Mark Bingham
Mark Bingham, 31, was a passenger on United Airlines
Flight 93 that was hijacked Sept. 11 by terrorists and crashed in western
Pennsylvania. Bingham, a gay rugby, football and basketball player from San
Francisco, was among a group of passengers who apparently stormed the cockpit
and brought down the plane away from populated
areas. Mark's story is one of an athlete who had finally
reconciled his sport and sexuality.
Oliver Sipple and Mark Bingham:
Heroes a Quarter Century
Apart
Remembering the man who saved a president and the one who fought back against terror
http://www.outsports.com/usattacked/sipplebingham20010919.htm
By Jim
Buzinski
Outsports.com
Their stories have eerie similarities: Two men in
their 30s. Both were from San Francisco. Both were athletes. One saved the life
of the President, one saved untold lives during a terrorist attack. Both were
gay.
I was struck by the commonalities of Oliver ``Billy'' Sipple
and Mark Bingham, and also by the enormous differences in their stories of
bravery and the ensuing reaction. These differences speak of different eras for
gay people and show we have made much progress, though hurdles still
remain.
By now, many people have heard of
Bingham. The tall, athletic 31-year-old public relations executive and
rugby player is being credited with helping to bring down the hijacked United
Flight 93 over western Pennsylvania on Sept. 11. While we may never know the
complete details, he appears to have been among a group of passengers who
stormed the cockpit of the plane, causing it to crash into an abandoned strip
mine area instead of continuing on to its target: Washington, D.C.
It was
a decision totally in character for Bingham, whom I knew somewhat. The
University of California grad was a man who loved mixing it up on the rugby or
football field and had run with the bulls at Pamplona. This was also a guy who,
according to the Daily Californian, ``at the Big Game [between Cal and Stanford]
in 1992 ran onto the field at halftime and tackled the Stanford tree mascot.''
Such a man would not hold back as other passengers decided to make a move. Their
collective action may have saved countless lives and proved the ultimate
sacrifice.
``An Ordinary American
Citizen''
Sipple's story is long
forgotten, but he too performed a heroic act and saved a life. Just ask Gerald
Ford.
It was Sept. 22, 1975, and Sipple-a former Marine and high school
football star-was at Union Square in San Francisco to catch a glimpse of
President Ford, who was on a visit to the city.
Sipple, 33, was standing
in the crowd next to would-be assassin Sara Jane Moore, who suddenly pulled out
a revolver and fired at Ford, standing about 35 feet away. She missed. Before
she could get off a second shot, Sipple grabbed her arm and prevented her from
firing. Moore was arrested, and Sipple, a Vietnam veteran, became a national
hero. The intense media attention revealed a secret that Sipple had been hiding
from his family: He was gay.
The news came out in Herb Caen's column two
days later in the San Francisco Chronicle. Sipple was outed by San Francisco
supervisor Harvey Milk, who knew Sipple from their political work
together.
"Harvey's whole attitude was to show people that not everyone
who was gay runs around with lipstick, high heels and a dress," Bob Ross,
publisher of the Bay Area Times told the Los Angeles Times. "This was an
ordinary American citizen, and he was a gay man."
Sipple was mortified by
the disclosure, which soon received wider publicity. According to a short
biography on Random House.com: ``A despairing Sipple told reporters:
`I want you to know that my mother told me today she can't walk out of her front
door because of the press stories.' He insisted: `My sexual orientation has
nothing to do with saving the President's life.' Apparently President Ford
thought it did. There was no invitation to the White House for Sipple, not even
a commendation. Milk made a fuss about that. Finally, weeks later, Sipple
received a brief note of thanks.''
Sipple's life went downhill from
there. A high school dropout and dyslexic, Sipple had been living on a veteran's
disability for psychological and physical problems resulting from his Vietnam
service. He was a heavy drinker and the anxiety caused by the disclosure made
him take even more to the bottle. "I have a lot of stress and I take it out on
booze," he said.
He was disowned by his family, with even his own
mother refusing to talk to him. When she died in 1979, his ``father made it
clear that he was not welcome. He could go to the funeral home or the cemetery,
but not when his father was there,'' the Los Angeles Times reported.
In
anguish over the pain caused by the revelations, Sipple filed a $15 million
lawsuit against seven major newspapers who had reported he was gay, alleging
invasion of privacy. His lawsuit was dismissed after a five-year battle.
Sipple's story is still used as a case study in ethics at journalism
schools.
