LOS GATOS, Calif. — Much of Charlie Wedemeyer's life revolves around the adjustable bed in the back of the den, the one with four boxes at the foot to support his legs and the equipment that helps him breathe. Most everything in sight is either green--plants, the bed linens and the covering for a small couch to his right--or white--the walls, the bookcase to his left. Bright colors, positive colors.
He is 42 and can't move on his own, can't hold his head up and can't speak. Yet, everything seems to be grand. He obviously doesn't hear too well, either, because so many people told him to give up and die. Still, 11 years after being diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, commonly known as Lou Gehrig's Disease, and being given three years at the most to live by some, he is still going.
Everyone talks of his eyes, the ones that spend many hours staring straight ahead at the big-screen television about 15 feet away or beyond that through the wood-paneled glass doors and into the backyard. It's as if he doesn't notice the seven nurses who come and go around the clock like the changing of the guard.
He even talks with his eyes: a wink, a stern gaze, a wide-open look of amazement. His wife, Lucy--they were high school sweethearts--jokes that the perfect way to keep him quiet would be to shave off his eyebrows.
Even Bruce Snyder, the football coach at the University of California, found the key when he visited last December while recruiting Wedemeyer's son, Kale: "His eyes are really alive. There's almost a smile in them, an alertness. That's the first thing I noticed. They said, 'Hey, I'm really glad to see you guys.' That's what his eyes said."
He was just what Snyder and one of his assistants, Terry Shea, needed that night. It was two days before Christmas, two days before a much-needed day off and a chance to spend time with his family, after three weeks of nonstop recruiting. Snyder was tired and unsure of what to expect during his first home visit with Kale, a small (5 feet 7 inches, 175 pounds) but speedy tailback at Los Gatos High School, the team Wedemeyer once coached with success.
"I was tired, real tired," Snyder said. "Of course, I knew some of the background involving Charlie and Lucy and Kale, and to be honest I was a little reticent. One, from being tired and, also, not sure of how this was going to happen, in terms of communication and attitude. I didn't know if there was any self-pity. I had made the commitment and was looking forward to Christmas to take a day off, so I went into the home less than enthusiastic."
But everything worked out.
"The home was really decorated," Snyder said. "There were a lot of the smells of Christmas. You could tell they were baking, and it was a very warm home. Kale and Lucy met us at the door and invited us in. We walked to the back room, and there was Charlie.
"Most visits last an hour to an hour and 15 minutes, sometimes an hour and a half. We left after two and a half hours, and I had goose bumps. I turned to my assistant coach and said that's the best Christmas gift I've ever had."
Obviously, everyone left impressed. Kale, who scored 33 touchdowns in his two years on the varsity and will be playing in the Shrine all-star game Saturday night at the Rose Bowl, signed with Cal. He also visited Washington State and Oregon and considered Santa Clara but decided on Berkeley because he wanted to be close to his family.
So, what does Charlie see?
"Life," he replies through Lucy's lip reading. "Especially when the hummingbird comes every day, my favorite flowers, the gardenias, are around, and the squirrels entertain me and the dogs outside.
"I can see now how much God has used me, and in so many different ways. We have been able to visit and share with so many various groups--other ALS patients, first graders to senior citizens, all sorts of people. It is nice that He has enabled me to have some impact on all these people."
Does he like his life?
"I love it. We have had so many of our friends and the community of Los Gatos be so supportive. It makes you want to go on living."
The story began in 1963.
Charlie Wedemeyer and Lucy Dangler, people with drastically different backgrounds, met at the bookstore on the first day of their sophomore year at Punahou High in Honolulu. They hit it off from the start--she thought he looked "pretty cute," he decided "the minute I saw you I had to meet you" and got her phone number from a mutual friend.
