For many years, a member of the GAA Board of Directors has presented a “My Carolina Story” at each of the board’s quarterly meetings, and we are sharing their stories with all of our alumni. Hark the Sound.
“A friend of mine is fond of saying, ‘There’s a time and a place for everything. It’s called college.'”
January 20, 2024
My Carolina Story begins on a driveway in Kernersville, North Carolina, in 1982. I was 7 and, after shooting my Carolina basketball until it was too dark to see outside, I convinced my mom to let me stay up late and watch the Tar Heels beat Georgetown. I knew that night I wanted to be a Tar Heel basketball fan forever. What I didn’t know is that night would be the first of many memories awash in Carolina blue and that this University would change almost every aspect of my life for the better.
The ironic thing is, of all those Carolina blue memories, I don’t remember the most important thing that Carolina ever did for me. My wife, Emily, remembers it. My family and friends remember it. Some of my buddies even made T-shirts about it. But I don’t remember it, at least not the most exciting parts. And no, that’s not because of too many Blue Cups.
But before we get to that, let me share some of the things I do remember, including just a few of the many reasons I am forever thankful that I’m a Tar Heel born and a Tar Heel bred.
I am thankful for the eight years I spent earning three degrees in Carolina’s classrooms. Those eight years provided the foundational knowledge that has propelled me throughout my professional life, as well as given me the skill set to make an impact as a nonprofit president and volunteer board member for a variety of organizations. But what I learned in the classroom is only a small fraction of what Carolina taught me.
The very first lesson I learned as a Tar Heel was how to celebrate. It was April 1993, and I was finishing high school, but I used a college day to drive up from Wilmington with my friend Brett. We watched the 1993 National Championship Game in Carmichael, and then ran to Franklin Street, in the rain, with thousands of new friends. It was pure elation. It was also confirmation that I was making the right choice not to go to that other school in Durham and come to Chapel Hill.
That fall, I found myself in Kenan Stadium during the Bicentennial, learning about UNC’s first 200 years, when Charles Kuralt [’55] uttered the immortal words, “I speak for all of us who could not afford to go to Duke, and would not have, even if we could have afforded it.” Those words baptized me as a Tar Heel for life. They sum up the feelings of so many of us. We’re proud to have gone to a public university, one that places access and service at the heart of its mission. It means something to us, as alumni, that North Carolina invested in us, and it’s a key reason we give back.
For me, giving back began that same fall semester, thanks to my great friend, and then student body president, Jim Copland [’94], who found some grunt work for me to do in student government. Student government would become a cornerstone of my time in Chapel Hill, introducing me to lifelong friends and enriching my Carolina experience in ways I would never have found in a classroom.
Being in student government gave me experience representing the needs of others and trying to influence decision makers. It enhanced my appreciation for the power of advocacy, and it gave me confidence that I could help make a difference. It also gave me the opportunity to start the Student Advisory Committee to the Chancellor, where I became friends with Paul Hardin, and to learn from Bill McCoy [’55], Dick Richardson, Richard Stevens [’70, (’74 JD, MPA)], John Sanders [’50, (’54 JD)], Dick Baddour [’66, (’75 MA)], and so many other wonderful faculty, alumni and administrators.
But sometimes we learn through adversity. In my case, finishing second for student body president taught me how to find solace on the other side of heartache. It also taught me that elections aren’t the only path to serving and that those who truly care and stick with it often get a second chance.
My second chance happened when I was elected Graduate & Professional Student Federation President. Representing nearly 10,000 graduate and professional students blessed me with incredible opportunities and a lifetime of memories, including:
- speaking at two Carolina Commencements;
- working with Dick Baddour, Tee Pruitt and others to help get the risers in the Dean Dome;
- being the fifth person in a conversation among Sandra Day O’Connor, John Edwards [’77 (JD)], Jesse Helms, and his wife, Dot [’40]; and
- sitting in Bill Friday’s [’48 (LLB)] living room and strategizing about how to keep tuition affordable, an afternoon that included one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me, when he referred to me as his “co-conspirator.”
A friend of mine is fond of saying, “There’s a time and a place for everything. It’s called college.” For me, I am thankful that time included:
- Somebody forgetting to close the gates of Kenan Stadium, an oversight that led to me and two of my friends discovering that we couldn’t kick field goals in the snow;
- Turning 21 during Halloween on Franklin Street;
- Losing out on a girl to Vince Carter [’99];
- Getting front row tickets to see Eric Clapton in the Dean Dome, and seventh-row tickets to see R.E.M.;
- Ghost writing a DTH letter to the editor for Rasheed Wallace [’97];
- Camping out for tickets, both outside and inside the Dean Dome;
- Getting another chance to kick a field goal in Kenan, this time during our graduation processional … even though I missed that one, too; and
- Ending my first four years at Carolina singing ‘Carolina in My Mind’ with my friends.
I’m also thankful that my Carolina story includes witnessing some of the most unforgettable Tar Heel victories:
- TA McClendon getting stopped at the goal line;
- Giovani Bernard [’14] taking that punt to the house;
- being in the Dean Dome for the Maryland snow game in 2000, Marvin Williams’ [’08] put back in ‘05, the bloody Hansbrough game in ‘07, and so many more; and
- best of all, being in the Superdome in 2022 with my daughter, Caroline, when we beat Duke in the Final Four, an unforgettable moment that we’ll share forever.
Woven throughout my Carolina memories are an amazing group of lifelong friends, my Carolina community. Their friendship is one of the greatest blessings in my life. I’m thankful for George, Erik, Ryan, Brad, Charlie, Mo, Neal, Jon, Jeremy, Dervin, Jeff, McClure, Tee, Nic, Murray, Ian and so many others, including so many of you here today. Without those friendships, not just my Carolina story, but my life would be unrecognizable.
