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Fort Worth Star-Telegram
March 7, 1999
Section: HOMETOWN STAR-NORTH
Edition: ARLINGTON AM
Page: 1

For Cal's sake

Arlington rallies around young cancer patient
Ryan Sanders
Star-Telegram Writer

Cal Naughton could miss a lot of things growing up. He may miss seeing perfectly, or batting .300 on the Martin High School baseball team, but if he takes a cue from his parents, he won't miss any optimism. And if he treats others like Arlington has treated him, he'll give more than his share.

COURAGE

Cal turned 1 year old on Valentine's Day. His father, Chris, is a soccer coach at Martin High School, and his mother, Paige, is a home making teacher at Arlington High School. Cal is their only child. In January, Chris and Paige got some news that would forever change their son's future, and their relationship with the people of Arlington.

"Cal has retinal blastoma," Paige said dryly, sitting in her living room where scattered baby toys give no hint of her son's problem. "He had tumors in his eye."

Paige and Chris asked a doctor about Cal's eyes after they noticed that his left eye didn't always follow his right. They thought he had a lazy eye. They wish he did.

"We found out about the tumors on Jan. 18," Paige said. "They took his eye on Jan. 26."

Cal crawls at full speed around the Naughton home, a bandage covering the socket where a plastic ball has replaced his left eye.

Now, the couple is praying for the right eye. It is affected, too, but not as severely as the left. Doctors hope to remove all the malignant masses with laser surgery. But the first round of laser treatment brought no improvement. Cal will go back Tuesday.

Chris and Paige hold out hope. They are not angry or pitiful.

"I don't think we have the right to be angry," Chris said.

They talk about Cal's condition with courage. And they ogle at him and brag as if they don't have time to mourn his eye while they wonder at the rest of him.

Paige's words may best represent the couple's optimism and grace.

"One child in Texas per year is diagnosed with this," Paige said.

"Hopefully, Cal is it for 1999."

Indeed, the disease is rare. But so is the Naughton resolve. Cal's full name is Callan Andrew Naughton.

"His initials are CAN," Chris said. "He can do anything he wants to do. Maybe that sounds goofy, but that's us. We still believe he can do anything."

COMMUNITY

Almost as impressive as young Cal and his parents is the response from family, friends, co-workers and even strangers. If the young couple's own courage wasn't enough, Arlington's encouragement has buoyed spirits in the Naughton home.

Chris said they have received at least one gift or card every day since Cal lost his eye.

"It's just been incredible. There is no way to thank all those people," he said.

There have been gifts.

"We've got flowers, toys, you name it," Chris said.

There have been cards - more than 200 of them. On the kitchen counter, a stack of the greetings has grown too big to manage. They slide off to the floor.

And there has been money.

The first effort to help Chris and Paige was meant to be anonymous.

A group of friends who grew up with Chris established a savings account for Cal at Bank One. Chris' lifelong friend Chad Crow opened the account. Crow's daughter, Madison, was born a month before Cal.

"It's just devastating," Crow said. "That night, when I found out about it, I went in and looked at Madison, asleep in her crib and I just thought I can't imagine having to deal with something like that.

But if anyone can, it's Chris and Paige."

Crow said more than 50 people had made donations before he signed the account over to Chris. By then, the secret was out.

"We set it up as a savings account and got an ATM card on it," Crow said. "I stuck the ATM card in his box with a note that said something like, `Here's your official Cal card. Use it however you think it can best help Cal. "' The note, like the account, was intended to be anonymous.

"Chris and Paige are the type that would refuse anything you try to do for them," Crow said.

But Crow was too close to Naughton to keep the secret.

"I knew Chad's handwriting on that note," Chris grinned. "I grew up with the guy. I knew he was behind it."

COOKIES FOR CAL

The giving didn't end with family or friends. What followed was a show of support from every organization where the Naughtons are involved, and some where they aren't.

