An upbeat kid, a brave man, a dear friend
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Bob Fortuna
Plain Dealer Reporter
I met Bill Steigerwald early in my journalism career while covering high school sports for the Sun Messenger.

He was an above-average athlete in football, basketball and track at Richmond Heights before graduating in 1978, but it was his upbeat attitude that made him a favorite of mine.

I was reunited with Bill four years ago when covering his oldest son, Alex, for The Plain Dealer during a Benedictine football game. Bill was no longer that tall, lanky redhead with the curly hair, but he still possessed a carefree personality despite being diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, better known as Lou Gehrig's Disease, in 1999.

The disease forced Bill to check into hospice a little over two years ago and he continues to have a lasting impact in my life.

"I didn't like Lou Gehrig the day I found out I had his disease," said Bill, born 47 years ago in the back seat of his dad's police car. "I sat on the couch, feeling sorry for myself the next two years. One day, I woke up and decided to start putting the pieces back together."

A carpenter by trade, Bill no longer has use of his hands. His speech and ability to walk have been affected, but he strives to try to live a normal life.

He visits his Mayfield Village home every other weekend to be with his wife, Miki, and their youngest son, Josh, 17, a junior and a place-kicker for the Bengals.

Alex, now 20, will be a junior place-kicker in the fall for the University of Toledo football team while Cristy, their 26-year-old daughter, lives in Chicago.

"Eight years ago, they gave me two years to live," he'll often tell me, knowing all too well the inevitable.

I cherish my weekly visits with Bill because he gives me a jolt of reality.

I'll be ranting about some minor issue and he'll say, "Want to trade places?"

Bill recently delivered a haymaker when he described how he is going to die after observing a patient across the hall. "Her mind was working and she was trying to talk, but couldn't," he said.

Courage is a word handed out like candy in my profession. Scoring touchdowns, making baskets and hitting home runs aren't signs of courage. They're privileges.

Bill Steigerwald would do anything to be able to have those privileges just one more time.

To reach this Plain Dealer reporter:

bfortuna@plaind.com, 216-999-4665

http://www.cleveland.com:80/sports/p...880.xml&coll=2