In 1989, Sipple, by now an alcoholic, lived near the Tenderloin
area of San Francisco, weighed close to 300 pounds and was in poor health.
Sometime in mid-January he laid down on his bed, surrounded by bottles of
bourbon and went into a sleep from which he never awoke. His body was not
discovered for two more weeks. His funeral was attended by only 30 people. In a
letter of condolence sent to Sipple's friends, former President Ford and his
wife wrote: "I strongly regretted the problems that developed for him following
this incident."
A TV
Blackout
Like Sipple, Bingham's
homosexuality became widely known in the days following the plane crash. The
Washington Post, Los Angeles Times and Sports Illustrated were among
publications that mentioned that Bingham helped to found the San Francisco Fog,
a gay rugby club. The Post detailed Bingham reconciling his love of rugby with
being gay. Tributes to him sprang up on the Internet, and there was no shame or
embarrassment in the disclosure, only pride.
In fact, a columnist for the
Sydney Morning Herald in Australia wrote two columns mentioning Bingham. ``When
I mentioned Bingham in my first piece, all I knew was that he was a rugby
player,'' columnist Peter FitzSimons told Outsports. Finding out about Bingham's
sexual orientation prompted a second
column.
`Why do I include all this in a column now? Dunno,
precisely,'' FitzSimons wrote. ``Probably just because, beyond helping to save
perhaps thousands of people, it would also be good if Bingham's death could
stand towards what the entire world needs right now--the lessening of hate and
bigotry, and the maximizing of friendship and understanding.''
Bingham's
sexual orientation is important, especially in light of the comments by Jerry
Falwell and Pat Robertson, where they blamed gays, among other groups, as having
had some responsibility for bringing the attacks on America. Falwell and
Robertson are to Christianity what the Taliban are to Islam. Americans need to
know that gay people- which included the pilot of one of the planes-suffered as
much as their fellow citizens.
In the days following the hijacking
Bingham's family and friends have spoken with love, pride and admiration about
the type of man Mark was and the legacy he leaves. As for Sipple, his brother
George told the Los Angeles Times in 1989 that his brother was proud of what he
had done, despite the fallout. "He said somebody will pick up a book and see
Oliver Sipple saved President Ford's life," George Sipple
said.
Congressional leaders have already expressed a desire to
award the Freedom Medal to passengers aboard Flight 93, including Bingham. What
would Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson think about that? When our country, and
its symbols were attacked, Oliver and Mark got busy to save our citizens.
Falwell and Robertson got busy assigning blame to our citizens.
To
some in this world, the villains are heroes. And heroes are villains. We know
the difference.
Oliver and Mark are heroes.
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Remembering Mark Bingham: Hero
http://www.outsports.com/bingham20010912.htm
By Jim Buzinski and Cyd Zeigler
Jr.
Outsports.com
To those who knew Mark Bingham, he was a warm, friendly, funny, smart, handsome man who welcomed people into his life. He was the kind of guy to easily share a beer with and had the ability to make total strangers feel an immediate sense of comfort and trust. He also likely committed an act of heroism that saved countless lives during this week of unspeakable tragedy.
Bingham, 31, was one of the passengers killed when United Airlines Flight 93 crashed in western Pennsylvania on Tuesday after being hijacked en route from Newark to San Francisco. From reports that surfaced on Wednesday it appears Bingham was part of a group of passengers that decided to attack the hijackers by rushing the cockpit. The ensuing struggle apparently caused the plane to crash in a remote, unpopulated area. Authorities said it appeared the presidential retreat at Camp David in Maryland or the capital in Washington, D.C., was the intended target of the hijackers.
According to the Los Angeles Times, passenger Jeremy Glick, who was able to make four frantic cell-phone calls to his wife, told her in his final, desperate message: ‘‘We’re going to rush the hijackers.’’ There is no doubt in our minds that Bingham, a strapping 6-5 rugby player, would have been in on the action. After all, this was the same guy who once ran with the bulls at Pamplona.
His aunt, Kathy Bingham, told the Los Angeles Times, "You’d have to know Mark — he was no wallflower, no pushover. He wasn’t the kind of guy to be pushed around. So I’m sure he and the others did something to stop this.’’
Pennsylvania Congressman John Murtha was convinced that the passengers had acted to prevent an even greaterloss of life. ``There had to have been a struggle, and someone heroically kept the plane from heading to Washington," Murtha told the Washington Post.
