Column about the Clarks

Recently, a woman named Cherri met with Jay and I for an interview. She is a writer for the Birmingham Metro magazine. She sent my dad the finished column and so I thought I would share.

Column by Cherri:

I love my dentist’s office—I have been a regular
(probably not regular enough) since
I was pregnant with my daughter who
is now headed off to college in three days. I
have sat in their reclining chairs throughout
many eras in my life—as a pregnant woman
with an abscessed tooth so painful that the
dentist just put his hand on my cheek and
looked at me like he didn’t know whether
to hug me or fix me; as a young mother who
once had her teeth cleaned with her toddler
in her lap so that her baby wouldn’t grow
up to be scared of dental care; as a morning
drive radio personality who’s appointment
had to be eventually rescheduled because my
program director had just told me he had
leukemia and I couldn’t stop crying in the
chair no matter how many times the hygienists
came and checked on me. I am a regular. If Dr.
Jim Clark’s office were the bar in Cheers, then I would be
Norm.

On my last visit, there was something
vaguely different about my dentist. Some
sort of aura or veneer over him that was
initially imperceptible. As we talked and he
told me what had happened, I understood:
his world had tilted off its axis, and nothing
would ever really be the same again.
Dr. Clark has three kids: Carrie who is
26, Jay who is 23, and Margaret who is 20
years old. They were raised in my neighborhood,
with the milestones of their lives
paralleling those of their peers. Less than a
year ago, Jay decided that he wanted to go
to Uganda and start an orphanage. His Dad
said “No, Jay. You are not going to Uganda.
That is one of the four places in the world
that the special armed forces cannot even go
into. I’m sorry, but no. No.”
So… Jay is in Uganda, skyping his father,
and it is a different world indeed. Uganda
is slightly smaller than Oregon and far far
away, landlocked by the Congo, Kenya, Tanzania,
Rwanda, and Sudan. The average life
expectancy is 52 years. HIV/Aids is rampant,
and women on the average bear over
six children each. Undeterred, backed by
supporters from his church and joined by
his best friend Allen, Jay cashed in his savings
to rent a house to start the orphanage.
His messages home soon convinced his sisters
to join him for a while, and the next
thing you know my dentist’s three kids are
all in Uganda trying to care for 19 children.
Suffice it to say, there were a few hurdles.
The young Americans just didn’t blend.
When they went to the market, they were
charged double what a local Ugandan was.
Jay quickly learned to hire locals to do the
shopping for them so that they could get fair
prices for their groceries. Security measures
mandated that the property was more like
a compound than a house, with concrete
walls to keep them safe from the city’s raging
crime. To travel into the city they needed to
hire a driver, and you had to allow more than
adequate time because the driver typically
showed up whenever he pleased with little regard
to what time he was booked. Problems
arose; problems were solved, and there came
to be a rhythm to life in the orphanage.
Lacking any other sports activity and severely
missing Alabama football, Jay and his
few friends and sisters started getting into
watching the World Cup Soccer matches.
They got into the habit of going to a local
restaurant in town called The Ethiopian Village,
a favorite more for its big screen tv and
internet access than its food. Jay and Allen
had a regular table that was their favorite
because it was right in front of the screen,
but they knew that on this night they would
have to get there early because it was the
final show down between Spain and the
Netherlands. Although the youngest sister,
Margaret, had flown home a few days earlier,
the others were looking forward to taking a
break and enjoying a night out. It soon became
apparent to Jay that it wasn’t looking
good on his table being open. First of all, the
driver was again unrepentantly 45 minutes
late. Then his older sister Carrie decided
she was more in the mood for Italian food,
so she wanted to eat at another restaurant
first and then go there after. Sure enough,
by the time they arrived, the only table left
for them was all the way around the corner
in a smaller room with a limited view to a
small TV, which they made work by sitting in
sort of an L shape. They had met two other
friends there, so there were now six of them
crowded in the corner drinking Mountain
Dew. At halftime, Carrie was playing a game
on her iPhone when Jay started to get up and
hit the restroom.

That was when the bomb went off.

It was a sound like none
other. It boomed with a deep,
resonating base that felt like it
came from inside their guts, and
it blew them out of their chairs
as people literally flew through
the air in front of them. In the
otherworldly silence that followed,
Jay started to come to his senses
and take in the carnage. The table
behind them was dead. The
table next to them had people
missing body parts. He couldn’t
find his sister, but her iPhone was
on the ground in front of him,
its screen exploded. He remembers
thinking to himself, “Oh my
gosh—if I don’t find Carrie, Dad is
gonna kill me.” He searched for
her frantically, finally finding her,
motionless, in the corner. She
was completely in shock.
In the mayhem that followed, Jay
eventually led the group outside
the building. Grateful to be alive but
terrified, they said a
prayer together, and then Jay
and one of the other boys, Mason,
ran back into the building to see if
they could help anyone else. I
won’t go into detail about what they
saw inside, but tonight you
might want to say a prayer for
them that one day the memory
fades. Not knowing who the bombers
were targeting but knowing
it could be Americans, people were
screaming at them to get
away, so they grabbed the others and
started walking. They found a
phone and called the driver, who at
first didn’t believe their story,
but came and found them eventually.
By that time Carrie had lost
consciousness, and Jay was carrying
her in a fireman’s hold.
The bombs were set off by Somali
militants with links to al-
Qaida. They attacked sites in Uganda
and Burundi because they
contribute troops to the African Union
peacekeeping force in Somalia.
In less than an hour, two bombs were
set off, and at least 64 innocent people
were killed. Against all odds, in an honest to
God, modern day miracle, Jay and
his table walked out unharmed.
I cannot stop thinking about how close
my dentist came to
having all three of his kids wiped off
the earth with no warning.
Why were they spared? When people
say “God had a plan,” part of
me agrees completely and part of me
wonders what God’s plan was
for the tables surrounding them. I guess
it is not mine to know.
But I do know this: Right now, back in
Birmingham, there is a
handsome ex-frat boy with dark hair and
a smile that only the son
of a dentist could have. He is some
kind of happy to be here, but
he doesn’t plan on staying. He is going
to open more orphanages
in more places that need them, and if
you want to help him do
so, go to www.sozochildren.org. Next up
for Jay is an Indian reservation
in Montana, and then somewhere remote
in Costa Rica.
You should be able to spot him—he’ll be
the young man throwing
out the occasional “Roll Tide,” surrounded
by children who don’t
look hungry anymore. •