The death of Mr. Greven

The highly visible and active local disability advocate Greg Greven, 42, died when his van caught on fire in his driveway Thursday night. I heard about his death from a city press release on Friday that expressed the condolences of city leaders for the chairman of the Mayor's Commission on Human Rights. I learned more about his death and its local impact in the News-Leader story that followed.

I met Greven when he was still working with the Southwest Center for Independent Living. I wrote a small feature on him for the Community Free Press as an intern called "Advocate, Volunteer, Advisor" (Page 19, Oct. 10, 2007 issue). Since being on the city beat at the business journal, I have seen Greven at every council meeting. He sat in front of me toward the back of the room. I said "hi" to him once recently, and he said "hi" back, but I don't know that he remembered me.

When I read that he'd died, I automatically said to myself, "That can't be--I just saw him Monday night." As if, my seeing him ought to have prevented his death, somehow.

My sit-down interview with Greven in 2007 left an impression on me. First of all, he could care less that I was featuring him. He was more interested in talking about issues that touched the lives of disabled people. Second, I came away from the experience sobered by the reminder that life has severe consequences.

Greven became disabled from a 1989 automobile accident. The details are fuzzy now, but I recall that he said he loved to drive fast. At the time of the interview, he was preparing to take a group of disabled individuals to Lucus Oil Speedway. His brother, Kevin Greven, was the track manager. Cars, Greg said, were a big part of his young life. He seemed genuinely excited when he talked about the track.

For whatever reason, I fell into a brief daydream looking at Greven's limp hand hanging by the side of his wheelchair on Monday night. He was directly in front of me. I tried to imagine his hand as mine. I wondered how much of it he could feel, and how often he must have been frustrated by its limited usefulness.

Greg Greven got out in the snow Monday night and went to a council meeting. He wasn't there to speak or be a sounding board for an ordinance related to accessibility. There was no such bill, and I can't think of any reason for him to be there or at any of the recent meetings except that he wanted to be.

Many may have heard about Greven's story and thought it was tragic. While his death was horrible news, I think Greven's story itself is inspiring. RIP, Mr. Greven.

Willy time, y'all

Happy Birthday, Will!

My step-son turns 19 today, and though I doubt he'll even read this, wishing the boys a happy-happy on the blog has become something of a tradition.

Lil' Will Duncan was almost 3 when I started dating his mommy in January 1995. I noticed then that he was abnormally strong for his size. These days, he beats me up at least once per visit when he's on break from MU. He likes to catch me laying around watching T.V. in my room and jump on me before I have a chance to react.

Like a fool, I normally try fight back to salvage some pride, but honestly, he pins me down with ease. I told him recently I should have been meaner to him when he was small. He agreed, and said I missed my chance.

Will is living in Columbia now, and Chase has taken over his old room. I thought Will might try to take it back on breaks, but I think he wanted Chase to have it. Will chooses the couch or stays with his Mee Maw at night, now.

When he visits, he plays his old X-Box or watches NFL Network--we agree that Deion Sanders and Rich Eisen are the best analysts around. When he's at home, he'll go for a walk around the block at least two or three times a day. If he doesn't become a computer programmer or engineer, I'm willing to bet he becomes a personal trainer. I wondered after he left for school if our neighbors noticed they weren't seeing him as much.

Will is a full-fledged grown up these days, and frankly, it's a little sad to think about. I'm not sure why, though. He's smarter, stronger, healthier and more well-rounded than I was at his age. Heck, he's got me beat now.

As he pushes his way through college and then finds his way into the working world, my hope for him is that doesn't ever feel defeated by all the morons and crazies out there. In other words, I'm proud of him. He's headstrong, smart, tough, funny and fair-minded. I couldn't have picked a better big brother for Chase, Andrew and Mason if I had tried.

Happy Birthday, Willy. M.I.Z-....

Art Hains Rocks Supreme

In case you didn't know, the best radio play-by-play caller in America is living and working in Springfield, MO.

Art Hains, the radio voice of Missouri State basketball, proved once again the other night that there is nobody in the world better at yelling.

The voice of the Bears most recently lost it when Kyle Weems sank a 3-pointer with 2.5 seconds left to sink the Jayhawk-dream-killing Northern Iowa Panthers 58-57 in Cedar Falls.

