For the love of Charlie
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by CINDY LANGE-KUBICK / Lincoln Journal Star
A Lincoln mother shows her love for her son by baking pies to raise money so he can live independently.
Patty Wilson leans into the wheelchair, pushing her son over the packed dirt. The wind is making it even harder to maneuver the bumpy ground of this vacant lot on the south edge of town.
She stops, short blond hair blowing in her eyes.
This is the family room, Patty says, looking into the camera.
This is where Charlie and his friends watch TV. There's enough room for four wheelchairs.
She pushes Charlie over weedy patches and cracked earth.
This is the bedroom. It has wide doorways and lots of space for all of Charlie's country-western posters.
Here is the bathroom. You can push the wheelchair right into the shower.
Here is the computer room.
Here is where the caretaker lives.
And here is the elevator that goes to the basement.
There are lots of trees, too, she says. So there is shade. And flowers.
The wind blows over the vacant lot.
Charlie and his mom squint into the sun.
This is our dream.
Before the pies
On the first tape, Patty messes up and says "Hello, NBC."
Charlie laughs. He looks at his mom and puts his head close. "It's ABC."
They are making a video to send to “Extreme Home Makeover.” Patty and Charlie take turns talking.
About how Charlie was born with cerebral palsy.
About how this house, where he lives with his mom and his dad, Mike, doesn't have wide doorways or a big, handicapped accessible tub.
About how he's not a kid anymore.
"I've lived with my parents for the past 20 years," Charlie says on the tape. The words come slowly because his throat muscles are weak.
"And it's time to get a place of my own."
For the grand finale, they drive to the lot where the wind blows his mom's hair.
They haven't sent the tape yet, Patty says.
It took them a year to get 501c3 status, but now they are an official nonprofit organization.
The Charlie M. Wilson Replacement Care Home Inc. has a board of directors and a mission: to build and maintain a home for young adults with physical handicaps in Lincoln, Nebraska.
For the longest time, Patty and Mike figured Charlie would live with them forever.
He weighed 4 pounds 6 ounces when he was born, not bad for a preemie born 10 weeks early. But there was bleeding inside his head, and nine months later the doctors told them what that meant.
Charlie wouldn't be the son who played tennis like his mom or golf like his dad. Charlie would never crawl or learn to walk.
But Charlie did play baseball from his wheelchair, and he did charm his two older sisters and nearly everyone else he met.
A few years ago, Charlie started making his own plans. Calling friends to go to movies and out to eat.
"We used to take him all over, and then he ditched us," says his Aunt Julie.
Julie Hofts is Patty's sister. She works at the hair salon Patty owns, The Turning Point in Rathbone Village.
When Charlie started ditching them, Julie asked why.
"If you were 20 would you want to go everywhere with your parents?" Charlie answered.
Patty and Mike realized their son wanted to be independent like everyone else his age.
It was hard to think about letting Charlie go. To think about him living somewhere else. Patty wanted some control over his roommates and over who took care of him.
They decided to try to build a special house. They wanted to make it a place where they could hold meetings, like the Young Life gatherings Charlie went to in high school. Where they could be involved in the community. Where they could form friendships.
They've applied for grants.
Last week, they talked to some Lincoln firefighters and a Sertoma Club about their plans. And now, they're editing the tape for ABC — and they're waiting.
But Patty isn't good at waiting.
As soon as they got approval as a nonprofit in September, she got to work.
Blueberry pie
Dick Wampler comes in for his haircut just after lunch on a Thursday. Patty fastens a soft cape around his neck.
Patty bought this small salon two years ago. She started working here 12 years before that, bringing loyal clients from her previous salon.
The regulars watched her family grow up. Her girls, Emily and Abby, and their little brother, Charlie.
A black rack by the cash register holds the pies she baked last night.
Most days she brings in a dozen pies. Most days the pies are gone by closing time.
She stays up until 1 a.m., sometimes 2, waiting for the last pies to turn golden brown.
Some nights, Julie comes over to help. They don't talk much, standing in the kitchen after standing all day cutting and shampooing hair.
