He once pushed his wheelchair from Salt Lake to St. George, he played full contact wheelchair rugby, two summers ago he gave a training-camp talk to the Baltimore Ravens after which they ran through the metaphorical locker-room wall and went on to win the Super Bowl, he was installed in the National Speakers Hall of Fame before he was 37, he had his own company, he had a cool customized van, he broke down barriers for the so-called handicapped, he married Utah's Junior Miss of 1981 and 11 years and two kids later helped her become Mrs. Utah of 1992.
As the Paralympic Games begin in Utah, I would like to dedicate them to a great athlete/champion/person; to the man who took the dis out of disability. Art E. Berg.
And man, I wish he were here to enjoy them.
Art died two weeks ago because of a suspected complication from medications taken for pain no one would have ever guessed he felt. He was 39. His death was as unexpected as his remarkable life.
The only way to really do justice to Art's story was to have him tell it, which is what he did, over and over again, to corporate retreats and church groups and sports teams and anyone he could help. He became a champion inspirational speaker, Zig Ziglar on wheels. After the Ravens won that 2001 Super Bowl they flew Art to Baltimore for lunch. The entree was a box with his Super Bowl ring inside.
He was strong, young and accordingly cocky on Dec. 26, 1983, when he was en route from California to marry Dallas Howard, Utah's Junior Miss and the love of his life. He was catching some Z's when the head-on occurred. The next thing he knew he was in a Las Vegas hospital unable to move anything or anywhere.
After that, life became a succession of triumphs. First it was inching across the room. That took a few weeks. Then down the hall. Then back out on that freeway to make it to Utah and marry Dallas. That took a year and a half.
A 1.5-level quadriplegic, Art was supposed to be essentially immobile. He would have none of that. He became a human dynamo. He wrote books. He traveled. He loved his family. He started a company and named it after his favorite poem, Invictus. He played rugby. He made money. He pushed those 325 miles to St. George because someone said he couldn't.
But it wasn't just what Art Berg accomplished, it was who he was. He understood the pain of life and what can be learned from that pain.
I remember the time he spoke to a large gathering of teenagers in Park City. When the time came for questions, a young disabled girl in a wheelchair raised her hand. The usher gave her the microphone and the girl, in a halting voice, tried to ask a question. Thinking she was taking too long, the usher took the mike to ask the question for her.
At the rostrum, Art said, "Wait." And the room fell silent.
He looked at the girl. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Annie," she said.
"Annie," said Art, "take all the time you need."
Annie beamed as the microphone was returned to her. The man in the chair understood.
He understood more than that. He often said he was glad for his adversity because he feared the man he might have been, or not been, without it. The wreck that slowed him down also accelerated him to amazing heights. Thirty seconds after meeting Art Berg, you forgot completely about the chair.
When I see those Paralympians negotiating ski runs and scoring goals, I'm going to think of him. And I'm going to smile.
Lee Benson's column runs Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Please send e-mail to benson@desnews.com and faxes to 801-237-2527.
