Diagnosis of a dancer: Students find strength in Riley kids’ stories

Dancing for 36 hours is no small feat.

But when one considers the motivation and the range of emotions behind the students who participated in this weekend’s annual IU Dance Marathon, it’s easy to see why they did.

IUDM has become a staple in IU’s rich philanthropic history since its inception in 1991, dedicating itself to the memory, life and charitable work of AIDS patient and Kokomo resident Ryan White.

White, a hemophiliac, was diagnosed with the fatal disease in 1984 after a blood transfusion infected him, and he was subsequently expelled from school, earning him a platform to raise awareness about HIV/AIDS issues until his death at age 18.

The year-round production of IUDM has grown rapidly, becoming the world’s second-largest student-run philanthropy organization, next to Pennsylvania State University’s dance marathon.

This year, funds raised at IUDM totaled more than $1.5 million, with participation from about 1,200 registered dancers – more than half belonging to greek houses.

Perhaps the overall sensation of IUDM can best be summed up on the middle restroom stall’s wall in the men’s locker room, where the anonymous scrawl of “I <3 these Kids” stands as a declaration of love on the chipped gray painted surface.

Maybe the feeling is best displayed on a poster board where participants described why they dance.

Ford Manion writes, “I dance for the opportunity to make a difference. I dance because I don’t know how to and it makes people laugh. I dance for the kids who are unable. I dance because it matters. It matters to more people than we imagine.”

Or maybe it’s best displayed on the black outer shell of the Inspiration Tent, where the wide-reaching effects of Ryan White’s legacy can be witnessed via slide show, newspaper clippings and star cut-outs from participating dancers from 1991 onward.

Most of all, one can sense why one would dance for 36 hours on catered rations of Rice Krispies treats and bite-size turkey wraps by simply listening to the stories of
Meredith Alexander, Casey Crouse, Stacie Thornburgh, Vincent Buckner and his mother Rose Black, Morgan Dale, Varney Venal, Patrick Malone, Lauren Brucker, Chris Myers and countless others.

The list of Riley kids, IUDM committee and executive board members and dancers themselves with inspiring stories is comprised of many, but they all share a singular commonality.

They all have the passion, commitment and drive to stand on their feet for 36 hours straight despite the desire to fall asleep standing up, despite the hunger pains seizing their stomachs and despite the need for a special kind of mental athleticism and endurance.

This is all for the kids.

It is for 13-year-old Morgan Dale of Linton, Ind., who was sent to Riley from Bloomington Hospital three days after birth because of a blood clot in her heart.

Riley has saved Morgan Dale’s life three times, said her mother Shany Dale, providing her with a valve transplant and a heart transplant at seven weeks old, followed by another in 2006.

Shany Dale called the college generation of IUDM participants positive role models for her daughter and other families with children to look up to. Because of their example, Morgan Dale said she wants to become a pediatrician, dedicating her life to the people who have saved her life.

“There’s a misconception of what Riley kids are really like,” Shany Dale said. “People think of the kid with the IV pole and in the wagon or in the wheelchair. You can’t tell just by looking at someone who is a Riley kid. They are able to surprise you and show you what they can do.”

Stacie Thornbourgh, 26, of Indianapolis, has attended IUDM since it started. Like Morgan Dale, she too has persevered because of Riley and still considers herself a Riley kid. She has survived more than 350 surgeries for various brain and heart conditions and requires a service dog to aid her in day-to-day activities.

In speeches addressing a fatigued yet upbeat crowd, Riley kids and their families spoke on how IUDM has bettered their lives by giving the doctors that care for them a chance to do so. Conversely, as much as the Riley kids gave credit to the dancers for helping provide them another chance at life, they too acted as “healers” to the dancers during the marathon.

HEART AND SOUL OF IU
Tables are broken, floors are sticky with spilled caffeine and a handful of Ace playing cards are glued down to the spills like yesterday’s failed poker match.

UGG boots, Tootsie Roll Pops, half-empty bottles of Smartwater and crushed pretzel sticks lie in the wreckage outside.

The conditions that occur from more than 1,000 students establishing a temporary residence in a gymnasium are most evident in the men’s locker rooms. After 24 hours, the restroom floors are flooded with toilet water and sticks of gum soak up the drip-drops of partially turned-off faucets in the porcelain sinks.

Several men are stretched across wooden benches long enough for one 7-foot-tall adult, catching Z’s away from the organized chaos outside.

Senior Lauren Brucker, who is the director of monetary corporate relations, has been participating in IUDM since her freshman year. She takes advantage of small moments throughout the dance marathon to reflect on what she’s helped to create.

“I go to the stairs leading to the upper gyms and look out at all the people down below,” she said, describing her pride. “It’s just good to get away sometimes, and I take a deep breath and I see the heart and soul of IU.”

Rose Black is the mother of 29-year-old Vincent Buckner, a Riley kid who was born with cerebral palsy. In reflection on the kindness of the doctors at Riley and IUDM’s unwavering support, she caught her breath.

