“Jeff what made you want to be the first [DBS patient] in North America, knowing all the risks and possible downsides and unknowns of having the surgery?”
“Actually I didn’t know that I was [the first] until afterward,” Jeff said. “But I was really pinned in a corner…. I think it’s a lot of faith in God, and faith and belief and an attitude that I’m going to get through this…. I certainly hope to have conveyed that message to other people who could benefit from the surgery.”
After more than an hour, the news conference concluded with a question for Debra.
“You must have met him when he was—”
“Still ticking, yeah,” Debra said.
“What did you see in him? I mean, he couldn’t have been the smoothest Casanova!’
“It’s a funny thing about Tourette’s and patients who suffer from this,” Debra said. “On some subconscious level, when they meet someone for the very first time, they are actually able to suppress their tics…. So the first thing I saw from him were some great big brown eyes, a big ol’ smile on his face, and him saying, ‘Hey, those are really nice boots!’ But what did I see in him?” Debra asked herself, gazing at her husband. “I just saw everything.”
45
Oprah and Good Morning America
IT DIDN’T TAKE long for the news to spread.
“Excuse me,” a hospital representative said after the news conference, extending her cell phone toward Jeff. “I have Thea Trachtenburg from ABC on the phone. Can you take the call?”
ABC? Jeff thought. What do they want? They wanted an interview. Live in New York—on Good Morning America.
Jeff had barely finished a news conference in Cleveland. How did they know already in New York? But after more calls from around the country—and around the world—it dawned on him. He had ceased to be Jeff Matovic of Cleveland, Ohio, and had become “Jeff Matovic, international news story.”
By the weekend, Jeff and Debra had flown to New York to do Good Morning America. As they waited in the greenroom, coanchor Diane Sawyer—who had been previewing the story all morning—stopped in to wish Jeff and Debra good luck. Later, after getting their makeup done, they listened as Sawyer introduced them.
“The next story is about a young man, and we’ve been talking about it all morning, and all during the break, and you’re just not going to believe it,” she said.
On set with Sawyer, Charlie Gibson, and ABC’s medical editor Dr. Tim Johnson, Jeff and Debra stared into a bank of white-hot lights and tried to calm their racing hearts. It was their first time on national television, and it wasn’t at all what they envisioned. The same set that looked huge at home wasn’t that big in person—not that much larger than a typical living room. What was different was the nonstop activity. Stagehands scuttled around, directors barked instructions, and wires curled across the floor like dozens of long, black snakes. Debra shifted in her seat and managed a smile as she took a deep breath as if to say We can do this.
Large cameras pointed at them, ready to beam their story to the world. It was time.
Gibson, the veteran news anchor, took his seat facing them. He smiled warmly, then extended his hand. “Hey,” he said with a calming voice of an old pro. “Relex. Just be yourselves with this.”
Out of the corner of her eye Debra could see Sawyer sitting at the anchor desk about one hundred feet away in front of a live audience. Behind Gibson, Jeff could see Matthew Perry of Friends sitting in a leather recliner getting ready for his interview.
When the cameras rolled, Jeff recounted his remarkable story from beginning to end. Even he didn’t quite believe it as the words came out of his mouth about Tourette’s, deep brain stimulation, and his miracle. As he told the story Gibson just shook his head as if to say “Wow!”
Bonnie and Mike watched the interview from the side. At one point Gibson asked Debra what made her fall in love with Jeff. She looked at her husband, then back at Gibson.
“That smile,” she said, flashing one of her own. “Who wouldn’t love that?”
Before they knew it, they were done. The anchors shook their heads in amazement and cut to a commercial. Afterward the anchors told the couple how blown away they were by the story’s emotional power and how honored they were to have delivered Jeff’s message of hope.
“This has to be one of the top five stories we’ve ever covered in terms of a pure, groundbreaking, feel-good story,” Sawyer said.
Jeff couldn’t believe that. These people have interviewed presidents and celebrities. And for her to say that…
Matthew Perry had watched them in amazement. Jeff recognized him immediately as he walked toward him across the set.
“Mr. Perry, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. Perry looked up and cocked his head.
“Now how in the hell am I supposed to top that?” he said, pretending to get up and walk out. “I’m leaving!” Sawyer, Gibson, and the film crew burst out laughing.
Perry then got serious. “In all honesty, what you’ve done—taking that chance and putting your life on the line for others—that’s bigger news that I’ll ever make,” Perry said. “You’ve just shocked the world! I hope your lives turn out to be everything you want, because of anyone I’ve ever met who deserves it, it’s you.”
“Thank you,” Jeff said, searching for something to say in return. “And I just want you to know I’m a huge fan.”
“Well, I’ve just become one of your number-one fans too,” Perry said with a smile. “With that, my friend. I salute you.”
A WEEK AFTER appearing on Good Morning America, Jeff got a call from Molly O’Connor, a producer for an even bigger program. “I’m calling from The Oprah Winfrey Show”“ she said. “Oprah asked me to give you a call.”
Jeff’s heart jumped into his throat. “Is this a joke?” he asked.
“No joke,” O’Connor said.
