billwixey.com

Cancer, for most of us, is one of those things that is best hidden away in some darkened closet.  It's something all of us fear to some degree.  At the very least, even the most vapid human knows what it is and hopes they don't get it.  So, it's something that really isn't discussed at any great length because it's a drag.  It's not that fun to talk about. 

I wasn't particularly interested in talking about cancer, either-- until I got it.  I'm really into it now.  I'm reading The Journey Through Cancer, which reports that 1 out of every 2 American males are projected to have cancer in their lifetimes--and 1 of 3 women.  Staggering numbers, that show how pervasive this disease is in our society. 

Nearly all of us have friends and relatives that have been diagnosed with cancer, and we become witnesses, allies, and fellow soldiers in the battle being waged.  We're forced into this.  Few enlist willingly.  But sooner or later we're all going to war.

Nothing, however, affects you quite like the first time cancer touches you directly.

For me, it was my buddy Brandy Pugh. 

Brandy and I met when I was 12, playing PeeWee football.  We were buddies all through Rose Hill Junior High and Lake Washington High School.  Brandy was a great athlete.  Starting wide receiver on the football team.  Starting catcher on the baseball team.  I was working hard to be his backup.  I worked out with Brandy and some of the other baseball players every day during the winter, but I was never quite good enough to crack the starting lineup.  We had an excellent team:  We were Kingco Champs my junior year, and finished 3rd in the state my senior year (losing to John Olerud's Interlake Saints in the State Semis).  I probably didn't have any business on the team at all, but Brandy always encouraged me, and talked me up to the coaches.  He referred to himself as "Coach Pugh". 

Brandy was an amazingly charismatic person. He had an infectious energy that just drew people to him.  Even during those awkward, judgmental teenage years, it was never uncool for Brandy to grab someone by the shoulders in his inimitable way and tell them how much he appreciated them.  He was a collector of friends, and he had hundreds, but when you were hanging with him, he always made you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered. 

One of my fondest memories is changing for the prom in the backseat of his Aunt's Mustang, flying down I-5, after beating Columbia River in the State quarterfinals.  When we arrived late to the prom, I found out my date had actually ditched me, and went with somebody else.  So I went back to the Westin and had a great time anyway, partying with friends, relishing that first taste of adult freedom while saying farewell to youthful innocence.

I moved away after college to pursue a career in broadcasting, and didn't spend much time in Seattle for about eight years. Though I periodically checked in with Brandy during my various tours of duty, I hadn't talked with him in a while when I was hired at KIRO as weekend sports anchor in 1998.  The morning after my first broadcast, the first member of the old gang to contact me was Brandy.  After a bit of catching up, he gave me the scoop.

"Bill, I've got to tell you, I've had a bit of a life change since we talked last", Brandy said. 
"What? Are you a woman now?"
"No. Not yet," he said, "But I do have cancer."

He went on to give the specifics.  He had leukemia.  He had it for a few years.  And it was kicking his butt.  He had relapsed twice, and was undergoing chemo and blood transfusions and complicated medical procedures just to keep functioning.  He was very sick.  But he certainly didn't seem sick. 

He was the real "Coach Pugh" now.  He was the head football coach at Rose Hill Junior High and the Head baseball coach at Mercer Island High School.  His work ethic was amazing.  All of those long hours that he put into training for athletics, he transferred to his personal and professional life.  He was admired and respected by everyone that encountered him for his extraordinary courage and strength in the face of such a daunting challenge as the blood cancer that was ravaging his body.

He was always encouraging me, telling me how proud of me he was. He said he considered me the classic underdog story:  the guy who went out in search of his dream and chased it down.

One day, while covering the NCAA Basketball Tournament in New Orleans, I got a phone call from a buddy saying that Brandy had a problem with a blood transfusion and probably wouldn't live much longer.  It was time to get the team back together and rally for Brandy. 

I returned home the next day, to find the intensive care ward swarming with Brandy's family and all of our friends from High School.  I was shown into his room, filled with people, and Brandy's face lit up.  You could tell he was trying to yell, "Wixey!" but all that came out was a shriek, because his muscles couldn't operate properly.  He didn't look well.  He was hairless from chemo, bloated from steroids, looking frail and thin. But he wanted to give me a big hug nonetheless.  That was Brandy.  Always making you feel like you're the only person in the world that mattered.  

Brandy passed away on March 15, 1999.  I know the date by heart because my son was born exactly one year later--March 15, 2000. Brandy was 32 years old.  His funeral was attended by hundreds of friends he collected over the years.  The spirit that Brandy carried was given to each of us.  His legacy lives on.  The Brandy Pugh Memorial American Legion Baseball Tournament is considered the premiere Legion tournament in the Northwest.  A number of his former teammates formed a team called "Brandy's Boys", and still hold their own in Men's "A" league play, even though some of the players are now in their 40's, competing against kids half their age.

Brandy's life and untimely death had a huge impact on me.  I have thought of Brandy often over the years.  Now, in the midst of my own cancer battle, I think of Brandy nearly every day.  I know that Brandy is looking down on me, encouraging me.  I want to make him proud.