In the fall of 1995, Keith came down with severe dizziness spell while taking the LSAT in Madison. He went to the hospital and was told he had a brain tumor, and they had to operate immediately. During the surgery, they realized that it was not a tumor but a demylinating plaque (eventually, they would call this a rare form of multiple sclerosis). When he came out of the surgery he had severely impaired mental and physical abilities. Keith fought back against the disease for almost a year, including going through experimental treatments at the Mayo Clinic. He experienced a series of partial recoveries and setbacks. He wanted to find some meaning and purpose in his illness, and, as part of this, he wrote a journal of his ordeal. In June 1996, Keith wrote me a letter. (I was living in Germany.) He was recovering well, had regained his drivers' license and was looking forward to moving on with his life.
In July of 1996, Keith had a seizure and was given a medication that caused an allergic reaction, and he went into a coma. When he came out, he was not himself mentally. I saw him last on August 11 and we watched the Packers-Bears preseason game together, but it was clear that Keith was moving on. He passed away on August 12, 1996. Matt Kurland and I were among his pallbearers.
Keith was a wonderful friend, a truly good and decent human being. I still love him and miss him, and I carry his picture in my wallet. I know many Case friends felt similarly. I remember Matt Kurland, Mary Cashion, Allison Parish, Andy Cawley, Dave Scott, Burke Griffin, and Alex Evans all visiting at the hospital and coming to the funeral. He was always jovial and laughing, which is how I always remember him. But he was also always competitive and driven to do something important with his life, which is why he kept his journal. Keith and his family suffered terribly through his ordeal and death. His mother, Karen, added her own reflections to his journal, and published them together as the book, "The Year of the Zebra." Keith died at just 24 years old, but his friendship and his death taught me a lot about what is truly important in this life: family and friends; faith, hope and love.
I met Keith after he transferred to McKinley Middle School but we didn't really hang out until freshman year at Case. He was as smart as he was a smart-ass. We were both willful and competitive and sometimes we pushed each other's buttons. On the class ski trip sophomore year he was chatting up a girl at an after-hours party and I nailed him with a snowball. He came after me and we took it outside. Being that we were both sissies, neither of us landed a punch, but that dumb incident somehow brought us to peace with one another.
I'll always remember our epic games of basketball, ping pong, pool, and video games, as well as our debates about philosophy, politics, and religion. Through winning and losing he was always a good sport, and whether we agreed or disagreed he always had an interesting perspective.
After his initial diagnosis, he recovered well enough to visit me in Columbus. Even though he was partially paralyzed, his spirit was indomitable and his boundless optimism led me to believe that he would somehow recover. But, as Joe Kaboski mentions in his tribute message, Keith's condition deteriorated rapidly and the end was pretty tragic. I loved him like a brother and I still miss him today.
Joseph Kaboski
In the fall of 1995, Keith came down with severe dizziness spell while taking the LSAT in Madison. He went to the hospital and was told he had a brain tumor, and they had to operate immediately. During the surgery, they realized that it was not a tumor but a demylinating plaque (eventually, they would call this a rare form of multiple sclerosis). When he came out of the surgery he had severely impaired mental and physical abilities. Keith fought back against the disease for almost a year, including going through experimental treatments at the Mayo Clinic. He experienced a series of partial recoveries and setbacks. He wanted to find some meaning and purpose in his illness, and, as part of this, he wrote a journal of his ordeal. In June 1996, Keith wrote me a letter. (I was living in Germany.) He was recovering well, had regained his drivers' license and was looking forward to moving on with his life.
In July of 1996, Keith had a seizure and was given a medication that caused an allergic reaction, and he went into a coma. When he came out, he was not himself mentally. I saw him last on August 11 and we watched the Packers-Bears preseason game together, but it was clear that Keith was moving on. He passed away on August 12, 1996. Matt Kurland and I were among his pallbearers.
Keith was a wonderful friend, a truly good and decent human being. I still love him and miss him, and I carry his picture in my wallet. I know many Case friends felt similarly. I remember Matt Kurland, Mary Cashion, Allison Parish, Andy Cawley, Dave Scott, Burke Griffin, and Alex Evans all visiting at the hospital and coming to the funeral. He was always jovial and laughing, which is how I always remember him. But he was also always competitive and driven to do something important with his life, which is why he kept his journal. Keith and his family suffered terribly through his ordeal and death. His mother, Karen, added her own reflections to his journal, and published them together as the book, "The Year of the Zebra." Keith died at just 24 years old, but his friendship and his death taught me a lot about what is truly important in this life: family and friends; faith, hope and love.
David Scott
I met Keith after he transferred to McKinley Middle School but we didn't really hang out until freshman year at Case. He was as smart as he was a smart-ass. We were both willful and competitive and sometimes we pushed each other's buttons. On the class ski trip sophomore year he was chatting up a girl at an after-hours party and I nailed him with a snowball. He came after me and we took it outside. Being that we were both sissies, neither of us landed a punch, but that dumb incident somehow brought us to peace with one another.
I'll always remember our epic games of basketball, ping pong, pool, and video games, as well as our debates about philosophy, politics, and religion. Through winning and losing he was always a good sport, and whether we agreed or disagreed he always had an interesting perspective.
After his initial diagnosis, he recovered well enough to visit me in Columbus. Even though he was partially paralyzed, his spirit was indomitable and his boundless optimism led me to believe that he would somehow recover. But, as Joe Kaboski mentions in his tribute message, Keith's condition deteriorated rapidly and the end was pretty tragic. I loved him like a brother and I still miss him today.