Bingham, who ran a public relations firm, was a member of our community. A graduate of the University of California at Berkeley, he was a member of the Golden Bears' national champion rugby team in the 1990s. In the past year he helped organize the San Francisco Fog, a gay rugby team. He was also planning to field a touch rugby team for next year's Gay Games in Sydney.
We at Outsports knew Mark from two flag football games between our Los Angeles team and his San Francisco team. He was a terrific athlete, with the hands of Cris Carter and the strength of Daunte Culpepper. His spirit was even more impressive and memorable, his big smile and boisterous personality dominating the social events after each game.
Today we we sent an e-mail, recently written by Mark, that he sent to his Fog rugby team in San Francisco, after they were accepted into the straight California Rugby League. Some great words written by, truly, a great man:
"When I started playing rugby at the age of 16, I always thought that my interest in other guys would be an anathema -- completely repulsive to the guys on my team -- and to the people I was knocking the shit out of on the other team. I loved the game, but KNEW I would need to keep my sexuality a secret forever. I feared total rejection.
As we worked and sweated and ran and talked together this year, I finally felt accepted as a gay man and a rugby player. My two irreconcilable worlds came together.
Now we've been accepted into the union and the road is going to get harder.
We need to work harder. We need to get better. We have the chance to be role models for other gay folks who wanted to play sports, but never felt good enough or strong enough. More importantly, we have the chance to show the other teams in the league that we are as good as they are. Good rugby players. Good partiers. Good sports. Good men.
Gay men weren't always wallflowers waiting on the sideline. We have the opportunity to let these other athletes know that gay men were around all along - on their little league teams, in their classes, being their friends.
This is a great opportunity to change a lot of people's minds, and to reach a group that might never have had to know or hear about gay people. Let's go make some new friends...and win a few games. Congratulations, my brothers in rugby.
Mb"
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Remembering Mark Bingham . .
.
``Real Sports'' Scores With Bingham Piece
By Jim Buzinski
Outsports.com
Alice
Hoagland's son, Mark Bingham, died in the crash of hijacked Flight 93 in
Pennsylvania on Sept. 11. She recounted the words she spoke at his
memorial:
``The last game Mark played, it wasn't on a broad, grassy
field. It was in the narrow cockpit and cabin of a Boeing 757 hurtling over the
Pennsylvania countryside.
``And his teammates were not particularly
practiced. They were a pickup team. They threw themselves together. I hope they
had some strategy and they stood shoulder to shoulder and did what they had to
do.''
These beautiful and eloquent words, which so well summed up her
son, are the emotional high points of a terrific segment about Bingham on HBO's
``Real Sports with Bryant
Gumbel.'' (The show will air seven more times this month.)
Bingham is the gay rugby
player who, along with other passengers on the hijacked United flight, is
credited with battling the terrorists and bringing the plane down away from
populated areas. They have been universally described as heroes.
The
segment--reported by Mary Carillo and produced by Nick Dolin--is a very personal
look at Bingham's relationship with San Francisco Fog, the predominately gay rugby club he was a
member of.
``Good Sports, Good Men,'' the title of the segment, is taken
from an e-mail Bingham had sent to team members earlier this year. It provides
much of the context that holds HBO's story together. It was a ringing
affirmation of Bingham's acceptance of his sexuality and how sports were an
integral part of that.
``We need to work harder. We need to get better,''
Bingham wrote. ``We have the chance to be role models for other gay folks who
wanted to play sports, but never felt good enough or strong enough. More
importantly, we have the chance to show the other teams in the league that we
are as good as they are. Good rugby players. Good partiers. Good sports. Good
men.
``Gay men weren't always wallflowers waiting on the sideline.
We have the opportunity to let these other athletes know that gay men were
around all along - on their little league teams, in their classes, being their
friends.
``This is a great opportunity to change a lot of people's minds,
and to reach a group that might never have had to know or hear about gay people.
Let's go make some new friends ... and win a few games. Congratulations, my
brothers in rugby.''
As Carillo tells members of Fog, ``It was an
incredible message he left just before he died.''
Bingham's teammates
tell of a guy who ``showed up [on the field] like a freight train.'' who ``had
no fear,'' who ``made everyone feel like they belonged,'' and who ``first and
foremost was an athlete.''
That latter point is stressed when teammates
are asked how Bingham would feel about all the attention he's getting for being
a ``gay American hero.'' Being gay would be ``ninth or 10th'' on the list of how
Bingham would have described himself,'' one teammate says, ``behind being a
pickup basketball player.''
