Showing posts with label Histories Heroes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Histories Heroes. Show all posts
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Monday, January 19, 2009
Histories Heroes
Alberta Williams King
Alberta King was the mother of Martin Luther King, Jr. She was born in 1903 and her father was the pastor of Atlanta's Ebenezer Baptist Church. After her father's death in 1931, Michael King, Alberta's husband, succeeded his father-in-law as Ebenezer's pastor and changed his name to Martin Luther King. Alberta Williams King followed in her mother’s footsteps as a powerful presence in Ebenezer's affairs. She founded and trained the Ebenezer choir and served as organizer and president of the Ebenezer Women's Council from 1950 to 1962. She was also the church's organist from 1932 until 1972.
As a mother, Alberta worked diligently to instill a sense of self-respect within her three children. Martin Luther King, Jr. acknowledged his mother's positive influence on his life and moral development, deeming her "the best mother in the world." In a piece he wrote as a student he described his mother as being "behind the scene setting forth those motherly cares, the lack of which leaves a missing link in life." He remembered his childhood as one of harmony spent "in a very congenial home situation," with parents who "always lived together very intimately." "It is quite easy for me," he wrote, "to think of a God of love mainly because I grew up in a family where love was central and lovely relationships were ever present." Alberta remained close to him throughout his life. Although her soft-spoken nature compelled her to avoid the publicity that accompanied her son's international renown, she remained a constant source of strength to the King family, especially after her dear son was assassinated.
In 1974, as she played the organ during Sunday services at Ebenezer, Alberta Williams King was shot by Marcus Chenault, a twenty-one-year-old man from Ohio who claimed that "all Christians are my enemies." Alberta Williams King died later that day at the age of seventy-one.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Histories Heroes
Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, Sojourner Truth . . .
The following article originally appeared in the September 1912 issue of The Crisis, a journal considered one of the leading forces in "the New Negro Movement and the Harlem Renaissance." Martha Gruening, a Caucasian woman, was a contributed to The Crisis. She worked for such causes as racial justice and peace. She served for a time as secretary to Herbert Seligmann, the director of public relations for the NAACP.
Two Suffrage Movements
by Martha Gruening
The Crisis Vol. 4 (September 1912), pp. 245-247
The woman suffrage movement in England and America really dates from the beginning of the anti-slavery struggle. It was not only contemporaneous with it, but it owes its existence in a large measure to this phase of the struggle for human rights. For it was in the abolitionist ranks that the early suffragists received their training, both as thinkers and propagandists. It was impossible for them to agitate continually for the freedom of the Negro without desiring freedom for themselves, or realizing the parallel between his situation and their own. For if the Negro was a slave the married woman of that day was no less a chattel. She was no longer openly bought and sold, but she had no more than he, a separate legal existence. If the Negro slave belonged to his master, she belonged no less, absolutely, to her husband as did her property, her earnings, and even her children. Both were disfranchised. Both were deprived of education and subject to economic disabilities which they shared with no other class. Even the constitutional right of free speech was not extended to woman when it meant public speech, as she found when she wished to join in the protest against slavery; and even among the abolitionists her presence on platforms and committees caused serious dissensions.
The most striking instance of this was offered at the World's Antislavery Convention held in London in 1840, when the credentials of the American women delegates were refused for no other reason than that they were women. They were, indeed, allowed to be present, but not to have any part in the proceedings. With this they had to be content, as their fellow delegates apparently were, the only exceptions being William Lloyd Garrison and Nathaniel Rogers, the editor of the Herald of Freedom. Of all the men present these two alone seemed to realize that a principle was at stake, and rather than compromise on a point they felt to be vital they resigned their seats in the convention, remaining merely as spectators in the gallery.
