Kick-Ass Kinda Girl

by Kathi Koll

  Former Senate Majority Leader and lung/heart transplant surgeon Bill Frist volunteered to be the keynote speaker. Don and I had been friends with Bill and his wife, Karyn, for many years, including spending time in Cabo together, even after Don’s stroke. Always nice to have a doctor in the house. Jim “Watty” Watson, our charismatic longtime friend, and our friend Deborah Norville, the star of Inside Edition, volunteered to co-host the evening together. I called another friend, Entertainment Tonight host Mary Hart, to see if she would also like to be involved. With record speed she answered, “Yes, I’d love to. Anything for Don.”

  Deborah called me right after the Emmys and said, “I was on the Red Carpet last night interviewing stars, and Mary Hart shouted over their heads, ‘I’m going to help honor Don Koll too.’” Two of TV’s top television hosts, and incredibly beautiful women to boot, were like schoolgirls bubbling with excitement to honor Don.

  Mary Hart, Don, and Deborah Norville

  Naturally the evening would hold more excitement if Don were able to attend, but I couldn’t promise that to anyone. I never knew what kind of condition Don would wake up with. He could be in great health—considering his problems, and then it all could turn on a dime. I didn’t want to say he’d be there and then have the huge disappointment of him not being able to attend, but I knew how badly Don wanted to be there. He spent months dreaming about it and working towards that as his goal. It gave him another preoccupation to live for as he struggled with his challenging life. It was just one more example of how he always lived up to his motto: Exist to live, not live to exist.

  Around 1:00 AM the day of the event, I gently rested my hand next to Don’s face as I often did in the quietest hours. He was red hot with perspiration all over his face. I jumped out of bed, ran down the hall to the night nurse, and shouted, “Oh my God, Don’s burning up. This can’t be happening. Not today. Please call the doctor quickly.” His temperature was 101 and climbing. We contacted the doctor, who prescribed an antibiotic, hoping it would quickly do its trick and kill whatever germ was now attacking him.

  By morning, Don’s fever was gone, and he spent the day mindfully preparing himself for the event. He didn’t want physical therapy, visitors, or even to get out of bed. He just wanted to silently and privately rest for the evening without any distractions.

  The golden hour was upon us.

  “Oh, Don, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look more handsome,” I said. He was dressed in his favorite blue suit, the one he wore when we married, and his Boy Scout tie loosely tied around his neck, somewhat hiding his trach. He mouthed, “I love you,” gave me a beautiful smile and a slight thumbs-up. Years and years of therapy gave him the ability to do this, but just ever so slightly.

  From the beginning, he would study his hands as I coached him. “Think, Don. You can do it. Think of being in your fighter jet, just before takeoff, giving a thumbs-up to the ground crew. Think about flying low over the desert. So low you could see the whites of the train conductor’s eyes and the thumbs-up he gave you as you flew by. You would have gotten in a lot of trouble if you had been caught doing that. You can do it. Just think, think, think.” And eventually, with great pride, he could do it.

  Out the door we went. I drove the van with Don sitting in his wheelchair next to me, and all the medical staff sat behind us. As we rolled up to the Irvine Marriott, I felt such a sense of pride.

  “Don, didn’t you build this building?”

  “Yes,” he mouthed with a smile reserved for me. He wasn’t one for bragging, but he was proud that I had remembered.

  Boy Scouts standing at attention and proudly holding the American flag lined the sidewalk as I helped Don from the van. People and press crowded the background trying to get a glimpse of him, the star of the evening. I quickly rolled Don into a VIP lounge where the evening hosts, close friends, and Boy Scout officials anxiously awaited his arrival. Even Rick Cronk, the chairman of World Scout Committee and former president of the Boy Scouts of America, had flown from New York to be there for Don.

  Don started to become agitated. His mood was changing. What in the heck was going on? This was getting embarrassing. Why is he getting grumpy in front of so many people excited to see him? Bill Frist was the first to say something, “Kathi, what’s the matter with Don?”

  “I don’t know. You’re a doctor. You tell me,” I tensely answered.

