Survival...

Jackie MacMullan of the Boston Globe wrote this about a year ago. I came across it today and make note that Matt Curtis was named captain of Clare's Crimson for 2008. Here is his story, an inspiration to us all:

###

Improbable rise
Against great personal odds, Curtis becomes Harvard success story
By Jackie MacMullan, Boston Globe Staff
November 17, 2006

He approaches each morning the same way: gratefully.

Matt Curtis wakes up with mounds of homework piled on his dormitory desk. Often, he's battered from Saturday's football game, nursing sore muscles, bruised bones, and pounding headaches from hurtling himself at running backs, tight ends, or sneaky quarterbacks intent on bypassing Harvard's defensive line.

He has no money. His father is gone, dead from cancer, and he hasn't seen his mom , who has struggled with addiction most of her life, in years. He has lived in public housing, stood in line at the Salvation Army for breakfast, spent too much of his childhood with his fate hinging on the decisions of strangers from the Department of Social Services. Last summer, when he landed an internship with a law firm, he had to borrow a suit coat and a tie for the interview.

"But every morning I wake up, I feel like I have won the lottery," he said.

His Crimson teammates can't begin to understand where he has come from. That's why Curtis never told most of them about the odyssey that brought him here to Cambridge, just 13 miles from his hometown of Lynn, where he rarely had time to strive for excellence, because he was too busy fighting to survive.

When told the Globe intended to write an article about her brother, Michelle Campbell began to laugh softly.

"One article? You need a miniseries to tell Matthew's story," she said.

It is not a tale of a privileged young man with an impeccable pedigree who joined his rightful place in the elite inner circle of the Ivy League.

This is the journey of a young boy who grew up in a family ravaged by drug and alcohol abuse, who too often woke up with a dull, persistent ache in his stomach because there was nothing on the table for dinner the night before, because breakfast meant coaxing crumbs of Rice Krispies from the bottom of a nearly empty cereal box into a bowl, then filling it with water because there was no milk.

"We didn't have a lot of food," he said. "We had no heat, no soap, no toilet paper. My mom used to boil water and pour it into the bathtub so I could wash up.

"It takes away your innocence when you grow up that way. But you learn not to complain, because it doesn't do any good."

There were four children. Michelle came first, then Mike Jr., then Amanda, then Matthew, the baby. They were a football family; always had been. Matt's maternal grandfather starred at Lynn English. His father, his brother, and he were all defensive linemen. Mike Curtis Sr. was a hometown hero. He was so talented, his son says, he received a full scholarship to Washington State.

"But it didn't work out," Matt said. "He couldn't take advantage of it. He let drugs and alcohol mess it up for him."

Mike Sr. battled his abuse for 37 years. His older children suffered terribly, but when Matthew turned 2, his father finally vowed to stay sober. His youngest son was only a toddler when he divorced his wife, Cindy, Matthew's mother, who was not as successful in conquering her demons.

His father stayed in town, but the children went to live with their mother. Michelle, already a teenager, soon moved out, starting a life and a family of her own. Mike followed four years later and lived with his older sister while he put himself through college.

Matt and Amanda remained with their mother, who struggled to keep afloat with scant income and a drug habit that siphoned any public assistance they received. The DSS would come occasionally to check on the family. Matt found it odd that on the days they arrived the cupboards would be full, but as soon as they were gone, the food supply would dry up again.

He remembers standing in line with his mother at the Salvation Army, picking up canned goods and government-issued cereal boxes, wondering how many days they could make it last.

His father came to get him on weekends. Mike Sr. played basketball with Matt, instructing him never to bring the ball down when he snared a rebound. He took him out to breakfast, took him to the movies.

"I saw the disparity in the way my mother and I were living, and the way my father was living, and I got angry," Curtis said. "I would say to my dad, 'Why are you letting me live like this? Why won't you come get me?' "

His siblings helped as much as they could. Michelle was married, had a child, and Mike was paying his own way through school. They had limited financial means, but they took Amanda and Matt when they could, and were often horrified at what they found when they picked them up.