The segment succeeds because it is moving
while not wallowing in cheap sentimentality or emotion. Bingham's teammates talk
about how the best way to honor Bingham's memory is by becoming a better team.
And Carillo gets some laughs when she asks whether there are any ulterior (i.e.
sexual) benefits from being on a gay team. ``There are a lot less painful ways
to meet guys,'' one player says.
``Real Sports'' consistently provides
the most literate and well-produced examinations of sports and its attendant
issues on television. ``Good Sports. Good Men'' carries on this honorable
tradition.
Related Links:
- Bingham's gay rugby club remembers.
- Tribute page to Bingham.
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A Hero, a Brother, a Lesson in Tolerance and Understanding
http://www.outsports.com/usattacked/fitzsimonsreprint20010920.htm
By Peter FitzSimons
Sydney Morning
Herald
The connections between
sport and the terrorist atrocities in New York are mercifully few, but one of
them is hopefully inspiring.
In my column on [Sept. 15], I mentioned one
Mark Bingham, a 31-year-old rugby-playing American who it is believed was one of
three passengers on United Airlines Flight 93 from Newark to San Francisco who
charged the cockpit, where hijackers had taken control and were redirecting the
plane towards Washington, possibly the White House.
Precisely what
occurred remains a mystery, but what is known is that the plane crashed in
western Pennsylvania, in all likelihood saving countless lives.
Since the
column was published, I have been contacted by several of Bingham's Australian
friends, who pointed out another interesting fact about him - that the [6'5'',
230-pound] second-rower was also one of the pioneers of gay rugby in the United
States, and his exclusively gay team, the San Francisco Fog, had just been
accepted into the wider Californian rugby competition.
Bingham's friends
say he planned to attend next year's Gay Games in Sydney--just as he has visited
this city on rugby trips three times previously. They also speak of a friendly,
outgoing bloke, who had a great passion for the game which he often defined by
quoting Shakespeare's Henry V: "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For
he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother ..."
In a
recent email to friends in his rugby club, Bingham revealed his thoughts about
being gay and being a rugby player, and his excitement at his side being
accepted into the competition.
"When I started playing rugby at the age
of 16," he wrote, "I always thought that my interest in other guys would be an
anathema - completely repulsive to the guys on my team and to the people I was
knocking the shit out of on the other team. I loved the game, but KNEW I would
need to keep my sexuality a secret forever. I feared total rejection.
"As
we worked and sweated and ran and talked together this year, I finally felt
accepted as a gay man and a rugby player. My two irreconcilable worlds came
together.
"Now we've been accepted into the union and the road is going
to get harder. We need to work harder. We need to get better. We have the chance
to be role models for other gay folks who wanted to play sports but never felt
good enough or strong enough. More importantly, we have the chance to show the
other teams in the league that we are as good as they are. Good rugby players.
Good partiers. Good sports. Good men.
"Gay men weren't always wallflowers
waiting on the sideline. We have the opportunity to let these other athletes
know that gay men were around all along - on their little league teams, in their
classes, being their friends.
"This is a great opportunity to change a
lot of people's minds and to reach a group that might never have had to know or
hear about gay people. Let's go make some new friends ... and win a few
games.
"Congratulations, my brothers in rugby."
Why do I include
all this in a column now? Dunno, precisely. Probably just because, beyond
helping to save perhaps thousands of people, it would also be good if Bingham's
death could stand towards what the entire world needs right now - the lessening
of hate and bigotry, and the maximising of friendship and
understanding.
I'll say it again. On ya, Mark, you did the old game
proud. And we, your brothers in rugby from around the world, salute
you.
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For Such A Time As This
http://www.outsports.com/usattacked/suchatime20010913.htm
By Brent
Mullins
Outsports.com
We all want to believe that we're capable of being heroes, when that one moment of truth comes along challenging us to do a heroic act under pressure. When we don't know the end from the beginning. When we can't tell the price of our sacrifice, but that in the end turns out to be the right thing. The thing that saves the day.
Such a thing happened Tuesday in the skies above rural western Pennsylvania. And one of the heroes was Mark Bingham. His actions not only saved the day--they saved countless days, of countless number of people. Saving perhaps the most important symbol that we have--The White House.
It was late Tuesday and I had just heard that Mark was one of the passengers on the hijacked United #93 from Newark to San Francisco. The one that crashed in Pennsylvania. His face faded in from my memory, locking into a warm, enveloping, playful smile as he stood on the football field in Hollywood two years ago.
