CHAPTER27:NEVERSAYNEVER About Thirteen-year...
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THURSDAY 2/22/07 ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS NEWS 15 THE CROSSING By Kevin Vaughan n Photos by Chris Schneider n Rocky Mountain News CHAPTER 27: NEVER SAY NEVER Thirteen-year-old Cheryl Brown lay in her hospital bed, nasty scrapes on her face, a cut swerving across her right cheek, heavy sandbags jammed up and down her sides to keep her from moving. BOB TALKIN/ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS/1961 Paralyzed: Cheryl Brown, photographed in her hospital bed on Dec. 14, 1961, could not move her legs for several days after a train smashed into her school bus. But after a doctor told her she would never walk again, she regained the feeling in her legs and was soon on her feet again. About this series In just seconds, 20 children died, and a community was devastated. At 7:59 a.m. on Dec. 14, 1961, a high-speed passenger train smashed into a school bus carrying 36 students in the farm country of Weld County. It was the worst traffic accident in Colorado history. Only 16 children and the bus driver survived. We cannot know how today’s tragedies — Columbine, Oklahoma City, Sept. 11 — will ripple over a lifetime. But 45 years after that bitter morning outside Greeley, we can see — if not fully understand — how a single moment has the power to uncoil through decades, shaping people for the rest of their lives. Online at RockyMountainNews.com n Video: When a doctor told Cheryl Brown she would never walk again, she proved him wrong. n Slide show: Family albums, portraits. n Discuss: Talk at 11 a.m. today with reporter Kevin Vaughan, share your thoughts on the series and read others’ comments at RockyTalk Live. n Sources: Read an annotated version of the story with sources of information listed. n Earlier chapters: See previous installments in the 33-part series. n Contact reporter Kevin Vaughan: vaughank@RockyMountain News.com or 303-954-5019 n Contact photographer Chris Schneider: schneiderc@RockyMountain News.com or 303-954-2270 n Video of Greeley forum: To see a recording of the forum held Wednesday night by the City of Greeley Museums, go to RockyMountainNews.com after 11 a.m. today. Members of the Rocky team that produced The Crossing discussed the series and heard from the community. It had been four days since she’d climbed onto her school bus, saved a seat for her friend, Nancy Alles, and pulled out a book to study for a social studies test. Four days since a speeding pas- senger train had sliced through the bus, hurling her into the mid- dle of a gravel road, paralyzed. She’d felt utterly helpless, unable to brush the rocks out from be- neath her, unable to ward off the bitter cold with her coat bunched up under her arms. She’d turned her head, seen Nancy lying askew on the road, hurt but alive, and wondered why she wasn’t pushing her skirt back down. In the hospital, Cheryl had thrown up so much that the nurs- es kept a kidney-shaped stainless steel pan on the pillow next to her head. Her knees and elbows were skinned raw. Her back was bro- ken. She could not move her legs. A bandage covered a gash in her lower lip. She didn’t yet know it, but a surgeon would operate on her lip several times in the coming weeks. Each time, he would ex- tract something new — a hunk of rubber, a piece of gravel, a sliver of glass, part of a tooth. He started calling it her trash can. “I wonder what garbage we’ll find today,” he’d say each time. But on this day — Dec. 18, 1961 — she lay motionless as Dr. Cloyd Arford, a professional, friendly man with dark brown hair, en- tered her room. He stepped up close to her bed. “Cheryl,” he said gently, “we have some bad news.” “What’s that?” she asked. “I’m afraid you’re not going to walk again,” he told her. “You’re a liar,” she blurted. A day later, a tingle in her legs told her that the feeling was re- turning. A day after that, doctors put her in a body cast. By the end of the week, she was on her feet, walking. Many years later, she would summon that same determina- tion — that absolute refusal to be- lieve that the worst might happen — to get through another crisis. ‘To my real friend’ Cheryl’s entire childhoodunfold- ed on