This was one of many bitter experiences that taught women the lesson of their own impotence. To many of those rejected delegates, among them Lucretia Mott and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, it brought an overwhelming realization that they were still something less than human in the minds of most men and a conviction that their first duty was to free themselves from the artificial restraints imposed on them because of their sex; that then and then only they could work with men as equals. In these two women, at least, the action of the convention kindled a profound resolve to work toward this end, resulting in an agitation which culminated in the women's rights convention of 1848 and its now famous "declaration of rights." This convention held at Seneca Falls, N.Y., and attended by about 100 men and women, was denounced by the press of that date as "the most unnatural and shocking incident in the history of humanity," while the declaration excited almost universal derision. This document stated the belief of its framers in the equality of men and women and demanded for women education, the liberty of entering all trades and professions, the right to appear in public, the right to "work with men in any good cause," reminiscent of the anti-slavery convention, and, finally, the ballot.
It is significant that of all the resolutions offered at this convention this one alone was not unanimously adopted. It was finally carried by a small majority, but throughout the discussion only two of those present, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Frederick Douglass, warmly favored it. They alone at this stage seem to have grasped the fact that all rights and privileges go back to this most fundamental right. Throughout the storm of ridicule and abuse which broke out after the convention Douglass maintained his position and brilliantly defended the convention in his paper, The North Star.
The early history of the suffrage movement abounds with like incidents showing the help given to the cause by colored people.
Perhaps none is more striking than the story of Sojourner Truth at the Akron convention, quoted from the "Reminiscences of Mrs. Frances D. Gage":
The second day the work waxed warm. Methodist, Baptist, Episcopal, Presbyterian and Universalist ministers came in to hear and discuss the resolutions presented. One claimed superior rights and privileges for man, on the ground of "superior intellect"; another because of the "manhood of Christ"; another gave us a theological view of the "sin of our first mother." Through all these sessions Sojourner Truth, quiet and reticent, sat crouched against the wall, on the corner of the pulpit stairs, her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her broad, hard palms. Again and again, timorous and trembling ones came to me and said with earnestness: "Don't let her speak, Mrs. Gage, it will ruin us."
There were very few in those days who dared "speak in meeting," and the august teachers of the people were seemingly getting the better of us, while the boys in the gallery and the sneerers in the pews were hugely enjoying the discomfiture as they supposed of the "strong minded." Some of the tender-skinned friends were on the point of losing dignity and the atmosphere betokened a storm, when slowly from her seat in the corner rose Sojourner Truth. "Don't let her speak," gasped half a dozen in my ear. She moved slowly and solemnly to the front and turned her great speaking eyes to me. There was a hissing sound of disapprobation, both above and below, as I announced "Sojourner Truth" and begged the audience to keep silence for a few minutes. At her first words there was a profound hush. She spoke in deep tones, not loud, but which reached every ear in the house, and away through the throng at the doors and windows.
"Wall, chilern, whar dar is so much racket dar must be somethin' out o' kilter. I reckon dat 'twixt de Niggers in de Souf and de women in de Norf, de white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what's all dis here talkin' about?
"Dat man ober darsays dat women needs to be helped into carriages, and lifted ober ditches, and to hab de best place everywhar. Nobody eber helps me into carriages or ober mud puddles, or gibs me de best place! And ain't I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm" (and she bared her tremendous arm showing her great muscular power). "I have ploughed, I have planted and gathered into barns and noone could head me -- and ain't I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man -when I could get it -- and bear de lash as well, and ain't I a woman? I have borne thirteen chilern and seen most of dem sold off into slavery, and when I cried out in my mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me; and ain't I a woman?
" Den dey talks 'bout dis ting in de head. What dey call it?" ("Intellect," someone whispered.) "Dat's it, honey. What's dat got to do with Nigger's rights or women's rights? If my cup won't hold but a pint and yours holds a quart, wouldn't you be mean not to let me have my little half measure full?" (And she sent a keen glance at the minister who made the argument. The cheering was long and loud.)
"Den dat man ober dar, he say women can't have as much right as men 'cause Christ wan't a woman! Whar did your Christ come from?" (Rolling thunder couldn't have stilled the crowd as did those deep wonderful tones as she stood with outstretched arms and eyes of fire.) "Whar did your Christ come from? From God and a woman. Man had nothin' to do with him!" What a rebuke that was to the little man!