Mike slices the apples. Patty makes the crust. Julie peels peaches and brushes the tops of pies with cream, sprinkles them with sugar.
On Sundays, Patty makes two dozen pies and she and Julie walk door to door in the neighborhood.
Patty has a chart at the salon showing how much money they've raised. A red line shows more than $5,000.
Patty brushes off Mr. Wampler's neck.
He stands in front of the black rack. He pulls out his wallet.
"Let's take a blueberry today.”
Apple pie
They only use tart, green Granny Smith apples.
Patty learned to make pies from her mom on their farm near Deshler.
Each apple pie takes about six apples. Mike likes his job better since Patty bought a hand-cranked peeler.
When he’s done, he heads to the family room to watch TV and hang out with Charlie.
When Charlie was in high school, he and his dad went to all of the Southeast football and basketball games together, even the out-of-town games. Charlie always sat on the sidelines, an honorary member of the football team.
They didn't make it to see Southeast get tromped 49-0 by Millard North at the Nov. 2 district game, though.
"Don't worry," Mike says. "Basketball season is right around the corner."
Every night the house fills up with the smell of baking pies, sugary crust and bubbling fruit.
Charlie takes orders at his job at the Bryan/LGH Medical Center warehouse.
Patty sells the pies for $12 each. Every week she spends hundreds of dollars on sugar and flour and fruit. About half the cost of each pie goes into buying the ingredients.
"She's trying to raise $300,000 —$6 at a time," Mike says.
"She'll probably do it."
Peach, pumpkin, sour cream raisin
Kassy Jensen comes to the Turning Point every Tuesday morning at 10:30.
Patty put her first rinse on Mrs. Jensen's hair when she was still in beauty school. That was 30 years ago.
Last week the grandmother bought two pies. One pumpkin and one cherry cream.
This week she picked out a blueberry and a peach.
Every week she gives Patty a tip. Then she slips her a $2 bill. Give this to Charlie.
"He's pretty special,” says Mrs. Jensen. “He really is."
Her freezer is full of pies. And every week she buys two more.
Apple cream, cherry cream, peach cream.
It's almost 10 o'clock.
Patty's mom sits at the kitchen table, watching Patty and Julie bake pies. One night, when they were cleaning up after baking pies, she slipped and broke her ankle.
Charlie is up late, too.
Patty has her sweats on and slippers on her feet.
The oven has been acting up, but tonight it heats up fine.
Patty doesn't measure her ingredients, doesn't use a timer, does it all by feel.
The cream pies, those were Grandma Hofts' old German recipes. You mix sour cream and flour and sugar and vanilla and almond and pour it over the fruit. When it bakes, it makes a nice, soft crust.
A stack of pie orders for Thanksgiving sits on the table.
There's a lot of work ahead.
One day she was feeling down. She wondered if they’d ever raise the money for the house.
The salon was busy. She finished cutting a client's hair and she took her check — one haircut and one pie.
She didn't even look at the amount until after the woman had gone.
When she did, she called her sister over.
Julie, look. This is a thousand dollars. She didn’t feel so tired after that.
After the pies
When she started in September, Patty thought she’d make pies until Christmas.
She figured everybody would be tired of pie by then. But, if people still want pie in January, she’ll make pie.
And she'll keep on talking to people. She'll send out more letters and apply for more grants.
Lisa Beed is one of Charlie’s caregivers. She comes to the house three days a week. She watches Patty hurrying home from work carrying 10 bags of groceries.
“I always just thought God made Charlie special,” Lisa says. “But then you look at his mom. She’s just amazing to me. I’ve never seen her without a smile on her face.”
That vacant lot on the south edge of town is still for sale.
When Patty sells enough pies, she’ll buy it.
Then she'll keep working until Charlie has a house with a family room with a TV and enough room for four wheelchairs.
And a bedroom with wide doorways and space for all his country western posters.
And a bathroom with a big tub. And a computer room.
And trees and shade and flowers.
Reach Cindy Lange-Kubick at 473-7218 or clangekubick@journalstar.com.
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