Aug. 1–Steve Farber’s days were numbered.
The powerful and politically connected Denver attorney had known for nearly a year that he had severe kidney disease. Without a transplant or dialysis, he would die.
His typically well-tanned skin was pale. His appetite was down. His energy was flagging. His passion for work was eclipsed by fear for his health.
These troubles weighed on his mind as he dined with two friends at the Blue Bonnet Cafe & Lounge Mexican restaurant on a Sunday evening in April 2004.
Farber, then 60, had all but rejected kidney dialysis as too burdensome. And he wasn’t well enough to wait three years to become eligible on a wait list for a donor kidney.
That left two stark choices. He could fly to Turkey for a risky kidney transplant of questionable legality.
Or he could accept a kidney from the eldest of his three sons, Gregg, then 31. Farber considered that a last resort. His wife, Cindy, was a protective mother who didn’t want to endanger Gregg. Cindy preferred the Turkey option.
At the Blue Bonnet that night, Farber discussed his dilemma with his dining companions. Farber had delayed making a decision for months. But his health crisis was an open secret in the social circles in which he moves: the realms of law, politics, charity and Denver’s Jewish community.
“It’s impossible to keep a secret in Denver,” Farber said later.
At the restaurant, the secret spilled out during a terse encounter with a kidney doctor who happened to be sitting near Farber’s table.
The two knew each other socially. A conversation ensued between them about Farber’s situation.
The doctor, who wasn’t involved in Farber’s care, was shocked to learn from him that night just how far his illness had advanced. He also couldn’t believe Farber was considering turning to the black market.
The conversation grew strained. The doctor told Farber that he should accept his son’s offer and get the transplant immediately.
“The best thing you can do for him is to take his kidney so you can live,” the doctor told Farber.
Farber was stunned by the doctor’s bluntness — and upset that his health problems had been aired in public. But what the doctor said hit home.
Farber confronted a grim reality: All his contacts, influence and power could not help him. His health was failing. His family was in conflict. The law firm he had helped build over 35 years was running without him.
The power broker was powerless.
Farber rose from humble roots in a tight-knit Jewish neighborhood on Denver’s west side. His father worked as a general manager of a Denver produce wholesaler, and his mother worked at a May department store.
His childhood friendship with Norman Brownstein, the son of Russian immigrants, grew to become a lifelong partnership that became a power in state and national Democratic politics.
After graduating from the University of Colorado’s law school in 1968, Farber and Brownstein started Brownstein Hyatt & Farber with Jack Hyatt, another friend from the neighborhood.
In 1971, Farber married Denver native Cindy Cook, whose family had earned a fortune in sporting goods and real estate.
The law firm scrambled to win business in the early years, but the founding partners’ penchant for working their contacts in the community quickly put it on the fast track. A key early client was Larry Mizel, now head of Denver-based MDC Holdings, which has become one of the nation’s largest homebuilders and a Fortune 500 company.
“They built the practice on extraordinary service. They literally worked day and night to do it,” said former U.S. Sen. Hank Brown. “They delivered. They really hustled to build that practice.”
Brown knew them in college when he recruited them to the Delta Tau Delta fraternity at CU even though Jews apparently had never pledged there before.
Brownstein forged a reputation as a top lobbyist on the national stage. He was an early booster of Tim Wirth, the former U.S. senator from Colorado. Brownstein also worked to elect and re-elect President Bill Clinton, with whom he remains friends, as he is with former Vice President Al Gore.
Farber’s political juice is closer to home, though he, too, has broad national connections. He was campaign chairman for former Colorado Gov. Roy Romer, for whom he raised millions of dollars, and he worked closely with former Denver Mayor Federico Peña. Farber has known Clinton since the late 1980s, when he met the then-governor of Arkansas on a trip to Aspen.
At the law firm, Farber is known as a rainmaker and a deal broker in complex negotiations between business and government.
He helped United Airlines negotiate its lease at the new Denver International Airport in the early 1990s. Later, he led Ascent Entertainment Group’s tortured negotiations with the city to finance and build the Pepsi Center. He also represents the Denver Broncos.
Farber also is active in the city’s charitable organizations. He has a long association with Rose Medical Center and the Rose Community Foundation. He and Cindy have hosted fundraisers for a variety of organizations, including Children’s Hospital and the University of Colorado Hospital.