But far and away, I am the most thankful for the wonderful woman I met at He’s Not in May of 2001, right before she graduated, my beloved Emily [Kerley Conner ’01]. A few years later, I asked her to marry me on the bench under the Davie Poplar, trusting the old legend that if you kiss someone there, you’ll marry them. As usual, Carolina came through for me. She said yes, and my life has never been the same, in all the best ways.
Not surprisingly, that day under the Davie Poplar is one I remember very well, and very fondly. But my Carolina story wouldn’t be complete without sharing the chapter I don’t remember, the one when Carolina saved my life.
It happened like an avalanche. In just a few hours, I went from an urgent care to being intubated on a ventilator in the hospital in Burlington. A powerful combination of influenza A and Strep pyogenes pneumonia had left me so sick that a ventilator wasn’t going to be enough. Less than 48 hours before, I was leaving the Dean Dome with Caroline and her grandfathers. Now, the doctors in Burlington were making calls trying to figure out where to send me. Carolina and Duke were at the top of the list. Duke didn’t have a bed available, but as it always has been, Carolina was there for me.
The situation was so critical, that rather than drive me 30 minutes in an ambulance, the doctors decided I needed to have a Carolina experience that — while I don’t remember it — I can still say with confidence I hope none of you have ever have: landing in a helicopter at UNC Hospitals.
When that helicopter landed, Caroline was 4, our son Henry was 2, Emily was 7 months pregnant with James … and I was circling the drain. Fortunately, Dr. Anthony Charles ’09 (MPH)], now a member of this board, and his team were there waiting, and Carolina came through for me again.
After they got me off the helicopter, around 4 a.m., Dr. Charles sat with Emily, her dad, my mom and dad, and my best friend, Ryan, and explained to them that my best chance to live was something called extra corporeal membrane oxygenation (ECMO). An ECMO machine pumps and oxygenates a patient’s blood outside the body, allowing the heart and lungs to rest. When you’re on ECMO, blood flows through tubing to an artificial lung that oxygenates your blood and pumps it back into your body. I don’t pretend to understand the science of it, and thankfully I don’t remember being on it, but what I do remember is a nurse telling me when I woke up that, “It’s the most serious thing we do here.” That terrified me, since I was in the Surgical ICU at UNC, a place I assumed they did nothing but very serious things all the time.
But a condition of ECMO was that Dr. Charles, not Emily, got to decide how long I stayed on the machine. Put another way, Emily had to be willing to give up control of whether to keep fighting. If things didn’t go well, something her father (a physician) was trying to prepare her for, someone she just met, not her, would get to decide when she became a widow. Not everyone has the strength and intelligence to trust the expertise of others, especially when the consequences are so personal. Thankfully, Emily didn’t hesitate.
ECMO increased my chances of surviving from under 10 percent to about 50 percent, but it was still a coin flip whether I would go home to Emily, Caroline and Henry, and whether I would ever meet James. I spent the next 10 days on ECMO in a medically induced coma, teetering on the precipice of going from being a Tar Heel born and bred to a Tar Heel dead. A nurse was stationed in my room 24/7, along with enough machinery that my friends and family still talk about it. Ultimately, Dr. Charles and his team saved me, but there were many scary moments, or at least that’s what everyone tells me.
Thankfully, my memories don’t start until about two weeks later after I landed, after I was off ECMO and they let me wake up. That’s when I started hearing the stories. Stories about the skill and compassion of Dr. Charles and his team. Stories about Emily’s strength and courage and about how her Caring Bridge writings provided encouragement to others who were worried about us. Stories about how the hospital staff were amazed by how intensely our Carolina friends helped take care of us. Stories about one of my former roommates going to speak at our church, and another Carolina friend donating hotel points to help Emily stay in Chapel Hill for a month. Stories about the Morehead Foundation reaching out to check on me, and about Coach [Sylvia] Hatchell and the women’s basketball team sending over a giant rope with an inspirational message about hanging on.
There was even a story that I like to think Charles Kuralt would be proud of. Perhaps not as eloquently as he said it at the Bicentennial, but a lot of you have probably said that you’re proud that you didn’t go to Duke. I’ve said that too, but what’s different for me is that my last words on Earth were very nearly, “Don’t take me to Duke.” That’s the last thing I remember saying before I lost consciousness. My brain may have been desperately gasping for oxygen, but somewhere deep down inside, I still knew where I needed to go … who would take care of me … who would take care of my family … who wouldn’t let me down when I really needed it. Carolina. Carolina would do all of that, and more.
In my 28 days in UNC Hospitals, not only did Dr. Charles and his team use ECMO to save my life, his colleagues in the rehabilitation unit taught me how to walk again, how to hold my hand over the hole in my throat so I could talk and how to grip a pencil. The “Tar Healers,” as Emily dubbed them, comforted her and my friends, providing true care, not just medical services. They pulled me back from the brink, and every chapter in my Carolina story since then — including the chance to serve with you on this board — is due to them.
I am so glad I didn’t go to Duke.
Dr. Charles saving my life has allowed me to have so many wonderful life experiences, including becoming his friend. But most importantly, the care I received here at Carolina allowed me to meet James and be a dad to him, to Caroline and to Henry and to be a husband to Emily. There aren’t words to describe how much those things mean to me. Thank you, Anthony.
And thank you to our beloved alma mater for everything it’s done for me, and to Lowry [Caudill ’79] and Veronica [Flaspoehler ’08] for giving me a chance to share just a fraction of my love for Carolina with you today.
And finally, thank you to each of you for not going to Duke.
May all your skies be Carolina blue … and Go Heels!
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More information on ECMO and Lee’s journey: https://www.med.unc.edu/surgery/story/lee-conner/