ROSEMONT, Ill.
"Maybe you can call back on another day," the mother says. "Kenny is having a hard time speaking."
Another day. That means Lena Arnold thinks her son, a former Iowa basketball standout, will have a good day soon. That says something.<!-- BOXAD TABLE --> <TABLE cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width=50 align=left border=0><TBODY><TR><TD style="COLOR: gray" vAlign=top align=middle>advertisement</TD><TD rowSpan=3>
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Tonight in the Allstate Arena, as Arizona tries to survive another round of the college basketball postseason, one of the fans watching is the recipient of the biggest assist of this NCAA Tournament. It was delivered by Wildcats coach Lute Olson and a group of former Hawkeyes teammates.
Kenny Arnold's speech is interrupted by silent ellipses. Words come slowly. Muscle atrophy on his right side limits his movement. The Chicago resident is a sharp contrast to the quick, fluid 6-foot-2 shooting guard who helped Olson's 1980 Iowa team to the Final Four.
Twenty-five years ago, Arnold spoke little because of his personality.
Today, Arnold speaks little because of his fate.
"Kenny was a lot like Ronnie Lester (a Hawkeyes teammate and now Lakers assistant general manager)," said Mark Gannon, another teammate. "Quiet leaders, both took good shots, played good defense. Kenny never missed a clutch free throw, and I never heard him say a negative word about another human being."
Five years after that trip to the Final Four, where Iowa lost to eventual champion Louisville 80-72 in the semifinals, Arnold was diagnosed with cancer and had a tumor removed from the left side of his brain. His teammates, a tight-knit group, knew of the surgery and knew he still faced medical challenges, but never the extent.
"I didn't want . . . to . . . be a . . . burden," Arnold said Wednesday.
When a 25-year reunion of the Final Four team was scheduled for January in Iowa City, Lester received word that Arnold didn't want to attend. That surprised Lester, who insisted on flying out to Chicago and driving to Iowa City.
Arnold's appearance startled Lester. He weighed 70 pounds fewer than his backcourt mate remembered. He was slow to move and talk. When Lester asked what happened, Arnold told him a troubling story of a man who had been turned down for disability benefits, who had no health insurance, who might have suffered an undiagnosed stroke, who was fearful his cancer had returned.
"In other words, he got chewed up and spit out by the system," Gannon said.
When the rest of Arnold's teammates saw him, they agreed they needed to help.
"That's how this group is," Gannon said. "I asked (Olson) recently, 'How did you put 15 guys together that now consider each other brothers, that all have good jobs and are good people?' Every single player has jumped in to help."
That includes Olson, who was unable to attend the reunion because the Wildcats played visiting UCLA that day. Later, he received a call from one of his Iowa players, Bobby Hansen.
"He said, 'The reunion was great, but it was a shock to see Kenny,' " Olson recalled. "He said, 'We knew we had to do something.' "
Behind Olson's CEO exterior, one that seems to exude an unlimited amount of self-confidence, beats a heart that has experienced both great success and great pain. He saw his first wife, Bobbi, lose a long battle with ovarian cancer four years earlier.
Olson knew pain. He wanted his former player to stop knowing it.
He contacted another player from that team, Mike Henry, and asked if he would fly with Arnold to Tucson so that Arnold could visit the highly regarded Arizona Cancer Center, where Bobbi Olson received treatment.
Bobbi Olson's oncologist, David Alberts, saw Arnold and referred him to Bruce Coull, the head of neurology at the University of Arizona's College of Medicine. Despite their fears, the doctors found no return of the cancer. What they did find was that Arnold was taking medication that hadn't been prescribed to cancer patients for 15 years. The drugs were causing muscle atrophy and possible seizures.
There was hope.
Arnold might have never known this if Olson hadn't paid for the flights and tests - very expensive tests - with his own money.
"I'm just glad I was able to be in that position," Olson said.
"He's amazing," Gannon said. "It's right in middle of a key Pac-10 season and he does all this. I can't say enough about Coach.
"And I'll tell you this: He's got a lot bigger heart than he does money."
Arnold's mom, Lena, called Olson "the most wonderful man."
Arnold said, "I thank God for him and for everything that's happening right now."
The former Iowa standout is feeling better. The recovery process is slow, but thanks to a trust fund set up by his teammates (contributions can be made to any U.S. Bank) there's a good chance Arnold's annual expenses - $15,000 for new medications, plus the cost of a physical therapist - will be covered.
His teammates have hired a lawyer to help him receive disability benefits so he won't have to rely on 75-year-old Lena's Social Security checks anymore.
"Thank you, Coach O," says Arnold, who then excuses himself because he is tired and can't speak anymore.
No problem. His message came through loud and clear.
