Fiercest UFC fighter isn’t in the ring

By Joe Schoenmann

Tuesday, July 15, 2008 | 2 a.m.

Eight years ago, Stephen Quinn had humiliation heaped upon his debilitating disease minutes after the 12-year-old arrived at the Thomas & Mack Center to watch a basketball game.

Citing concerns about fire hazards, security guards wouldn’t let Quinn’s motorized wheelchair roll across the floor level of the arena. So his friends helped him get out of his chair, carried the 350-pound apparatus across the floor for him, then flanked Quinn and helped him shuffle laboriously along the perimeter of the court. It seemed to the boy that every eye in the place was on him by the time his friends carried him up to his fourth-row seat, where he was stuck for the rest of the game, unable to make even a trip to the toilets when he needed to.

The incident spurred an entry into grass-roots politics by Quinn’s mom, Vicki Quinn. Long before her current stint on the Las Vegas Planning Commission, she and her son advocated for more handicapped seating and accessibility at the Thomas & Mack.

It wasn’t just Stephen’s embarrassment that motivated his mother. She was also driven by a dedication to instilling a trait she knew he would always need.

“I wanted to teach him to be a fighter, because one day he’ll be on his own and I want him to be self-sufficient and speak up for himself,” she says. “And I can see that in him now.”

These days, at events much larger in stature and scope than any Rebels basketball game, he never has to worry whether he will find a seat. And he has become an expert in fighting in more ways than his mother ever imagined.

He sits ringside at the table of the Fertitta family, owners of Station Casinos and the Ultimate Fighting Championship.

Behind him are celebrities. At UFC 86 two weekends ago, comedian David Spade, magician Criss Angel and a host of others you’d recognize from TV sat like caricatures in folding chairs a few rows away.

Security guards no longer hassle Quinn; they wave and say hello. In fact, everyone says hello: fight judges, Nevada Athletic Commission officials, the ring announcer.

As for the wheelchair, they can’t miss it because there are only a few others in the building. But Quinn has become far more than the mechanical contraption that disease forces him to use.

Quinn’s life is all about sports — activities and movements he will never be able to emulate.

And sitting at the marquee fights of the growing sport of mixed martial arts, he’s more than just a fan. This is part of his job.

Since January, the 19-year-old has been writing a column for UFC.com. About 4.5 million people log on to that site every month. Google “Stephen Quinn” and “UFC” and it brings up 650 hits, with his name and his words reproduced on Web sites around the world.

When Quinn’s boss, UFC.com Editor Thomas Gerbasi, talks about what makes the teen writer unique, he doesn’t focus on the disability that forces Quinn to type with a long pointer he holds in his mouth. Instead, Gerbasi talks of Quinn’s enthusiasm, work ethic and knowledge of the strengths and weaknesses of superstar and lesser-known fighters.

Quinn sits in a semireclined position in his motorized wheelchair, eyeing his boss. He is not paralyzed, but movement is extremely difficult. He maneuvers his electric wheelchair with slight movements of his shoulder that push and pull a joystick tucked into his armpit. His long, thin hands are capable of pushing buttons on an iPhone resting on his lap. The device is connected to an earpiece.

Gerbasi talks about Quinn as if he’s his star pupil, but emphasizes that all the writers’ rules apply to him: “The copy has to be clean. He has to write a good story. He has to hit deadline. If he can’t do that, I can’t use him.”

After Quinn does his research and interviewing, writing a 500-word story takes him an hour or so of pecking, in the most literal sense of the word, at a keyboard.

“You’d be surprised how fast I am,” Quinn says.

Jennifer Wenk, UFC’s public relations director, calls him “an integral part of the PR machine.” He plays a key role in helping make UFC successful, she says.

Wenk adds that she even envies Quinn “in a way, because he’s in his first year of college and he already knows what he wants to do with his life, and he’s doing it. He’s so far ahead of other people his age ... I’m excited for him, because the growth of this sport is only going to give him more options.”

When Vicki Quinn hears something like that, she thinks of how far her son has come. He was born with a disease called arthrogryposis, which strikes about one in every 3,000 newborns. His mom describes it as akin to having circuit breakers go awry in the spine.

“When you push your hair back, you have to send a signal down the spine for movement, and with Stephen, the signal doesn’t get there,” she said.

Some research is being done with stem cells, but Vicki isn’t counting on it.

“I don’t know if it’s in his future, but hopefully it’s in someone else’s,” she says.

Infants with the disease suffer from drastically contracted joints at birth, limiting range of motion. Babies may exit the womb with legs curved and arched inward. The disease doesn’t progress; those with it can live long lives. But movement for severe cases is extremely limited.

“I remember when he was born, and thinking, ‘Gosh, what’s the rest of his life going to be?’ ” she says.

“Then I decided I had to figure out a way to let him know that this was not going to go away, and we had to make the best of his life.”

Her son underwent 30 surgeries to straighten his twisted legs before he was 10. Doctors could do nothing to fix his arms.

Vicki’s friendship with the Fertittas, whom she has known since they were all children, led to the Fertittas’ sending dozens of recorded UFC fights to Stephen after he showed some interest. He saw his first fight in 2001 when he was 12.

“I remember thinking, ‘Oh, it will be a one-time thing,’ ” Vicki says. “But then it led to another fight, and another, and before you knew it, he was in their inner circle.”

Lorenzo Fertitta said Stephen created the opportunity for himself.

“He’s as bright of a young man as I’ve ever been around,” Fertitta said. “He’s super sharp, has a great deal of ambition and goals, and he’s not letting anything hold him back. He’s really an incredible story.”

He added that “nothing is handed to” the young writer.

“When he’s in the office, he’s treated just like everyone else,” Fertitta says. “We may have exposed him (to his career), but Stephen’s done it himself.”

Vicki Quinn’s usual way of talking is quickly and with purpose. She fits a lot into a little space. But she slows her words and her voice becomes almost a whisper when she says the Fertittas and UFC President Dana White gave her son “the gift of fortitude. You can’t put a price on that. He looks forward to life now.”

Her son is so loyal to the Fertittas, she adds, he tries to be like them. “He wants to dress like them. He wants to be clean, smell good, be clean shaven — he wants to look his very best.”

Like the Fertittas, he also is careful to gather his thoughts before he speaks and tends to keep his emotions in check.

He raised his voice, however, when asked about the Thomas & Mack experience and about the fact that there are still so many places that are difficult, if not impossible, for people with disabilities to get into.

“Why should someone who can pay for a ticket not be allowed to get the seat they paid for?” he says, the fighter flashing across his face.

He also hints that he may yet return to championing the rights of those with disabilities.

“I have to focus on school and other things right now,” says the UNLV sophomore, who plans to graduate in 2011 with a degree in business administration before entering law school.

“But someday, if the opportunity presents itself, who knows?”