  “Take him into the room while the guests are outside having cocktails,” Bill quickly suggested. “Let him see what it looks like. I think he’s just anxious and doesn’t know what to expect.” What a brilliant idea! Why hadn’t I thought of that? Months and months of planning, and Don had no idea what was behind closed doors, and he wasn’t a guy who liked surprises.

  Bill, Karyn, Deborah, Mary, and Watty followed us into the room. Even I wasn’t prepared for what I saw, and I had planned it. A thirty-foot life-size photo of Don’s Boy Scout troop backed the stage. It went from corner to corner and floor to ceiling with Don’s cute little face so many years younger beaming out towards us. My friend and internationally-known event planner, Ben Bourgeois, had donated his time to help make the evening one of the greatest events Orange County had ever witnessed. The tablecloths, the flowers, the candles, the American flags. The room was sparkling and ready for nearly one thousand guests. Don was absolutely beside himself. His smile and the tears in his eyes said it all. This would be a night of joy, laughter, love, and one of the biggest gifts to Don in his lifetime.

  The doors opened, and guests eagerly filed in. Many said, “It took Don Koll to get this many real estate guys together again in one room. What a reunion. What a party.”

  Just as we were settling down, our friend Al Checchi came up to me and said, “Kathi, I can’t stay, but wanted to quickly say hi.”

  “What? What do you mean? You’re here, and you and Kathy bought a table. Are you upset Governor Gray Davis is here?” Gray had bested Al in the 1998 California governor’s race.

  “No,” he quickly and confidently answered. “Kathy and I were walking from the parking lot and the guard gate came down on her. She has blood all over the front of her dress, and I think her nose is broken. I’m taking her to the hospital.” Off he went. Luckily, she turned out to be OK, but I missed them that evening.

  A hush came over the audience as Don and I entered the room. I operated his wheelchair in very high heels, I might add. He smiled ear to ear while he nodded to friends. There was a look of respect and gentle smiles coming from the audience as we passed by, but I could also feel the sadness held deep within many hearts. Their mentor, the man they looked up to, wasn’t immortal, which meant they weren’t either. It was hard to see Don Koll vulnerable. What they didn’t understand was that Don was stronger than ever. He was the man they looked up to. He was still in charge. This was his bonus life. A phrase he mouthed over and over again towards the end of his life. Don Koll was teaching all of us what life was all about.

  We took our spot close to the stage as the evening festivities commenced. I began to understand the respect Don had for the Boy Scouts as the crowd stood for their Presenting of the Colors as they marched by Don, the highest-ranking scout in the room. I saw youth at their best, confident and strong, as the uniformed boys led the room in reciting the Boy Scout oath:

  On my honor, I will do my best. To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law; To help other people at all times; To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.

  Our friend Jeff Bitetti began the evening singing the “Star-Spangle Banner,” followed by a catchy ballad he had composed in honor of Don, never missing a beat as he strummed his guitar. The spirited crowd were now enthusiastically swaying and clapping to the music.

  Reach for the sky with all of your might

  Climb the Koll Mountain and fight the good fight

  Serve one another that’s what life’s about,

  Living these values and being a Scout.

  The spirit of th
e night was in full force and full of life. Watty read a wonderful letter from Dr. Bob Ballard, who had discovered the Titanic many years earlier. It seemed like just yesterday that Don and Bob had talked of searching for lost treasures. Don had financially helped with Bob’s discovery of the Bismarck and sailed with him off the coast of Sicily, discovering a ship that had been lost at sea hundreds of years earlier. While Watty read Bob’s letter, dramatic photos of the Titanic flashed across the screen behind him. Next were photos of Stacy Allison, the first woman to reach the summit of Mt. Everest, proudly holding the Koll flag. The theme for the evening was “From the Bottom of the Sea to the Top of the Mountain.” Don was there for both—donating the seed money for Bob Ballard’s Jason Foundation for Education, a project educating youth in the science and technology of the sea, and he was one of the sponsors that helped the first woman summit Everest. “The Golden Bear,” Jack Nicklaus, was the next to congratulate Don via video, thanking him for their friendship and recounting the fun they had collaborating on the Palmilla and Cabo del Sol golf courses in Cabo San Lucas. They were Jack’s first Signature-designed courses in Latin America.

