Authors: Nancy G. Brinker
The next day, Margaret and I took Norman to his office at the company headquarters. There was a massive banner:
WELCOME BACK, NORMAN!—WE LOVE YOU!
Margaret and I led him out to a patio on the ground floor. Four hundred employees had gathered on the lawn, and they greeted him with a roaring ovation. Norman spoke briefly, telling them how much he loved and appreciated them. People were moved to tears by his determination and that
grit
, that true, true grit. He cracked everyone up with a story about the team of specialists telling him he’d never be back on his feet by the May 1 deadline he’d set for himself.
“They didn’t support me until five days ago. Then they started saying, ‘Good idea, Norm, good idea!’ ”
Another roar of approval. The outpouring of emotion and support from his people was like an infusion of red blood cells for Norman. He started back with half days at the office, devoting hours every day to his physical therapy, and I continued to work with him on his memory, still searching in the wilderness for … something. His indefinable Normness seemed to be missing.
The continuing process over the years was unbearably frustrating to him. He was angry sometimes, and he could be cruel. It was as if the injury had sprung the lock on the normal filters that keep you from saying things you can’t help thinking. The kindness I’d always admired in him was tinny and false now. He was lucid enough to know how to be polite, but his personality was unmistakably altered.
Lying in bed at night, I repeated the great Brinker Principles, everything he’d taught me as he mentored me through the launching of SGK and taught Eric as our boy grew to be a man. I recited those high concepts
back to Norman now, reminding him of who he was, what he believed in, how he inspired people.
“
Dream the idea.
”
In 1994, Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation grantee Mary Claire King, Ph.D., discovered the gene mutation BRCA1, an indicator for inherited forms of breast cancer.
“Get
out in the field.
”
In 1995, Race for the Cure events were held in fifty-seven U.S. cities. We now had twenty-seven local affiliates from New York to Los Angeles.
“
Create the culture.
”
In 1996, we advanced our efforts and exponentially broadened visibility with two dozen corporate partnerships, cause-marketing initiatives, and sponsorship of the Race for the Cure Series. Pink was the new black. I sat on a sofa in George Michael’s condo with Susan Carter Johns (now our vice president and chief of staff), eating potato chips with one of the Spice Girls, wondering how we got there.
“
Encourage innovation.
”
In 1997, in the world of crawling dial-up access and 5 1/4-inch floppies, we launched our first website, the world’s first online resource specifically dedicated to breast health and breast cancer information.
“Be
growth oriented.
”
In 1998, the first Race for the Cure event outside the United States was held in Costa Rica, making the Race for the Cure Series the largest registered 5K in the world. We also helped the U.S. Postal Service launch its Breast Cancer Research stamp—the first stamp to generate funding for disease awareness and research. Funds were earmarked for the Department of Defense Breast Cancer Research Program and for breast cancer research at the NIH.
“
Listen, listen, listen.
”
In 1999, we established the African American National Advisory Council to further support the breast cancer needs of the African American population and to help reduce their mortality rate. The Interdisciplinary Breast Care Fellowship was established with the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center to better educate clinicians about the special needs and care of breast cancer patients. Our first international affiliates opened their doors in Germany and Greece, and telomerase,
an enzyme instrumental in a chromosome’s ability to divide and replicate was discovered by SGK grantee Elizabeth Blackburn, Ph.D., who went on to win the Nobel Prize a decade later.
“
Take a leadership role in your industry.
”
In 2000, one of our top legislative priorities was achieved when President Bill Clinton signed an executive order mandating that Medicare coverage include clinical trials. We provided $1.5 million in funding for a state-of-the-art research study on the quality of cancer care, collaborating with the American Society of Clinical Oncology, Harvard, and the Rand Corporation. Our new Italian affiliate, helmed by the indefatigable Riccardo Masetti, hosted a Race for the Cure event in Rome, and we established the Breast Health Advisory Council, bringing together internationally recognized breast cancer experts. For the first time in a single season, more than 1 million people crossed the finish line in the Race for the Cure Series.