Lastly she took up the defense of Mother Eve, eliciting almost deafening applause at every word, and finally returned to her corner, leaving many of us with streaming eyes and hearts beating with gratitude. She had taken us up in her strong arms and carried us safely over the slough of difficulty, turning the whole tide in our favor. I have never seen anything like the magical influence which turned the sneers and jeers of an excited crowd into notes of respect and admiration.
If such incidents have been less frequent in recent years it is not because the profound and close connection between the Negro and women movements no longer exists. The parallel between their respective situations is as clear to-day as it was in 1848, but it is too frequently ignored by the reformers on both sides. Both have made some progress toward complete emancipation, the gains of women in the direction of enfranchisement being seemingly the more lasting. Both, however, are still very largely disfranchised, and subject to those peculiar educational, legal and economic discriminations that are the natural results of disfranchisement. And finally, both are being brought with every onward step nearer to the identical temptation -- to sacrifice the principle of true democracy to the winning of a single skirmish. So when one sees a national body of suffragists refusing to pass a universal suffrage resolution, one is compelled to wonder at the logic of those who, knowing so well what disfranchisement means, would allow it to be inflicted on others. "Let us not confuse the issue," these suffragists plead, some in good faith. Yet the confusion, if any, exists only in their minds. Here are not two distinct issues at stake, but merely the vital principle of democracy. Others insist that the granting of the ballot to women must precede all other reforms because "women have waited long enough" and recall the fact that women were forced to stand aside and see Negro men enfranchised at the close of the Civil War. This is undoubtedly true and was quite justly a source of bitter disappointment to the suffrage leaders of that day -a disappointment we should not underestimate -- but merely to reverse the principles in an unjust occurrence is not to work justice. It is strange to see so many suffragists who point with pride to the action of Garrison in withdrawing from the anti-slavery convention, blind to the larger significance of that action. Stranger still to see them following, not Garrison's lead, but that of the convention in their attitude toward colored people, and forgetting that no cause is great to the exclusion of every other. This Robert Purvis, a noted colored leader, understood, as is shown by his noble reply to the suffragists' appeal: "I cannot agree that this or any hour is specially the Negro's. I am an anti-slavery man. With what grace could I ask the women of this country to labor for my enfranchisement and at the same time be unwilling to put forth a hand to remove the tyranny in some respects greater to which they are exposed?" This is what all suffragists must understand, whatever their sex or color -- that all the disfranchised of the earth have a common cause.
The following article originally appeared in the September 1912 issue of The Crisis, a journal considered one of the leading forces in "the New Negro Movement and the Harlem Renaissance." Martha Gruening, a Caucasian woman, was a contributed to The Crisis. She worked for such causes as racial justice and peace. She served for a time as secretary to Herbert Seligmann, the director of public relations for the NAACP.
Two Suffrage Movements
by Martha Gruening
The Crisis Vol. 4 (September 1912), pp. 245-247
The woman suffrage movement in England and America really dates from the beginning of the anti-slavery struggle. It was not only contemporaneous with it, but it owes its existence in a large measure to this phase of the struggle for human rights. For it was in the abolitionist ranks that the early suffragists received their training, both as thinkers and propagandists. It was impossible for them to agitate continually for the freedom of the Negro without desiring freedom for themselves, or realizing the parallel between his situation and their own. For if the Negro was a slave the married woman of that day was no less a chattel. She was no longer openly bought and sold, but she had no more than he, a separate legal existence. If the Negro slave belonged to his master, she belonged no less, absolutely, to her husband as did her property, her earnings, and even her children. Both were disfranchised. Both were deprived of education and subject to economic disabilities which they shared with no other class. Even the constitutional right of free speech was not extended to woman when it meant public speech, as she found when she wished to join in the protest against slavery; and even among the abolitionists her presence on platforms and committees caused serious dissensions.