  Sen. Bill Frist, Mary Hart, Jim “Watty” Watson, Don, Kathi, Rick Cronk, Deborah Norville.

  Watty and Deborah’s presentation had the makings of a new act. They were amazing together, keeping the audience entertained throughout the evening with so many personal anecdotes. Mary Hart read a beautiful and very personal letter to Don from Nancy Reagan. Our friend Brad Freeman read one from President George W. Bush. Senator Frist delivered a heart-wrenching speech that went right to the core of the man Don was, and to my surprise, added some very flattering compliments about me as a loving wife and dedicated caregiver to Don.

  The topper of the evening was when I rolled Don onto the stage for him to accept his award. There wasn’t a dry eye in the audience, and as a surprise, Don’s buddy, gold-medalist Ron Tomsic, from his college days, sang Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.” If you closed your eyes, you’d never know it wasn’t Frank.

  “Hey, Don,” he teased. “This is kind of embarrassing, me singing to you. Our fraternity brothers wouldn’t believe it. I’m gonna get a lot of flak for this.” I could see Ron was holding back tears, but he made the evening by singing Don’s favorite song. It ended the ceremony on such a sentimental and whole-hearted note.

  It was nearly impossible to leave. Everyone wanted to say hi to Don, and from the smile on his face, it was obvious how much the evening had meant to him. He was existing to live and showing the world one could survive a catastrophe and still enjoy life. A life neither of us would have chosen, a life without roadmaps, but a life together on a new track, our new normal.

  * * *

  Everyone had been shocked by what happened to Don. His family, my family, our friends. Don had a quiet charisma. He never had to make his presence be known. You could always feel it, which was evident before his stroke, but incredibly so afterwards. He was bigger than life, and no one wanted to see their superhero like that. Men seemed to be especially vulnerable to his plight, having difficulties coming to grips with the situation. “If it could happen to Don Koll, it could happen to me,” they said. “I can’t visit Don Koll and see him different from the man I know.” They didn’t understand that Don was now a man far beyond the man they knew. He embarked on a life that left all of his other achievements in the dust. He tested his true spirit, and in the end, he passed with flying colors. Proud doesn’t come close to explaining my feelings for the path he chose and how he chose to conquer it.

  At the time of Don’s stroke there was a real estate convention going on in Los Angeles called the International Council of Shopping Centers: ICSC. I heard that Mike Matkins, a partner at Allen Matkins law firm, got up in front of two thousand people in the audience and made the announcement that Don Koll had suffered a severe stroke and probably wouldn’t live long. Apparently, a stunned silence fell upon the room.

  Six weeks before Don died, I stood in front of over nine hundred people, Don by my side, at the California Club in Los Angeles, where Don was being honored as the first Stanford Professional in Real Estate recipient, an honor bestowed by the esteemed Stanford alumni group SPIRE. With Don sitting in his wheelchair on stage beside me, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly again crossed my mind. I thought about the similarities and what the audience would be thinking. Deep down, I felt it was my last chance to speak for him in front of a large crowd and say the things for Don I knew he would want everyone to hear.

  “Many of you were in the audience at the ICSC six and a half years ago when an announcement was made that Don Koll had suffered a stroke and probably wouldn’t make it.” Then as now, the audience was stunned. I paused, proudly gazing at Don, then looked intently at the audience and continued, “But Don knew better.”

  The crowd broke into a thunderous applause, and Don grinned from ear to ear, acknowledging the feelings that were being showered upon him that evening. As he looked out over his peers, he mouthed, “I’m still here.” Looking at the hundreds of people in front of me, I thought of some important things they should know about my husband that they probably hadn’t thought of. Things he might want me to share.

  “Recently, I finally got the guts to ask Don some questions,” I said, “and I want to share them with you. I asked him, ‘Don, if you had your life to do all over again, would you do anything differently?’”

  Before I could give the audience the answer he had shared with me, he mouthed, “NO.”

  “So, I asked him, ‘Don, are you adjusted to your life?’”

  Quickly he mouthed, “YES.”

  “Don, are you happy?”

  Without a second of hesitation he gave his most beautiful Don Koll grin and mouthed, “ABSOLUTELY.”

