ARI FRANCIS “DANGER” SCHULTZ
There are fans and then there are fans. Who cares of what? They come in all shapes and sizes, forms, degrees and gradations. Peripheral, casual, fair-weather, true aficionado, serious, loyal, dyed-in-the-wool, consumed — right on up to the unconditional, take-no-prisoners, full-blown diehard fan.
A fan or fans of anything didn’t start out that way. Someone or something caught their eye or ear, taste buds or olfactory receptors or even their sense of touch and demanded that they look, listen and experience twice. And then a third time. And then again.
Soon they were hooked. They were being wooed by a spectacular piece of art, an unforgettable aria, maybe a composer’s most celebrated work brought to life in a unique way by a concert pianist prodigy, or the feel, the hand of the finest cashmere or woolen goods.
Maybe it was the Culinary world. Fashion Design. Finance. Windsurfing. Business. Bobsleigh. History. Body Art. Hot-Dog Eating. Fantasy Sports. Writing. Juggling. Stand-Up Comedy.
Whatever it was, they knew it when it hit them. Passion stirred within, burned and then roiled. Everyone needs to be passionate about one thing or two things or however many things; the point is that we all must be passionate about something. Otherwise, what’s the point of living?
Fans, regardless of their respective levels of interest, are pretty much all the same no matter what it is that enamors them. But legitimate sports fans are a breed unto themselves. Their allegiance is unquestioned, their emotions untethered and spilling (boiling?) over, their disparate backgrounds and lives of no moment. They are not like the fans of other pursuits.
Rarely does the art lover consider it a life-or-death proposition in the gallery. The opera and its story can be mesmerizing and gripping but the libretto and music aside, the audience whether seated in the orchestra, dress circle, mezzanine or balcony, recognizes that its exposure to good and evil, the comedic or tragic is largely confined to the stage and pit.
When the concert pianist magnificently interprets and interweaves the composer’s feelings and message through his or her playing, nobody is anxiously poring over box scores, score sheets or racing forms and living or dying with wins and losses, beads of sweat dotting the brow or upper lip.
And none of this is about social class or social strata. Rather, this is about simply being the best fan of all-time.
In his short life, Ari Schultz may have been the best fan of all time. The best sports fan. The best baseball fan. The best Red Sox fan. (A lover of golf too by the way). As Muhammad Ali would have said, [he is]…“the greatest!!!” And he was certainly that.
In not quite 5½ years on the planet Ari Francis “Danger” Schultz made a seismic impact that most others could not even imagine authoring in long, rich and full lifetimes. The ‘Little Boy Who Became a Legend’ died on July 21, 2017 while listening to a Red Sox game.
Nicknamed “Danger” to salute his steely resolve and magnetic, unfathomably upbeat attitude in the face of dozens of operations and interminable hospital stays, Ari Schultz was the first person to undergo two successful prenatal heart surgeries. He didn’t give a hoot about that. Nor did he have the least bit of interest in becoming a social media darling.
He just wanted to live. He wanted to live, passionately and he passionately wanted to live. He was a marvel in every sense of the word.
Ari Schultz was born on February 16, 2012. Following mother Erica’s 18-week ultrasound, Ari was diagnosed with critical aortic stenosis and evolving hypoplastic left heart syndrome. His plight went viral when a video of Ari was posted showing his reaction to the news that after 211 days on the transplant list, he would be receiving a new heart.
“They found one!!!” he exulted. His demeanor — at one moment bursting at the seams with joy and excitement and then, tempered by fear while pacing around the hospital room asking lots of questions — was one for the ages, surely worthy of being cast in bronze.
Within days of the transplant surgery Ari’s new heart experienced acute rejection. He went into cardiac arrest and it took several weeks for him to begin breathing on his own again. Following the expectable gut-wrenching, tearful and grueling months of recovery, Ari returned home on June 16th. to the loving care of Erica and his father Mike and the doting attention of younger siblings Lexi, 3, and Eli, 11 months. It would be his last month at home.
The immediate and necessary quiet time evolved into PlayStation baseball battles, enraptured viewing of The Sandlot (1993) and voracious reading sessions of Harry Potter. A rabid Red Sox fan, Ari spent his final weeks in the company of Sox players — Xander Bogaerts and Christian Vasquez visited Ari at home for a three-hour play date — as well as concerned fans and other local sports celebrities.
A video of Ari pretending he was Bogaerts and hitting a homer in the hospital room while hooked up to a mobile oxygen tank also went viral. Mike orchestrated face-to-faces with the likes of Senior Golfer Hale Irwin, Ari’s golf idol, among many others.
[Editor’s Note: What 5-year-old golf-lover idolizes Hale Irwin? Are you kidding me?]
Commented shortstop Bogaerts, “I’ve never been around such an uplifting little kid.” Following spirited games of backyard baseball and football and then some story-reading, Bogaerts and Vasquez invited Ari to throw out the first pitch at Fenway Park on August 27th.
Wasn’t to be.
“That news, it’s just so sad. He has a special family,” said Bogaerts upon learning of Ari’s death. “He was such a smart kid. Very inspirational.”
When Bogaerts was informed of Ari’s death, it was right before a game against the Angels. He was devastated. Positively torn apart. “I just didn’t expect anything like that to happen, especially that quick. I think I got two errors that day…I never imagined you can have an impact on a little kid like that, especially someone who is going through something like that. He definitely changed my life a lot.”
The Red Sox tweeted, “Some fans make an instant impact on our team. Ari Schultz, with his optimism & unbridled excitement, is at the top. We’ll miss you, Ari.”
