9911250075
DETROIT FREE PRESS
991125
Thursday, November 25, 1999
METRO FINAL
1A
Photo 1998 Free Press photo
Craig McCarty and son Darren signed copies last year of the father's
book, "Rinkside: A Family's Story of Courage & Inspiration."
MITCH ALBOM
CRAIG McCARTY 1949-1999; SIDEBAR ATTACHED
Copyright (c) 1999, Detroit Free Press
TO THE WINGS, HE WAS SIMPLY DARREN'S DAD
DEATH SHOULD never take a holiday. Especially not Thanksgiving. Not the one
holiday devoted to families. This is not a time to die. This is a time to
bounce your grandchildren on your knee, to pass the cranberry sauce to your
wife and smile, to put your arm around your son, tell him you're proud of him.
That is what Craig McCarty should have been doing today with his family, with
his wife, with his boy, Darren, the Red Wings forward. Instead, because Craig
could not stop for death, it unkindly stopped for him. He is gone. The good
fight, so public these last few years in Detroit, has been lost.
"I'm going to beat this," he once told me, on an "up" day in his battle
against multiple myeloma, a rare form of bone marrow cancer that had struck
him at age 46. "I'm gonna be the first."
"I'll bet you will," I said.
And I believed it. At least I wanted to believe it. Never mind that the life
expectancy with this awful disease is a mere four years. Never mind that Craig
underwent difficult bone marrow transplants, that he endured the burn of
chemotherapy, that the treatments left him so bloated at times his face
appeared as round as a cartoon.
Never mind. There was such a great spirit to this man. I don't usually get to
know the parents of athletes. They are sometimes, quite frankly, only
interested in how much their son is scoring, or how much money he's getting.
But this man was different. He had the firmness of a high school
vice-principal and the gentleness of a grandpa who feeds pigeons in the park.
His son, one of the most popular players on the Red Wings, was a kid who
reflected well on his father, and wasn't embarrassed to have "Pop" sitting
next to him near his locker-room stall.
Craig McCarty was his given name, but he was always "Darren's Dad" in the
halls of Joe Louis Arena, where he spent so much time these last few years.
"Have you seen Darren's Dad?" people would say. "Did you talk to Darren's
Dad?"
And later, "Did you hear about Darren's Dad? Is he gonna make it? . . ."
Death takes a holiday.
The words we dread
It was in the summer of 1995 that Craig McCarty first felt a shot of pain in
his chest. He drove three hours to a doctor, never telling his wife that he
thought he was having a heart attack. An examination revealed nothing wrong
with his heart, but something amiss with his blood. A few months later, he got
the news: cancer.
This is the moment of which we all live in fear, the moment fate pushes us off
a cliff and tells us the expected date that we crash into the ground. Most
people free-fall. They are confused. Angry. Depressed. They often think they
have nothing more to offer, because the whole world is so black and gloomy.
Not Craig McCarty. In a certain way, he found more life in dying than many
people find in living. He fought through his grueling treatments. He fought
the fatigue. He wrote a book, started a magazine, ran a foundation. He soaked
in the support of his family and even got a new dog, a golden retriever, for
extra love, both giving it and getting it.
When Darren revealed an alcohol addiction in the summer of 1996, Craig
insisted that Darren get treatment. He said father and son would fight their
afflictions together. "You have a disease, I have a disease," he said. "Let's
try and beat them."
From that point, they became unified in a way few fathers and sons ever do.
They revealed their stories. They visited TV stations and radio stations to
tell about their battles, to inspire others with similar problems. A year
later, Craig watched with tears in his eyes as Darren scored the clinching
goal in the final game of the Red Wings' first Stanley Cup in 42 years.
And later, in the locker room, Craig had an even bigger moment. As the Wings
drank from the Cup in celebration, he watched Darren take his turn, dump out
the champagne, pour in a soft drink, and swig that instead.
"I was the proudest parent in the room," the father said.
It doesn't surprise me that this disease attacked Craig McCarty's bones; it
wouldn't have had a chance against his heart.
A way to help others
In the final months of his life, I would see Craig in the Joe Louis Arena
hallways, or sitting in the locker room waiting for Darren to finish his
interviews. Craig was always smiling, his eyes dancing wearily behind his
glasses, his white hair and cheeky visage suggesting some kindly uncle who
happened to like hockey.
He never had a negative word. Never complained about his affliction. The only
help he ever sought was for his innumerable projects, such as the book he
wrote about his and Darren's experiences, called "Rinkside," or the foundation
he and Darren started to raise money to fight the disease. That foundation,
the McCarty Cancer Foundation, has already earned well over $500,000 through
fund-raising events and black-tie galas. I was asked by Craig to be the emcee
for the first of those. It was more than an honor. I said a few words about
Craig's courage, and his love that was so apparent for his son.
That night, Craig McCarty began a new tradition with me.
He hugged me.
And every subsequent encounter began with a hug. Hello, then a hug. See you
later, then a hug. This is not always the norm for sports families and
strangers. But it is for people who are dying. I learned from a wise old dying
teacher once that just as babies need to be held and comforted when they enter
the world, so, too, do the dying need to be held and comforted as they're
leaving the world.
Craig and I hugged all the time.
And now he's gone. He was 50 years old. And, like everyone who swallows hard
at the news of a death, I only wish we could hug again.
Farewell to Darren's Dad, who'll have a permanent place in that locker room
now, on some invisible stool, next to his son, smiling at his effort, soothing
his bruises. It won't be the same. How could it be?
The sad truth is, death never takes a holiday. But it sure ruined this one.
Perhaps the only way to fight back is to find someone you love today and hug
them hard, hug them as if you'll never let them go.
A private memorial service for Craig McCarty will be held Saturday in
Leamington, Ontario, for family and friends. In lieu of flowers, the family
suggests that donations be made to the McCarty Cancer Fund, 27387 Woodward
Ave., Berkley, MI 48072. Craig McCarty's book, "Rinkside: A Family's Story of
Courage & Inspiration," is available from Benchmark Press for $14.95 at most
bookstores.
MITCH ALBOM can be reached at 313-223-4581 or albom@freepress.com. Catch
"Albom in the Afternoon" 3-6 p.m. weekdays and "Monday Sports Albom" 6:30-8
p.m. Mondays on WJR-AM (760). Albom will sign copies of his books from noon-1
p.m. Saturday at Borders in Novi. Other signings: 7:30-8:30 p.m. Dec. 8 at
Little Book Shoppe On The Park in Plymouth, 7:30-8:30 p.m. Dec. 15 at Barnes &
Noble in Toledo, 1:30-2:30 p.m. Dec. 18 at Borders in Ann Arbor, 4-5 p.m. Dec.
18 at Barnes & Noble in Bloomfield Hills, and 7:30-8:30 p.m. Dec. 20 at Barnes
& Noble in Troy.
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
CRAIG MCCARTY;OBITUARY;SPT;HOCKEY;RED WINGS;DARREN MCCARTY