Sunday, September 07, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal
By RICHARD LAKE
REVIEW-JOURNAL

In the two years since terrorists killed her little brother, Jayne Furman has found herself becoming more like him, in ways small and big.

"I didn't always understand my brother, his selflessness," she said. "I understand that now."

Steven Furman, who would have celebrated his 41st birthday on Sept. 13, 2001, was the kind of man who kept a separate bank account for charitable contributions.

He was an electricity options trader for Cantor Fitzgerald, which had offices at the top of the World Trade Center. He had a wife and four children, and he had a sister who came to understand him better after his death than she ever thought she would.

"I have often told people, `I hope you never feel my pain,' " she said. "I hope you never know what it's like."

Furman, 45, grew up on Long Island, N.Y., and followed the men in her family into the trading business. She worked as hard as anybody, and she eventually earned the nickname "The Furminator" for her aggressive style on the trading floor.

Her mother, stepfather and brother Michael moved to Las Vegas in the early 1990s, and she often came to visit. One day, she thought, she would like to join them.

In 1993, terrorists bombed the World Trade Center while she was working there. She was not injured, but the bombing made her question how much she really wanted to stay in New York.

Besides, she had always hated scraping ice off her windshield in the winter, the high taxes were killing her, and she longed for more open space.

Eight years later, she bought a townhouse in Summerlin, and she became friends with her next-door neighbor, Connie Bobo.

Furman happened to be fairly skilled with a camera, so Bobo would sometimes ask her to take pictures at events for the charity she ran, the ALS Association's Nevada chapter.

Furman enjoyed taking the photos, but she did not feel the need to actually become involved in the charity.

During those months, Furman worked at home, still trading stocks, but at a slower pace than before. She could take time for herself, and she could enjoy her new hobby of running to keep in shape.

Then, just months later, her mother was diagnosed with lung cancer.

"It was terminal and we knew it," Furman said. "That really shook my world."

All of a sudden, what she had seen as problems in her life now seemed trivial. She was already in her 40s, but watching her mother slowly die forced her to grow up, she said.

Then came Sept. 11.

She watched on television as the towers collapsed, but could not quite believe it. Why would a man who gave so much of himself, who was as devoted to the Torah as anyone she knew, have to die like that?

Her mother died three months later.

Furman stopped working, and she fell into a funk.

"I was just lost, but I didn't know it then," she said. "I didn't know how lost I was until I could look back on it with some perspective."

Slowly, with help from friends and family, she emerged from her grief. As she did though, Furman realized that she was somehow different than she used to be, less irritable, a bit more friendly, more likely to listen to people than to interrupt them.

She started working again, and she began going out more. She resumed her running habit, and the solitude helped her escape.

Then one day, she had an idea that had never occurred to her in any serious way before: She would run a marathon.

Not only that, she decided then and there, she would do it in memory of her brother and mother, and in hopes of raising money for charity through pledges.

She practiced every day, incrementally increasing her running distance slowly over 18 weeks. "It gave me something to focus on," she said. "Something positive."

As it happened, she knew the perfect charity.

"What she went through forced her to face mortality," said Bobo, the local ALS Association chapter's executive director and Furman's neighbor. "When she looked at the ALS patients, it forced her to see things in a way she wouldn't have seen them if not for Sept. 11."

ALS, often called Lou Gehrig's Disease, kills people quickly, sometimes just months after they are diagnosed.

No one knows what causes the disease, which results in a rapid loss of muscle mass. Eventually, those who suffer from it lose control and cannot breathe or swallow without help from machines.

One year and a month after the birthday her brother never got to celebrate, Furman found herself in Chicago, preparing to join 30,000 other runners on a 26-mile trek.

Furman wore a T-shirt with photos of her mom and brother on the back that day. The shirt also bore the logo of the local ALS chapter.

Twenty-two miles into the race and trying to run despite serious cramps in her legs, Furman found herself thoroughly stumped by a simple math problem because her body was so drained.

It was four hours into the race and Furman -- who had always been a math whiz, even majoring in math in college -- was trying to calculate how much the final four miles would add to her time if she maintained her pace.

The problem came down to this: How much is four hours plus 40 minutes?

She was so dazed and confused, she said, that she simply could not figure it out. "I knew I was in trouble at that point." She was not even sure she could finish the race.

Then, a stranger approached her from behind. He pointed to the back of his shirt, which further confused Furman.

What is he doing? she thought. Do I have something on my back? Blood or something?

The stranger, also a runner in the marathon, came closer, and he showed Furman that his shirt, too, had an ALS logo on it.

This, Furman said, was beyond odd: it was stunning. The ALS Association, after all, is not the most widely known charity around. It was not even a race sponsor. So to happen upon another runner who was raising money for the charity was stunning.

Furman stuck with the man for the rest of the race. She said his presence is what got her through it.

"I will never forget that," she said.

She finished the marathon in four hours, 40 minutes, and she spent the next several days in bed.

She raised $5,000 for the charity, and she realized a new goal for her life: She would be more like her brother.

"Because my brother was a very charitable person, I know he knows what I'm doing," she said. "He and my mom, they both would have been very proud."

Her work with the ALS Association continues. In January of this year, she joined the organization's board of directors. On the 18th of next month, she'll participate in the local Walk to D'feet ALS at Metro City Park.

"She's not just a board member in name," Bobo said. "She takes an interest in the people. She really cares."