“
Delegate and empower.
”
At the turn of the century, our volunteer tour de force was 75,000 strong and growing. It always was and always will be our greatest asset.
Volunteer recognition was always an important part of our annual luncheon, and I’ll never forget the year we honored Kris Plunkett and her teenage daughter, Sarah.
“We couldn’t believe it,” Sarah told me recently. “We did things like bake cookies, stuff envelopes, make copies. Mom always said if we did the ordinary tasks, that would free up the people at Susan G. Komen to do important things: raise money, help people, find a cure.” (I must have coffee with Sarah soon, so we can discuss the meaning of the word
important.)
Kris Plunkett was a seamstress, so she’d made smartly tailored suits for herself and Sarah, who was as thrilled as any Dallas kid would be when legendary Dallas Cowboys coach, Tom Landry, escorted them to the head table, where they hobnobbed with Lynda Carter, President and Betty Ford, and the Fords’ daughter, Susan. Kris was never comfortable being the center of attention, and an arduous course of chemo and other treatment was beginning to wear on her, so she’d decided Sarah should give the acceptance speech when the time came.
“Mom thinks that Bette Midler song, ‘Wind Beneath My Wings,’ is
about her children. That we’re the wind beneath her wings, but we feel like it’s the other way around. She’s the one who lifts us up, being a homeroom mom, Girl Scout leader, just being there when we need her. And it’s like that with Susan G. Komen. We’re so grateful for all the amazing things you all do for us and for a lot of other families. We always … we know that you …”
Sarah bit her lip and welled up with emotion, but her mother was there for her.
“We know where we can go when we need a hug,” Kris said, slipping her arm around her daughter’s waist. “Thank you.”
Kris Plunkett died the following year, but as long as she had the strength to get out of bed, she and Sarah continued to step up for all those extraordinary ordinary tasks. They also went out wherever they were called to go, sharing their story, reminding audiences that when cancer happens to one person, it happens to an entire family.
“Most women dread the thought of becoming their mother,” Sarah says. “I strive to be half as amazing as my mom.”
She and I have that in common.
C
arl Sagan wrote, “The secrets of evolution are time and death.” The truth of this is clear in cellular biology. Cancer cells are lethal because they proliferate beyond control and refuse to die. This isn’t a foreign object in your body; this is
you
, your own biology going so against your nature, it can actually kill you. We all have cancer cells roaming silently through our bodies. They are part of what we are, and they’re only dangerous when a genetic mutation allows them to take control.
In a strange way, this is how it was with Norman’s personality. Just as Dr. Phillips had predicted, his brain repaired itself on a functional level and reached a plateau where he was reasonable, insightful even. He had wise answers for good questions and wise questions for good answers. His brilliance for business still flashed when he was well rested and feeling focused. His visionary edge was blunted, but he was competent enough to know that, and it pained him. Without question, even on his worst days, he was still smarter than 99 percent of the people in the room.
But then, as predicted, he began to decline. Subconscious impulses—the murky proclivities and flickering inclinations we all have in us—slowly, invasively reached
karkinos
tentacles into the very tissue of his
self
, and his conscious mind was too wounded to fight it. The man I’d loved for four thousand nights was right there, flesh and blood in front of me, and I still loved him with every fiber of my being. But the man who loved me was gone.
Cancer and age couldn’t have torn us apart. As long as our minds were connected, we were indivisible. Had his injury been anything other than what it was, I believe our marriage would have survived. For seven years, I refused to let go, but as the old century limped to a close, the death throes were undeniable, and we divorced early in 2000.
Not the way either of us had dreamed of celebrating our twentieth anniversary.
Candidly, I would have stayed married to him. I’d have thrown down my pride and let people say whatever they wanted to say about me. Let them shake their heads and tsk-tsk behind their hands in the ladies’ room about the idiot wife who’s the last to know. Newsflash: The wife is the
first
to know, but she’s the last to give up on a man and judge him on that one criterion.