For a moment Jeff couldn’t speak.
“Jeff?”
“That would be awesome!” Jeff said.
“Great. We just heard about your miraculous surgery, and Oprah would be honored to have you on her show.”
“Yeah. That’s amazing. Thank you. But … could I ask you something?”
“Anything,” O’Connor said.
“It would mean the world to me to have my parents out there with me. Is there any way they could be brought out for the show too?”
“Absolutely,” O’Connor said.
Later, Jeff called his mother. “How’d you like to come out to the Oprah show with us?”
“We’re already coming!” his mother said. “Molly just called us!”
Days later they all landed in Chicago. The show put them up in the Omni Hotel, a towering, all-suite property on North Michigan Avenue. The next day a black stretch limousine with a wet bar, stereo, and a TV took them to the taping. When they pulled up to the studio, two enormous security guards—both at least six foot seven with three hundred pounds of bulging muscle stuffed into black T-shirts with Harpo logos—walked them inside the door. At only 185 pounds, Jeff felt as if they could have eaten him for breakfast.
Security at the Oprah show was tighter than at any airport. Guards took cell phones and cameras and then started scanning everyone with handheld metal detectors. The largest guard, with biceps so huge they prevented his arms from hanging straight down from his body, took a step toward Jeff.
Jeff and Debra both threw their hands up and said, “You can’t do that.”
“It’s policy,” he said with a voice worthy of James Earl Jones. “I’m sorry.”
“You can’t do that,” Jeff repeated, stepping back. “You don’t understand. I have batteries. You’ll turn them off!”
“I have to,” the guard said.
“You do it and you might as well call 9-1-1 right now,” Debra said. “Because you will not have a show.”
“Well, you might have a show, but it won’t be any kind of show you’ll want to see,” Jeff said. Sure, Jeff could use his remote to reset his d
evice—but it took twenty seconds for the batteries to turn on. Twenty seconds of ticking would have taken a horrible toll.
Just then Molly O’Connor, the tan and pretty producer in her late twenties who invited them on the show, came running into the hallway. “Don’t wand him!” she said. “It will turn off his batteries, and his Tourette’s tics will come back!”
The guards looked at her.
“It’s OK,” she said. “Let them through.”
“OK,” the guard said. “You’re good to go. Have a good time.”
O’Connor smiled and escorted them to a waiting area.
“Whoa,” Jeff said as he walked in.
The carpet in Oprah’s greenroom was such a rich, pure green you could almost could taste the money. The lush, paneled room had a long wooden conference table with a high-gloss finish and nearly enough leather chairs to seat the entire roster of a Major League Baseball team. Vases of fresh-cut flowers sat on tables next to a gigantic spread of the finest fruits, meats, cheeses, vegetables, and breads. Milk and dark chocolates nestled next to red, ripe strawberries. The sterling silver service that held the coffee didn’t look so much like a pot as a trophy you’d win at Wimbledon.
“Just help yourself,” said O’Connor. “There’s always more. And if it’s not what you want, we’ll get it for you.”
It was there, inside Harpo Studios in Chicago, that Oprah’s team gave Jeff, Debra, and Jim and Patty Matovic a verbal run-through of how the show would work.
“Her theme will play, she’ll come out from her doors, and go sit down and address the audience and have a little chitchat. Then she will show a little intro video that will prep the audience in terms of what kind of hell it was you were going through. That’s when she’s going to bring you out through those same doors. She’ll say, ‘Please welcome Jeff Matovic …’ That’s when Jeff walks out and the crowd goes crazy. But just relax for now. I’ll come get you when it’s time.”
After she left the room, Jeff looked at his father and raised his eyebrows. As he took a bite of a fancy piece of chocolate, he felt like royalty. “We could live in here and feast like kings for two weeks and still not be done,” he said.
Jeff’s wife and mother would have indulged as well, but before they could an attractive blonde makeup artist came in and made them up for the show. “This is special makeup and lipstick,” the woman said. “Don’t eat anything. We don’t want you to mess up your makeup.”
“Don’t eat anything?” Debra said. “How is that fair?” Jeff took a bite of a strawberry the size of a small softball and winked at his wife.
After the intro, Jeff got butterflies in his stomach when an assistant with an earpiece guided him to the double-doored main entrance.
This is where the most powerful woman in the world walks through, Jeff thought. And now I’m standing here in the same spot!
The guy with the earpiece talked fast. “You’re going to go out, walk real casual, take your time, she will extend her hand, shake her hand.”
Shake her hand? Jeff thought. No way. I’m freaking hugging Oprah!
Then, leaning out to watch for Oprah with his finger to his earpiece, the man brushed the lapels of Jeff’s suit and checked his tie like a father would for his son. “OK,” he said. “You’re going to go on in five seconds. Four, three, two …”
As soon as Jeff took his first steps outside of the door, the crowd erupted.
In introducing Jeff, Oprah screamed, “MIRACLE MAN!” three times above the din.
Instead of walking across the stage, Jeff strode toward Debra and his parents, who were sitting in the front row. One by one he gave them hugs and kisses before returning to the stage. A beaming Winfrey extended her hand. But true to his word, Jeff leaned in and gave her a hug instead.