“Those kids in there have all shown me so much love since I’ve been coming with Vincent back in 1992,” she said, beaming proudly. “To get love, you have to give it, and those kids are giving love ’round the clock.”

TENNIS BALLS AND WORD VOMIT
Students alternate between shooting hoops and playing ping-pong and volleyball with Riley’s kids, who are gliding across the slick floor of the main gym with star-shaped balloons trailing behind them in the wave of sweltering body heat.

Also, one could argue that in moments throughout the marathon, a participant is prone to delusions.

For instance, as the hours ticked on ’til midnight Saturday, individual blurbs such as “I’m actually not even that tired” and “I feel great!” became self-employed devices for mental stability in spite of bodies wobbling around the gym.

Barricades of cold cast-iron bike racks became ballet bars as dancers hurled their stressed limbs on them for stretching.

Junior Andie Clark, a member of Delta Delta Delta, walked amid the rubble and discovered a frayed neon-green tennis ball.

“I don’t even care, I’m gonna use this,” Clark shrugged while removing her shoes and socks. She seemed to drape her body over the bike racks, complaining of lower back tension. But she still wore a smile.

“These are everywhere, and they are great for your back and feet when they’re throbbing,” she said.

Sophomore Maggie Delaney, a member of Delta Gamma, sprained her ankle a couple of weeks ago, and said although it swells, she’s “muscling through it.”

“My sisters have to keep me iced, and change the gauze bandages hourly,” Delaney said while stretching.

Freshman Jacob Novich was slumped against one of bike racks. He said he was falling asleep while standing when his head struck the metal, jolting him from his brief slumber.

“Luckily we’re two-thirds of the way through – that’s what’s keeping me going,” Novich said. “There are 14 hours left, and I’m just looking forward to my bed at the end.”

Sophomore Meredith Alexander, member of Pi Beta Phi, shared her story to uplift the dancers.

As a former Riley’s kid, she suffered from a life-threatening brain tumor at age 16. She danced around the gym, handing out bright yellow stickers with the words “Tumors Suck!” printed on them. Alexander remained positive because she felt obligated to, crediting her faith in God for her strength.

“I feel coherent, but I know my words make no sense,” she said 24 hours in. “I can barely put two words together to make a sentence. I certainly couldn’t be driving right now.”

Rose Black decided to pin silver five-cent angels with the words “faith” and “strength” whenever she saw a dancer crying, squatting or needing encouragement to continue.

Pink kids’ scooters whirred by as random outbursts of spirited cheers erupted from opposite sides of the main gym, as if those cheering were committing spontaneous efforts to boost their own morale.


FOR THE KIDS
A troupe of tie-dyed cheerleaders made sure the morale of those around them never dropped to an irrecoverable low.

Senior Patrick Malone is one of these cheerleaders, or members of the morale committee, for which people have to interview intensely for positions.

Malone, a Riley’s kid himself, underwent surgery for Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome at age 12, which caused extreme heartbeat rates. He is in the Fiji fraternity and has been involved as a dancer and committee member since his freshman year.

“The surgeries can seem so drawn-out for these families, but Dance Marathon is a celebration – it’s a huge party for them,” Malone said. “The whole event is such an emotional roller coaster, especially when you hear all the touching stories. It’s real.”

Malone is one of several committee members who is graduating in the spring, and looking back, he said he has many fond memories of IUDM. His favorite involves a dance-off with a little girl.

“Stuff like that happens. You see the joy in these children’s faces, and you just realize why you’re here,” he said.

Senior Casey Crouse knows why he is here. For him, the 36 hours are more than fundraising, more than the personal glory of surviving it. He was one of the leading organizers of the dance marathon at Carmel High School in Carmel, Ind.

His sister, Ashley Crouse, was an IU student who was killed in a hit-and-run car accident in 2005. Casey Crouse has dedicated his work with IUDM to her memory, her smile, her genuine zest for life and her passion for living for others. His friends admire his tenacity.

“If I had to put a face to Dance Marathon, it’s Casey,” Malone said as sunlight beamed into the gymnasium from the windows.

They were high above homemade banners from participating greek houses and local sponsors such as Union Board and the U.S. military, boldly displaying messages of support for IUDM.

“He lives it,” Malone added.

Recalling the mantra “For the kids,” once-exhausted dancers perked up like flower petals given another chance to cross-pollinate and become new buds. For the dancers, so many Riley children have received new lives time and again at the loving hands of a pediatrician who removed them from potential darkness and let them bask in sunlight to grow and shine, never leaving them unattended.

The camaraderie experienced by the dancers is a similar feeling – it went across houses, across colors, across gender and social divides. Everyone involved, whether they were dancers, executive or committee board members, kept each person in the gym uplifted. 

This was done by an occasional encouraging whisper of “You got this!” or by physically lending a hand to help someone stand.

A defining moment of the dancers’ strength came from Stacie Thornbourgh herself.

She took the stage at 10:45 p.m. Saturday in the main gym and fixed her gaze admirably on the crowd.

“If I can lay flat on my back in the hospital beds at Riley for five months straight, you certainly can do 36 hours,” she said. “When you leave this place, ask yourself – was it worth it?”