To Dad, With Love

Sometimes it's a crisis or a tragedy that brings a family together and makes the members appreciate the special bond that is mother-daughter, father-son, sibling-sibling.

Not so for Henry and Corey Brown of Teaneck.

The father and son, members of a family that includes mother, Emily, and 16-year-old son, Shawn, have hummed to a very comfortable, close-knit beat. When Henry was diagnosed with kidney failure two years ago, Corey, now 25, volunteered to give up one of his own kidneys to save his dad's life.

It was a notable occasion for the Browns, the way it would have been for any family. But it also was another chapter in the Browns' lifelong tradition of being there for one another.

"The fact that I could always count on [my Dad], that meant a lot," Corey said. "He and my mom have always been there for me."

Four-inch-thick photo albums poignantly back up Corey's every word. In one crisp Kodak moment, Henry is caught flashing a proud-papa smile while cradling his firstborn, who entered the world six weeks prematurely.

In another, he is wrapping an encouraging arm around his 6-year-old's shoulders as he embraces his first football -- a Christmas gift. And in still another a triumphant father and son pose from the top of a ladder, grinning at their success at putting Corey's first basketball hoop on the garage.

Those photos do not include the dozens of professional ones of the father and son as Henry coached Corey on the Little League baseball team and the Teaneck Red Devils football team. And what isn't captured on film is deeply etched in Henry's and Corey's minds.

Like the times they shoveled snow together. Pushed the lawn mower together. Like the joy they got from laughing at Corey's mistakes on the football field.

Henry in particular remembers when 10-year-old Corey played defensive end for the Red Devils (before Henry became coach) and the coach told Corey he'd pay him $2 each time he sacked the opposing team's quarterback. Corey later told his dad he was sure at the end of the game he was "going to be rich."

Every time the ball was snapped, Corey lunged toward the quarterback with a vengeance. Over and over and over again for the entire game. Ball snapped. Corey lunged. Ball snapped. Corey lunged. Not once was he fast enough to tackle the kid. When the game was finished, all Corey had was a severe case of exhaustion to go along with painfully empty pockets.

"He told me, 'Dad, I told the coach to not ever make that bet again,'" Henry says.

Young Corey learned on the football field that day that money wasn't so important after all. "He was definitely more focused on the money," Henry said, chuckling. "His mind wasn't on the play."

Henry would have many more opportunities to feel good about his son's maturity. He looks back now with pride on the fact that Corey took to heart his admonition never to mess around with guns -- real or fake. The Browns never brought one into their home. He's delighted by Corey's polite and courteous treatment of others, especially the women he dates. He's gratified that Corey steered clear of temptations to get into trouble. Not once during his school years was Corey sent to the principal's office.

"I do like the way he's turned out," Henry says, his long mustache curling into a little smile as he reflects on his son's life path. Corey majored in public health in college, and is now product manager for vitamins and supplements at a Hasbrouck Heights-based Internet company. "He accepted a lot that we asked out of him, the do's and don'ts. He's matured well. I feel good about that."

Still, it wasn't until early this year that Henry would get the opportunity to feel most fortunate for the son he and Emily reared.

Two years ago, Henry, who stands 5-feet-8 and weighs about 200 pounds, suddenly became overcome with exhaustion and a need to sleep. In the middle of a conversation, he would doze off. One time he got behind the wheel of his car and didn't have enough might to turn the key. On another occasion, while driving home on the N.J. Turnpike, he momentarily fell asleep.

Nagging from Emily and Corey finally put the then 50-year-old electrician in front of a doctor. A test revealed that both of Henry's kidneys were shot. Years of high blood pressure had done them in. (Ironically, Henry's father died of kidney failure, caused by high blood pressure, when Henry was 13.)

The average man or woman can live with just 10 percent of a kidney functioning. Henry couldn't get that much production out of two. He would need to be on dialysis for the rest of his life, or else get a kidney transplant.

Henry refused talk about approaching relatives to have them donate an organ. He wanted to make do on dialysis. For an active man like Henry, it would be a major challenge. He was still managing the American Legion Post 58 baseball team, as well as the Red Devils in football.

In addition to his full-time job at Giants Stadium, where one of his frequent duties is to replace 40-pound beams, he worked part time as an electrician. Emily, meanwhile, worked full time as supervisor of the Teaneck High School cafeteria.

