Living out a dream: Degree conferred on man suffering from cancer

Chris Casey, (Bio) ccasey@greeleytrib.com
April 2, 2008

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It was as understated and lightning-quick as graduation ceremonies come. But in all the quiet, emotions thundered.

John Brandenberger, a 46-year-old from Stow, Mass., was living out his dream. He was handed a radiological technology degree -- with honors -- from Aims Community College in front of a small gathering on March 5 at the Aims Fort Lupton campus.

Not a dry eye in the room. That simply doesn't happen at Aims Board of Trustees meetings. But this one was special.

This man was special. Very special.

His time was growing short. Very short.

Johnny, as family and friends knew him, died just nine days later at North Colorado Medical Center in Greeley. Renal failure, brought on by the pancreatic cancer he had battled for two years, shut down his organs.

'Huge goal'

A little more than three minutes. That's how long the degree conferment lasted. Under a black cap and gold tassel, Brandenberger, though visibly weak, wore a bright and satisfied smile. He hugged his teachers, his brother and his best friend.

Cameras flashed.

His friend P.D. Morrison from Austin, Texas, held one of the cameras, recording the event that -- were it not for his quick thinking -- might not have happened.

"He was one of the nicest human beings I ever met in my life. He was my best friend, he was the best man in my wedding." So when he heard Brandenberger say he was having trouble getting out of bed, Morrison took action.

He called Debi Knudson, professor and chairwoman of Aims radiology department. She immediately worked the channels -- from the college dean to the registrar to the president -- to expedite Brandenberger's degree. He only had 17 days left of the clinical portion of his program.

Although his health prevented him from finishing clinical, Knudson said, his spirits remained high. He wanted that diploma.

"He said, 'It's the last thing I want to do if it kills me,' " she said. "It was a huge goal of his -- a huge, huge goal -- and that's why I thought it was important for something to be done."

By early March, it got finalized, much to the relief of a worried Texan.

Morrison left his best pal a message on his answering machine that said: "You're all done. You're all graduated."

On the day Brandenberger received his diploma, Morrison asked him how many times he'd listened to that message. "He listened to it three times."

As it turned out, it took just three days for the college bureaucracy to sign off on the early diploma. Morrison, who owns a commercial office supply company, flew in for the short ceremony in Fort Lupton. Johnny's brother, Michael Brandenberger, who lives in Larkspur, also attended.

"The college and those folks who were on that decision-making committee need to be commended," Morrison said. "It was a wonderful thing they did."

'Loved kids'

An X-ray peers into the human core, illuminating the bones.

The heart and bones in John Brandenberger propelled him to stardom in sports. He captained the high school football and baseball teams in Bolton, Mass. He coached Little League for years.

His bones helped guide the swing that knocked in a coveted hole-in-one. They steadied the back-and-forth flicking of his fishing pole.

"He loved kids," Morrison said. "He taught my daughter to fish. She caught a bigger bass in 10 minutes than I've ever caught in my entire life."

His bones jostled when he laughed. And family and friends said, he loved to sing, whistle and laugh.

He didn't discover a love of photographing bones until his 40s, two decades after a first attempt at college didn't take. He spent 10 years working in electronics at Raytheon on the East Coast.

"He decided he really loved X-ray technology," his mother, Patricia Brandenberger, said. "... This time he really wanted to graduate. It was the drive."

Knudson saw the drive, saw the heart. She saw Brandenberger make the dean's list every semester. She watched him volunteer at the Guadalupe Center, help with egg hunts at Easter, help with carnivals at Halloween and adopt-a-family collections at Christmas.

"He was an incredible man," she said. "He was a fantastic student, a leader among the group."

New friend at end

Groups of classmates. Groups of kids. Groups of friends. Brandenberger thrived in groups.

Morrison fondly remembers a weekend last September, when Brandenberger got together for the last time with his high school buddies.

A special reunion. A very special reunion.

They spent three days at a Maine lakehouse doing what guys do. They drank beer, told stories and watched football. Brandenberger held forth on the fishing, the singing, the storytelling.

At one point, his big passions converged in the little boat.

"His favorite song was 'Bohemian Rhapsody,' and while we were fishing, it came on the radio," Morrison said. "He started singing, and I started filming."

The film was shown at Brandenberger's funeral back in Massachusetts. Tears flowed once again.

Patricia said she can only hope people speak as highly of her as they did of Johnny at his service.

"He always had a story. He was very well read. He could talk to everybody. He was friends with everyone. His friends were very diversified."

And at the end, Brandenberger embraced a new friend -- a college diploma -- that had meant so much to him.

Before the cancer turned worse in January -- his family thought he was on the upswing after a relatively healthy fall -- he was thinking about getting a job in Colorado. Most likely, they said, he'd moved back East, where most of his family lives.

Maybe he'd finally get married, Patricia said. At least she hoped.

"He loved being an uncle. He has a nephew who is 5 years old," she said. "He was looking forward to teaching him baseball. He did get a few days in fishing with him."

Chris Casey is a reporter at The Tribune. He covers immigration, diversity and higher education. His column runs on Wednesdays. To reach him, e-mail ccasey@greeleytribune.com or call (970) 392-5623.