“A man came down from Erie, Pennsylvania. He explained to us that he was at Presbyterian Hospital and . . . talked to John in the waiting room. He was getting the same type of treatment as John, but for the first time, and he didn’t know what to expect. He said he was very nervous when he was talking to John. John explained everything that was going to happen. He said he couldn’t believe how this young man calmed him down. He had thought of him often after that and had no idea who John was until he saw him on TV. He said, ‘I knew I had to come and pay my respects to his family and tell them what John did for me.’ At one point I felt like we were at the holy house, that people felt they were to be blessed if they came to see John.”
Lexie, Scott, and Gina shook each person’s hand as they came through the line. On the Friday night, there was a long line, and people were starting to whisper. Bishop Zubik, the bishop of Pittsburgh, was there. He introduced himself to the Challises and prayed at the casket. He asked everyone to get into a circle and hold hands and tell out loud what they would miss about John—everything from that smile of his to his witty humor and the love he had for people. The next morning, before the funeral, Bishop Zubik showed up again to pay his respects and asked if he could say a few more prayers. Bishop Zubik said he was touched after he saw John in an interview with Mary Robb Jackson from KDKA-TV, where John said, “I don’t look at dying as a bad thing but an opportunity to meet God.”
Saturday morning was the funeral. Father Ward, the priest at Saint Felix, officiated the mass. Every sports coach John ever had walked behind the casket. A bagpiper played on. The sun was out, and it was a beautiful day. Television stations and reporters set up across the street. About five minutes before the funeral, the Challises heard the thunder of motorcycles revving their engines. It sounded like hundreds of motorcycles, and they kept going by the church really slowly. No one quite knew who the motorcyclists were.
The funeral lasted almost two hours, and there wasn’t an empty seat in the church. The family was shocked when Joe Signore had Gina, Lexie, and Scott come to the front of the church and turn to the crowd. John had wanted everyone to give them a standing ovation for what they had been through. That was something between John and Joe. John had told Scott before he died that Joe was going to do something, but he never told them what it was.
Gina and Scott said that Mitchell Meyers carried John’s football helmet through the mass, even to communion. There was a song that was played at the funeral that was written by a man in California for John: “Just Another Moment in the Sun” by Jay Kerschner. The song was a story of the last year of John’s life. Scott said that he still listens to it.
After the mass, they filed out of the church. The sun shone through the trees. “You could hear a needle drop, the sobbing in the background. You [could] hear car doors closing. The three of us get into the limo, and I see three police cars,” recalled Scott. “The lead car was from Freedom, and there was one car from Conway and one car from New Sewickley Township. These were the police departments that fell in the school district. . . Due to the size of the funeral procession, they were going to travel down the main street of Beaver instead of the back roads. People came out of stores. Side streets were being blocked by the fire department to keep people from pulling out into traffic. The ride was only about a mile and a half, but it seemed to take an hour.
“To this point I had not shed a tear, right up until we pulled into the cemetery. As we pulled in, the motorcycles and their owners that came by the church before it started were all standing at attention next to their bikes on both sides of the road,” Scott continued. “I was told there were ninety-six motorcycles, all from the motorcycle group the War Dogs (their membership includes a mix of former Marines, veterans of other branches of service, and patriotic non-veterans). The sun was hitting their bikes. They were holding their flags. They didn’t move. What an honor it was. These men and women sat in the sun for two hours, waiting for us.”
The club had gotten John tickets to the Pittsburgh Penguins Stanley Cup Finals game in June before he passed away. When the War Dogs came to the house, they had taken John out for ice cream. It was John’s first time on a motorcycle.
The following is on their website:
We are proud to announce John “Big Dog” Challis as our first honorary patched War Dog. We decided to try and lift Big Dog’s spirits by visiting him and presenting him with tickets to two of the Penguins Stanley Cup Finals. We were rudely awakened! Instead of us lifting Big Dog’s spirits, we were awe inspired by truly one of the most courageous and heroic young men many of us have ever met. Thank you for allowing us to spend some time with you, “Big Dog!” You will always be a War Dog!
Scott continued, “After a short service in the cemetery, we headed back to Saint Felix’s social hall for the wake. Hundreds of people stopped by, and there was enough food to feed an army. When the wake was over we went to the caterer to pay the bill. We were told not to worry about it—that ten families from the local communities got together and paid the bill for us. There was a never-ending run of support and acts of kindness for our family. It always bothered me—with the hundreds and hundreds of people who contributed some way or another to us, it was impossible to send thank you letters to everyone. To this day, when I see someone I tell them that I remember the things they have done for us.”
John’s message (from the back of his tombstone): “Just for people to always do their best, no matter what they’re doing or how stupid it might seem. And to remember no matter what, there will always be a reward no matter how small it is.”