The Junior League made a donation. The Knights of Columbus contributed proceeds from a dinner. Their Sunday school class at Trinity United Methodist Church brought cards and meals. Even perfect strangers sent along checks and best wishes.

"It's hard to take people's hard-earned money," Chris said.

Even the strangers' gifts may not have been as remarkable as another group that has raised money for Cal - high school students.

"Martin was gung-ho," Chris grinned. "They just started doing all this stuff. They had `Cookies For Cal,' and they sold out. I know they passed a hat or something around at every banquet and game for weeks. And they wanted to do a lot more."

Martin students worked until 11 p.m. and midnight some nights, filling cookie orders to help Coach Naughton's son.

At Arlington High, students decorated the hallways with posters asking other students to "Help Cal," and "Care For Cal."

A team of students led by the student council and teacher Jamie Cisneros went door to door collecting money in classrooms. By the time they made their deposit in Cal's Bank One fund, students and faculty had given $2,500.

"I'm really proud of our kids and our faculty," Arlington Principal James Adams said. "I've always felt like Arlington High School kids were something. They care about each other and they care about other people, and they really opened their pocketbooks for Cal."

Adams and Martin Principal Steve Jacoby even considered a joint fund-raiser for students from both schools - an event that would show goodwill for the rivals, as well as for Cal. But Chris discouraged that idea.

"That was right after we had made our donation and Martin had just made theirs," Adams said. "I don't know if he was just feeling overwhelmed or embarrassed, but he said he would rather we not do it.

"We're still looking at that. I think the students would like it," Adams said. "They're our rivals, but a lot of our kids know Martin kids."

Chris used to coach at Bowie High School. The students there made a donation, too.

"You know you always think of teens as being, you know, not like that. But here they are, very mature and giving," said Chris' mother, Kay Naughton. "They have written cards and letters and beautiful prayers. They have been very supportive."

FAMILY TIES

Chris said he's not sure the donations have come because of his job as a coach or even Cal's plight. He gives credit to their friends and neighbors - people of Arlington who, he says, take care of their own.

And he credits mothers. Chris and Paige were both raised by single mothers in Arlington.

Chris said he has always been impressed with their effort, and he thinks the community's support has been at least partly inspired by respect for Cal's grandmothers.

"I think it reflects the type of people these two women are," he said.

Paige's father died when she was 7. His name was Andrew - Cal's middle name.

Paige's mother, Barbara Tapp, remarried 10 years ago. She's the principal at Williams Elementary School.

"Strength comes not from disappointment and hurt, but from how we handle ourselves and who we turn to in those times," Tapp said.

"Paige has come through some tough times and that probably has given her some backbone and character."

After high school, Chris at Arlington and Paige at Lamar, both went to Texas Tech. Chris played football there and they both earned degrees before returning to Arlington. It wasn't until then that they started to date.

Kay Naughton raised three children by herself. Ironically, her younger son, Brian, lost sight in his left eye in an accident not long ago.

"It's ironic that that happened," Paige said. But the couple hopes Brian can be Cal's "coach."

"He may be able to help him learn to do things," Chris said.

OUTLOOK

The cancer, doctors say, is contained in Cal's eye so there's little danger of it spreading. But the right eye is still in danger.

If laser treatments aren't effective, doctors will have to use more severe techniques.

Cal may need to see a specialist in Philadelphia, and he may need chemotherapy.

"We don't know what he'll need," Paige said. "This kind of cancer has a tendency to come back."

Soon, he'll get a false eye, like a contact, that will fit over the ball that replaced his left eye. Already, his nerves and muscles have attached to the ball, and he'll be able to move his left eye, making it hard to detect his handicap.

Chris and Paige are still getting used to all of that.

"We've seen an oncologist, retinologist, surgeons. We've seen a lot of doctors," Chris said.

The Naughtons have health insurance under Harris HMO. They said they've been pleased with the insurance and the doctors.