"The situation worried me tremendously," Michelle said. "I would go to my father's house, and scream at him, 'You have to do something!' At that point, I had already taken in Mike. Later, I took in Amanda, then Matt. I saw each one of them off to college. But there was only so much I could do monetarily. It broke my heart."

Forced to cope
School was a welcome escape. Matt was intelligent, and teachers warmed to him. He was attentive, appreciative. Some of his friends were sullen, difficult in class. He resented those kids sometimes. Why were they so unhappy? Their parents were together. They had a house. They sat down together for dinner almost every night. What else did they want?

"Most kids hated school," Curtis said. "I loved it. It was warm, they had heat, and they fed me."

When Curtis was in the second grade, his father relented and assumed full custody of Matt and Amanda. By then, Mike Sr. had remarried. The tension in the house was often unbearable. While Mike Sr. freely admitted his mistakes, his brand of tough love was disheartening to a son who yearned for security, who needed to be hugged, loved, and reassured.

Didn't his dad care? The boy did not know his father, a city worker for the Lynn DPW, went around town boasting how exceptionally intelligent and athletic his youngest had turned out to be.

"We argued a lot," Matt said. "And every time we had an argument, it would always come back to how he wouldn't take care of me before. I just couldn't get past that."

Curtis couldn't get along with his father or his stepmother. In sixth grade, he was sent back to live with his mother, back to public housing and a life of uncertainty. He begged his mother to break her drug habit. She tried, because she loved him, but she couldn't stay clean.

"I love my mother more than anything," Matt said. "What she has is a sickness, an illness. I can't change that, even though I want to.

"So I've learned from it. I've seen how drugs and alcohol destroy everything that is important to you. I know I need to live my life a different way."

When Curtis was in eighth grade, he suffered a seizure and was taken to the hospital. It took hours to locate his mother, and when she arrived, she was in no condition to care for her son. A concerned nurse called DSS, and Matt was placed back with his father.

It was better this time. Mike Jr. came by every morning at 5:30, and Mike Sr. and his two sons went to the high school to play basketball before school. His father noted how hard Matt was working, how quickly he was growing.

"It wasn't the best," Curtis acknowledged. "We still butted heads. But I didn't have to worry about food or hot water."

His father took him for an interview at his alma mater, Lynn English. The principal, Andy Fila, had coached Mike Sr. in football back in the 1960s. He was impressed with the young Curtis boy, who was polite, humble, and respectful. Matt told him he hoped to play football and basketball -- and make the honor roll.

"I heard Matt was pretty good at football," Fila said. "But the first time I really noticed him was when they played Marblehead in his freshman season.

"I was standing on the sidelines, and this kid was running back a kickoff. All of a sudden I heard this sound. It was the noise of two players hitting each other. It was Matt, knocking the kid down.

"He just kept plugging. Off the field, and on the field. There was the way he worked, and then there was everyone else. He stood apart."

Faith never wavered
Curtis went to a summer football camp. The Harvard coaches noted his obvious skills, but also were impressed by his energy and enthusiasm.

"We fell in love with Matt right away," said coach Tim Murphy. "And when someone tipped us off to his story, we loved him even more. He was so optimistic, so positive. I told my coaches, 'We have got to get this kid.' "

Matt told his father Harvard was interested. Could that be possible? It never occurred to him he would ever be good enough or smart enough to fit in there.

One morning, during their early morning basketball workout, Matt noticed his father grimacing. "I've got a pain in my side," he told his boys.

The pain lingered, then intensified. By the time Mike Sr. was diagnosed with kidney cancer, it was too late for treatment, too late for a transplant.

"I was standing outside the school one morning," Fila said. "Matt's dad came up to me. He said, 'I've got something to tell you. I've got cancer.' I said, 'You'll be all right. You'll pull through.' I guess he knew he wasn't going to. He never said it, but I knew what he was asking. I told him, 'Don't worry. We'll look after Matt.' "

His father's death was swift, yet agonizing. Matt watched the proud, strong man he had battled for most of his life suddenly become bedridden, too weak to care for himself.

