BEING BRAVE DAVE
A caring network of friends makes a brave man proud
To hear his friends talk, you'd think Dave Gearing is the only hero. After all, he's the one who's been bravely battling multiple sclerosis for the past 24 years. But there's a whole group of heroes in this story—banded together in a special fellowship.Take John Lynch of Bethesda, Maryland, who calls himself Dave's "Sunday Afternoon Guy." Despite a demanding law career, plus a family that includes three youngsters, John drives the 28-mile round trip to and from Dave's home in Gaithersburg every Sunday to help him. He also goes there one night during the week, whenever he can. "It means missing some of my kids' activities," he says, "but my family's very understanding."
John's friendship with Dave goes back to 1976, when they were in their 20s and in law school at St. Mary's University in San Antonio, Texas. Two years after graduation, Dave was diagnosed with chronic progressive multiple sclerosis.
"If some people got a diagnosis like that, they'd jump off a building," John says. "But Dave decided he would live his life as much as possible. He's got an inner fortitude. I've complained to him much more than he's complained to me!"
Dave, at 50, is divorced and lives alone. His parents have both died, and his two sisters live too far away to be able to help him. Twelve years ago, Dave says, his disability began to really kick in, forcing him to retire from his job as a program analyst with the U.S. Treasury Department. Fortunately, he receives federal disability benefits.
Every Sunday John feeds Dave lunch, because Dave can no longer hold utensils or even a sandwich. Then the two of them watch games on TV. "We talk about how the Redskins are doing and have a couple of Bloody Marys," John says. "If there's no game, there's always a movie to watch."
Enter Tom Branthover of Kensington, Maryland. While playing golf some seven years ago, he met John, who talked about his buddy Dave. "Brave Dave," Tom recalls, referring to a nickname that stems from law-school days and a difficult phone call with a then-girlfriend. To Tom's surprise, Dave turned out to be someone he'd known in childhood.
Tom soon became one of Dave's dedicated caregivers. His job selling education products is flexible enough to allow him to help Dave at least once a week. One day, he found that Dave, who's unable to get out of bed by himself, had lain there for 17 hours. "I cleaned him up," Tom says. "Dave joked, ‘These are the things that try your friendship.'"
Tom also spends a lot of time "fixing things," in particular Dave's two motorized wheelchairs, which constantly break down. Tom loads the broken chair into Dave's oversized van (which has a hydraulic lift) and drives to a company that repairs the chairs. They have to be taken there so often it's fortunate that a third friend, Jim Summerville, can alternate running errands with Tom. Jim lives nearby in Gaithersburg and owned a construction company that Dave worked for many years ago. Now retired, Jim comes by every weekday to give Dave lunch and to read him The Wall Street Journal.
The wheelchair repair place is across from a supermarket, and Dave insists on wheeling across the highway alone to get to the store, where the clerks put the groceries into his backpack. His friends are nervous about these solo ventures but, as Jim notes, "That stubbornness was always there."
They also marvel at how Dave always has a smile on his face. Tom says Dave keeps quoting something his father told him early on in the disease (in earthier language than appears here): "Nobody wants to hear a whiner or complainer, so stay positive."
Despite his worsening disability, Dave's determined to live on his own. He pays a caretaker to come by six mornings a week to get him up, give him breakfast and a shower, and put him on the exercise machine he must work out on daily.
Dave, a Lutheran, goes to church on Sunday morning "when I can find someone who isn't scared to drive my van." He also pays a few big, strong teenagers from his church to come by evenings to put him on the machine again, give him dinner and get him into bed. They set up cups with foods he can handle, such as fruit, alongside the bed, and he has the TV remote next to him. Still, he's basically alone from 7pm until the next morning.
Though in the past some women also helped, these days the caregivers are solely male because, Dave says, he's gotten so "plump" it requires "man-sized strength to bulldoze me around."
There is one female helper-his 11-year-old daughter Anna Marie—who lives nearby with her mother, Dave's ex-wife. "The apple of my eye," as Dave calls her, is very loving and visits him every week. "Children don't care whether you're in a wheelchair or not, they want you to be the parent. Of course," he adds with a grin, "she's facing the teenage years, so this may need revision!"
Seven years ago, John and Tom discussed an idea with Dave-holding a golf tournament to raise money for multiple sclerosis research. They got corporations interested in sponsoring individual greens, and within a few months, the first "Brave Dave Open" was held. That was in June 1998, and it netted $7500, which they donated to the Maryland Multiple Sclerosis Society. The tournaments have been held every June since then, raising over $170,000 (as of 2005). In 2003, they decided to split the money between the MS Society and the American Autoimmune Related Disease Association, since both Tom and John have children with autoimmune diseases.
Dave's idea is to incorporate a reunion, because a lot of the participants grew up nearby, and his old baseball buddies come to town for the event. There are other people Dave wouldn't see otherwise because, as Tom notes frankly, "Some people aren't comfortable visiting a handicapped person."
Dave greets the golfers and makes a speech, thanking everyone and reminding them of how important it is to encourage research that may give hope to millions of others. "After they hear him, everyone wants to sign up for next year," Tom says. In 2005, 150 golfers participated, and they had to turn away others due to lack of golf carts.
During the winter, they hold book fairs. In 2004, contributions of books and money amounted to $8000. "Dave suggested we donate the money to the Darrell Green Youth Life Foundation," Tom says, an association that has a literacy program for after-school tutoring of youngsters who need academic help. As with the tournament proceeds, Dave refuses to accept any money for himself.
The most frustrating thing for Dave's friends, Tom says, "is to see Dave getting worse." A few years ago, Dave was able to maneuver his wheelchairs. Now his left hand has atrophied and his right hand is almost useless. "If he loses the use of it, he won't be able to handle the joystick that moves the chair," Tom says. "He once told me he wished he'd reach a plateau. But he's the last guy to feel sorry for himself. He feels sorry for everyone else."
As much as they give, his friends insist they also receive. Tom notes that seeing how "everything's a major deal" for Dave "teaches you the value of little things." Looking back on their youth, John Lynch says, "Dave was smarter than me and very bit as athletic. He had every gift God's given me. I was lucky enough to have the ability to go on with my life, but he's never said, ‘Why did this happen to me?'"