The most striking instance of this was offered at the World's Antislavery Convention held in London in 1840, when the credentials of the American women delegates were refused for no other reason than that they were women. They were, indeed, allowed to be present, but not to have any part in the proceedings. With this they had to be content, as their fellow delegates apparently were, the only exceptions being William Lloyd Garrison and Nathaniel Rogers, the editor of the Herald of Freedom. Of all the men present these two alone seemed to realize that a principle was at stake, and rather than compromise on a point they felt to be vital they resigned their seats in the convention, remaining merely as spectators in the gallery.
This was one of many bitter experiences that taught women the lesson of their own impotence. To many of those rejected delegates, among them Lucretia Mott and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, it brought an overwhelming realization that they were still something less than human in the minds of most men and a conviction that their first duty was to free themselves from the artificial restraints imposed on them because of their sex; that then and then only they could work with men as equals. In these two women, at least, the action of the convention kindled a profound resolve to work toward this end, resulting in an agitation which culminated in the women's rights convention of 1848 and its now famous "declaration of rights." This convention held at Seneca Falls, N.Y., and attended by about 100 men and women, was denounced by the press of that date as "the most unnatural and shocking incident in the history of humanity," while the declaration excited almost universal derision. This document stated the belief of its framers in the equality of men and women and demanded for women education, the liberty of entering all trades and professions, the right to appear in public, the right to "work with men in any good cause," reminiscent of the anti-slavery convention, and, finally, the ballot.
It is significant that of all the resolutions offered at this convention this one alone was not unanimously adopted. It was finally carried by a small majority, but throughout the discussion only two of those present, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Frederick Douglass, warmly favored it. They alone at this stage seem to have grasped the fact that all rights and privileges go back to this most fundamental right. Throughout the storm of ridicule and abuse which broke out after the convention Douglass maintained his position and brilliantly defended the convention in his paper, The North Star.
The early history of the suffrage movement abounds with like incidents showing the help given to the cause by colored people.
Perhaps none is more striking than the story of Sojourner Truth at the Akron convention, quoted from the "Reminiscences of Mrs. Frances D. Gage":
The second day the work waxed warm. Methodist, Baptist, Episcopal, Presbyterian and Universalist ministers came in to hear and discuss the resolutions presented. One claimed superior rights and privileges for man, on the ground of "superior intellect"; another because of the "manhood of Christ"; another gave us a theological view of the "sin of our first mother." Through all these sessions Sojourner Truth, quiet and reticent, sat crouched against the wall, on the corner of the pulpit stairs, her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her broad, hard palms. Again and again, timorous and trembling ones came to me and said with earnestness: "Don't let her speak, Mrs. Gage, it will ruin us."
There were very few in those days who dared "speak in meeting," and the august teachers of the people were seemingly getting the better of us, while the boys in the gallery and the sneerers in the pews were hugely enjoying the discomfiture as they supposed of the "strong minded." Some of the tender-skinned friends were on the point of losing dignity and the atmosphere betokened a storm, when slowly from her seat in the corner rose Sojourner Truth. "Don't let her speak," gasped half a dozen in my ear. She moved slowly and solemnly to the front and turned her great speaking eyes to me. There was a hissing sound of disapprobation, both above and below, as I announced "Sojourner Truth" and begged the audience to keep silence for a few minutes. At her first words there was a profound hush. She spoke in deep tones, not loud, but which reached every ear in the house, and away through the throng at the doors and windows.
"Wall, chilern, whar dar is so much racket dar must be somethin' out o' kilter. I reckon dat 'twixt de Niggers in de Souf and de women in de Norf, de white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what's all dis here talkin' about?
"Dat man ober darsays dat women needs to be helped into carriages, and lifted ober ditches, and to hab de best place everywhar. Nobody eber helps me into carriages or ober mud puddles, or gibs me de best place! And ain't I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm" (and she bared her tremendous arm showing her great muscular power). "I have ploughed, I have planted and gathered into barns and noone could head me -- and ain't I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man -when I could get it -- and bear de lash as well, and ain't I a woman? I have borne thirteen chilern and seen most of dem sold off into slavery, and when I cried out in my mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me; and ain't I a woman?