the 80-acre farm where her parents tended 100 dairy cows. It sat on the cor- ner of two coun- ty roads, a half mile from a dairy operated by her grandpar- ents and a mile from the Auburn school. She grew up with her two broth- ers: Clarence, who was four years older, and Don, who was six years older. Her mother was of German de- scent, her father half-Swedish, half-English. Work and church and 4-H dominated life. Her moth- er served them sauerkraut and pork with mashed potatoes — one of her dad’s favorites — and chick- en soup with egg dumplings, and schnit soup, a sweet mixture of apricots, peaches and plums. After the accident, hundreds of cards poured in from all over the country, from people she never met, from people who simply cared. They were from Para- mount, Calif., and Rochester, N.Y., and Raleigh, N.C., and Olathe, Kan. Many were addressed to her in Room 319 at Weld County Gener- al Hospital. Despite the support and good- will surrounding her, as Cheryl’s body mended, she tried to block out the grief of losing so many friends. “When I was younger, to keep my sanity, I had to try and forget it, to put it in the back of my mind,” she says. “It’s hard to have to live with something like that. Because when you think about all the destruction, it hurts to know there was that much pain at that time.” She graduated from high school in Greeley and worked as a li- censed practical nurse. She mar- ried and moved to Fort Collins, where her husband, Gene Hiatt, worked for Woodward Governor Co. On March 23, 1976, Cheryl and Gene had a daughter, Katrina. Today, time has made memo- ries of the accident much easier to bear. She can look at those sympa- thy cards stored in a sewing table drawer in her basement, some in a small paper sack, others loose. She can remember the children who died, and now and then, she pulls out a small black-and-white school picture of one of them, Lin- da Alles. On the back, Linda had written, “To my real friend.” A daughter in trouble In the fall of 2002, Katrina Hiatt got sick. At first, it wasn’t even enough to interfere with her job tracking computer hardware for the Otis Elevator Co. in Bristol, Conn. Just an innocent, occasion- al cough. As the days passed, it grew worse. Several visits to doc- tors didn’t help. Drugs didn’t help. Eventually, doctors considered two possibilities: tuberculosis or cancer. The test for TB came back nega- tive, so, during the week of Thanksgiving, doctors scheduled ex- ploratory surgery. They removed a lymph node in the 26-year-old’s neck and sent it to a lab for tests. Back in Fort Collins, Cheryl fought fear. She wanted to be in Connecticut with her daughter, but Katrina persuaded her to wait until she got a diagno- sis. In early December, Katrina went to see her doctor to have the stitches pluckedout of her neck. The doctor told her she had Hodgkin’s lymphoma, a cancer of the lymph system. She’ll never for- get the phrase he used to describe it: “Stage4A.” Stage 4, as in the final stage of the disease. Bad. A, as in all con- tained in one place. Good — at least as good as it gets with cancer. The doctorsaid her chancesof re- covery were strong, maybe as high as 90 percent. But not everyone who gets Hodgkin’s gets well. The next day, Cheryl boarded a plane. She moved into Katrina’s one-bedroomapartment. The news stunned Cheryl and Gene. Neither had much history of cancerin their families. Katrina had been a fiend about staying healthy. She’d been a ballet dancer, and she thought she was in top physical condition. Now she faced the pros- pect of a long fight that she might not win. But, like her mother so many years before her, she had determina- tion on her side. Fighting again The Friday be- fore Christmas 2002, Katrina en- dured her first che- motherapy treat- ment. Cheryl spent the next 11 months in Connecticut. Katrina underwent chemo every two weeks, sitting for hours while a toxic mix of drugs dripped into her veins. The mix- ture killed cancer cells. It also rav- aged her immune system. Cheryl cooked a precise regi- men of meals aimed at keeping up Katrina’s strength, at keeping her from getting sick. Cheryl wondered constantly whether her only child would get well. She learned a lot along the way — about Hodgkin’s, about things she could do to help her daughter fight it. Even about her- self. Today, Cheryl looks back on that time with a mixture of relief and awe. She is a woman who uses laughter to fight off nervousness or uncomfortable feelings. She is not laughing now. “You learn that you have to do what you have to do,” Cheryl says, “and you can’t say, ‘Poor me’ or ‘Woe is me.’ You just do it and keep going, because if you don’t, she’d never made it. You had to keep say- ing, ‘You’re going to get well.’ “And there were times, trust me, after her chemo when I don’t think she ever cared if she got well, be- cause of the nausea and every- thing.” She brushes off comparisons be- tween her daughter’s strength and the moxie Cheryl showed when she looked her doctor in the eye and told him he was a liar. “To me, hers was so much harder of a fight than what I had,” she says. Katrina shrugs it off. “You don’t know what you can fight through until you have to,” she says. That year gave Katrina two gifts: her health and a new relationship with her mother. “How many people as an adult get to know their parents again?” she asks. Katrina returned to Colorado in December with her boyfriend to spend Christmas with her parents. She broughtgifts — a basketof Con- necticut wine for her mother; shirts, cologne and a watch for her father. But there was one gift they all shared that was better than the rest: three years of remission. FRIDAY: A Christmas wish Philosophical: Cheryl Brown Hiatt, outside her Fort Collins home, is at peace with the train-bus crash and her daughter’s illness. “We have to accept our lives as they are,” she says. “You can’t change what’s been. You can only change what you do from here forward.” Struggle: Katrina Hiatt, like her mother, battled back from a health crisis. Cheryl Brown 14 NEWS ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS THURSDAY 2/22/07
Transcript of CHAPTER27:NEVERSAYNEVER About Thirteen-year...
THURSDAY 2/22/07 ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS NEWS 15
THE CROSSING By Kevin Vaughann Photos by Chris Schneidern Rocky Mountain News
CHAPTER 27: NEVER SAY NEVER
Thirteen-year-old Cheryl Brown lay in her hospital bed,nasty scrapes on her face, a cut swerving acrossher right cheek, heavy sandbags jammed up and downher sides to keep her from moving.
BOB TALKIN/ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS/1961
Paralyzed: Cheryl Brown, photographed in her hospital bed on Dec. 14, 1961, could not move herlegs for several days after a train smashed into her school bus. But after a doctor told her she wouldnever walk again, she regained the feeling in her legs and was soon on her feet again.
Aboutthis series
In just seconds, 20 children died,and a community was devastated.
At 7:59 a.m. on Dec. 14, 1961, ahigh-speed passenger trainsmashed into a school buscarrying 36 students in the farmcountry of Weld County. It was theworst traffic accident in Coloradohistory. Only 16 children and thebus driver survived.
We cannot know how today’stragedies — Columbine,Oklahoma City, Sept. 11 — willripple over a lifetime.
But 45 years after that bittermorning outside Greeley, we cansee — if not fully understand —how a single moment has thepower to uncoil through decades,shaping people for the rest of theirlives.
Onlineat RockyMountainNews.com
n Video: When a doctor toldCheryl Brown she would neverwalk again, she proved himwrong.n Slide show: Family albums,portraits.n Discuss: Talk at 11 a.m. todaywith reporter Kevin Vaughan,share your thoughts on the seriesand read others’ comments atRockyTalk Live.n Sources: Read an annotatedversion of the story with sourcesof information listed.n Earlier chapters: See previousinstallments in the 33-part series.
n Contact reporterKevin Vaughan:[email protected] or 303-954-5019n Contact photographerChris Schneider:[email protected] or 303-954-2270
n Video of Greeley forum: To seea recording of the forum heldWednesday night by the City ofGreeley Museums, go toRockyMountainNews.com after 11a.m. today. Members of the Rockyteam that produced The Crossingdiscussed the series and heardfrom the community.
It had been four days sinceshe’dclimbedontoher schoolbus,saved a seat for her friend, NancyAlles, and pulled out a book tostudyfor a socialstudiestest.