Mark? 6'5", handsome, rugged, talented Mark? Caught between my memories and the realities of TV imagery, I imagined Mark on the plane, being confronted by armed hijackers claiming to have a bomb. Instinctively I knew Mark had done something to confront the hijackers and save others. That's just how Mark was.
I hardly qualify as a close friend of Mark's. He came down with his flag football team from San Francisco to play ours in Los Angeles. We went up to San Francisco to play his. Some e-mails, a few phone calls. And yet I feel I knew him. He was just the kind of guy that you could meet for a short time and yet feel you knew well. There was no facade. No pretense. No attitude. Just an incredible man of great stature and accomplishment with no need to impress.
When I went back to Mark on that plane, I thought of a young Jack Ryan character from Tom Clancey novels and movies. A man who just happened to have extraordinary circumstances thrust upon him. Reacting instinctively, he becomes a hero for just doing something that comes naturally to him.
Mark was just such a man--he would no more cower from danger in the air than he would be someone that took a cheap shot on the field. He would refuse to be someone other than who he was: a proactive, protective man of action.
In the midst of the biggest national crisis of our lives, I recalled an Old Testament story from my childhood, and thought of Mark, who was made "For such a time as this."
In the story, King Xerxes picked Esther to be queen. A royal plotter, furious that Esther's uncle Mordecai refused to go along with plans to kill the king, maneuvers Xerxes into approving the destruction of Mordecai's people.
Esther was secretly a member of the condemned group, and Mordecai pressed her to intercede with the king, knowing that if she approached the king without being summoned she would be killed. But Mordecai prevailed upon her, telling her, "If you remain silent, you and our entire people will perish. And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?"
She responded, "I will go--and if I perish, I perish."
"If I perish, I perish."
Albert Camus, during the French Resistance to the Nazis, said, "Civilizations are not built by rapping people on the knuckles. They are built up by the confrontation of ideas, by the blood of the spirit, by suffering and courage.''
We now know that at least three of the condemned passengers on board decided to act. Because they had to. When it comes down to these moments of crisis, all you have is what you've always been. It was who they were, and it was what they were called to be. A special opportunity to save others, ahead of themselves.
Saving Mark Bingham a special place in history.
A special place in my heart.
For your inspiration.
Compassion.
Commitment.
"For such a time as this."
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You Have Become a Role Model'
http://www.outsports.com/usattacked/johntrumbo.htm
A Letter to Mark
Bingham
Dear Mark,
I didn’t
know who else to write to, and as a writer, I’ve been trying for the past two
days to express – somehow – the feelings I’m feeling surrounding this great
tragedy. I would not presume to intrude on the severe privacy of this moment for
your family, friends, co-workers or teammates, but after hearing your Mom and
Aunt speak on TV, and seeing pictures of you so happy and full of life, I felt
immediately tied to your particular story.
I am a resident of Washington,
D.C., and could smell the fuel and fire from my office as the Pentagon burned. A
co-worker drove by it minutes after the crash and reported seeing the smoke. I
live just seven blocks from the Capitol. I also have close ties to NYC. My
brother and sister-in-law live in Manhattan. She saw the wreckage from her
office window near the UN; he had been in the Towers thousands of times for his
job. Thankfully, we are all OK. Yet you seem to be as much a part of my
family.
The fact of the matter is, I do have a personal stake in your
story. I did not learn until today, through sporting web sites, that you, too,
were gay. Yet somehow I knew. It took my breath away when I found your rugby
team’s memorial to you, then it all started to settle in. You wrote to your
teammates after your club was accepted into the Northern California Rugby
Football Union about your ability (finally) to reconcile your two worlds: that
of a heterosexually-dominated world (sports) while being
homosexually-inclined:
“…I loved the game, but KNEW I would need to
keep my sexuality a secret forever. I feared total rejection.
As we
worked and sweated and ran and talked together this year, I finally felt
accepted as a gay man and a rugby player. My two irreconcilable worlds came
together.
Now we've been accepted into the union and the road is going to
get harder. We need to work harder. We need to get better. We have the chance to
be role models for other gay folks who wanted to play sports, but never felt
good enough or strong enough. More importantly, we have the chance to show the
other teams in the league that we are as good as they are. Good rugby players.
Good partiers. Good sports. Good men.”
You have won. You have become
an outstanding role model not only for gay men and women of your generation but
of those to come. Hell, you kicked some major terrorist ass! There are so many
questions I wish I could ask you about how it all began, the horror unwittingly
forced upon you, what you decided to do and how you went about it.
