Former WR holder Brian Sternberg soars over life's obstacles
Posted: Thu Sep 14, 2006 1:01 pm
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A matter of faith: Former world record holder Brian Sternberg soars over life's obstacles
By: Abe Bayer, Journal Newspapers
09/05/2006
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If a picture is worth a thousand words, the décor of Brian Sternberg's little room speaks volumes. The 62-year-old's walls are covered with dozens of autographed pictures of athletes - all of whom Sternberg has met, and many of whom he remains in contact with via email - from Jamie Moyer and Edgar Martinez, to Steve Largent and Detlef Schrempf. There are plaques, too, like the "Helm's Award" he received in 1963 as North America's top all-around athlete along with representatives from the six other continents; three framed letters, from John F. Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy and Jacqueline Kennedy, Mrs. Kennedy's correspondence outlined in black as it was in the year following her husband's assassination; artwork, usually in the form of finely-rendered black and white drawings; and in one corner, two color-tinted photographs of a young man in his physical prime, his powerful, lean physique showcased by a gymnast's uniform -- Sternberg, as a sophomore, just before the accident that changed his life forever.
He was at the top of the world in the summer of 1963, a versatile University of Washington student-athlete majoring in physics and mathematics who just happened to be a world-record holder in the pole vault - the last Husky athlete to bear world-record status, period. That year he soared to a record-setting 16' 8" at the Penn Relays, and was all set to join his U.S. teammates at the World Championships in Moscow. The team was scheduled to leave on the 6th of July. But on July 3, Sternberg injured his spinal cord while training on a trampoline. He was paralyzed from the neck down, a twenty-year-old quadriplegic.
"I was turning in the air," Sternberg said, turning his head to suggest the tumbling motion. "I guess I just got confused about where I was, and I landed on my neck."
Sternberg's father Harold was instrumental in getting his son's athletic career off the ground. His mother Helen smiled, remembering her son's initial aerial efforts.
"How he got started was, his dad got one of those surplus inner tubes from Boeing, and brought it home and set it up in the back yard. And Brian used to vault over it!"
"Dad used to vault for Seattle Pacific," said Brian. "I went to Shoreline High School ... and did lots of gymnastics."
Sternberg's mother (and part-time caretaker) is a lovely, diminutive little woman who, rather miraculously, regularly lifts her much-larger son out of his wheelchair and onto her back to help him into his bed.
"Oh, it's not so hard," she laughed. "You just have to learn the right way to do it...use your legs. If Brian has one stock answer, it's what he'll say every time I help him out of his chair: 'I'm so glad you can do this!'"
Helen, who worked on the design side of construction along with her late husband Harold, recalled that the family was "between houses at the time of the accident." They designed and built the house they live in today 42 years ago, making a few accommodations for their son's needs: wider hallways and easy, straight-in access.
Beyond his parents' athletic and design influence, which has manifested itself in Sternberg's considerable talents as an artist, is their considerable legacy of service. Kiwanis has been an integral part of the family's history. Sternberg's father was a one-time president of a local chapter - "they all took turns," Helen laughed. The service-oriented club has long been involved in helping to run Whidbey Island's Camp Casey, an annual week of fun and games for local kids aged 8-18 with cerebral palsy. "It's a week off for (caretakers,)" said Sternberg's primary caretaker of 12 years, Katherine Palmer. "It's hard enough just taking care of one."
"Some of them look forward to it all year," Sternberg laughed. "It's the highlight of their year."
Following his folks' example, Sternberg had been active in church youth groups and the Fellowship of Christian Athletes (FCA) prior to his accident.
"You'd be nothing without that kind of help," he said of his faith.
In the wake of his injury, he became even more involved, perhaps driven in part by a sudden awareness of just how many lives his short-lived fame had reached.
Helen proudly showed a copy of a Christmas card the family sent out in 1969, emblazoned with the words "To Whom It May Concern..." and 5,000 names representing a portion of the people who had sent their condolences and support in the wake of Sternberg's injury.
"I had it re-issued to remind us how many people care," Helen said. "I mean, if 5,000 people wrote us, imagine how many were touched by the accident but just didn't bother to write?"
Sternberg's FCA speaking engagements took him all over the country: "Colorado Springs, Kansas City, South Oregon College, California...all these summer conferences for high school kids."
He said he spoke "Mostly about this kind of thing," nodding toward his body. "About not taking things for granted. About how improvements can be made."
Improvements that he has lived in his own, tragically altered life. For Brian Sternberg's triumph lies not only in his survival, but in the fact that his quality of life has greatly improved during the 42 years he has ived as a quadriplegic - by "80 percent," is his mother's estimate.