" Den dey talks 'bout dis ting in de head. What dey call it?" ("Intellect," someone whispered.) "Dat's it, honey. What's dat got to do with Nigger's rights or women's rights? If my cup won't hold but a pint and yours holds a quart, wouldn't you be mean not to let me have my little half measure full?" (And she sent a keen glance at the minister who made the argument. The cheering was long and loud.)
"Den dat man ober dar, he say women can't have as much right as men 'cause Christ wan't a woman! Whar did your Christ come from?" (Rolling thunder couldn't have stilled the crowd as did those deep wonderful tones as she stood with outstretched arms and eyes of fire.) "Whar did your Christ come from? From God and a woman. Man had nothin' to do with him!" What a rebuke that was to the little man!
Lastly she took up the defense of Mother Eve, eliciting almost deafening applause at every word, and finally returned to her corner, leaving many of us with streaming eyes and hearts beating with gratitude. She had taken us up in her strong arms and carried us safely over the slough of difficulty, turning the whole tide in our favor. I have never seen anything like the magical influence which turned the sneers and jeers of an excited crowd into notes of respect and admiration.
If such incidents have been less frequent in recent years it is not because the profound and close connection between the Negro and women movements no longer exists. The parallel between their respective situations is as clear to-day as it was in 1848, but it is too frequently ignored by the reformers on both sides. Both have made some progress toward complete emancipation, the gains of women in the direction of enfranchisement being seemingly the more lasting. Both, however, are still very largely disfranchised, and subject to those peculiar educational, legal and economic discriminations that are the natural results of disfranchisement. And finally, both are being brought with every onward step nearer to the identical temptation -- to sacrifice the principle of true democracy to the winning of a single skirmish. So when one sees a national body of suffragists refusing to pass a universal suffrage resolution, one is compelled to wonder at the logic of those who, knowing so well what disfranchisement means, would allow it to be inflicted on others. "Let us not confuse the issue," these suffragists plead, some in good faith. Yet the confusion, if any, exists only in their minds. Here are not two distinct issues at stake, but merely the vital principle of democracy. Others insist that the granting of the ballot to women must precede all other reforms because "women have waited long enough" and recall the fact that women were forced to stand aside and see Negro men enfranchised at the close of the Civil War. This is undoubtedly true and was quite justly a source of bitter disappointment to the suffrage leaders of that day -a disappointment we should not underestimate -- but merely to reverse the principles in an unjust occurrence is not to work justice. It is strange to see so many suffragists who point with pride to the action of Garrison in withdrawing from the anti-slavery convention, blind to the larger significance of that action. Stranger still to see them following, not Garrison's lead, but that of the convention in their attitude toward colored people, and forgetting that no cause is great to the exclusion of every other. This Robert Purvis, a noted colored leader, understood, as is shown by his noble reply to the suffragists' appeal: "I cannot agree that this or any hour is specially the Negro's. I am an anti-slavery man. With what grace could I ask the women of this country to labor for my enfranchisement and at the same time be unwilling to put forth a hand to remove the tyranny in some respects greater to which they are exposed?" This is what all suffragists must understand, whatever their sex or color -- that all the disfranchised of the earth have a common cause.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Histories Heroes
I'm really excited! Today I'm launching a new feature here at The Melting Pot called "Histories Heroes." Every so often I will highlight a different inspiring person. It's such a comfort to know that there are people with the courage to act on their principles. I hope to showcase some of those individuals.
Irena Sendler
1910 - 2008
*Learn more here.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
An Amazing Story
At different times in my children's lives I've pushed the boundaries of my endurance and parented beyond my abilities. But 95% of the time I'm well within my comfort zone. The following story has inspired me to do better:
Strongest Dad in the World
Rick Reilly for Sports Illustrated
I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay for their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots. But compared with Dick Hoyt, I suck.
Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in marathons. Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars -- all in the same day.