I am
so impressed with you and the other passengers on your flight who, I have to
imagine, took it upon yourselves – in the midst of unbelievable, numbing terror
– to comprehend what was going on, have the clear-mindedness to phone the
outside and tell your story not only to your loved ones but to the rest of us,
and then! and then, to do whatever it was you did to stop those
bastards.
I suppose, however, those are things we’ll never know, or
possibly should know. But know this: you’ll be missed by more people here on
Earth than you ever met. You’ve shown – in such a grand way – that we’re all in
this thing together and are more similar than we are different. That’s the best
type of PR that one can ever produce.
“Hero” is often an overused word,
one that I can’t say I’ve had occasion to implement. Until now. Mark, you’re my
hero. The pictures I have seen of you give the distinct impression of an
energetic, happy, spirit-filled young man who managed to integrate a very
personal, yet ultimately essential, part of his life. I’m tipping a pint to you.
To good rugby players. To good partiers. To good sports. And to good
men.
Thanks, Mark, for what you did and, more importantly, what you mean
to all of us left behind.
John M. Trumbo
Washington,
DC
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A Gentle Inspiration
http://www.outsports.com/usattacked/chuckmartin.htm
By Chuck Martin
Eloquence be damned, for now, at this hour, late, late Wednesday night, when I should be in bed, sleeping. This is a bit of a brain/emotion dump.
I just realized that I knew Mark. Not well, but we played football and basketball together. He pretty much always played both sports in his rugby shirts. I was on his team when we were in L.A. playing against the L.A. Motion.
My mind spins now, in a seemingly different way than yesterday, when I was awakened by a friend's phone call at 8am, imploring me to turn on the TV. The images then were shocking, and I kept a live video stream going all day on my computer at work, with the latest audio and video, but my work keeping me at least semi-sane.
Last night, I realized I had a friend who was on business in NYC. I called, and I felt gratified that he answered. But then I was stunned to hear him tell me his story, that he was staying in the hotel next to the World Trade Center, than he had seen the jets slam into the edifice, and that he literally ran for his life as the buildings fell.
This evening, I talked to a good friend, who runs our gay basketball program, and he told me about Mark, but I really didn't make the connection until I saw the face. Then I knew. And that new, stronger, different somehow, shock set in. The tears well up. The dizziness of the feeling sinks in.
I didn't know Mark all that well. I think I first played basketball with him, part of our regular Sunday evening games. I was a regular, he was sporadic. He was big, yet graceful. His voice boomed over the court, yet he always, always seemed to be smiling.
We got involved in football, flag football. Now there was a big load. I was always glad, when we scrimmaged, when he was on my team. When he knocked over an opponent--a frequent occurrence--once the play ended, he would be the first one back to help him back on his feet.
And he could move too. For being so big, he was also quick, both on the basketball court and the football field. Whether a quick plant heading up the lane or a silky juke to shed a defensive back, he was always in control of that massive, athletic body.
The words "gentle giant" come to mind to describe Mark. Although an imposing presence physically, he was a calming presence in all other areas. I don't think I ever saw him get upset. Certainly I'm been involved in my share of combativeness over the years, occasionally going beyond the friendly trash talking and jostling. Mark would step in and make things right. He would say the right thing, in the right way, and his larger size didn't ever need to be a factor.
Does it take losing someone you know to turn the surreal into the real? I don't know. It certainly makes it a bit more personal, a bit more real, kind of like coming out makes gayness a reality to those who were previously ignorant. There is definitely a sense of mourning, that this world has lost the goodness of a fine man. One of many such losses, but one, in this case, that hits closer to home that I want to admit, than I want to believe.
Many years ago, during my senior year a college, I took a choral class, ending the quarter with a performance. The men had to wear black pants, a white button-down shirt, and a bow tie. I added a red ribbon to the ensemble, wanting to make a statement and ready to fight to make it. But the instructor/conductor passed by before the concert and simply asked if I was wearing that for anyone in particular. I said no, and then I wondered if I should be happy or sad about that answer: happy that I didn't know anyone who had dies, or sad that I had not gotten closer to enough people that I hadn't know anyone who had died.
Now, I know.
As best as I remember the line "How we face death is at least as important as how we face life." From the reports being pieced together, Mark faced death head on, doing his best to control it, wrest it from its hold on him and his fellow passengers. While he ultimately lost his own personal struggle, his actions apparently saved the lives of many, many more. And now, I just struggle to face death--his--half as bravely as he did himself.
Chuck Martin is a writer living in San Francisco
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