"You have to understand, at this point Brian's day consisted of sleeping 'til noon," said Palmer. "He couldn't eat sitting up. After lunch, he'd sleep again, until seven or nine that evening."
Scar tissue in his spine and greatly-limited circulation had sapped most of Brian's energy, and his quality of life had been even further diminished by a 1975 bout with pneumonia that robbed him of his voice and short-term memory.
"You would have had to put your ear right up to my mouth to hear what I was saying," he said.
Salvation arrived in the form of a Nevada-based doctor named Harry Goldsmith. Goldsmith is a pioneer in the development of omental transposition procedures, including spinal cord injuries. The omentum is a highly vascular, fatty tissue about 14 inches long and 10 inches wide that hangs like an apron over the intestines and lower abdomen area. Long thought to have little physiological value, doctors like Goldsmith believe the tissue of which the omentum is composed to have the capacity to stimulate healing and blood flow -- two areas of immense value to spinal cord injury sufferers like Brian Sternberg.
"He (Goldberg) had had trouble getting funding (in the States)," said Helen. Not to be deterred, she arranged for the still-experimental surgery to be performed in Germany. So Sternberg, his mother, and several other family members journeyed abroad for the life-changing procedure 33 years after his accident.
In the time since, Sternberg's quality of life has improved tremendously. He is an accomplished artist who regularly doodles on the computer and said he believes an artist's most important body part are his eyes, not his hands. And his still sparkle with a mischievous spark of wit that belies his 62 years, much less physical condition.
Sternberg also loves to spend time exercising up to an hour a day on a bike-like machine called an ergometer. He is an avid emailer, which at least partially explains his numerous contacts, famous and non alike.
And, of course, there are his beloved Huskies.
"He never misses a game," Palmer said of his loyalty to the football team, though Sternberg loves to catch basketball games and often stops in to watch the track meets and gymnastics events as well.
"Can I just talk about Brian for a moment?" asks the woman Sternberg introduced not only as his caretaker, but his fiancé. "Taking care of him is not a job, it's a joy. He's the nicest person you'll ever meet. He never complains about anything. Everybody likes him."
"We've met so many people through the Spinal Cord Society, folks who are just trying to ... make it on their own," Helen Sternberg said. "Brian has been very fortunate with friends and people ready to take care of him. There are so many people in the world we don't hear enough about."
A matter of faith: Former world record holder Brian Sternberg soars over life's obstacles
By: Abe Bayer, Journal Newspapers
09/05/2006
Email to a friendPost a CommentPrinter-friendly
Top of Page
If a picture is worth a thousand words, the décor of Brian Sternberg's little room speaks volumes. The 62-year-old's walls are covered with dozens of autographed pictures of athletes - all of whom Sternberg has met, and many of whom he remains in contact with via email - from Jamie Moyer and Edgar Martinez, to Steve Largent and Detlef Schrempf. There are plaques, too, like the "Helm's Award" he received in 1963 as North America's top all-around athlete along with representatives from the six other continents; three framed letters, from John F. Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy and Jacqueline Kennedy, Mrs. Kennedy's correspondence outlined in black as it was in the year following her husband's assassination; artwork, usually in the form of finely-rendered black and white drawings; and in one corner, two color-tinted photographs of a young man in his physical prime, his powerful, lean physique showcased by a gymnast's uniform -- Sternberg, as a sophomore, just before the accident that changed his life forever.
He was at the top of the world in the summer of 1963, a versatile University of Washington student-athlete majoring in physics and mathematics who just happened to be a world-record holder in the pole vault - the last Husky athlete to bear world-record status, period. That year he soared to a record-setting 16' 8" at the Penn Relays, and was all set to join his U.S. teammates at the World Championships in Moscow. The team was scheduled to leave on the 6th of July. But on July 3, Sternberg injured his spinal cord while training on a trampoline. He was paralyzed from the neck down, a twenty-year-old quadriplegic.
"I was turning in the air," Sternberg said, turning his head to suggest the tumbling motion. "I guess I just got confused about where I was, and I landed on my neck."
Sternberg's father Harold was instrumental in getting his son's athletic career off the ground. His mother Helen smiled, remembering her son's initial aerial efforts.
"How he got started was, his dad got one of those surplus inner tubes from Boeing, and brought it home and set it up in the back yard. And Brian used to vault over it!"
"Dad used to vault for Seattle Pacific," said Brian. "I went to Shoreline High School ... and did lots of gymnastics."
Sternberg's mother (and part-time caretaker) is a lovely, diminutive little woman who, rather miraculously, regularly lifts her much-larger son out of his wheelchair and onto her back to help him into his bed.