  The standing ovation he received was the culmination of his life’s achievements. The most important of which was that, beyond all odds, he was there that evening. Everyone had tears running down their faces, applauding in admiration of a man who truly lived his life in good times and in bad, with ups and downs and without a word of complaining. “You can’t worry about things you can’t change,” he always said to me. In the toughest time of his life he lived the words he always advised others to live by with grace and dignity. Seeing him realize the love in the room that was pouring out to him was one of the happiest moments in my life.

  12

  SWEET SORROW

  “Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.”

  —William Shakespeare

  Eighteen trips later, a number of near-death experiences, and many extraordinarily happy memories behind us, we were sitting on our Cabo veranda, waiting for the ambulance to arrive to take us to the airport and back home to California, with the knowledge we’d be back within a couple of months.

  Our trips to Cabo were not devoid of drama, and along with one crisis after another, I always held a lingering fear in the back of my mind that being there alone with Don would be depressing for both of us. I’m not sure why I came to this conclusion, but because of my insecurity, I made sure we were always surrounded by friends and family to distract us. I think the reality was that I knew every day of Don’s life was a precious gift. The thought of something happening to him so far away, out of the US, without close family or friends with me was frightening.

  The struggle I was experiencing with Don was compounded by the constant guilt I felt not spending enough time with my brother Don. He, who had for the most part raised me and will always be one of the most influential people of my life, was biding his time patiently on the side. I knew through friends he constantly worried about the stress I was going through. He’d had a lifetime of his own problems, though. When I was a child, he survived a brutal beating from a burglar that left him in the hospital unconscious for a month. After his release, my parents had him share my room for a few weeks so he wouldn’t be alone. Years later, I nursed him back to health after open-heart surgery and then again after a serious ni
ne-hour Whipple operation. His constant struggle, though, was neuropathy as a result of diabetes. During the six and a half years my husband was ill, he graciously stepped aside and rarely mentioned his health problems, but I knew he was experiencing great pain from the neuropathy.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling I had abandoned him. I just couldn’t give him the energy and closeness I always had, because my life was consumed with keeping my head above water with my husband, Don. Thanksgiving was a few weeks away, and Don and I had planned to go to Mexico. This was our first visit to be by ourselves, other than the professional care personnel, for a couple of weeks. The family was arriving just before the holiday. I didn’t invite my brother because the house was full, and I knew the commotion with energetic babies would frustrate him—a decision I will forever regret making.

  After Don and I arrived and took the normal five days for him to regain his strength from traveling, we fell into a new Cabo routine. To my surprise, I loved being there alone with him.

  By then, Don was on dialysis, a choice he made when it was discovered his kidneys were failing. He simply wouldn’t give up, and as complicated and uncomfortable as it was, he wanted to do it. He was hooked into the machine for five hours early in the morning as he slept. I would get up and head off to play golf by myself. Friends would see me and ask me to join them, but I wanted this time to be alone, uninterrupted, to gather my thoughts. By the time I returned home, Don would be finished with his treatment, bathed and raring to go to the pool where we would stay for the rest of the day into the night. Don reclined in his swim trunks with tubes and medications hanging from IV poles. Me, reading next to him. I know I’m not painting an ideal picture, but it was. The two weeks we were there alone were the best time I had with Don during those eighteen trips. There was a wonderful peacefulness and contentment I wasn’t expecting. Normally Don would be in bed by 8:00 PM, but on that trip, he resisted. We spent evenings on the veranda listening to music, me reading to him. Then we’d dance our custom dance of me gliding him across the floor in his wheelchair as our favorite music played, the moon dancing across the water. Thoughts of my daughter Brooke and son-in-law Chris’ wedding floated through my mind. Don had played a trick on Chris and me by saying “no” when Chris first asked for Brooke’s hand in marriage. The poor man was frozen, and I was shocked. When he said yes, we broke out the Dom Perignon to celebrate. Even Don drank some from a spoon as we sipped from our crystal flutes. We were excited and honored that they chose to have their wedding at our home in Cabo. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house as I spun him in his wheelchair while our song, “Unforgettable,” played. He never took his eyes off of me and mouthed every word of the song.