7 minute read
FOUNDER’S LETTER
founder’s page
“How many fathers have a son who calls them every day to say I love you?” OF MAKING A DIFFERENCE
We have a powerful person in our family, except he doesn’t know it. His name is Scott Clegg, the third child of my brother Mike and his wife, Sue, born in Cleveland on July 9, 1973, with Down syndrome. At age three he also developed leukemia—a challenge to treat with the usual medications. But now, despite flat feet, a missing spleen and other health issues, he’s a happy forty-nine; and because of Scott, amazing things have happened.
For instance: —Mike and Sue lived close enough to University Hospitals to be able to take turns being with their little boy during his bout with leukemia and realized out-of-town parents of sick children needed a place to stay and bond. As a result, his father founded the Ronald McDonald House there. —Scott helped keep his teenaged brother in line. When the newspaper did a story on the family, Chris said: “I’ve seen kids at school do things to their bodies with drugs and alcohol that I could never do, because I’ve watched my little brother fight so hard to live.” —Scott carried the Olympic torch through the Public Square on its way to the 1982 games in Los Angeles, raising a lot of money for Special Olympics. —Mike won the battle for an independent group home in a nice neighborhood where Scott now lives with three other handicapped people. It has become the model for others in Ohio.
Scott’s parents were stunned when he was born. They weren’t expecting a child who would never read a book or memorize a multiplication table. “Remember the piece by that Sesame Street writer?” Mike asked me. “You’ve been planning for nine months to go to Italy, but when your plane touches down, the pilot comes onto the intercom and says: ‘Welcome to Holland’. You’re pissed, you’re not prepared, but then you realize Holland has tulips and windmills and isn’t all that bad.”
Raising a disabled child, Mike pointed out, you manage your expectations more realistically. Anything he does is a plus; you get excited. You don’t take things for granted; you applaud achievement. You reach out more to all kinds of people and end up embracing imperfection. “I wish Scott had been born first instead of last of our three kids,” he mused. “Scotty is why I have so many different kinds of friends,” says his sister Tracy, “because to him everybody is the same, whether they’re old or young, Black or white, fat or skinny.”
And he certainly has a talent for making people laugh. Here are some endearing stories.
Scott was gaining too much weight so was told he couldn’t buy any wrestling comic books—a Saturday treat—if he kept sneaking snacks. One night Mike heard noises in the kitchen and found him in his pajamas reaching into the refrigerator. Looking up, he saw his father, closed the fridge door, put his arms straight out in front of him and “sleepwalked” back to his room.
Scott wanted to watch Happy Days instead of going to church on Christmas Eve, and his father was trying to get him into his blazer: “They’ll be singing all those songs you like, and candles and live animals,” noted Mike, “and you can say ‘Happy Birthday, Baby Jesus!’ ” “Oh, no,” said Scott with a groan. “Is he going to be there, too?”
Waiting for the Olympic torch to arrive in Public Square, he led the 200 intellectually
Get Your Photo Published in Greenwich Magazine!
We are looking for fantastic photos of Greenwich and Greenwich people to feature every month on our new back page. If you would like a chance to be published in Greenwich magazine and win $100 here’s what you should know:
• Photos can be whimsical, historical, serene, funny or beautiful but they all
must be taken in Greenwich.
• Photos must be submitted digitally to photos@mofflymedia.com and be 300 dpi and 7 inches high or larger.
• We will need: 1) Photographer’s name, address, phone number and e-mail 2) Subject of the photograph (identify people in the photo) 3) Location of the photograph 4) Inspiration behind the photograph 5) Any interesting anecdote about the photograph or featured subject
We can’t wait to see your view of Greenwich!
disabled people in the bleachers in a cheer for himself: “Give me an S!” (they yelled “S!”). “Give me a C!” (“C!”), and on. Finally, “What’s it spell?” And nobody knew.
Scott went next-door to visit neighbors, big tennis buffs, who were giving a dinner party. Everything was ready, the table set, the water poured. After he left, the hostess returned to the dining room to find a tennis ball floating in each glass.
Then there’ve been the real jobs. Watching through a one-way glass window while he was being interviewed for one of them, Mike and Scott’s job coach saw the people around the table suddenly start laughing, loosening their ties and sending out for Cokes. He’d answered a string of questions like where he lived and had gone to school, then stopped abruptly, commenting: “You know, I think I’ve given you entirely too much information.”
But his first job was delivering mail at Park Ohio, the company where Mike’s good friend Eddie Crawford was chairman of the board, and his son Matt, president. They were the only two names Scott knew, so when he was down in the mail room trying to sort mail, he’d throw away everybody’s mail except Eddie’s and Matt’s. Not much supervision there, but Eddie said, laughing: “What do I care? I got mine!”
It was easier taking tickets at the Shaker Square Cinema on weekends.
After a haircut, Scott told the young receptionist at the shop, “You’re so pretty I could kiss you!” Driving home, Mike told him that was inappropriate, and he should apologize. So next time they went, he said to her: “I’m so sorry, so sorry.” She didn’t know what for until Mike explained. “Oh, that’s OK, Scott,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.” But he kept apologizing. “I’m really, really sorry—so how about lunch?”
When his mother was in the hospital with a lung problem, Scott wanted to visit her. “Sure,” Mike agreed. “When do you want to go?” “How about next Saturday?” answered Scott. “I’ve got a very busy week.”
Well, Mike got his wish. Both he and Sue are gone now, but Scott is very much alive and as buoyant as ever. In the limousine after Sue’s memorial service, he said: “I think I’m going to cry.” “That’s all right, Scotty. We’re all going to miss your mother,” I offered. “But she was really sick, and think of all the wonderful things she had in her life—like you three kids…” And Tracy added, “and she went on all these fabulous cruises…” And getting into the swing of it, he observed: “And she had a great car!”
Scott was the star of the reception at The Country Club after Mike’s service, performing an impromptu rap song in honor of his father. Afterwards brother Chris remarked, “Just think: Mom and Dad are in heaven together now. What do you suppose they’re doing?” “Making love,” Scotty answered. Somewhat taken aback, Chris asked him, “Scott, do you know what that means?” His answer: “Not really.” But his favorite soap opera is Days of Our Lives.
Scott has his own phone. Just push a button with my picture on it, and there I am. When he calls (which is a lot), I aways answer singing: “It Had to be You”. Then he chuckles and says: “Oh, Aunt, you’re such a character!” to which I respond: “So are you. It must run in the family.” He’s a very entertaining gossip, and I learn a lot.
On one visit to Cleveland Jack and I joined the Cleggs for dinner at Benihana, where Scott brought down the house doing a perfect imitation of a Japanese waiter—complete with bowing and ah-so’s. The hibachi chef thought it was hilarious and commented: “You know, if there were more people like Scott in the world, it would be a better place.”
I have a picture of Scotty from the time he walked in a fundraiser for autism, flashing the V for Victory sign at the finish line. He is indeed a victor—this guy who, with his family, has made more of an impact on all our lives than we ever expected or that he’ll ever know.
Welcome to Holland. G
