Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, April 15, 1990 TAG: 9004150186
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: B1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: JACK BOGACZYK SPORTSWRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
But there is something about Crawford, besides his chair-ridden existence, that is disarming. His paralysis hasn't impeded the emergence of his personality, and his partial recovery has been accompanied by an outpouring of support and emotion.
Crawford - a former Salem High quarterback who was injured in a 1980 football game - remains stunningly good-natured about his life. He remains as much of a sportsman as possible. Crawford, 27, is now a college graduate who two months ago was hired by Allstate Insurance as an underwriter.
"Chance has probably handled his situation better than anyone could have expected," said Howard Wimmer, who has been Crawford's close friend since both were 5-year-olds in their Beverly Heights neighborhood in Salem. "He's kept a positive attitude. Some people might dwell on their misfortune, based on the feeling that they might never walk again.
"He's maintained the attitude that he's going to live the rest of his life as normally as he can. He's always going somewhere."
And - mostly - merrily he rolls along.
Crawford lives at home with his parents - Gary, a chief clerk at Norfolk Southern, and Janice, a loan officer at Bank of Shawsville - and one of his two younger brothers, Scott. Another brother, Chris, is married and also lives in Salem. The Crawfords say they are both thankful and surprised their disabled son has battled and managed as well as he has. Certainly, they have played a major role.
"When Chance was first hurt, we met with a psychiatrist at the University of Virginia, and the psychiatrist talked to us about dealing with depression," said Crawford's father. "Everyone was talking about how Chance would never walk again.
"Chance didn't seem to believe anyone. He'd get irritated when people said stuff like that. The thing I've really noticed is that he's never said, `Why me?'
"I know I couldn't take it, if I were him. But I've never seen him despondent about it. He must get that way, inside, but I don't know of anyone who's ever seen it."
Crawford's mother marvels at her son's daily resiliency.
"Had Chance not had the attitude he had, it might have been really difficult for all of us," Janice Crawford said. "It breaks your heart at times, but the way he goes about things, it's kept us up, too. There are periods he gets down, and when that happens, he goes off by himself, or, if he's with me, he'll say some funny line to change [the mood].
"He really has kept us from feeling sorry for him."
Before he was injured, Crawford wanted play baseball in college. As a junior, he was an All-Roanoke Metro player as a pitcher and first baseman. He thought about becoming a coach and teacher. Now, he drives to work at the massive Allstate building on Virginia 419, parks and wheels his 23-pound, $1,700 chair to his work station.
"The people at Allstate have been great," Crawford said. "They've been very helpful, gone out of their way to see to my special needs, but they haven't gone overboard and made a big deal of it.
"They've made me feel really comfortable."
Six months after he was injured, the first Chance Crawford Slowpitch Softball Tournament was played in Salem. Sponsored by Miller beer, organized by the Salem Parks and Recreation Department and worked by 52 concessions volunteers, the event drew 56 teams. It raised $5,500 for the Chance Crawford Trust Fund.
Last spring, 143 teams played in the tournament, and an estimated 5,000 spectators attended. More than $8,000 was raised. Charlie Hammersley, director of Salem Parks and Recreation, said the tournament has netted more than $80,000 in its nine-year existence.
It is the second-largest softball tournament in the state, and it is estimated that it brings $100,000 into the Roanoke Valley economy annually. The 10th annual Lite Beer Crawford tournament will be played April 27-29 in Salem.
The trust fund was established to help Crawford and his family not only with medical expenses, but Crawford's future. Hammersley, Salem High athletic director Dale Foster and Price Richardson of Blue Ridge Beverage are the fund trustees, and all expenditures are approved by the group.
Crawford said his father's insurance at Norfolk Southern pays for 80 percent of the medical bills. The trust fund covers the remainder. The fund also has helped remodel the Crawford home, adding ramps, widened doors and a special bath. Foster said the fund's payment of medical expenses has averaged about $6,000 annually.
Crawford said the fund paid for his college education, purchased his Oldsmobile Delta 88 - specially equipped with hand and arm controls - and paid for Crawford's 2 1/2 years in Florida, where he underwent rehabilitation that added much-needed strength to his upper body. That cost $26,000.
Hammersley estimated that over the years, more than $300,000 has been deposited into the Chance Crawford Trust Fund. At the end of 1989, the balance was $57,000.