Four days since a speeding pas-senger train had sliced throughthe bus, hurling her into the mid-dle of a gravel road, paralyzed.She’d felt utterly helpless, unableto brush the rocks out from be-neath her, unable to ward off thebitter cold with her coat bunchedup under her arms. She’d turnedher head, seen Nancy lying askewon the road, hurt but alive, andwonderedwhy she wasn’tpushingher skirtbackdown.
In the hospital, Cheryl hadthrown up so much that the nurs-es kept a kidney-shaped stainlesssteel pan on the pillow next to herhead.
Her knees and elbows wereskinned raw. Her back was bro-ken.She couldnotmove her legs.
A bandagecovereda gash in herlower lip. She didn’t yet know it,but a surgeon would operate onher lip severaltimes in the comingweeks. Each time, he would ex-tract something new — a hunk ofrubber,a pieceof gravel,a sliver ofglass, part of a tooth. He startedcallingit her trashcan.
“I wonder what garbage we’llfind today,”he’d say eachtime.
But on this day — Dec. 18, 1961— she lay motionless as Dr. CloydArford, a professional, friendlyman with dark brown hair, en-teredher room.
He steppedup closeto her bed.“Cheryl,” he said gently, “we
havesome badnews.”“What’sthat?”she asked.“I’m afraid you’re not going to
walkagain,”he toldher.“You’rea liar,”she blurted.A day later, a tingle in her legs
told her that the feeling was re-turning. A day after that, doctorsput her in a body cast. By the endof the week, she was on her feet,walking.
Many years later, she wouldsummon that same determina-tion — that absoluterefusal to be-lieve that the worst might happen— to get throughanothercrisis.
‘To my real friend’Cheryl’sentirechildhoodunfold-
ed on the 80-acre farm where herparents tended 100 dairy cows. It
sat on the cor-ner of two coun-ty roads, a halfmile from adairy operatedbyhergrandpar-ents and a mile
fromthe Auburnschool.She grew up with her two broth-
ers: Clarence, who was four yearsolder, and Don, who was six yearsolder.
Her mother was of German de-scent, her father half-Swedish,half-English. Work and churchand 4-Hdominatedlife.Her moth-er served them sauerkraut andpork with mashed potatoes— oneof her dad’s favorites— and chick-en soup with egg dumplings, andschnit soup, a sweet mixture ofapricots,peachesand plums.
After the accident, hundreds ofcards poured in from all over thecountry, from people she nevermet, from people who simplycared. They were from Para-mount, Calif., and Rochester,N.Y., and Raleigh, N.C., andOlathe,Kan.
Many were addressed to her inRoom 319 at Weld County Gener-al Hospital.
Despite the support and good-will surrounding her, as Cheryl’sbody mended, she tried to blockout the grief of losing so manyfriends.
“When I was younger, to keepmy sanity, I had to try and forgetit, to put it in the back of mymind,” she says. “It’s hard to haveto live with something like that.Because when you think about allthe destruction, it hurts to knowthere was that much pain at thattime.”
She graduatedfrom high schoolin Greeley and worked as a li-censed practical nurse. She mar-ried and moved to Fort Collins,where her husband, Gene Hiatt,worked for Woodward GovernorCo.
On March 23, 1976, Cheryl andGenehad a daughter,Katrina.
Today, time has made memo-ries of the accidentmuch easier tobear.Shecanlookat thosesympa-thy cards stored in a sewing tabledrawerin her basement,some in asmallpapersack,othersloose.
She can remember the childrenwho died, and now and then, shepulls out a small black-and-whiteschoolpictureof one of them, Lin-da Alles.
On the back, Linda had written,“Tomy real friend.”
A daughter in troubleIn the fall of 2002, Katrina Hiatt
got sick. At first, it wasn’t evenenough to interfere with her jobtracking computer hardware forthe Otis Elevator Co. in Bristol,Conn. Just an innocent, occasion-al cough. As the days passed, itgrew worse. Several visits to doc-
tors didn’t help. Drugs didn’thelp.
