Chip: A Paragon of Courage

On a warm spring day after school hours, I was in the classroom grading exams. The door was open to allow for better air circulation. I heard the familiar whine of an electric-powered wheelchair approaching from the hallway. A pang of panic surged through my body. I instantly knew who it was and what he wanted. The chair motored into the room with its broadly smiling occupant. 

Chip was a junior who was completing my beginning biology course. He was very bright, very curious, and was coping with DMD, an X-linked genetic disorder. Two-thirds of cases caused by inherited DMD genetic mutations are passed down from mothers to sons. The remaining one-third of the cases are caused by spontaneous mutations that occur in the X chromosome. Mutations in the DMD gene are most commonly whole-exon deletions.

He had lost all of his appendicular motor skills, except the ability to move his right hand and forearm. He was fiercely independent and managed to get through each day by manipulating a small joystick with his thumb and index finger. 

Chip spoke very economically, avoiding unnecessary words, and so he went straight to the point. 

“Mr. Young,†he said, “I would like to enroll in next year’s Biodesign class.†

I knew the statement was forthcoming, but there was no way to prepare for it. I was suddenly unable do or think anything. Chip thoughtfully read the panic in my face and allowed me the time to recover my senses. When I did, my heart was racing, and my mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. 

After a very anxious moment, I got my brain and mouth to respond. “Chip,†I muttered, “you have seen one or more of the slide shows that chronicled the trips. I am guessing that 90 percent of the Yosemite trip experience occurs on the hiking trails. I have no idea of how to solve that challenge.†

I could not have known ahead of time, but I was about to undergo one of the greatest learning moments that I would ever experience. 

Chip smiled warmly up at me and said, 

“So, you think I can’t handle disappointment. I am physically challenged, but I am not dumb or naïve. Of course, I realize that the trips focus on the hikes, which I will not be able to do. However, I have learned that 10 percent of something is 10 times greater than nothing. And who knows, maybe 10 percent for me will equal 90 percent for someone who can walk. Furthermore, I have done some research and found out that there are over 30 miles of wheelchair-accessible trails that Noah [his nurse/aide] and I could take. There are nightly campfires at Curry Village and daily guided walks and ranger/naturalist talks. Who knows (he laughed), I might learn more than you guys. I could participate in the first circle you are certain to have, attend the first campfire ceremony, and sleep in a tent. 

Mr. Young, I promise I won’t be a burden to you, and I am certainly not looking for sympathy. It’s just that my doctor’s prognosis is that I will probably not live much beyond 22 years. Watching the slide shows and listening to your stories made my heart jump for joy. I knew I was taking a big risk by coming here to ask for permission, however, I figured the worst that you could do was say no, and I could handle that.” 

Earlier classes taught me how to cry. Actually, they created many deeply touching moments that left me no other option. I was so utterly overwhelmed by Chip’s courage, honesty, and wisdom that I nearly wept. I felt embarrassed, pathetically weak, and shameful. However, I sensed that if I fell apart, he would be embarrassed. 

Finally, I said, “Chip, I had to quit the high school baseball team because I could not hit a curveball. You threw a curve at me, and although it frightened me, you have given me a clue as how to handle it. You obviously have done your homework, and your plan is brilliant. I am certain the class will welcome you with open arms.†

Chip graciously thanked me, hung a U-turn in his chair, and motored out of the room. 

I did not mention our conversation, but the next morning, out on the quad, Chip became the hot topic of conversation. Generally, the students were shocked that Chip would become a member of next year’s Bioidesign Class.

The following fall, on the first day of class, fortunately my prediction had been spot on. The Class had a rich tradition of being open, loving and caring as they explored the physical—mental and spiritual nature of man. I could not have planned it but each incoming student approached Chip’s wheelchair and gave him a welcoming hug.

After six weeks of intense preparation the Class arrived at Yosemite Valley. The campsite was quickly established and we navigated out to nearby meadow for our first circle.

Each Class (and trip) was unique, but this year I opted to share part of an interview with Emmett Kelly, arguably the world’s greatest clown. 

“What’s the hardest thing in the world to be? I can tell you in one word: yourself.
Especially if what you are is different from the crowd. But I’ll guarantee this: If you can find the courage to be yourself, to be the person God intended you to be, you are going to come out all right.†

I glanced over at Chip and saw the countenance of a young man that simply defied description. I could only hope that in his spirit world, for one ecstatic moment, he was freed from the gravitational bondage of his wheelchair. 

Although their time spent together was limited, the time they shared produced countless, priceless lessons. Noah brought along a lightweight wheelchair and both girls and boys playfully jostled for the privilege to push Chip along ADA trails. Chip beamed with delight. 