Being on dialysis is time-consuming and energy-sapping for the patient. It must be done with painstaking precision to prevent infections.

But the Browns didn't panic. Henry chose to dialyze at home for nine hours every night, "so we had to pull in together," Emily says. "I did all his ordering of the solutions, the tubing, and caps that go on the catheter, and making sure the area is nice and clean."

During trips home from college at Southern Connecticut State University in New Haven, Conn., and later when he moved back to Teaneck, Corey pitched in too. His dad would call from the stadium and alert the family that he was on the way. They would warm up the dialysis solution and get everything set for Henry to exchange the fluids that rid him of poisonous waste and keep him alive.

All went smoothly for about six months, but then two infections cropped up. The last one put Henry in the hospital overnight. He was easily treated with antibiotics, but he began to think that the transplant might make more sense. His nephrologist, Gerald Grodstein, of Englewood, told him that siblings are most likely to be compatible with his blood type. If he waited for a non-relative to donate, it could take up to four years.

Henry, who grew up in South Carolina and has six living siblings, called a brother in Virginia and a sister in Florida to see if they were willing to try. Corey overheard one of the calls and offered the man who had given him life and sustenance one of his own kidneys.

"He said, 'Dad, can I be tested?'" Henry recalls one recent evening while sitting on the family's colonial-style sofa with Corey nearby. "I said, 'Do you want to be tested?' He said, 'Yes.'"

For Corey, it was not a remarkable thing.

"I just wanted to take the burden off the family," Corey said. "I love my mom and my dad. I don't want to lose either one of them."

Emily, petite and soft-spoken, beamed. She was the bookend to Henry during her son's growth, cheering him on in Little League games and later in football and baseball for Teaneck High, and always raising money for every sport.

"You don't expect somebody to just walk up and volunteer. I kept [asking] Corey, 'Are you sure? Are you sure? That's kind of hard to do,'" recalls Emily. "As time got close, I kept [asking], 'Are you sure?' He never looked back on it."

In early 1999, Corey was tested and determined a good match. The nearest transplant center was in New York City, at Columbia Presbyterian. Henry knew that he would be hospitalized for nearly a week, and worried about the strain on his wife and Shawn, traveling to see him and Corey. He'd heard that Hackensack University Medical Center would open its own transplant facility in about a year. He put off the operation. The family kept supporting him while he was on dialysis.

Hackensack progressed with its center, and the surgery for father and son was scheduled Jan. 6. Corey went in first, at 7 a.m.

"As Corey was being led away, I went over and kissed him," Emily recalls. "He looks over and gives me a thumbs up. His dad went over and they hugged."

Two hours later, they took Henry in. Emily was left alone with her sister to keep the vigil. "I was thinking everything," she said. "It's taking so long. Something happened and they're not telling me. Everything is floating through your mind ... It was the longest day of my life."

At 6 p.m., Emily's lengthy day came to a successful close. The transplant had gone smoothly. Corey and Henry were in recovery. Corey initially had a bad ache in his side, but by the next day it had subsided. Henry was weak, but about five days later, he and Corey were able to go home to finish healing.

Forced to stay off work for two months, father and son whiled away their time together shopping for clothes and food, watching sports on TV, and enjoying rare moments of relaxation, while relatives and friends chipped in with chores.

Now that they're back at work, and back into the family groove, they say little has changed.

Henry did give up smoking and drinking, and now walks a mile and a half around Giants Stadium on his lunch hour to shed some of the pounds dialysis put on him. Corey has always been conscious of health and fitness, working out at a gym four times a week. But he checks the labels of food he purchases nowadays and is determined to avoid any habits that could damage his organs.

When the Browns gather to celebrate Father's Day today, they will do as they often have done. Corey will cheerfully man the charcoal grill, cooking hamburgers, hot dogs, spareribs, and chicken. Emily will be busy dishing up potato salad, fruit salad, tossed salad, and corn on the cob.

But this Father's Day will be just a little bit sweeter for the Browns than any in the past, because a son gave his dad the gift of life.

If you know someone who might be a good candidate for "Inspirations," please send a brief synopsis of his or her story to Caroline Brewer at The Record, 150 River St., Hackensack, N.J. 07601, call (201) 646-4420, send a fax to (201) 646-4135, or send e-mail to brewer@bergen.com.

Copyright © 2000 Bergen Record Corp.

This article posted June 22, 2000.