I’m not making excuses for men who philander, but I knew Norman had an image as a vital and virile and active man. I wanted him to feel that way about himself again, but there was much about his presence that undermined his powerful image now: the stitched gait, the slur of his speech when he was tired, the extra moment it took for him to come up with a one-liner, and the labor it took for him to get from Point A to Point B. He eventually had to retire, and even though it was at an age when a lot of people
want
to retire (and he did retain the title of chairman emeritus at Brinker International), retirement had never been part of Norman’s plans. It made him feel old and unmanned, out of the running. If other women could have fixed that for him, I would have endured it, but it came to my attention that he was allowing one of them to bleed him for money. Enough money for me to notice. Beyond the fact that my fate was inextricably bound to his, it terrified me because this behavior was so antithetical to who Norman was.
“Get rid of her,” I told him. “If you need to pretend that these women
are—that they do something for you … do what you have to do, but not with her.”
“I’ll do as I please. No one’s stopping you from doing the same.”
“If you don’t get rid of her, I want my finances segregated from yours. I don’t want to leave you, but I’m not going to let this parasite take what you’ve worked for.”
“That’s not what I worked for.” There was a twitch of disgust in his upper lip.
“Please, Norman, don’t do this.
Why are you doing this?
”
“What do you expect me to do?” he said bitterly. “Spend the rest of my life going to your award ceremonies?”
“If you push me out of your life, who’ll take care of you?” I realized too late it was the cruelest thing I could have said. I covered my face with my hands so he wouldn’t see me begging. “We can do whatever you want, Norman. What do you want?”
“I want her.”
The secrets of evolution. Time and death.
Knowing when to grow and when to let go.
Words are such shallow containers for human emotion, barely a teacup dipped in a deep blue sea. Pages can’t name what this man meant to me or how deeply agonized I was by the loss of him. Norman Brinker didn’t create me, but he planted me like a tree. Fed and pruned by him, I grew, branched out, bore fruit, experienced seasons of winter rest and spring glory. But because I took such deep root in this place where I belonged, when he walked away, I couldn’t follow. To take me with him, he would have had to cut me down, and Norman was still enough himself that he couldn’t bear to do that.
At the same time, he wasn’t born to be anybody’s wingman; he couldn’t follow me either. The gossip mill ground out rumors that I’d abandoned him in his hour of need, that I’d run off with a younger man, that I was too consumed with my own ambitions to care about my family. It tore my heart out, but there was no point in saying anything about it, and I didn’t expect him to step in and defend me. I understood why he had to tell people, “I just couldn’t handle her anymore.” This clichéd explanation went down as easily as an oyster with men who fancied themselves “handlers” of their wives.
Texas is famous for its epic high-dollar and high-drama divorces, but ours was quite unremarkable. I didn’t fight for money; he insisted on giving me more than I asked for. We had an accountant suggest a settlement and didn’t even engage attorneys until the official documents were drawn up. Immediately after the papers were signed, the woman who’d been influencing Norman’s finances disappeared. I was baffled at first, even felt a stab of hope that we might reconcile. But then I understood. This was the only crowbar he could have used to pry me away.
I asked Norman to stay on the SGK board, and he readily agreed. He attended board meetings faithfully, sitting next to me as he always had, and his hand always found mine under the table. He and Eric remained closer than ever as Eric’s career thrived. They had a lot to talk about now, a lot in common. Just three years after he graduated from Bradley, Eric became director of brand management at JetBlue Airways. Norman was incredibly proud of him, but for a long time, Eric struggled to understand what had happened to his dad.
“He always says he loves you and that you’d still be married if not for that accident,” he told me. “I don’t know why he’d sacrifice everything for … for what? A
game?
He knew how dangerous it was. Why would he take that risk?”
If there’s no risk, what fun would it be?
That’s who Norman was. I wouldn’t have had him any other way.
The following year, as I prepared to leave for Hungary, I asked Norman to go with me. I didn’t really expect him to say yes, but I had to ask.