His first major revelation occurred at bedtime. He underwent a process that humbled his classmates. So many simple details of their pre-bedtime routine seemed pathetic compared to what Chip had to undergo. 

Noah had to brush Chip’s teeth, take care of his toilet needs, give him a sponge bath, undress and help him into his pajamas and wrestle him into his sleeping bag. With his tasks completed, Noah joined the fire ring and the class shouted a resounding, “Good night Chip!†He responded with a joyous, “Thank you,†from his tent.

The next day at daybreak, The Class embarked on a 3-day, 24-mile roundtrip hike with a demanding 5,000’ gain in elevation. The hike took on a whole new feeling for each hiker who remembered Chip back at base camp, unable to take a single step. Somehow, it felt like they were carrying his spirit to the top of Half Dome.

After returning home students were given two weeks to process their adventure and compose an expository essay describing what they saw, heard, touched, tasted and smelled.

The students had established a goal of excellence for their post-trip papers. Chip understood this, perhaps better than any student before or after him. His reflections of celebrating life, nature, and the importance of camaraderie were crystal clear and amazed us. Even so, he stunned us when he invoked John Muir:  

“On no subject are our ideas more warped and pitiable than on death. Instead of sympathy, the friendly union of life and death so apparent in Nature, we are taught that death is an accident, a deplorable punishment for the oldest sin, the archenemy of life, etc. Town children, especially, are steeped in this death-orthodoxy, for the natural beauties of death are seldom seen or taught in towns … But let the children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life, and the grave has no victory, for it never fights. All is divine harmony.†

He continued, “I signed up for the class because I thought it would be fun; I had no idea that it would help prepare me to face the end of my life. Such great feelings of happiness, goodness, and love have filled my heart and warmed my soul. John Denver’s song, Love Is Everywhere, was right on. Love was everywhere at Yosemite. It was there in the cheers, tears, laughter, hugs, songs, and metaphors. I saw it, heard it, touched it, and felt it. You guys have not only helped me prepare for dying, but you have also encouraged me to make every living minute count.†

The circle was emotionally drained, yet erupted with thunderous applause as they gave him the only standing ovation in the history of the class. Understandably, no one wanted to follow his presentation, and so we quietly reflected and tried to absorb some of his wisdom and wonderful lines.

After Chip graduated, he moved to UC Berkeley and into an independent-living complex which offered assistance in mornings and evenings. He motored his chair up and down the hilly sidewalks of the campus to attend classes. Several times his chair slipped off of disability nonconforming curbs and dumped him. He was greatly appreciative to passersby who were both thoughtful and strong enough to right his chair and get him safely repositioned. 

However, Chip’s doctors were right. We read in the local paper that Chip died at the age of 22. A week or so later, when the phone rang, Christie yelled, “It’s probably for you and if Chip’s mom wants you to speak at the funeral, don’t you dare tell her no!†It was an odd thing; for someone who made a living by talking in front of people. I was very uncomfortable speaking before nonstudent groups. Even so, it was a huge honor to share some of Chip’s qualities, lessons, and reflections. His celebration of life was followed by a luncheon at the ranch where he lived. Many of his friends from “Cal†were driven 60 miles north to St. Helena. Many of them were in various states of decline, yet all possessed an amazingly optimistic attitude. Their conversations were terse, pinpoint accurate, and revealed stunning clarity, as if saying, “I may not have much more time, so let’s focus on what’s really important.

Lofty thoughts on top of Half Dome and deep thoughts in the Grand Canyon were as natural as breathing. Emerson was correct, and frequently, student minds and the extraordinary scenery were engaged in a fantastic dance. Sensations of euphoria were common, and even if they were transitory, they often led to the feeling that all was right with the universe and they really would “all live happily ever after.†

However, coming down off of the mountain or up from Grand Canyon, meant that they had to reenter civilization with all of the galling physical, mental, and spiritual diseases that Muir and Throeau warned about. Typically, entire classes were caught up in a state of natural wonder and awe; however, one by one, each would “crash†after he/she returned home. 

Did John Muir truly believe his words that if children walked with nature, “death would have no stingâ€? Did he not weep bitterly when his beloved Louie Wanda died before he did? Would he not have wept if one of his cherished daughters had predeceased him? Loren Eiseley discovered many joys and wonders of the natural world; he also warned about potential terrors that haunted human beings. 

In the morning after Chip’s celebration of life, I sat at my office desk with tears trickling down my cheeks. Then my eyes drifted up to a Crystal Gayle poster on the wall that read:

“Smile if it kills you
Find some kind little things to say
‘Cause there is no doubt when you sort it all out
It’s too good to throw away.â€

I imagined that it was a message from Chip and managed a pained smile and decided to follow his advice and try to celebrate the new day.

Lowell H. Young
Author: Biodesign Out For A Walk