Paige has filed for family and medical leave, and spent every day with Cal since the first surgery. She said the doctor visits have made him more "clingy."

"He hangs on more. He wants to be with me all the time, doesn't want me to leave the room," she said.

But other than that, her son is just as happy and energetic as ever. Doctors say he's not in pain and his half-toothed grin certainly doesn't reveal any sadness.

"He's a tough little guy. He doesn't slow down," Chris said

posted by Unknown  # 5:32 PM 0 comments

Fort Worth Star-Telegram
November 1, 1998
Section: HOMETOWN STAR-GRAND PRAIRIE
Edition: ARLINGTON AM
Page: 9

Repent and be healed

Confession cleanses conscience and soul
Ryan Sanders
Star-Telegram Writer

Father Jim Gigliotti eyed the shotgun nervously. The butt was perched between his penitent's knees, the muzzle under his chin.

"He's been asking for a priest," a police officer told Gigliotti. "I think he wants to confess."

Gigliotti's approach was gentle, but he caught the young man off guard.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked.

"What?"

"People don't kill themselves unless they're hurting," the priest said softly. "Where does it hurt?"

That was all the boy needed. From the deepest, most wounded parts of himself, he spilled out confessions and regrets.

His girlfriend left him.

His parents kicked him out.

He lost his job.

As he went on, he became more relaxed, and held the gun more loosely. Eventually, he put the weapon down so he could light a cigarette.

After 45 minutes of talking, the boy was finished, empty. He bent to pick up the gun, but Gigliotti stopped him.

"Would you mind if I took that? It's really making me nervous."

"Sure."

SOMEONE TO LISTEN

Episodes like that have assured the pastor of St. Maria Goretti Catholic Church that confession, no matter how difficult, is important.

"Sometimes, people just need conversation," he said. "That young man just needed someone to listen. Confession is where healing happens."

The doctrine of confession is as old as sin to be confessed. God himself heard the first confession after Adam and Eve sinned.

In the Roman Catholic Church, confession has gained a lot of trimmings since Eden - confessionals, kneelers, robes and screens. Gigliotti said the purpose is the same.

"It's the emptying out of one's sins to be filled up then with God's grace," he said. "It gives grace to turn away from sin and toward God."

Gigliotti said he has heard confessions in some unorthodox places. The young man with the shotgun was standing in a mall parking lot. The priest said he's heard confessions over the phone, in his office, or just wherever someone opens up to him. The traditional method, of course, is in a confessional, though even that has changed.

In 1973, the Catholic Church added a face-to-face option to the sacrament of confession. At St. Maria Goretti, where there was once a priest's booth with a screen on each side, now there is an open room to one side where penitents can sit with the priest to confess.

"A lot of people now prefer to confess face-to-face," he said.

"But the option is always offered of anonymity."

In fact, Gigliotti said many parishioners protect their anonymity by going to other churches to confess.

"I know I'm getting a lot of people from other parishes," he said. "It's something of a pilgrimage."

At St. Joseph's Catholic Community, confessions are done by appointment only. Father Jim Miller said his parishioners get more than just absolution.

"There are tremendous psychological impacts, as well as spiritual benefits," he said. "One of the lowest suicide rates in the world is among practicing Catholics because they don't have to carry their guilt around with them.

"If you talk to many Catholics, a lot of them will tell you when they come out of the confession, it feels like they're floating about a foot off the ground."

TOUGH LOVE

Immaculate Conception Catholic Church in Grand Prairie offers confession to more than 1,600 parish members. Father Denny O'Mara said he sees opportunity through the screened confession window.

"I find it to be a great opportunity to encourage people to believe in God's forgiveness," he said. "Sometimes, people find peace or help or strength they need in life. So I find it to be a good ministry."

Confession isn't just about forgiveness and good feelings. Gigliotti said he has heard confessions of murder twice.

"In that case, I ask to see them afterward," he said. "And they agreed both times. When they come to confess that, it's a cry for help. They're tormented and they want help."

