in Dallas to watch the planes.  He worked for Braniff Airlines.  He was still able to walk then. 

I remember climbing into his lap when he was in the wheelchair.  He always kept a roll of Lifesavers – Pep-o-Mint - in the shirt of his pajama pockets.  Perhaps he did this before he was in the wheelchair.  I don’t have that memory.

And there is the memory of letting me plant watermelon in the flower beds.  But I am sure I have that particular memory because I was told the story over the years by my mother.

I do not remember when he built a sandbox for me the backyard of the house on Wylie Drive he & my grandmother Helen shared.  I hold the memory of his greenhouse & the flats to start seedlings from old slides & photos & stories.

He was the only son of a farmer, an only son who left the farm in Pennsylvania & discovered my grandmother in Texas.  He always had a garden, he always planted.

My memories of grandfather outside a wheelchair have faded from when he & my grandmother were living across the street on Wylie Drive.  I don’t remember visiting him when he was no longer mobile, in a bed, stricken by ALS.

Perhaps because I was very young, my parents Jack & Jean decided to shield it from me.  Perhaps I went.  Perhaps I saw.  Perhaps I have filed that memory in a long forgotten filing cabinet.  I ask Jean & she tells me that she doesn’t remember.  She tells me other stories that she does remember & I listen. 

After my grandfather had to leave the house on Wylie Drive for a hospital, I do have another memory.  The look on my father’s face when he lost his own father.  I was too young to attend a funeral, but I remember that look in the aftermath.

ALS is an insidious disease.  It attacks the body & leaves the mind intact. 

As I watch the ALS Ice Bucket challenge, I am always reminded of my grandfather.  And I am reminded of the purpose of the challenge – to raise awareness for ALS, to contribute to  research for a disease that has no cure or treatment.

All the videos, all the internet sensation supporting this cause has raised an unprecedented amount of money for ALS research.  To date:  $80 million.  Amazing.

But, at the same time, there are posts of challenges to very young children, who cannot possibly fathom the stories behind the challenge & who have to be coached by their parents recording the video.

And too often, no one mentions ALS or the ALS website where viewers can donate.

The ice bucket challenge did not go viral as a game.  It went viral as a cause.

If other worthy causes use the ice bucket challenge to raise funds - wonderful & I support it.  It worked for ALS & I hope it works for other diseases that need a jolt in awareness & funds.

For me, all that ice is about my grandfather.  John Simpson Alexander Ettinger.

                       
http://www.alsa.org/news/archive/ice-bucket-challenge.html



Friday, August 1, 2014

Why Houston & Jaki Jean love Michael Strahan



On September 14, 1927, the Houston Public School Board funded two junior colleges, one for whites & one for Negroes & the Colored Junior College was born.

In 1934, the Houston School Board changed the junior college to a four-year college & renamed it Houston College for Negroes.  Classes were held in Yates High School.

In the summer of 1945, the Houston College for Negroes added a graduate program & was quickly outgrowing its space at Yates High.

And then philanthropists like Hugh Roy Cullen stepped in & aided the purchase of 53 acres in Houston’s Third Ward & philanthropists like Mrs. T.M. Fairchild & Mr.& Mrs. C.A. Dupree & a host of men & women of color in the community came together to fund the first structure on the new campus, a structure which is still operating today.

In March of 1947, in response to a law suit brought against the University of Texas law school by an applicant of color, the Texas legislature, believing that the concept of separate but equal would apply, created a law school & the Houston College for Negroes was renamed the Texas State University for Negroes.

In 1951, after students petitioned the Texas legislature, the Texas State University for Negroes became Texas Southern University.

http://www.tsu.edu/About/History.php*  Although I have heard bits & pieces of this history over the years – I owe this recitation to the Texas University website.  I pray I have been accurate.

Michael Strahan played football in Houston.  First at Westbury High School, then at Texas Southern University.   The only school to offer him a scholarship.  He caught the eye of the NFL & got drafted by the Giants & now has a Super Bowl ring.

None of that, not the fact that Michael Strahan holds the record for number of sacks in a season or his Super Bowl ring, is the reason why I admire this man.

It is because of a speech he delivered in May of 2013 at Texas Southern University when he received an honorary doctorate.

At the end of the speech, he told the graduates: 

I am Michael Strahan.  And I am Texas Southern University.

Because he is both.  And he stood before a group of graduates & acknowledged his family, his faith & the University. 

Tomorrow, Michael Strahan will be formally inducted into the Football Hall of Fame. 
His family, Texas Southern University, & Houston could not be more proud.

The Texas Southern University band, The Ocean of Soul, will be performing in the celebration. 

This is why I love Michael Strahan.  Because he reminds me of why something that happened on September 14, 1927, still matters.

Houston is a city with a history of great universities:  Rice University, University of Houston, St. Thomas University,  Houston Baptist University & Texas Southern University.

Texas Southern University, that descendent of the Colored Junior college, continues to offer the opportunity for an education to a diverse group of students in an amazing number of fields.  And do it with well deserved pride.

What happens in the past, whether in the fall of 1927 in Houston, or yesterday, matters.

Congratulations, Michael. 


Although, as a Texans fan, I have high hopes for J.J. Watt to sack a few more.