It isn't only a softball tournament that has benefited Crawford. It was school children giving nickels and dimes, it was classmates having car washes and dances, it was people throughout the Roanoke Valley and Southwest Virginia sending checks to Salem High and students collecting bottle caps to exchange for cash.
"It's unbelievable what everybody's done," Crawford said. "I say it's unbelievable because they did it at first, and they just haven't done it for two or three years. They keep doing it. The time people put in running the softball tournament to help me . . . Everybody in the Roanoke Valley has been so good to me, and that's really helped in dealing with my injury. I've met a lot of nice people, a lot of tremendous people.
"The trust fund . . . Think of what that's meant to me and my family. There are a lot of things I have done that I wouldn't have been able to do, like go for therapy in Florida. It's nice to be working, to have a job, but you never know. It's good to have the funds there, should something ever happen. One thing I've learned from this is that you never know what will happen the next day."
Crawford's mother also called her son's outside support "unbelievable."
"I never dreamed anything like that could happen," she said. "There are a lot of good people here. That's helped keep him up, too."
Hammersley said that since Crawford is in the working world now and can help support himself, the trust maybe isn't as much of an emergency fund as it once was. That doesn't mean the support for Crawford will change, however.
"The fund is there, and the tournament is established, and Chance, now that he's graduated and working, will start to pick up some of the things the fund has taken care of," Hammersley said. "He wants to do that. He's the type of person that wants to be on his own. But that only makes us want to do more for him because of that. He still has a long life ahead of him."
Financially, Crawford has gotten aid from plenty of able arms and legs. Emotionally, his return to as normal a life as possible has been a more private struggle.
His family and friends have been sources of solace, and so has another, nearly lifelong companion.
"Other than people, the second biggest boost Chance has gotten is from sports," his mother said. "Watching games, that's his outlet.
"Going to games cheers him up. He's not a TV-type person, unless it's sports, and he loves to read. We've got sports magazines all over the house.
"Going to games got him up and out of the house and back into the real world again. And he's met so many people through sports. I'm thankful he didn't turn against sports because of what happened."
One of the first outside contacts Crawford had after his injury was Bill Dooley, then the athletic director and football coach at Virginia Tech. Crawford had been a Tech fan growing up, but, suddenly, he found himself in situations he couldn't have imagined.
Dooley wrote encouragingly to Crawford and told him to keep fighting. Then, the Tech coach helped a player who would never play again.
"Coach Dooley called and invited me up to Tech as his guest," Crawford said. "I went to games. I went to practices. I was allowed in when no one else was. He'd come over to me at practice and stand and talk for 20 or 25 minutes. He asked me to eat meals with the team. He and his assistants treated me like I was a member of the team.
"That meant a lot to me, especially at the time. Coach Dooley was great to me, and I'll never forget that. I was just starting to get back, and it really made me feel more comfortable. That isn't to say I don't like the people there now. I'm a big Tech fan. I just don't have the time to get down there all of the time."
If he's not watching the Hokies, Crawford might be watching a Salem High football game, or he'll go to Municipal Field and watch Buccaneers baseball. He'd be right at home in Boston, too, as a Red Sox and Celtics fan. When Crawford is home, you'll most often find the living room television tuned to ESPN.
A sportswriter who spends 45 minutes interviewing Crawford then finds himself answering sports questions for an hour. Crawford doesn't ask the mundane. He wants to know what's really going on. He wants opinions to compare with his.
"A lot of people talk about how I've had a positive attitude through this," he said. "Well, my family and friends have been very supportive. And sports has been great outlet for me. There's something about athletics that gives you a feeling of being part of it, even after your playing days are over. You always have that feeling you are an athlete, even if you aren't anymore.
"The great thing about sports is you don't have to participate to enjoy it. It's still a great outlet, a source of enjoyment. I'm sure I'd still be playing, at least recreation softball, if I could."
Crawford also figures the psychology of sports - aggressiveness, instincts, the daily effort to improve - has been no small ingredient in the early years of his altered life.
"I've thought about that a lot," he said. "I think sports has kept a lot of my frustration away. Even before I was hurt, I really enjoyed being a spectator at events, mostly baseball, football and basketball. There's always some game to go to, to read about. I'd hate to think where I'd be without sports.