If it was possible, the wildly clapping audience cheered even louder. As the applause washed over him, all he could think was, I just hugged one of the most powerful women in the world!
After the hug, he turned to wave to the audience and it finally hit him in a way that it never had before—the operation had not only been a complete success, but it also was a very big deal. Jeff’s parents thought the same thing. A chill ran through them as they heard the cheers and realized that their son’s life story would be seen by viewers around the world.
The interview was wonderful. His parents even got to speak to Oprah, as did Jeff’s best friend, Jay Blair, who flew in as a special guest. It had been one of the best days of their lives.
For Jeff, appearing on Oprah and Good Morning America were big honors. But two years later I helped him win an award that—to him—was even bigger.
46
Shining Star
IT WAS A simple question: “Do you think Jeff would be a good candidate for the next Shining Star of Perseverance award?” my friend John Martellaro asked me in the spring of 2006.
I slapped my forehead. “Of course!” I said. “He’d be the perfect candidate! I hereby nominate him!”
But let’s back up.
The Shining Star of Perseverance is a national award given by the WillReturn Council of Assurant Employee Benefits, a Fortune 500 insurance company in Kansas City. The award recognizes inspiring individuals and groups who overcome disabilities to succeed in society. In the previous three years the award had been won by former Kansas senator and presidential candidate Bob Dole, outdoorsman and author Aron Ralston, and the pilot of Air Force Two, Lt. Col. Andrew Lourake.
I learned about the award in 2005 from John, who had been a reporter and restaurant critic at the Star. Five years earlier he left the paper for a better opportunity at a Kansas City public relations and marketing firm. Assurant, one of its clients, had just selected its 2005 recipient, Lt. Col. Lourake, the first American military pilot to return to the cockpit after an above-the-knee amputation.
John called to pitch the story. He didn’t need to ask twice. I found Lt. Col. Lourake, who flew the vice president and First Lady around the world—fascinating. The next year, John visited the paper and stopped by my desk. He had heard all the amazing stories I had told him about Jeff. When he asked me if Jeff would be a good candidate for the 2006 award, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it myself.
“He’d be perfect!” I said. “Are you kidding me? Just give it to him right now.”
With my help, John submitted Jeff’s story. Later, he called back with the news. Assurant had selected Jeff as the winner of the 2006 Shining Star of Perseverance award.
I called Jeff immediately. He took the call in his three-seasons room, a glass addition to their house that he used as an office.
“Hello?” he said, reclining and putting his foot on his desk.
“Hey, partner,” I said. “It’s Jim.”
“Hey!” he said. “How you doin’ ?”
“I’m hanging in there. Listen, I just wanted to tell you that last year I wrote a story about a guy who won this national award called the Shining Star of Perseverance. They bring the winner to Kansas City, put ’em up in a great hotel, pay for a fancy dinner, and give them the award in front of like a thousand people. It’s a big deal. Some pretty famous people have won it, including Bob Dole and that hiker who had to cut off his arm to free himself from underneath a boulder [Aron Ralston].”
“Yeah …” Jeff said.
“I was just calling to let you know that the person who won that award this year … is you.”
“What?” Jeff said. “What did you say?”
“I said I nominated you for this national award—the Shining Star of Perseverance—and you won. It’s going to be really nice. They’re going to fly you and Deb to Kansas City and put you up at the Hyatt.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. They’re going to take you to a fancy dinner, you’re going to get to throw out the first pitch at a Kansas City Royals baseball game.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. And they’re going to honor you at a huge ceremony in front of like a thousand peop
le.”
Jeff took his foot off his desk and sat up at attention. “I … am … speechless!” he said. “Thank you a million times isn’t enough. I mean, just for the nomination, let alone winning the award! I won the award?”
“You sure did, partner,” I said. “And nobody deserves it more.”
“Thank you!” he repeated. “This is … unbelievable!”
Jeff had won prestigious awards before. About two months after his miracle, John Carroll University presented him with the Campion Shield for Heroism, an award that had been given to only two other people in the school’s one-hundred-year history. That meant a lot. But nothing meant more to him than this national award for perseverance.
When he hung up the phone, he walked upstairs to his bedroom, where Debra was folding laundry. He tried to be cool but couldn’t pull it off. He looked at his wife with a huge grin. “What’s going on?” she said in a suspicious voice.
“Oh, I was just chatting with Jim,” he said. “We were talking about the book. Turns out that things are progressing pretty well, and that … we’re going to be going to Kansas City!”
“What?” Debra said.
“And we’re not going to Jim’s home, either, to visit.”
Debra’s face froze as she waited for details.
“Unknown to me, Jim nominated me for a national perseverance award, and guess who your winner is?”
“No way!” Debra screamed. “A national award?” She gave him a big hug and pushed the clothes aside that were on the bed. “Sit down and tell me about it.”
Several days later John called and told me Assurant wanted to give Jeff a surprise—his own authentic Royals jersey complete with his name on the back. “They want to know what number he’d like on the jersey,” John said.
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