Listen to the last 30 seconds of the game by clicking this link to www.radiospringfield.com and pressing play on the 12-29 radiocast. It only takes a few seconds download, and then you can click in the middle of the white to pick a spot in the game. You can hear the end call in the 2:14 minute, but I suggest going back to a couple of minutes to get the full effect.

If you can't feel what this guy is doing, you have no soul. Go Bears!

Ask and/or tell

Ding dong the witch is dead. 


I don't know if I feel the way I do because I love to root for the underdog, or if it's because I have known family members who are gay, or if it's because I have worked with homosexuals I respected and considered to be my friends or if it's because I have a distaste for injustice in general, but the news that Don't Ask Don't Tell is soon to be repealed made me feel proud. 


I'm proud of our country, and I'm proud of our legislators for doing the right thing by standing up for the rights of homosexual citizens. 


I can't say it any better than Sen. Ron Wyden, an Oregonian democrat, said it on the floor of the Senate before the 65-31 vote on Saturday (according to the NY Times): “I don’t care who you love. If you love this country enough to risk your life for it, you shouldn’t have to hide who you are.”


Well done, gang. 

That place

Hello, my friend.
Welcome to
that place with chairs,
the most powerful idea.
It's the most powerful idea.

You have space here.
Space to be quiet, to heal.
There's a fire on a log.
We'll let you sleep in under
fat comforters. We like to sleep.
You need a warm shower?
You can throw up if you need to.
Or smoke a cigarette.
The fridge has pizza and cookie dough.
Check what's on TV.
The doors are locked and
the windows, too.
Everyone is here.

I had a song on my mind,
da-da-da-duh.
And I sang it real loud!
da-da-da-duh.
My friend, my dearest friend
da-da-da-duh.
I'll hold your face
and we'll climb a tree
and laugh into the clouds
forever. You are dead.
You are totally dead,
my friend.

Stumble on this!

I am putting up some links to some things I've found on StumbleUpon that I have found useful or humorous.

Storm Troopers 9/11

10 sites that will warp your mind

50 dumb laws

New ways to tie your shoes

Internet TV Guide

The World of Cats and Dogs

I write like...

(I write like Rudyard Kipling.) Enjoy.

Stinky is 15

Believe it or not, Chase Alexander Brown turns 15 today. Watch out Springfield drivers! Soon, little Chasio will get his permit and he'll be driving on yo' streets, and climbin' in your windows, so hide your kids, hide your wife!

The fact that I have even heard of the Bed Intruder song is a tribute to the birthday boy. But I digress. I'm here today to write about The Legend.

The Legend of the Chase

Now that Chase is getting older, I want him to know more about his origins, or at least, what we imagine his origins to be. The whole truth may never be known.

From what we can tell, Stinky, as I affectionately call him, was born in the Mark Twain National Forest in the late fall of 1995. We believe he lived his first month of life with a pack of blonde wolves. His mother and I found him with his head stuck in a log near the Finley River while on a brisk country hike.

Once loosed from his from his fallen tree, we saw a smiling boy with a headful of blonde hair. Valerie, who has an undying love for all of God's creatures no matter how ugly, insisted that we put the poor animal down. But, for reasons that are unclear to me now, I put my hand in front of her gun, and I said, "no, we can raise him as our own."

As he got older, we worked hard to make him just like a normal boy. We gave him regular daily haircuts and eventually weened him off of squirrels and toilet water. He is, in many ways, our greatest work.

Those who know him today would hardly believe that in the first grade Chase ran the mile at school on all fours (4:52 is still a Missouri elementary record), or that when he was 9 he nearly replaced Hugh Jackman's prized role in the X-Men movie series. Today, Chase is on the debate team at Parkview, and he plays basketball with real kids. We are so proud of how hard he's worked!

Over the years, I have taken the boy I call my son back to the forest many, many times to see if he might stay. But, his yelps of fear always told me, "Don't go, daddy. I'm one of you." And looking at how far he's come now, I can honestly say I'm glad he always managed to catch me before I got back to the car.

Happy Birthday, buddy! We don't hate you!