His death-defying battle with kidney disease prompted Farber to launch the Denver-based Transplant Foundation, which Farber says will raise millions to increase awareness about organ donorship, fund science and research and influence public policy.
With former colleague Harlan Abrahams, Farber is also co-authoring a book on the subject, titled, “The Peasant and the Power Broker: Journeys Through Organ Transplant Realities.” There are more than 60,000 people waiting for kidneys in the U.S., and each year fewer than 15,000 of the organs are available for transplant. An estimated 3,300 Americans died waiting for kidney transplants in 2003.
The two fist-sized, bean-shaped organs are located on either side of the spine under the lower ribs of the back. They stimulate production of red blood cells and regulate blood pressure. The kidneys also filter waste from the blood to be excreted as urine. If left in the blood at high levels, that waste can poison the body.
Farber had a history of kidney problems. When he was 18 months old, his kidneys stopped functioning and he almost died. He was treated at Children’s Hospital in Denver and the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota.
Later, health insurers wouldn’t cover him because of his medical history, saying he wouldn’t live to 30. In the early years, Farber’s law firm funded his health insurance — at a hefty premium.
In the spring of 2003, Farber noticed that he was “slowing down” a bit. His morning workouts and regular tennis matches and golf outings left him short of breath. Increasingly, he would go to bed right after dinner. Farber figured his age was starting to catch up with him.
But during a routine checkup that June he learned from Dr. Rick Abrams at Rose that his kidneys weren’t working well. Tests and exams over the next few weeks confirmed that Farber’s kidneys were functioning at about 25 percent of their normal level, and that their effectiveness would continue to decline.
Farber had between six months and two years to get a new kidney — or go on dialysis. But it would take him at least 3K years to become eligible for a kidney through an organ-recipient list. He briefly considered moving to another state where the list was shorter.
He visited Johns Hopkins Hospital in Maryland and spoke to kidney specialists at the Mayo Clinic and Massachusetts General Hospital. They confirmed what he had learned in Denver.
Yet the magnitude of the diagnosis hadn’t sunk in.
“I continued to play tennis and work out,” Farber said. “I felt pretty good, but mentally it was a huge burden. I was managing partner of the firm. I was chairman of the board of the Rose Foundation. I had a lot of clients who relied on me.””Superman” faces mortality Farber, who was used to being in control, began to learn about the disease in order to regain his health.
“He wasn’t frantic,” Brownstein said. “He said, ‘I’ve got a problem and I have to figure out what to do with it.’ And I said, ‘We’ll all have to figure out what to do with it.’ — I knew we’d figure a way out.”
During the fall of 2003, months into his health crisis, Farber was still working 10-hour days and frequently attending charity functions at night. He and Cindy co-hosted a fundraising gala for Children’s Hospital that September.
But gradually he was spending more time on his health problem. To get on CU Hospital’s kidney-recipient list he had to undergo more tests and biopsies. In October, his name was placed at the bottom of the list of about 600 people.
One day that fall, two senior partners at Brownstein Hyatt & Farber knocked on the door of his spacious 22nd-floor corner office, which boasts a mountain view. They asked him if he was sick.
“Not really,” Farber replied.
They said there was a rumor going around that he was dying.
“Not that I’m aware of, but I am going to need a kidney transplant,” he said.
The next day, Farber gathered the company’s 110 attorneys and told them what was happening. With dark humor, he made it absolutely clear he would be staying at the firm.
“I said my points are not available,” referring to his ownership in the firm, “and neither is my office.” Word had spread. Longtime friends offered Farber their kidneys for transplant and said they would get tested.
“When a friend of yours says, ‘Look, I want to give you my kidney’ — it was quite touching to find out who your friends really are,” Farber said.
In the end, none of those offers came through. And Farber didn’t pursue it.
Some people needing an organ transplant reach out to everyone they know — even by e-mail — soliciting help. Farber, who is intensely private, wanted to solve his health problem on his own.
“I internalized it and hoped it would work out. I didn’t reach out to the community. I couldn’t do that,” he said.
Proud and self-reliant, Farber became more isolated.
“He likes to limit his vulnerabilities because he is, after all, Superman,” said developer Jim Sullivan, a longtime friend of Farber’s. “He doesn’t want people to know about the kryptonite.” That puzzled some who wanted to help.