Of course, priests can't report offenses to police, but Gigliotti said penitents in those situations are often willing to admit their crimes publicly.

"You're still held to the seal of confidentiality," he said. "But you work with that person and try to get them some counseling."

In fact, Gigliotti said he often recommends counseling to parishioners. Likewise, local therapists will sometimes recommend confession as part of a patient's therapy.

"Often therapists know this person has their faith and the person will bring up a need to feel forgiven," he said.

Gigliotti said the church recommends monthly trips to the confessional. He recommends more frequent confession for people in therapy or recovering from addiction.

"One of the first rules of coming out of addiction is, `Don't keep secrets,' " he said. "So if someone is an alcoholic or a sex addict or something, I recommend weekly confession to get them through the harder parts of overcoming their abusing something."

PENANCE

Even forgiven sin has consequences. Gigliotti recommends an act of penance to everyone who confesses. He said the penance should fit the sin.

"I'll ask them to do an act or say a prayer," he said. "If they've stolen something, I'll ask them to return it or, if that's not possible, to give to the poor or a charity the amount that was taken and then some. If the person is having an affair, I'll ask `Is it terminated? ' If not, we'll need to talk further. In confession, it's understood that we're trying to amend our lives."

That's the positive side of the rite.

"It's a celebration. It's not to focus on one's terrible self," he said. "Never to be frightened or fearful of God, but to pray together and heal."

CATHOLIC CUSTOM

For Catholics, hearing confession is reserved for priests, but Protestant churches practice confession, too, minus the kneelers and screens.

"The difference between Protestants and Catholics is that we believe Jesus is our high priest. We can go directly to the Father through Jesus. So we don't feel like there's a need for that extra step to take your sins to a priest," said Pastor Dan Grindstaff of South Park Baptist Church in Grand Prairie. "But I understand our Catholic friends. Sometimes you just need someone to talk to, and there is something therapeutic in baring your soul to someone else."

Grindstaff quotes James 5:16, which says, "Therefore, confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed."

"We need to have an accountability partner that we are real and transparent with, but not especially someone in the clergy," he said. "Confession is definitely good for the soul."

Whatever the context - confession booth, living room or parking lot - local clergy say confession can be one of the most rewarding, if not humbling, disciplines of the Christian religion.

Father O'Mara said, "I think Jesus Christ knew what he was doing when he said the sins you forgive will be forgiven and the sins you hold back will be held back."

posted by Unknown  # 5:31 PM 0 comments

Fort Worth Star-Telegram
April 11, 1999
Section: HOMETOWN STAR-SOUTH
Edition: ARLINGTON AM
Page: 2

What if men ruled the world?
Ryan Sanders
Star-Telegram Writer

Last week, one of my editors and his wife celebrated their 20th wedding anniversary - the platinum anniversary. I tried to think of anything I would want that's made of platinum. A platinum golf club?

No. It would probably be too stiff. A platinum tool box? Plastic works just fine. How about a platinum screwdriver? No, better save that one for the military. Maybe a platinum big screen TV? Sounds like a bit much.

Of course, when I asked my wife, she rattled off a platinum wish list, starting with jewelry. I considered other anniversary gifts - silver, diamonds, linen, lace. All materials that my wife values more than I do.

All of that brought me to this conclusion - the anniversary list is sexist. Sure, it seems innocent with stuff like wood and steel until you consider what's not on the list.

Why is there is no duct tape anniversary? How about graphite?

There should definitely be a graphite anniversary.

If men had compiled the anniversary list, husbands wouldn't have to beat the bushes for a gift made of coral or jade. We could shop thoughtfully and selflessly for our Gore-Tex anniversary.

In fact, my wife would be amazed at how thoughtful I could be if our next anniversary was to be celebrated with fiberglass or Freon.

Yes, I think a new anniversary list could save marriages everywhere.