"Having been in athletics set the tone for my attitude from Day One. I've never quit. I've always tried to make myself better, physically and mentally. I'm sure I'd be a lot more frustrated if I didn't have sports. Whether you're in my situation or not, sports takes you away from the daily routine."
Wimmer, now the sports information director at Ferrum College, occasionally sits with Crawford at games.
"It's really amazing in a way, but Chance has never lost his interest in sports," Wimmer said. "Some people, if they were hurt in sports, I'd imagine they would go in another direction. Not Chance. He loves football. If you didn't know him, you'd never know he was hurt playing football."
Most athletes injured in their careers don't have a 23-pound reminder of their pain with them at all times, as Crawford does with the wheelchair. But even Crawford has witnessed a harrowing flashback to his injury and its sobering suddenness.
Last November in a state Group AA playoff game against Dan River at Salem Stadium, Spartans quarterback and defensive back Steve Magenbauer was injured while making a tackle. He didn't move, and no one was moving him. Crawford and his father were sitting together.
"That was a hard time," Chance said. "I felt like the whole stadium was thinking about Steve, and then thinking about me, and saying, `Oh, no, we've been in this situation before.' He was on the ground a good 25 minutes. That was difficult. It brought back a lot of bad memories. My dad was visibly shaken. He had to leave. I stayed, but I had a hard time going to sleep after that."
Gary Crawford was on the field the night his son's career ended. Magenbauer's misfortune was too much, too soon.
"I had to get out of there," he said. "I started crying and I didn't want Chance to see me cry. It really hit me. As I was walking out to the parking lot, I heard people talking, mentioning Chance's name. That really broke me up.
"I didn't sleep much that might. I got up early in the morning and went to the hospital to see the Magenbauer boy. I just wanted to see him do something. I wanted to see him move."
Magenbauer's paralysis was only temporary, and he is walking again.
Crawford's two brothers played football after their older sibling was disabled. It wasn't easy for everyone in the Crawford household.
"Being honest, I would have preferred they didn't play football, but that wouldn't have been right because that's what I personally wanted," their mother said. "I don't go to many football games. I don't go to Salem games. That's still too difficult."
Crawford doesn't need any reminders of his last game, or the last steps he took without assistance.
"It was Oct. 3, 1980," he said.
Crawford was the Spartans' senior quarterback. In the second half of a game against Bassett, the Bengals' rush forced Crawford to scramble from behind the line of scrimmage. After an 8-yard gain, Crawford met Bassett linebacker Sidney Jones, the quarterback's lowered head crashing into the linebacker's chest.
Jones bear-hugged Crawford as they fell to the ground. It wasn't a particularly violent collision. Jones got up. Crawford's head was bent forward in a flex position into the ground.
"I remember everything," Crawford said. "I was conscious the whole time. There was no pain, not a bit. I tried to move, but I couldn't, and my face was stuck in the ground. I remember begging my teammates to roll me over . . . It's a good thing they didn't. I remember Dr. [Richard] Fisher coming out there, and my dad was there.
"I didn't realize I was paralyzed until I reached the hospital, because I didn't hurt. My head jammed forward into his chest, his shoulder pads. It wasn't anyone's fault. I created the force of impact."
It's only natural that hardly anyone remembers - or cares - that Salem won the game, 14-6. More than one life in the city was changed that night.
Crawford had suffered a cervical fracture involving compressed vertebrae. Three vertebrae were affected, and the fracture involved all four extremities. He was paralyzed from the neck down. Crawford, a quadriplegic, was told he'd never walk again.
Gary Crawford said doctors who saw his son soon after the injury were amazed several months later to see Chance use his arms as well as he did.
"When I was first hurt, doctors said I'd be paralyzed from my neck down, and probably have little use of my arms," Crawford said. "My arms are well. I have good use of my hands, but not what would be considered normal. But I can grab things and do things. I can get into my car, get the wheelchair in and out. It's just that everyday life was not as easy as it was."
Crawford was a right-hander. Now, he eats and writes left-handed. The left side of his body is stronger.
"I had no strength for about six months," he said. "I had to learn to write again. It took me probably about two years to write legibly with my left hand."
Crawford spent four months at the University of Virginia Hospital, then was transferred to the Woodrow Wilson Rehabilitation Center in Fishersville, where he began to improve over five months. His Salem classmates graduated without him. He returned to school and got his diploma a year later, in 1982.
After he completed two years at Radford University, Crawford learned of a physical therapist in Florida. "I didn't really know what to expect," he said.