“He really didn’t talk about it,” said Jimmy Lustig, a close friend whose wife, Debbie, is Cindy Farber’s sister. “I don’t know what he was really thinking. Outwardly, it appeared it was being handled, but it wasn’t being handled.” Six months after he had first been diagnosed, Farber was no closer to making a decision. He didn’t want kidney dialysis, which can take four or five hours a day three days a week.
The other option was a transplant. But who? And how long would he have to wait? His kidney function was now below 20 percent. His family and friends began sounding the alarm.
The rules of organ transplants in the U.S. are clear. Social status, wealth, race and other subjective factors don’t play a role in determining eligibility for an organ.
Once someone has qualified for a transplant, an organ recipient is placed on regional and national lists. The wait for an organ can last between one and six years, depending on the organ needed and blood and tissue type. The wait varies from region to region.
“There’s no way to move up the list. You can be rich or poor. When the time comes you will get your organ transplant,” said Dr. Igal Kam, chief transplant surgeon at the University of Colorado Hospital in Denver.
In January 2004, Brownstein, Sullivan and Cindy Farber met with Dr. James Shore, chancellor of the CU Health Sciences Center, over lunch at the Pinnacle Club atop a downtown Denver skyscraper. The trio asked Shore if Farber might get priority on the transplant list because of his strong record of community service.
A few years earlier, Steve and Cindy Farber headed a fundraising campaign that raised $4 million to equip CU’s new cancer center with a cutting-edge PET scanner.
At lunch, Sullivan said he promised Shore more fundraising.
“Did I stop to think who might be in front of him in line and might lose their spot? No,” Sullivan said later. “I just wanted to help a friend.” Shore’s answer was a polite but emphatic no, according to Brownstein and Sullivan. Shore declined to comment for this story.
“The purpose of the lunch was to get a clear understanding of the criteria to get a kidney,” and whether community service could play a role, Brownstein recalled. “During the conversation it became clear to me he was the wrong guy to ask, and in fact there was no right guy.” Brownstein doesn’t apologize for trying everything possible to save the life of his friend.
“We didn’t leave any stone unturned,” he said.
But he said organ donation lists should take into account those who have contributed to society in a measurable way — not based on wealth, but community service, which could include teachers or veterans.
“Steve would have ranked at the top of the list of people who have given to their community,” Brownstein said. “It should matter, but it didn’t work out that way.” Farber said he played no part in the meeting with Shore. “I never felt an entitlement,” he said.
Steve and Cindy’s bedroom in their Cherry Hills Village home was the scene of family powwows during Farber’s ordeal. One such meeting occurred in March or April.
All three sons — as well as Cindy — had been tested and could have been a kidney donor for Farber. The eldest son, Gregg, was the best match and was willing. But Cindy, concerned about the risks to Gregg, who was married and planning to have children, wouldn’t hear of it. Farber said his wife declined to comment for this article.
“Mom was creating such a stir it didn’t matter what I said,” Gregg Farber recalled. “For my dad, it was a lose-lose situation.” They resolved that Farber should pursue his last remaining option: fly to Turkey for a kidney transplant, which would cost at least $100,000. He knew a Denver man who had done it.
Farber spoke with an Israeli doctor who performed kidney transplants at a clinic in Istanbul. He was told the donor most likely also would be an Israeli man, whom Farber could meet before the surgery.
Under U.S. law, anyone convicted of buying or selling human organs for transplant may have to pay up to $50,000 and spend five years in prison.
The sale of human organs is illegal in almost every country except Iran. Yet, thousands of kidneys from live donors are sold each year on the international black market for $5,000 to $10,000 apiece. Turkey is a center of this activity.
Farber said he was uncertain about the legality of what he was planning. A doctor from Denver would accompany Farber to Turkey, as would Sullivan.
Farber stayed up at night worrying whether he would survive the surgery, or if he would have trouble getting care in the U.S. should complications arise. He thought of the 1978 movie “Midnight Express” and its harrowing portrayal of an American drug smuggler jailed in Turkey.
“It was very sketchy. It started hitting me that something is wrong,” Farber said. “I was worried I’d get charged with a crime and get thrown into a Turkish prison.” A difficult decision Farber was running out of options when the doctor confronted him in public at the Blue Bonnet in April 2004. The doctor told him he should get a kidney transplant from his son.
Shaken, Farber talked to Gregg the next day when his son dropped by the Farbers’ home. Cindy wasn’t there.