PART 13
I GET BY WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS: MEMORIES OF JOHN FROM HIS FRIENDS
Even today, the memories of John and his courageous two-year battle against cancer are still very fresh in the minds of those closest to him.
Mike Tibolet
Johnny was never the biggest player on the field in any sport that he played growing up, but his courage and determination always seemed to overcome his physical stature. He was always able to positively influence others that were around him, whether it was during a game or just when all of us were hanging out.
When Johnny got sick, most people probably thought that he would do what everyone else would have probably done, give up. However, Johnny never gave up in anything he attempted growing up. Instead of giving up, Johnny accepted the fact that he got sick, and used it to inspire others. It was truly remarkable to see someone in their mid-teen years that I grew up with deal with the situation the way that he did. He always said that God made him sick because he knew that Johnny was strong enough to handle it. That just shows the type of person that Johnny was, a strong, determined, inspiring individual that you would always see displaying a positive attitude with a smile on his face, regardless of the circumstances.
Terry Specht
Fifteen years or so after I had John as a student in my kindergarten class, I realized that God gave him that special gift to be shared with the lucky people who knew him. John had a gift for making everyone happy the way he made everyone happy in kindergarten. This gift was shared with people all over the Pittsburgh area. I count myself as one of the fortunate people who was touched by the too-short life of John Challis. The imprint he made on my heart will last a lifetime!
Mitchell Meyers
The crazy thing to me is, once Johnny learned his fate it was like a switch had been flipped. Going from a young kid that quit baseball because he was scared of the ball and the kid that always showed so much emotion when things didn’t go his way and when he thought he was down and out and thought about giving up—he turned into a man. A man that took what God had given him and blessed so many lives around him. From a kid scared of the ball to a base hit later, weighing 100 pounds. He never gave up on himself, God, or the people around him. I wear the armband “Courage + Believe = Life” every day, and I have never taken it off since before he died. You can’t even read any writing anymore, just a lightened pink band that used to
be red. I played college baseball and always wrote “Courage + Believe = Life” on every single one of my college hats. I believe Johnny was always with me within sports because that’s where we became friends.
Johnny became a believer in God, that God picked him because he could deal with what cancer had in store for him. Johnny spoke the truth and . . . wasn’t scared to tell anyone that he was going [to] die, because he knew his fate. His family, friends, and community [were] all behind him, and I believe the people gave him the strength to fight the cancer. Johnny wouldn’t want you to ever feel bad for him; that would be the last thing he wanted. I don’t think anyone else could have done what Johnny did. He not only changed lives and gave people hope, but he showed that with courage and believing, it could give you as much life as you wanted. In my eyes, Johnny shined. I’m very proud of him and I wish I could tell him that today. He changed my life and has inspired me daily.
Lisa Nardone
John was just such a great kid! I only knew him for the few years I had him in middle school. He is someone that I will never forget. The strength and courage that he displayed during his illness [were] astonishing. I am so privileged to have known him.
Steve Wetzel
I believe John’s hit in the Aliquippa game helped people from all over learn who John Challis was and what his message was. They learned that his love was so passionate. They learned his smile could light up an entire city. They learned how to be thankful for each breath that they take. They learned how to have strength. They learned that John Challis was an angel walking on earth.
Lena Holewski
I truly believe that John’s age had a huge part in his story. He was battling cancer at a young age. He was still going to school. He was still playing sports. He did everything every other kid was doing. He never complained about getting hit with a ball, falling down, headaches, and back pain. Never complained about school. Never had any bad remarks toward people. He was pleasant at all times. Walking past John on the street as a stranger, you would never know what he was going through. His short two years of battling were in my opinion probably his best two years. He really had some good things to say, and he was sure that God chose him for the battle because he knew that Johnny could spread such inspirational messages.
His famous quote being “Courage + Believe = Life”—that by far says it all. He was so ill and still wanted the chance to run the bases on the baseball field. He was so sick but still wanted to go to prom and have a great time with his classmates. He would be so weak and still want to go hunting and do the things he loved. He met some great athletes at the end of his journey that I truly believe if you said John Challis to them, they would immediately say, “Inspirational, positive, biggest heart, and his crooked smile.” John never frowned. John always opened his arms to everyone!
Joe Signore
In all honesty, I have no specific story or memory about John that could wow a crowd. Our many moments together and with my family were simply just genuine moments. John, to my family, was the walking Torah, the walking Bible. He was the book that if you didn’t read it, he would show you it by his willingness and desire to make the most out of what was given to him. I believe I touched upon this aspect in his eulogy. The fact that he was an athlete and, respectfully, not the greatest athlete ever to come out of Freedom, he always had to fight for what was his heart’s desire. His condition at that time was no exception. There is no doubt in my mind that John used this cancer as a “catch me if you can” game and simply desired to outrun it and out-will it. People need to understand that this was an ordinary kid, minding his own business, wanting to graduate from high school and move on. Probably never to move out of Freedom, Pennsylvania, even! A simple life; a life that never said “Woe is me” or asked for anything (other than a tomato salad, perhaps!). There is no wonder or doubt that what he got from superstar athletes, media attention, hall-of-famers, and so on was far less than what they received from him. In an often-fake world, John became a magnet to those who needed genuine salt of the earth. He never asked for it, but he gave it.