Crawford spent 2 1/2 years in Delray Beach.
"It was maybe the best thing I've done," Crawford said. "Ray Cralle is the physical therapist. I heard about him from Carlos Hart of Hart Oldsmobile. Ray's his stepbrother. Ray has done some different things with spinal cord injuries, things that haven't been documented in medical textbooks, but things he's worked with with some success.
"Before I went I wasn't real strong. It was really tough to get the wheelchair in and out of cars. He worked with my trunk muscles, and I walked with leg braces. That helped me improve a tremendous amount.
"When you're an able-bodied person, maybe you don't realize how much the stomach and back muscles mean. But they're really important when you're disabled."
Crawford wasn't sure whether Cralle's work would help him regain the use of muscles and nerves that didn't function or were atrophied. But he did know he needed to rebuild his body, which had slipped from 185 pounds to 140 after his paralysis.
"I mean, it wasn't like I went there and expected to come back walking or anything like that," Crawford said. "But I did figure that anything more than I have now is going to help. I'll never give up hope [of walking again] completely. You never know what's going to happen in terms of medical technology."
Crawford returned to Salem in 1987, then went back to his studies at Radford.
"It was much easier when I came back," he said. "I wasn't just stronger, I was more focused. I had more of an idea what I wanted to do. I was a lot more prepared, physically and mentally. When I went to college at first, it wasn't that long after I'd gotten hurt, and I wasn't really sure of how a disabled person stood in society. I wasn't sure how people would react to me."
Now, Crawford visits physical therapist Wendy Lucas at least once a week. His weight ranges between 155 and 160.
He's also had to rebuild his social psyche.
"It took me a while to be confident enough to go out, to deal with people, not only girls, but everyone," Crawford said of his return to college. "I'm not shy. I like to talk. When I first got hurt, I didn't have the confidence, and I didn't know how girls would respond to me. When I went to college, that was an adjustment period. But I've had several girlfriends since I got hurt.
"It took me a while to realize girls would still be interested in me, just because of, not only me, but the kind of situation anyone disabled is in.
"I think a lot of it has to do with how you present yourself. If you feel sorry for yourself, or if you feel inferior, then it's going to show. Once I got my confidence back, I felt a lot better about myself. Maybe I can't do some things as fast or as quick as others, but I can still go out and do just about anything I want to."
Crawford admits he isn't always cheerful, and that having to always take things sitting down can be very difficult.
"When I do get frustrated, and I do, it's about things I can't do," he said. "For me, not being as active as I once was is the most frustrating thing. I love sports, and I was an outdoor person, and there are so many things I used to do that I can't do now.
"Everyone gets frustrated. I think it's human nature to get frustrated, regardless of whether you're disabled. The secret is not to stay frustrated and get into a bad rut. Everybody has frustrations. It's how you deal with them that makes a difference.
"The difference between me and most people is the ease of day-by-day living. Things people take for granted are so much harder for me now - getting out of bed, taking a shower, getting dressed.
"I can do most of those myself, but I have help with some things. Those things take extra effort and consume more energy. When you're able-bodied, you don't think so much about those kinds of things you do every day. And those things people take for granted, in a split-second, they can be gone."
Whether things are looking up for Crawford depends on whether you view his life from his wheelchair. He's thrilled with his job of two months. Tech's football team had a winning season and shows promise for 1990; Salem football is a success; the Celtics have Larry Bird back and are improved this season; and the Red Sox won their opening series of the season.
"I don't want people to feel sorry for me," Crawford said. "I know they'll feel sorry that it happened to me. And they're sorry I have to deal with it, and I am, too. But I don't want them to feel sorry for me. I want to be treated like everyone else, as much as possible.
"Obviously, there are special needs I have. But whenever possible, I want to be treated like someone who isn't disabled.
"This next thing isn't so much about me, but disabled people in general. I think a lot of people feel disabled people can't enjoy life. A lot of people see you and they'll speak. You look back at them and you see a hurt in their eyes, and you know they really feel sorry for you and the situation you're in.
`'But a disabled person can enjoy life. You can be happy. I am happy. I am unhappy about being hurt, but that doesn't mean I'm not happy, if you understand what I'm trying to say. I've gotten so much support. I appreciate that. It's nice to know people care."
Keywords:
PROFILE
by CNB