Thoughts from Dr. Joe: A tough mountain to climb
The last time I saw Kenny Wolf was October 2005. Each year, just about this time I think of him. October is National Disabilities Month.
In 2000, Kenny was paralyzed following a climbing accident in Alaska. He lost 95% mobility in his legs, and a head injury severely limited his ability to speak.
Longtime readers of this column might recall that several years ago I wrote a piece about Kenny that was titled “The Seventh Summit.” At the time he was confined to a wheelchair. Regardless, Kenny refused to accept his disability. The doctors said he’d never climb again; Kenny was determined to prove them wrong. Each morning, I’d see him on the track at St. Francis High School and watch him as he labored to leave the confines of his wheelchair. After standing, Kenny would use forearm crutches and amble around the track. Each movement was a struggle for him as he attempted to circumnavigate the track. I wrote that first column about him to highlight his courage as he attempted to overcome his disability.
Kenny believed that one day he would walk again and fulfill a lifetime dream of climbing the seven summits, the highest peaks on the seven continents.
In 1978, Kenny was my student and assisted me in the wilderness class I taught at Glendale College. At the time, the class was a grueling wilderness expedition and not for the faint of heart. Kenny would joke with the students. When something went wrong, he’d sarcastically comment, “Kill me.” I encouraged Kenny to find a career in wilderness education. His physicality, wilderness skill sets, and emotional intelligence would have been perfect for Outward Bound or the National Outdoor Leadership School. Instead, he followed his dream and became a technical climber.
I climbed with Kenny, mostly on the eastern slope of the Sierras. Together we attempted to summit Temple Crag. Kenny noticed the difficulty I had making the traverses and decided to abort the climb.
He quickly surpassed the skills of the mountaineers who climbed in the central Sierra and moved to Alaska to guide expeditions up Denali, the highest peak in North America.
I lost track of Kenny until his brother informed me of the accident. When leading his expedition up the west buttress route toward the summit of Denali, Kenny’s hex failed. He slid down the ice slope and into a crevasse. Kenny Wolf was a world-class mountaineer; he should have known better than to use hexentrics on snow, he should have used ice screws. What happened up there? We never got the full story.
National Disabilities Month is a time for consciousness to the plight of those with disabilities and a time to restore dignity as to how we view them. Often the disabled are the beacons, showing us the way toward resourcefulness, hope, courage, patience, perseverance, dignity and humility. Being cognizant of their everyday heroism can be an epiphany.
In Kenny’s case, the word “disability” had deeper implications. He lost the ability to express his feelings and manage the demons that he tried to bury. Kenny was no longer capable of feeling or fostering close relationships. There was no hope for fulfillment. He lived in disappointment and bitterness and found no joy, no kinship.
I stopped going to the track at St. Francis. It was too difficult to watch a man who once could touch the sky and light the imaginations of mountaineers.
He moved to Minnesota. Before he left, I went to see him at Hahamongna Park. There, he stared toward Mt. Wilson. Maybe to make me feel better, he’d tried to make a joke. He’d shake his head, attempt to smile and say, “Kill me.”
In 2005, I didn’t correctly understand the real story about Kenny Wolf. It wasn’t his courage that I should have written about. It was his vulnerability.
In 2006, his brother called me and said that Kenny had taken his life.
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JOE PUGLIA is a practicing counselor, a retired professor of education and a former officer in the Marines. Reach him at doctorjoe@ymail.com. Visit his website at doctorjoe.us.