"Before my father died, I couldn't forgive him for all he put us through," Matt said. "I had so much hate. But when he got sick, we had a lot of time to talk. We got a lot out. I accepted his apology. His death changed me. It changed everything."

Michelle and her husband, John, stepped in and offered to have Matt move to their home in Peabody and commute to Lynn English in his final year.

"I was really concerned about him at that point," Michelle said. "Matt had finally found some stability in his life. He had finally found a sense of, 'OK, I'm not going to be uprooted again,' and then my father died."

At the time of Mike Sr.'s death, Curtis was receiving letters from Harvard, Stanford, Syracuse, and Duke. But, in Lynn English's first preseason scrimmage his senior year, Matt broke his leg.

Through his tears he asked Michelle one simple question: Why?

"She handed me a bible," Curtis said. "I read the Book of Job."

Everything was taken from him. He had so much hardship, but he never lost faith.

"So I figured, God was looking out for Job. Maybe he's looking out for me, too. Maybe it was time to stop being ticked off at the world."

Earning his way
His goal became all consuming: to be accepted to Harvard. His grades were good, but his SAT scores were below what he needed to be accepted. He turned to Fila and his school's department heads for help. They set up a tutoring schedule for him, and reviewed his application. He took the small sum of money he received upon his father's death and signed up for SAT courses.

In the meantime, Murphy went to his admissions office. The coach's own father was an alcoholic. He recognized the pain creased through Matt's young face.

"I told admissions, 'This boy's intangibles are off the scale,' " Murphy said. "This was the kind of kid who deserved a chance."

Curtis made the honor roll. He raised his SAT scores nearly 300 points.

His brother Mike picked him up each morning before school to help strengthen his leg, to rebuild his athletic confidence.

"People say to me, 'You've done right by your little brother,' " Mike Jr. said. "What they don't realize is how much Matthew motivated me."

Curtis made it back for the end of the football season. In the Thanksgiving game, he took a few snaps at fullback, and ran one in for a touchdown.

He was accepted at Harvard. He went there with a clean slate, with a past he didn't have to share. Many of his teammates do not know about his life. All they know is this young lineman appears wise beyond his years.

"I don't drink," Matt said. "We have a long line of alcoholics in our family. It's in my blood. People can drink and be totally successful. Kids here on campus drink, and they are geniuses.

"But it's not for me. I'd hate to look back and say, 'I could have graduated from Harvard, but I decided to drink instead and threw it all away.' "

It's awkward sometimes. Some kids aren't comfortable unless everyone has a beer in their hand. But, he said, his teammates are incredibly supportive.

"I've never had an issue with peer pressure on the team," he said. "That's why I love these guys -- the coaches, too. I owe them so much."

Abundance of pride
It has not been a good year for Harvard football. Their program has been in the news for all the wrong reasons. This bothers Matt Curtis, and that's understandable. He represents everything that is right about his Crimson team.

"There isn't a day that goes by that Matt doesn't thank me for bringing him here," Murphy said. "I want to say, 'No, thank you.' Kids like him are the reason you coach."

When Curtis was a high school senior, he and his siblings sat down with their mother. They told her they loved her and would get her the help she needed, but until she broke her cycle of abuse, they could no longer be in contact with her.

It has been hard. Matt thinks about her all the time. And, when a student fell from a window at Harvard recently, Michelle received a frantic call from her mother making sure that student wasn't her Matthew.

In a perfect world, Matt's parents would be sitting in the stands today at the annual Harvard-Yale game, cheering for their gifted, accomplished son. That won't happen, but Matt's siblings, his brother-in-law, and his nieces will be there, because they always have been. Without them, he freely admits, he would be lost.

"If my mother happens to read this, I hope she knows her son is doing OK," he said. "I'm not angry anymore."

In a quiet moment before Matt's first college football game last fall, his big brother Mike told him he had made his family proud, for holding fast to dreams that so often seemed impossibly out of reach.

Matt Curtis thanked this brother, hugged him tightly, and strapped on his Crimson helmet.

"I'm done surviving," he said. "It's time for me to start living."

###

Thanks to Jackie, one of the best writers to ever live. She tells the story, writes it, crafts it. Keeps it straight and simple.