He shares the ‘Amazing Grace’ that saved him

By Marshall Allen

Sunday, Sept. 14, 2008 | 2 a.m.

When Dean Burke’s wife of 48 years lost her ability to communicate and lay dying in a hospital bed, he did the only thing he could to lift their spirits: He serenaded her with his accordion.

Dorothy Burke’s life was slowly ending in the burn unit of University Medical Center. A diabetic, Dorothy was being infused with oxygen to fight off a gangrene infection that had forced a series of amputations on her left leg.

Dean Burke, who learned to play the accordion as a 5-year-old, was heartbroken and despondent over his wife’s fate.

He knew of only one way to bring a smile to her face.

He plunked down $250 at a pawnshop for an old Cantino accordion, handsome for its mother of pearl and shiny gold accents.

And for two months at her bedside, Burke’s accordion purred 10 hours a day with old classics, gospel and country-and-western tunes.

Every day the music brightened her spirits. It brightened his spirits. The burn unit staff would open the door to the room and let the sounds drift through the ward. Sown in the depths of pain, the music harvested hope, joy and healing.

Dorothy died in December, leaving Burke feeling empty. He and Dorothy had moved to Las Vegas in October for treatment at UMC, and he knew almost no one in town. The UMC staff and patients had become his family.

He was sinking deeper into depression and had to fill the void.

So he keeps returning to the hospital, to play his accordion.

Several times a week he plays in the rooms and hallways of UMC — for patients, nurses, technicians, doctors and those visiting the injured, sick and dying.

On Thursday, Burke is standing at the nurses’ station in the cancer unit where he is a familiar face — and his music is well-known.

Distinguished by his bushy white mustache, black cowboy hat and bolo tie, he squeezes the accordion and dances a little jig, trying to coax one of the nurses to dance. He’s persistent. He’s a smooth talker. He does not take no for an answer.

“I always play this song for the ladies because it either makes them laugh, cry or propose marriage,” he says to the nurses.

When Burke breaks into “You Are My Sunshine,” Ava Livesay is wooed and joins him for a dance.

He plays the “Tennessee Waltz” on his old pawnshop Cantino and the two sway in time, dance a shuffle step and do-si-do around each other.

“Thank you! That takes me home!” she says, humming along, closing her eyes and clapping her hands to the beat.

Other nurses gather. Facilities workers in grubby uniforms pass by and laugh. A few patients and their families peek to check out the commotion. To the delight of her peers, one nurse can’t resist doing the hand motions for “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes,” and another is surprised with a rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

The unit’s 30 beds are full of people battling cancer, so it’s often a somber place, known for chemotherapy and radiation, not singing and dancing.

But an oncology ward is no match for Burke.

All his life Dean Burke has known the power of music. In recent months, besides playing at UMC, he’s been playing at Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meetings, churches and nursing homes, a troubadour bringing cheer to others.

Burke said he would like to correct any false impressions.

“It’s me I’m taking care of,” he said.

Burke often plays the gospel standard “Amazing Grace.” He never sings the song’s familiar lyrics, but others close their eyes and sing quietly to the music: Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.

The song could accompany Burke’s life story.

For 30 years, Burke’s best friends were Jack Daniels, Jose Cuervo and homemade wine. His job as a railroad dispatcher took him to many cities, and he shared his bed with many women, he said, despite having six children and a devoted wife.

Burke hit rock bottom when Dorothy got fed up, took the kids and left. He nearly lost his job and entered a recovery program. There, he dropped to his knees and gave his life to God.

“The gates of hell were opened up to me and through God’s grace I came out and was able to overcome that,” Burke said.

From that moment of repentance, 18 years ago, Burke said, he was sober and faithful to Dorothy. He’s not proud of his past, but preaches that it demonstrates God’s redemption.

At UMC, it didn’t take long for Nursing Administrator Evelyn McGuckin to learn of the wandering musician. For years she has wanted to start a music therapy program at the hospital. Music distracts patients from their pain, and studies show it promotes healing, she said. UMC has boom boxes in the critical care unit, and family members are encouraged to bring music to the hospital to help patients feel at home and stimulate the brain.

McGuckin calls Burke’s music an “instant positive” that brightens the hospital. She’s invited him to help her create an official music therapy program at UMC.

One patient, Norkethea Perry, credits Burke’s music with saving her life. Perry was rushed to the hospital with acute respiratory failure Sept. 6, suffering from pneumonia, asthma and high blood pressure.

On Monday, Burke met Perry’s mother on a city bus when both were on their way to UMC. Burke asked if he could make music for her daughter, and when he got to her room in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit, he thought she was nearly dead. Perry, 46, was barely conscious, intubated, unable to speak or move.

He played “You Are My Sunshine” and “Amazing Grace.”

The younger Perry said days later that it lifted her out of her stupor. “I felt I was dying and he helped me, he helped me so much,” she said.

On Thursday, Burke is again playing for Perry — “Just a Closer Walk With Thee” — and she is overcome with emotion as she sings along.

On a different floor of the hospital, in the burn unit, Burke visits Shane Walsh, a young mechanic and body piercing artist who has become a close friend.

Walsh, 27, is heavily bandaged and barely able to move, lying in his bed in a room that’s three doors down from where Burke serenaded Dorothy. He’s been here since Jan. 16, recovering from burns to 60 percent of his body after his motorcycle collided with a vehicle and exploded in flames.

Walsh is covered in tattoos — the inked letters on the fingers of his right hand spell “SLUM.” His other hand was amputated after the accident.

Burke’s accordion breathes with him, exhaling the humble verses of “Amazing Grace.”

Walsh closes his eyes as the warm hum fills the room.

The young man says Burke’s songs — “The Old Rugged Cross,” “I Saw the Light” and “How Great Thou Art” — bring him back to his childhood. Burke gives him hope.

“It raises my spirits a great deal,” he says of the music.

Walsh says Burke’s visits are also a time for conversation. Walsh doesn’t know his prognosis and says keeping a positive attitude is one of the most challenging aspects of his recovery.

“I’m definitely a shadow of the man I was,” says Walsh, who has lost 80 pounds in his eight months at UMC. “But it happens and I just have to get through it.”

“By God’s grace,” Burke adds.

Burke says with a wink that he’s adopted Walsh.

He bids Walsh farewell by giving his forehead a tender kiss.