"Maybe you can call back on another day," the mother says. "Kenny is having a hard time speaking."
Another day. That means Lena Arnold thinks her son, a former Iowa basketball standout, will have a good day soon. That says something.<!-- BOXAD TABLE --> <TABLE cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width=50 align=left border=0><TBODY><TR><TD style="COLOR: gray" vAlign=top align=middle>advertisement</TD><TD rowSpan=3>
</TD></TR><TR><TD>
Tonight in the Allstate Arena, as Arizona tries to survive another round of the college basketball postseason, one of the fans watching is the recipient of the biggest assist of this NCAA Tournament. It was delivered by Wildcats coach Lute Olson and a group of former Hawkeyes teammates.
Kenny Arnold's speech is interrupted by silent ellipses. Words come slowly. Muscle atrophy on his right side limits his movement. The Chicago resident is a sharp contrast to the quick, fluid 6-foot-2 shooting guard who helped Olson's 1980 Iowa team to the Final Four.
Twenty-five years ago, Arnold spoke little because of his personality.
Today, Arnold speaks little because of his fate.
"Kenny was a lot like Ronnie Lester (a Hawkeyes teammate and now Lakers assistant general manager)," said Mark Gannon, another teammate. "Quiet leaders, both took good shots, played good defense. Kenny never missed a clutch free throw, and I never heard him say a negative word about another human being."
Five years after that trip to the Final Four, where Iowa lost to eventual champion Louisville 80-72 in the semifinals, Arnold was diagnosed with cancer and had a tumor removed from the left side of his brain. His teammates, a tight-knit group, knew of the surgery and knew he still faced medical challenges, but never the extent.
"I didn't want . . . to . . . be a . . . burden," Arnold said Wednesday.
When a 25-year reunion of the Final Four team was scheduled for January in Iowa City, Lester received word that Arnold didn't want to attend. That surprised Lester, who insisted on flying out to Chicago and driving to Iowa City.
Arnold's appearance startled Lester. He weighed 70 pounds fewer than his backcourt mate remembered. He was slow to move and talk. When Lester asked what happened, Arnold told him a troubling story of a man who had been turned down for disability benefits, who had no health insurance, who might have suffered an undiagnosed stroke, who was fearful his cancer had returned.
"In other words, he got chewed up and spit out by the system," Gannon said.
When the rest of Arnold's teammates saw him, they agreed they needed to help.
"That's how this group is," Gannon said. "I asked (Olson) recently, 'How did you put 15 guys together that now consider each other brothers, that all have good jobs and are good people?' Every single player has jumped in to help."
That includes Olson, who was unable to attend the reunion because the Wildcats played visiting UCLA that day. Later, he received a call from one of his Iowa players, Bobby Hansen.
"He said, 'The reunion was great, but it was a shock to see Kenny,' " Olson recalled. "He said, 'We knew we had to do something.' "
Behind Olson's CEO exterior, one that seems to exude an unlimited amount of self-confidence, beats a heart that has experienced both great success and great pain. He saw his first wife, Bobbi, lose a long battle with ovarian cancer four years earlier.
Olson knew pain. He wanted his former player to stop knowing it.
He contacted another player from that team, Mike Henry, and asked if he would fly with Arnold to Tucson so that Arnold could visit the highly regarded Arizona Cancer Center, where Bobbi Olson received treatment.
Bobbi Olson's oncologist, David Alberts, saw Arnold and referred him to Bruce Coull, the head of neurology at the University of Arizona's College of Medicine. Despite their fears, the doctors found no return of the cancer. What they did find was that Arnold was taking medication that hadn't been prescribed to cancer patients for 15 years. The drugs were causing muscle atrophy and possible seizures.
There was hope.
Arnold might have never known this if Olson hadn't paid for the flights and tests - very expensive tests - with his own money.
"I'm just glad I was able to be in that position," Olson said.
"He's amazing," Gannon said. "It's right in middle of a key Pac-10 season and he does all this. I can't say enough about Coach.
"And I'll tell you this: He's got a lot bigger heart than he does money."
Arnold's mom, Lena, called Olson "the most wonderful man."
Arnold said, "I thank God for him and for everything that's happening right now."
The former Iowa standout is feeling better. The recovery process is slow, but thanks to a trust fund set up by his teammates (contributions can be made to any U.S. Bank) there's a good chance Arnold's annual expenses - $15,000 for new medications, plus the cost of a physical therapist - will be covered.
His teammates have hired a lawyer to help him receive disability benefits so he won't have to rely on 75-year-old Lena's Social Security checks anymore.
"Thank you, Coach O," says Arnold, who then excuses himself because he is tired and can't speak anymore.
No problem. His message came through loud and clear.