Taylor Dettore
John has a heart of gold and I miss him so much. I still cry day to day, thinking about him. Although we talked about the sad things, John and I also shared many laughs! His smile would brighten up my day any time I saw him in the hospital, and it was also like I was at ease, knowing he was in the hospital the same time I was. We were really honest with each other and shared a lot of things that I wish I could remember, but I just can’t because I was so sick.
I wish I knew where his strength came from . . . but the only thing I could say is from God. When you are in life-or-death situations you have to make the best of what you have. Live with no fear and take it head on, like him and I both did. Accepting the fact that you don’t know what the next day can bring is scary, but that’s why you live, laugh, and love with all you have every day and live like you were dying! There isn’t always a tomorrow, so make today the best. He and I both felt this responsibility to show everyone around us that we were strong and we were going to beat this, but we didn’t fake who we were. John didn’t let cancer affect his life. He kept on living, and that’s what you have to do. Look at the way people remember him. I wouldn’t have it any other way. He was the best friend and almost like a brother to me. Without him I’m not sure I would be where I am today. We would kick each other’s butts if we felt like giving up. But there was not one day John Challis and I gave up; we were in it until the end. And you know what I know, I have an amazing guardian angel watching over me, and I can’t wait to see him one day in heaven, cancer free and playing basketball together!
Nancy Crawford
I first met John in 2006, coming to radiology for a study. He held a charismatic smile throughout the time I knew him, no matter how he was feeling. He was part of a research study on the adult side of UPMC, but felt we were better at starting his IV on the CHP side. My first impression of him at his young age was how mature he was. He had a conviction and love for God. He didn’t blame anyone—it just happened. I said I thought God picks his angels; it’s just when we will enter the gates. As a teenager he had such a strong faith and knew what he wanted to do in life. We developed a bond. John and I would have personal conversations about dying. I was grateful to be able to have the time to support his emotional concerns. We both talked about how when our time came, we would be ready for heaven. I think . . . we were similar in drive, not giving up, as there [were] things we still needed to do. John was so caring. John said to me he wanted everything explained so he could explain it to other kids undergoing similar tests.
We would laugh about our bucket lists, things you should think about when you get older and retired. The things John got to do . . . and sports, the people he met—he would always joke how cool it was. He would always greet me with his huge smile, anxious to catch up on his recent life adventures since his prior hospital visit. He took my phone number so I would know when he was coming back for his next treatment or study.
I remember the time he came in with pictures of his Hunt of a Lifetime Foundation trip, when he got to go hunting in Oregon. He was so appreciative of the Foundation for his trip [and] came back showing off his elk and a coyote he shot. Another important event was his senior prom, where he was crowned prom king—something he truly was. . . . “Gosh, I’m so handsome—what do you think? Maybe even studly,” he said, laughing. I honestly felt so much a part of his life, running with his thrill of his life events, knowing his time was limited. John would talk about his last football game he got into, and in April John got to play in his last baseball game and got an RBI single. He was so proud. His body was so thin and frail, but he said it can be done.
Another great event was his push to graduate high school [and] his smile saying, “I did it.” As his condition worsened [and] he was coming into IR for fluid drainage, he told me when he passed he would be that star flickering, looking down over all of us, and it would be okay. Not to forget him. I
told him I would wear his bracelet with pride, reciting how brave and strong he was. I would hug him, holding back my tears—which is still hard to do now, still missing him.
PART 14
AFTERWORD: FINAL THOUGHTS
When I read Mike White’s first article about John, two people came to my mind immediately: Terry Fox and Jim Valvano. They both were stricken with cancer, and like John, they used their time on earth to make a difference in the lives of people worldwide.
In 1977 Terry Fox, a nineteen-year-old from Winnipeg, Manitoba, was told by doctors that he had a malignant tumor in his right leg, necessitating that his leg be amputated six inches above the knee. The night before his amputation, he read about an amputee runner and dreamed of running again someday himself.
This led him in early 1979 to begin training for what he would call his Marathon of Hope, a cross-Canada run to raise money for cancer research and awareness. In September 1980, after 143 days and 3,339 miles, Terry had to quit running. His primary cancer had spread to his lungs.
Terry Fox died on June 28, 1981. However, his memory and dream of finding a cure for cancer live on through the Terry Fox Foundation and annual worldwide Terry Fox Runs.
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