And He Was in the Skeet Shooting Hall of Fame, Too

I don't know if it's my stage of life, or just life being life. But for most of 2019, I felt like I was overwhelmed by death.

Celebrities. Sports legends. Relatives. Close friends. Relatives of close friends. Almost every day, it seemed, I was saying goodbye to someone who occupied at least a small corner of my mind and heart. Have you ever felt that way?

A Wide-Screen Tribute to Morrie at a December NKFI Forum.

So rapidly were souls "leaving this Earth," as my mother used to say, that I didn't have time to mourn them individually. It was as if I were in a constant state of grieving. However, since we're in that annual period of "Remembering Those We Lost" in the previous year and starting anew, I didn't want the window to close without acknowledging one loss that hit me particularly hard: Morrie Funkhouser.

After all, how can you not remember a guy named Morrie Funkhouser?

Morrie –– or Morris E. Funkhouser II, if you please –– was one of the first people I met after I was encouraged to join the local transplant support group, hauntingly named "Second Chance," shortly after my kidney transplant in November 2011.

Now Frank Veach, the longtime leader of the group, is a delightfully engaging and salt-of-the-earth fellow, a bit of a goofball, difficult not to like. I accepted his welcome into the fold with gratitude.

However, if memory serves I was the only person of color in the group when I joined. (Dave Freeman and his wife Mara have since come on board to help even the odds.) I had only moved from Detroit to the middle of corn and soybean country a year or so before, and most of my time in my new prairie home was consumed by medical appointments, surgery and recuperation. I really didn't know the lay of my land very well.

I think most black people know that feeling of being the only in the room. Stranger in a strange land, I had no idea what to expect.

Then I see Morrie: older, weathered, a factory machinist all his life. The guy at the end of the bar. I stereotyped his gruff exterior the moment I saw him, I'm sure.

Morrie, in a Glamor Shot.

And I could not have been more wrong. In how many situations could an African American writer from Detroit and an instrument maker from central Illinois become chuckle buddies?

Morrie was warm, wonderful and wise. He was the longest surviving kidney transplant recipient in our little band, 27 years and counting before other causes took him from us last June at the age of 72. He was afflicted with polycystic kidney disease, a genetic disorder in which fluid-filled sacs, or cysts, grow in the kidneys and disrupt their ability to do their job in filtering waste products from the blood. About one in 1,000 people worldwide have the condition, including Morrie's son, Anthony, who inherited it.

In most kidney transplants, the failing kidneys are left inside the body because, hey, they still may have some function left, and what could it hurt? In Morrie's case, his cyst-covered kidneys became so huge and invasive –– nearly 13 pounds each –– that both organs had to be extracted.

He never complained, and almost never said no to an opportunity to serve, inform or assist in some organ donation drive or renal-related campaign on behalf of the National Kidney Foundation of Illinois (NKFI), Gift of Hope, or Illinois Secretary of State Jesse White's Life Goes On crusade.

I remember spending many delightful hours chatting with Morrie under a canopy or in a tent somewhere in the region, encouraging people to become donors and answering their questions as living examples of what transplants can mean to people's lives. He was an outstanding ambassador for the cause, and at an NKFI "Living With Kidney Disease" seminar last month in Champaign, a moment was set aside to honor his life and dedication. Class move.

My Friend, the Hall of Famer.

And yet, as is sadly the case with even our closest friends, there were several things about him I did not know until I read his obituary. For example, even though we talked about music, I had no idea he was a talented, longtime musician who played more than a quarter century in a band called The Variations. And he never once mentioned to me his gift for skeet shooting, a  passion that led to his induction into the Illinois Skeet Shooting Association Hall of Fame in 2011.

Glad he liked me; he probably could have picked me off at 1,000 feet.

He was blessed to find love again after his first wife, Ann, died in 2005. I did not know Ann, of course, but his second wife, Sandy, was something special. Bubbly, blonde and vivacious, she's the kind of person who brightens a room just by entering it.

She clearly loved Morrie very much and they planned to care for each other well into their golden years, a scenario that tragically was cut short far too soon. Morrie's health declined so rapidly that by the time I heard he was hospitalized and hurried home from my summer vacation, he was gone.

I understand Sandy has since relocated out of state. Good for her, bad for us. I got to visit with her at his visitation, but she often accompanied Morrie to our monthly support meetings and I miss her. She is quite a lady.

Strangely, Funkhouser was the second "Maurice" who had a seminal impact on my life. The late Maury DeJonge (say "DeYoung") was a legendary political reporter for the Grand Rapids Press who later went on to become the county clerk for Kent County in West Michigan.

My first job out of college was at the Press, and I was given the desk directly across from his. He was a close personal friend of Gerald R. Ford, knew everything taking place in local government almost before it happened, and it was a revelation for this cub reporter to watch him work.

What a Handsome Young Morrie! 

For reasons I never understood, DeJonge took a liking to me and placed me under his wing. I'll never forget the day we were walking out of the newsroom together to our separate assignments and I happened to glance at the wall clock. "Looking at that clock?" he intoned. "Forget it. The news doesn't keep a 9-to-5 schedule."

I have been truly blessed. The Morrie the merrier, I guess.

We will gather in January for our next "Second Chance" group meeting, and undoubtedly we will miss Morrie again. I'm not certain when, or if, we will ever stop.

