Surgeons saved man’s life twice, 50 years apart
John Cleary survived Kent State shooting, cancer treatment.
— John Cleary has PITTSBURGH suffered two extraordinarily traumatic events in his 69 years on earth, yet the Pine, Pa., man calls himself lucky.
The retired architect unwittingly became part of American history as one of nine Kent State University students critically wounded on campus by Ohio National Guardsmen on May 4, 1970, during an anti-war rally in which he was a curious observer. Many would view that as misfortune, but Cleary feels fate smiled upon him because he was only wounded. The way he sees it, he easily could have been among the four students killed that day.
And when in December he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, the quickest killing cancer, he again didn’t curse the fates, bemoaning “Why me?” Instead, he was thankful that he was among the 20% of pancreatic cancer patients who have symptoms such as jaundice. It gave him a fighting chance with surgery sandwiched between rounds of chemotherapy, which is not a viable treatment option for the other 80%.
“I consider myself very fortunate,” Cleary said in his stoic way about both events. “I consider myself blessed.”
Cleary may be on to something, noted Dr. Amer H. Zureikat, the surgeon who operated on him for about six hours in early May.
“The fact this happened to him, there is a lot of fate in this. As cancer surgeons, we reflect on (patients’) stories and definitely there is more to this than meets the eye,” Zureikat said.
“These were two life-threatening conditions. To have two major events like that and to come out on top is very good luck.”
As if all of that weren’t enough, consider the series of coincidences connecting the two major events in Cleary’s life. Even the most empirically grounded person might be moved to metaphysical reflection.
“There are uncanny parallels, uncanny coincidences,” his surgeon said.
Indeed. Purely by happenstance, Zureikat performed the surgery on Cleary on May 5 — one day after the 50-year anniversary of the massacre at Kent State, which was the only other time Cleary has had major surgery.
“Originally, I thought the surgery was going to be early to midApril and then things got pushed back,” Cleary said. “It wasn’t until a week prior to May 4 that it began to dawn on me it was going to fall one day after the 50-year anniversary.”
He had long planned to be on campus on May 1-4 as a participant in Kent State’s 50th commemoration of the massacre and what led up to it. He had made hotel reservations in Kent a year earlier.
But then came the cancer diagnosis and chemo. His daughter, Elizabeth Dove, 35, of Bridgeville, planned to go in his stead as the university dedicated markers where each of the nine wounded students fell. There already are memorials to the four slain students — including Allison Krause, 19, of Churchill — at the sites where they were killed amid the 17 acres of the sprawling campus that have been named a National Historic Landmark.
Then COVID-19 forced Kent State officials to move the on-campus commemoration from in-person to online and to postpone dedication of the nine markers. The centerpiece of the virtual commemoration was a moving 51-minute video containing words and music, historical and present-day images, searing memories and quiet reflections.
Among those who watched the video in real time on May 4 was Cleary, who along with fellow wounded students Joe Lewis and Alan Canfora provides video commentary on that fateful day.
“I thought it was very well done. It certainly was emotional,” Cleary said of the video.
“To be honest with you, it was a good distraction to be able to focus on May 4 activities and not dwell on what was going to happen the next day. Anyone facing major surgery has a little apprehension. To be able to fill my day with Kent State programs really kept my mind off of the surgery.”
Zureikat didn’t realize the significance of the date until after the surgery. He met with Cleary’s wife, Kathy, in the waiting room to tell her things had gone well. She mentioned the half-century coincidence.
“We paused for a second and both reflected on what it means. To be almost 50 years to the day was very fateful. It got me thinking about how the world revolves,” the surgeon said.
The 44-year-old native of Jor
dan had only learned about Kent State after Cleary mentioned it in their first clinical interview. A history buff, he began reading about it and became fascinated by Cleary’s role in a seminal event in American history. He was stunned by the iconic photo that appeared on the cover of Life magazine of a wounded 19-year-old clinging to life — a man who 50 years later would become his patient.
During surgery, Zureikat operated in the same scarred area of Cleary’s abdomen where a surgeon a half-century earlier had entered his body to save his life.
“There are a lot of parallels,” Cleary said. “In the hospital, I had a few little flashbacks, like having drainage tubes as I did after the shooting ... and feeling similar pain in the same area. I began to see these similarities and feelings that I had 50 years ago. It all brought back the memory.”
Zureikat marveled that Cleary “is such a down-toearth, stoic guy. It was no big deal to him to experience Kent State or cancer, which makes him even more fascinating. In the midst of COVID-19, he has cancer surgery 50 years after being wounded at Kent State.
“I’d want to world to know about that, but he’s not that kind of guy.”
Cleary would rather talk about the exemplary care he received from Zureikat and the nurses and staff at UPMC and how grateful he is to all of them.
“It’s a very aggressive cancer but (Zureikat) had a lot of hope and confidence this would be a successful journey and so far it has been.”
To be sure, May 4 has always been an important date in Cleary’s life. He met his wife on that day on campus at the one-year commemoration of the shooting, when a mutual friend introduced them. She didn’t know he was among the wounded; he didn’t volunteer that information until later.
The couple closed on their first home, in Regent Square, on May 4, 1976, and the first of their two children, Andy, was born on that day in 1981. He would later go on to graduate from Kent State.
May 4 “is always going to be a part of (my) life,” Cleary said.
And now, so too will be May 5.