Dick's also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. on a bike. Makes taking your son bowling look a little lame, right?
And what has Rick done for his father? Not much -- except save his life.
This love story began in Winchester, Mass., 43 years ago, when Rick was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him brain-damaged and unable to control his limbs.
"He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life," Dick says doctors told him and his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. "Put him in an institution."
But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way Rick's eyes followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 they took him to the engineering department at Tufts University and asked if there was anything to help the boy communicate. "No way," Dick says he was told. "There's nothing going on in his brain."
"Tell him a joke," Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a lot was going on in his brain.
Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? "Go Bruins!" And after a high school classmate was paralyzed in an accident and the school organized a charity run for him, Rick pecked out, "Dad, I want to do that."
Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described "porker" who never ran more than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he tried. "Then it was me who was handicapped," Dick says. "I was sore for two weeks."
That day changed Rick's life. "Dad," he typed, "when we were running, it felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!"
And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon.
"No way," Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren't quite a single runner, and they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few years Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, then they found a way to get into the race officially: In 1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the qualifying time for Boston the following year.
Then somebody said, "Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?"
How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn't ridden a bike since he was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick tried.
Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii. It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you think?
Hey, Dick, why not see how you'd do on your own? "No way," he says. Dick does it purely for "the awesome feeling" he gets seeing Rick with a cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together.
This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best time? Two hours, 40 minutes in 1992 -- only 35 minutes off the world record, which, in case you don't keep track of these things, happens to be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the time.
"No question about it," Rick types. "My dad is the Father of the Century."
And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries was 95% clogged. "If you hadn't been in such great shape," one doctor told him, "you probably would've died 15 years ago."
So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other's life.
Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston, and Dick, retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass., always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreaking race every weekend, including this Father's Day.
That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy.
"The thing I'd most like," Rick types, "is that my dad sit in the chair and I push him once."
Sports Illustrated Issue date: June 20, 2005, p. 88
Strongest Dad in the World
Rick Reilly for Sports Illustrated
I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay for their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots. But compared with Dick Hoyt, I suck.
Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in marathons. Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars -- all in the same day.
Dick's also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. on a bike. Makes taking your son bowling look a little lame, right?
And what has Rick done for his father? Not much -- except save his life.
This love story began in Winchester, Mass., 43 years ago, when Rick was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him brain-damaged and unable to control his limbs.
"He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life," Dick says doctors told him and his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. "Put him in an institution."
But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way Rick's eyes followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 they took him to the engineering department at Tufts University and asked if there was anything to help the boy communicate. "No way," Dick says he was told. "There's nothing going on in his brain."
"Tell him a joke," Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a lot was going on in his brain.
Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? "Go Bruins!" And after a high school classmate was paralyzed in an accident and the school organized a charity run for him, Rick pecked out, "Dad, I want to do that."
Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described "porker" who never ran more than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he tried. "Then it was me who was handicapped," Dick says. "I was sore for two weeks."
That day changed Rick's life. "Dad," he typed, "when we were running, it felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!"
And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon.
"No way," Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren't quite a single runner, and they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few years Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, then they found a way to get into the race officially: In 1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the qualifying time for Boston the following year.
Then somebody said, "Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?"
How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn't ridden a bike since he was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick tried.
Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii. It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you think?
Hey, Dick, why not see how you'd do on your own? "No way," he says. Dick does it purely for "the awesome feeling" he gets seeing Rick with a cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together.
This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best time? Two hours, 40 minutes in 1992 -- only 35 minutes off the world record, which, in case you don't keep track of these things, happens to be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the time.
"No question about it," Rick types. "My dad is the Father of the Century."
And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries was 95% clogged. "If you hadn't been in such great shape," one doctor told him, "you probably would've died 15 years ago."
So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other's life.
Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston, and Dick, retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass., always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreaking race every weekend, including this Father's Day.
That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy.
"The thing I'd most like," Rick types, "is that my dad sit in the chair and I push him once."
Sports Illustrated Issue date: June 20, 2005, p. 88
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