Memorial contributions may be made in Morrie Funkhouser's name to the Polycystic Kidney Foundation at https://pkdcure.org/tribute-donation, or at 1001 E. 101st Terrace, Suite 220, Kansas City, MO 64131.

Happy to be a Part of 'the Minority Report'

My friend Mike Freeman, Illinois Secretary of State Jesse White, and Me.

Last week was National Minority Organ Donor Awareness Week. For a minute I felt guilty about not writing this post last week to coincide with the occasion. Then it hit me: every week should by Minority Donor Awareness Week.

According to organdonor.gov, of the more than 101,000 people in America waiting for a kidney transplant right now, more than a third of them are African American. So of course, more than a third of all African Americans are signed up to be organ donors, right?

What do you think?

No, seriously – what do you think?

The need for minority donors in this country – Hispanic, Asian and Pacific Islanders, as well as blacks – is more crucial than ever. That's why I'm so proud of the efforts of Illinois Secretary of State Jesse White and his phenomenal "Life Goes On" initiative to register Illinois residents to become organ and tissue donors after – well, you know.

This week, White's office announced that the state's donor registry hit the astonishing mark of six million registrants. "I'm thrilled to see that Illinoisans continue to show their giving spirit by signing up for this lifesaving program," said White, who became personally immersed in organ donation decades ago when his sister needed a kidney, in a prepared statement.

"Our mission is to sign up everyone who is eligible in order to give others a second chance at life and end the waiting list for the approximately 5,000 people statewide."

Despite those impressive sign-up numbers, every year about 500 people in Illinois die waiting for that perfect matching organ. Many of them are African American. 

So what a great honor it was for me to share a dais with White – the longest-serving  Secretary of State in Illinois history and the first black person to hold the office – last week for a Minority Organ Donor Awareness event at Carle Hospital in Champaign, Ill. 

We were joined by my new friend Dave Freeman, who lives in the same complex as I (our building manager introduced us) and is preparing to begin dialysis in hopes of an eventual kidney transplant.

Jesse and Dave were there to plead for the need. I was Exhibit A, the walking, talking success story.

Unlike me, who relishes any opportunity to open my mouth in public, Dave was more than a bit jittery prior to making his remarks. He had included a joke in his short speech and wanted to run it past me:

"When they asked me if I wanted to be an organ and tissue donor, I told them, 'No thank you. I play the trumpet.'"

Crickets. 

"I don't get it," I confessed.

Once he explained it to me – a play on words about musical instruments – I gently suggested he remove the "and tissue" part to put the key words closer together. Dave agreed to try it.

I won't bore you with every word verbatim (much as I'd like to), but this is the bulk of what I said to that hospital audience:

"Ladies and gentlemen, good morning.

"I'm happy and proud to share the podium with our esteemed Secretary of State, who has been such a champion in the field of organ and tissue donation. Thank you, Mr. White, for all you have done and continue to do.

"My name is Jim McFarlin, and I am speaking to you today from beyond the grave.

"Logically, realistically, there is no way I should be standing before you right now. In 2008 I was diagnosed with Stage IV kidney failure, and as many of you may know, the medical types tell you that at Stage V you should be checking your insurance policies and making arrangements.

Talk, talk, talk: Jimbo, the Kidney Crusader

"Now, I'm going to talk about God right here, so if you are not the "religious type" you may wish to tune out for a moment. Because I don't believe you can knowingly come so close to death's door and come away clean and healthy on the other side without having your faith in God renewed.

"I was on dialysis for just over two years – far below the average wait time for a transplant – when a precious little girl, just six years old, collapsed and died on the playground of a brain aneurysm. Her kidney was a perfect match, and in perfect condition. 

"I will forever be grateful to her parents for having the courage and selflessness to think about how their dead child could benefit others at that most devastating time in their lives. My transplant was performed November 18, 2011, and I'm still going strong. Praise God!

"I am Exhibit A for the benefits of organ donation. I am blessed. And I truly believe one of the reasons I'm still around is to encourage and appeal to my brothers and sisters – of all colors – to make the choice to register as an organ and tissue donor.

"High blood pressure and diabetes are two of the leading causes of kidney failure, and you know that black folks lead the league in those statistics. Y'all eating all that pork! 

"But you just know that African Americans are not signing up tp be organ and tissue donors in equal measure. Quite simply, we're not pulling our weight! We're not doing our fair share.

"And while it's true that the races have interchangeable parts, the truth is that tissue matches are just better when transplants occur within ethnic groups – that is, when black patients receive organs from black donors, Hispanics from Hispanics, and so on.

"For about two years I served as the End Stage Renal Disease Patient Representative for the State of Illinois. And while it was largely a ceremonial position, I tried to use it to best advantage. 

"As I traveled around the state, whenever I could I would drop into a dialysis clinic and ask to speak to the patients. And while I learned a lot from them, the takeaway that struck me hardest was that it seemed no matter where I went, the vast majority of patients were the same color as I am. The need for donors is critical.

"Why don't we donate? One reason, I think, is because we believe in all those myths and old wives' tales that just aren't true. Doctors will not let you die on the operating table so they can harvest your organs...you can still have an open casket funeral...organ donation is not against your religion. There is no legitimate excuse.

"So if you really believe that Black Lives Matter – or Asian Lives, or Hispanic Lives, or every life –  here is a positive, nonviolent, selfless way to prove your commitment. Become an organ and tissue donor. Do the right thing. Donate life. Thank you."

And by the way, Dave's edited joke got a big laugh. A good day all the way around.