“I’ve never seen my dad that scared in my life,” Gregg Farber recalled. “He had no control over the situation for the first time in his life. It was humbling for him — knowing what life can throw at you, that you’re not invincible.” Gregg Farber told his father to come to his senses.
“I said enough of this Turkey thing. I’ll do it. He said, ‘Are you sure?’ I knew then he really wanted that. That was his hope,” he said.
Farber called the family together again and explained. Cindy was on board this time, realizing there was no other choice, he said.
“We could see it in his face that he didn’t want to go to Turkey,” Gregg Farber said. “He was waiting for mom to come around.” Farber and his son underwent the 2K-hour transplant operation on May 11, 2004, at the University of Colorado Hospital. CU’s kidney- and liver-transplant program is highly regarded.
The world’s first liver transplant was performed there in 1963, and the world’s longest-surviving kidney-transplant recipient — who is still alive — received his new organ there the same year.
A kidney was removed from Gregg Farber’s upper abdomen. Three small incisions were made. Doctors inserted a laparoscope into one hole and the scalpel into another to sever the kidney. Gas was pumped into the abdomen to create a cavity for room to operate and remove the kidney.
At the same time, Dr. Kam cut open Steve Farber. His son’s kidney was placed in his lower abdomen in the front near the bladder. There were no major complications.
Nearly a year after Farber was diagnosed, his life-or-death drama had concluded.
Farber left the hospital in a few days and ramped back up to his old activity level in about 2 months. Friends who saw him after the surgery said the return of color to his face happened almost overnight.
Two months after the surgery, Farber hosted Clinton at his home during a trip by the former president to publicize his autobiography and raise money for his library.
Gregg Farber stayed a bit longer at the hospital than his father and recovered at home for several more days, which is customary. The surgery is more painful for the donor, mainly because of the gas pumped into the body.
“I didn’t realize how bad the pain would be in the first few days,” he said. “If I knew how bad it would be I might have had second thoughts.”
Within 10 days he returned to his job working with Sullivan’s development company. An avid athlete, Gregg Farber played a semi-pro baseball game seven weeks after the surgery. He said he doesn’t worry about the fact that he has just one kidney now, though a serious injury to his remaining kidney could put his life in danger.
Steve and Gregg Farber say that the experience has strengthened their relationship.
“I think we communicate better. He probably respects me more than before,” Gregg Farber said. “He grew up from humble beginnings and he made it. I’ve had everything. Maybe I haven’t lived up to everything he expected. This takes off some of the pressure.” Farber said his son acted heroically.
“It’s still difficult for me to believe what he did,” Farber said. “How can you help but look at someone like that as a hero in your life?”
TRANSPLANT FACTS:
–More than 88,000 Americans currently await lifesaving transplants. In Colorado, 1,500 people are on the waiting list for organs.
–Last year, 27,000 organ transplants were performed in the United States. In Colorado, there were 382.
–An average of 17 Americans die each day from the lack of available organs for transplant.
–The wait for a kidney from a deceased donor in Colorado is about four years, comparable to the national average. Wait times vary depending on issues such as blood and tissue type and medical urgency.
–Living donors provided 26 percent of organs for U.S. transplants in 2004, up from 17 percent a decade earlier.
–Living donors are usually relatives or close friends of recipients, but not always. A living donor can give a kidney, a portion of their liver or lung, intestine, blood or bone marrow.
–One deceased donor can supply vital organs to eight recipients and bones and tissues to as many as 50.
–Organs that can be donated after death include the heart, kidneys, liver, lungs, pancreas and small intestines. Tissues include bones, corneas, skin, veins, heart valves, tendons and ligaments.
–To register to donate organs or tissues after death, go to www.Colorado DonorRegistry.org or say “yes” to donation at the Department of Motor Vehicles when obtaining or renewing a driver’s license or ID card.
–About 60 percent of Coloradans are registered to donate their organs after death.
–Each year about 15,000 kidneys become available for transplant. There are 62,000 Americans awaiting kidneys for transplant.
–One in nine adult Americans has chronic kidney disease. More than 400,000 of those require dialysis.
–Diabetes is the most common cause of kidney failure in the U.S. In part because diabetes is on the rise, the number of patients with kidney failure who will need dialysis is predicted to nearly double by 2010.
Sources: United Network for Organ Sharing; Donor Alliance; American Kidney Fund; American Association of Kidney Patients; University of Colorado Hospital.
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