Eventually, doctors consideredtwo possibilities: tuberculosis orcancer.
The test for TB came back nega-tive, so, during theweek of Thanksgiving,doctors scheduled ex-ploratory surgery.They removed alymph node in the26-year-old’sneck andsentittoa labfortests.
Backin FortCollins,Cherylfoughtfear.
She wanted to be inConnecticut with herdaughter, but Katrinapersuaded her to waituntil she got a diagno-sis.
In early December,Katrina went to seeher doctor to have the stitchespluckedoutofherneck.
The doctor told her she hadHodgkin’s lymphoma, a cancer ofthe lymph system. She’ll never for-get the phrase he used to describeit:“Stage4A.”
Stage 4, as in the final stage ofthe disease. Bad. A, as in all con-tained in one place. Good — atleastasgoodas itgetswithcancer.
Thedoctorsaidherchancesofre-covery were strong, maybe as highas 90 percent. But not everyonewhogetsHodgkin’sgetswell.
The next day, Cheryl boarded aplane. She moved into Katrina’sone-bedroomapartment.
The news stunned Cheryl andGene. Neither had much history of
cancerintheirfamilies.Katrina had been a fiend about
stayinghealthy.She’d been a ballet dancer, and
shethoughtshewasin topphysicalcondition.Now she faced the pros-
pect of a long fightthat she might notwin.
But, like hermother so manyyears before her,she had determina-tiononherside.
Fighting againThe Friday be-
fore Christmas2002, Katrina en-dured her first che-motherapy treat-ment.
Cheryl spent thenext 11 months in
Connecticut. Katrina underwentchemoevery two weeks,sitting forhours while a toxic mix of drugsdripped into her veins. The mix-ture killed cancercells. It also rav-agedher immunesystem.
Cheryl cooked a precise regi-men of meals aimed at keeping upKatrina’s strength, at keeping herfromgettingsick.
Cheryl wondered constantlywhether her only child would getwell. She learned a lot along theway — about Hodgkin’s, aboutthings she could do to help herdaughter fight it. Even about her-self.
Today,Cheryl looksbackonthattime with a mixture of relief andawe. She is a woman who uses
laughterto fight off nervousnessoruncomfortable feelings. She is notlaughingnow.
“You learn that you have to dowhat you have to do,” Cheryl says,“and you can’t say, ‘Poor me’ or‘Woeis me.’ You just do it and keepgoing, because if you don’t, she’dnevermadeit.Youhadtokeepsay-ing, ‘You’regoingtogetwell.’
“And there were times, trust me,after her chemo when I don’t thinkshe ever cared if she got well, be-cause of the nausea and every-thing.”
She brushesoff comparisonsbe-tweenher daughter’sstrength andthemoxieCheryl showedwhenshelooked her doctor in the eye andtoldhimhewasa liar.
“Tome,herswassomuchharderofa fightthanwhatIhad,”shesays.
Katrina shrugs it off. “You don’tknow what you can fight throughuntilyouhaveto,”shesays.
That yeargaveKatrinatwogifts:her health and a new relationshipwithhermother.
“How many people as an adultget to know their parents again?”sheasks.
Katrina returned to Colorado inDecember with her boyfriend tospend Christmas with her parents.Shebroughtgifts—abasketofCon-necticut wine for her mother;shirts, cologne and a watch for herfather.
But there was one gift they allshared that was better than therest:threeyearsofremission.
FRIDAY: A Christmas wish
Philosophical: Cheryl Brown Hiatt, outside her Fort Collins home, is at peace with the train-bus crash and her daughter’s illness. “Wehave to accept our lives as they are,” she says. “You can’t change what’s been. You can only change what you do from here forward.”
Struggle: KatrinaHiatt, like her mother,battled back from ahealth crisis.
Cheryl Brown
14 NEWS ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS THURSDAY 2/22/07