"Oh, it's not so hard," she laughed. "You just have to learn the right way to do it...use your legs. If Brian has one stock answer, it's what he'll say every time I help him out of his chair: 'I'm so glad you can do this!'"
Helen, who worked on the design side of construction along with her late husband Harold, recalled that the family was "between houses at the time of the accident." They designed and built the house they live in today 42 years ago, making a few accommodations for their son's needs: wider hallways and easy, straight-in access.
Beyond his parents' athletic and design influence, which has manifested itself in Sternberg's considerable talents as an artist, is their considerable legacy of service. Kiwanis has been an integral part of the family's history. Sternberg's father was a one-time president of a local chapter - "they all took turns," Helen laughed. The service-oriented club has long been involved in helping to run Whidbey Island's Camp Casey, an annual week of fun and games for local kids aged 8-18 with cerebral palsy. "It's a week off for (caretakers,)" said Sternberg's primary caretaker of 12 years, Katherine Palmer. "It's hard enough just taking care of one."
"Some of them look forward to it all year," Sternberg laughed. "It's the highlight of their year."
Following his folks' example, Sternberg had been active in church youth groups and the Fellowship of Christian Athletes (FCA) prior to his accident.
"You'd be nothing without that kind of help," he said of his faith.
In the wake of his injury, he became even more involved, perhaps driven in part by a sudden awareness of just how many lives his short-lived fame had reached.
Helen proudly showed a copy of a Christmas card the family sent out in 1969, emblazoned with the words "To Whom It May Concern..." and 5,000 names representing a portion of the people who had sent their condolences and support in the wake of Sternberg's injury.
"I had it re-issued to remind us how many people care," Helen said. "I mean, if 5,000 people wrote us, imagine how many were touched by the accident but just didn't bother to write?"
Sternberg's FCA speaking engagements took him all over the country: "Colorado Springs, Kansas City, South Oregon College, California...all these summer conferences for high school kids."
He said he spoke "Mostly about this kind of thing," nodding toward his body. "About not taking things for granted. About how improvements can be made."
Improvements that he has lived in his own, tragically altered life. For Brian Sternberg's triumph lies not only in his survival, but in the fact that his quality of life has greatly improved during the 42 years he has ived as a quadriplegic - by "80 percent," is his mother's estimate.
"You have to understand, at this point Brian's day consisted of sleeping 'til noon," said Palmer. "He couldn't eat sitting up. After lunch, he'd sleep again, until seven or nine that evening."
Scar tissue in his spine and greatly-limited circulation had sapped most of Brian's energy, and his quality of life had been even further diminished by a 1975 bout with pneumonia that robbed him of his voice and short-term memory.
"You would have had to put your ear right up to my mouth to hear what I was saying," he said.
Salvation arrived in the form of a Nevada-based doctor named Harry Goldsmith. Goldsmith is a pioneer in the development of omental transposition procedures, including spinal cord injuries. The omentum is a highly vascular, fatty tissue about 14 inches long and 10 inches wide that hangs like an apron over the intestines and lower abdomen area. Long thought to have little physiological value, doctors like Goldsmith believe the tissue of which the omentum is composed to have the capacity to stimulate healing and blood flow -- two areas of immense value to spinal cord injury sufferers like Brian Sternberg.
"He (Goldberg) had had trouble getting funding (in the States)," said Helen. Not to be deterred, she arranged for the still-experimental surgery to be performed in Germany. So Sternberg, his mother, and several other family members journeyed abroad for the life-changing procedure 33 years after his accident.
In the time since, Sternberg's quality of life has improved tremendously. He is an accomplished artist who regularly doodles on the computer and said he believes an artist's most important body part are his eyes, not his hands. And his still sparkle with a mischievous spark of wit that belies his 62 years, much less physical condition.
Sternberg also loves to spend time exercising up to an hour a day on a bike-like machine called an ergometer. He is an avid emailer, which at least partially explains his numerous contacts, famous and non alike.
And, of course, there are his beloved Huskies.
"He never misses a game," Palmer said of his loyalty to the football team, though Sternberg loves to catch basketball games and often stops in to watch the track meets and gymnastics events as well.
"Can I just talk about Brian for a moment?" asks the woman Sternberg introduced not only as his caretaker, but his fiancé. "Taking care of him is not a job, it's a joy. He's the nicest person you'll ever meet. He never complains about anything. Everybody likes him."
"We've met so many people through the Spinal Cord Society, folks who are just trying to ... make it on their own," Helen Sternberg said. "Brian has been very fortunate with friends and people ready to take care of him. There are so many people in the world we don't hear enough about."