No more glass, crystal or china. We'll buy cordura, remote controls and WD-40. And for the really big years like 25 or 50, we can proclaim the electronics anniversary and the internal combustion anniversary.

Dogs will replace perfume. Satellite TV will bump ivory. And explosives will blast pottery.

Appropriately, it was my wife who grounded my high-flying anniversary dreams. When I asked her to fax me a list of anniversary gifts (she carries one in her day planner), her cover sheet made me realize why women have gotten away with a sexist list for so long.

It read, "Now that you have the list, I'll be expecting some things. ... It looks to me like you have a little catching up to do."

They wrote the list, because they make the rules.

posted by Unknown  # 5:31 PM 1 comments

Southern Exposure
Arlington man saw Antarctica with Adm. Byrd
Ryan Sanders
Star-Telegram Writer

ARLINGTON -It's difficult to follow Guy Hutcheson's stories about his expedition, especially if you've never been to Antarctica.

Hutcheson talks about furs and pressure ice and "the winter night."

After a few minutes, though, you realize that Hutcheson has been to a place where winter and night are synonymous, where temperatures reached 72 degrees below zero, a place where few people have ever been.

Hutcheson was one of 56 men who spent 13 months in Antarctica on Adm. Richard Byrd's second expedition to the ice cap in the early 1930s. He's one of four who are still alive.

"There were several times when we thought we wouldn't come back," Hutcheson said, remembering the trip from the warm confines of the living room at his home on West Abram Street where National Geographic magazines are bundled in a corner and the TV is tuned to a film crew exploring Incan ruins. "But we all came home. Byrd never lost a man in the field."

Sixty-four years after his trip, Hutcheson doesn't call it to mind often. He said his five grandchildren like to hear his expedition stories, "when they can get me to talk."

When he is spurred to recall the trip, he does so with little braggadocio. "I don't think about it much anymore," he said. "It was a long time ago."

Byrd, Hutcheson remembers, was a stalwart leader.

"He was very smart and very fair," Hutcheson said. "He knew his job and knew how to handle men."

But Byrd was absent several months during that second expedition, spending the winter alone in a hut more than 100 miles inland from the main camp he named Little America.

"The base camp was still there from the first expedition, but all the buildings were under the snow," Hutcheson said. "You could enter them through tunnels."

Hutcheson said the first expedition, four years before, had left in a hurry - so much so that they left a pot of beans on a stove.

"We ate it," he said with a chuckle. "It was still good."

Hutcheson was 22 and fresh out of the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas (now Texas A&M University) when he went to Antarctica. The trip lasted from 1933 to 1935. He remembers the reaction from his family when he told them he was going to the bottom of the world.

"They thought I was crazy," he said. "I was the first one out of my company at A&M to get a job. I had a good job in Houston with the Texas Company and at that time, jobs were hard to get. But I went off and did this and it didn't pay anything."

Hutcheson was one of four radio operators on the expedition. He said competition for the chance to go to the world's coldest place wasn't too difficult.

"I had followed the first [expedition] and when I found out he was organizing a second, I wrote a letter to the admiral in Boston," Hutcheson said. "I gave him my qualifications. He needed a radio operator and so I got on a bus to go up there."

After the expedition, Hutcheson went to work for CBS in New York.

He worked there for 10 years before moving to Arlington to start a radio engineering consulting business in 1946. Arlington's population was 6,000 then, he said.

Hutcheson served on the Arlington school board for 19 years and when he retired, the school district named Hutcheson Junior High for him.

Hutcheson's wife, Ruth, died three years ago.

Though he speaks little of his once-in-a-lifetime trip, the spirit of exploration is still alive in him as evidenced by his interest in present-day expeditions in South America and undersea.

If he had it all to do over again, Hutcheson said he would, under the same conditions.

"I guess I would," he said with a smirk. "If I were young again.

And crazy."

Ryan Sanders, (817) 548-5566 rsanders@star-telegram.com

posted by Unknown  # 5:27 PM 0 comments