“Danger” and his medical travails made plenty of news along the way but the most impactful piece may have come in mid-June when his parents posted a video entitled, “Ari’s Going Home.” The young boy had just learned that after 189 days as an inpatient; 105 days since having the March 3rd. heart transplant; and 86 days since suffering near-fatal cardiac arrest, he was to be discharged imminently — in two days rather than a number of weeks.
Ari, proudly wearing a Red Sox jersey and swinging a bat is ecstatic. When his father gently reminds him how long he’s been hospitalized, he exclaims, “189 days? That’s crazy!”
Asked what he’d like to do first when he’s sprung, Ari replies, “Maybe go to a baseball field…And after go in the backyard and practice my golf swing.” There would be a trip to his grandmother’s house in Maine, an in-person VIP excursion to the U.S. Senior Open to meet Irwin and others and lest we forget, backstage passes to a Grateful Dead tribute band concert. “Ari loves the Dead,” noted his dad matter-of-factly.
Think about that.
Mike and Erica Schultz’ Echo of Hope/What’s Up with Ari blog provided comfort to them while updating and educating others. Mike wrote an ode to Ari looking ahead and imagining his son making it to age 10.
Entitled, “To Ari, On Your Tenth Birthday,” (August 4, 2017 by Mike Schultz; dated February 16, 2022) Mike allowed himself — and Erica of course — the luxury of dreaming a little bit while reflecting on the past.
“Before you were born, the anesthesiologist for your fetal intervention had to medicate you twice to get you to stop wiggling around. You were feisty from the start.”
“Mom and I spent the first year of your life with you mostly in the hospital. Two open heart surgeries, countless procedures, and several brushes with death. As we cried and struggled and worried about what the next day would bring you smiled and laughed through it all. You were always full of sunshine.”
“When you were one, at first you didn’t quite know what to do with your new sister. Once you figured it out, you couldn’t have loved her any more. You were always Lexi’s hero.”
“When you were two you’d see kids out on Lake Boon and scream, ‘They’re swinging on the rope!’ You’d beg me to take you out on the kayak (you only needed to ask once, you know) and we’d paddle around the lake singing America’s ‘Tin Man’ together. You were always Mr. Enthusiasm.”
“When you were three you asked Make-a-Wish to build you a basketball court in your back yard. Your wish came true. We played baseball, basketball, hockey, and golf there for hours on end. As I sat on the court just yesterday, I closed my eyes and memories of you flooded my thoughts. I soaked up every one. You were always such a sports fanatic.”
“Age four was epic. Red Sox, Bruins, Celtics and Patriots games. Drafted on [sic] to the Assumption College baseball team. Eighteen holes of championship golf and you played every one. (What 4-year-old in congestive heart failure does that?) Your baby brother joined our family. Right from the start, you loved Eli so much.”
“Four to five was intense. You spent most of the year at the hospital attached to an IV pole. That sucked. But we were also attached to each other. To me, this was a gift. We spent 24 hours together, every day, for more than six months.”
“You faced everything with determination, grit, and grace. You were ready to karate chop Dr. Blume at every turn, but you also defined bravery. Crying when you needed a blood draw or an IV, but holding out your arm and barking commands to tell the nurses how to do it. I’ll never be as brave as you.”
“But it was the quiet moments I cherished so much. One more page. One more time with Han Solo frozen in carbonite. One more Red Sox at bat. One more time throwing me on the pillows. One more hug and kiss. Everything one more time.”
“Then there were no more times. You were gone.”
“My world ended.”
“But suddenly you were better. All better…You were perfect again. You could do everything…You were pure joy.”
“Then you were six and your dream came true: starting shortstop for the Assumption College Greyhounds! Nailing a triple on the first pitch, going 2 for 3 with a triple play(!), and one steal; home base of course. You never did anything small.”
“You turned seven and we went to Japan. You begged to see the land where, as you’d tell everyone, you’d be playing baseball for two years before you’d join the Red Sox. So we thought, ‘Japan. Why not? Let’s go.’ The wonder in your eyes at every turn warmed my heart. You surprised everyone you met that you spoke fluent Japanese. You were the smartest kid I ever knew.”
“At eight, you got into your first fight at school. Of course you were sticking up for someone getting picked on, and you melted my heart once again. Add kindness to bravery. You always cared deeply about other people and their feelings.”
“Nine saw you make the varsity golf team at Nashoba High School. We had to fight for your tryout because third graders aren’t usually allowed to play high school sports, yet they couldn’t deny you were better than everyone else on the team. You never followed rules (leaving Mom and me to sort out all the messes), but you always followed your dreams and lived with passion. You always blazed new paths.”
“Now you are 10. Still my little boy. You’ll sleep forever with your Wallies, Pluto, baseball glove, and Red Sox blanket. (And I see you watching Puppy Dog Pals with Eli when you think I’m not looking!) Oh, my little boy.”
“Still I close my eyes and imagine you becoming a man. Most men never face even a sliver of your struggles. Against all odds you overcame every one.”
“Now things have changed and you’re not with me…I’ll never hold you again. Instead I’ll hold you in my heart every day. I’m so grateful for you. You’ve given me so much pride, so much joy, and so much love. Ari, to the world you may have been just one person. But to me, you were the world. You always will be…Forever your best friend, and you mine.
— Dad — ”
Ari Schultz was an angel from heaven during his brief time on Earth. Now back in heaven he’s surely hitting it out of the park in every conceivable way.
Here we’re just not as complete, fulfilled, joyful — or as good — without him.
