Single mom and plenty of others steered him toward success
By SAM MELLINGER
The Kansas City Star
Almost everyone’s eyes follow as Louis Caputo walks the halls at Blue Springs High. A calculus teacher beams when he approaches, always pleased to see a straight-A student.
A skinny, younger boy in a Wildcats T-shirt perks up as Louis strolls by, perhaps admiring the strength and sweat that took Louis to two undefeated wrestling seasons and three state championships. A brunette in a halter top and short skirt gives a smile as she passes Louis, perhaps impressed by the total package.
This is Louis Caputo’s life. Senior class president, Harvard chemistry major this fall, and The Star’s 2005 Male Scholar-Athlete of the Year.
“Every girl’s dream guy,” says Blue Springs senior Carrie Helfers. “He’s just a stud. He’s nice, smart, athletic”¦”
The story of how Louis came to this point is, in many ways, more remarkable than the young man he is today.
After all, Louis was born to an essentially single mother ” though the divorce wouldn’t be finalized for five years ” who spent the first half of Louis’ life struggling through medical school and residency. Besides his mother, Cindy, Louis was primarily raised by sisters who are 12 and 15 years older and two gay men.
Since then, a long line of coaches, friends and strangers have watched Louis bloom into this: an avid yoga student and piano player, advanced enough in chemistry that he has the option of skipping introductory classes at Harvard this fall, and a good enough wrestler that he once beat an 18-year-old Bulgarian while in seventh grade.
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Louis’ life wasn’t always like this, with the perfect grades and All-American athletic accomplishments.
When he was 5, Louis spent seven months going back and forth, from Philadelphia to San Francisco, from mother to father, to satisfy a bizarre court ruling. Louis’ sisters stayed in California, but once his parents’ messy divorce was settled, Cindy was left with custody of a young son at the bottom of his first-grade class in reading.
He began meeting with a special teacher a couple of times a week and by third grade was the most advanced reader in his class.
“I learned early that I liked doing well in school,” Louis says. “It made my mom happy. It made me happy. It was something to strive for. Not as much getting the A, just the knowledge.”
Louis jokingly refers to himself as the world’s worst athlete. Despite the sparkling wrestling resume, his self-deprecation isn’t completely without base. He was so bad in Little League, for instance, that his teammates erupted in cheer whenever he caught a foul ball “¦ in practice.
Blue Springs wrestling coach Mike Hagerty rates Louis’ athleticism as a “six or seven.” Louis’ 165-14 career record and two national championships derived from a work ethic described as “freakish.” Without hyperbole, Blue Springs assistant wrestling coach Matt Cox says Louis was the last one to leave every single practice his three years on varsity.
Caputo’s devotion was put to the test his junior year, when preseason football practices started to drag. Coach Kelly Donohoe said Caputo had a “real good shot” at a starting position, but just wasn’t enthused.
After a few days of soul-searching, Caputo quit. That fall, while the football team went through practices, Caputo spent every afternoon in the wrestling room. Sometimes he had a partner, sometimes not. Always, he was working.
“Louis is one of those kids who always looks into the future,” says Cameron Harms, Louis’ best friend. “He knew wrestling could take him places. He just wouldn’t have been able to stand himself if he got to college and realized he didn’t do everything possible to prepare himself.”
Louis went 50-0 and won his second of three state championships that fall. He hasn’t lost since.
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Louis is Cindy’s roommate as much as he is her son. She’s a doctor and says Louis’ job is to get smart.
“He takes that real seriously,” Cindy says.
Because not even a 4.14 GPA ” 12th in a class of 526 ” helps pay the bills, Louis earns his keep in trade. Cindy hates the grocery store, so she sends Louis to the Price Chopper down the street.
Louis does her laundry, folds it and everything. When Cindy took a long overdue vacation to Cancun last week, Louis stayed at home, alone, for a week. He didn’t load the dishwasher like he should have, but took a few hours to pull weeds in the back yard.
He and Cindy are hosts of a graduation party this weekend. Louis shares the responsibility of making the two-story home and wooded back yard shine, with one notable exception.
Seems the frogs in the pond have reproduced like rabbits the last few months. Louis stays away from that corner of the yard.
“He apologized,” Cindy says, “but if they jump up, he absolutely freaks out.”
It’s been this way for all 18 years and six weeks of Louis’ life. Louis describes him and his mom as “buddies in the same foxhole.”
Louis was born just as then-37-year-old Cindy began medical school in Philadelphia. His first home was a med student dorm. Cindy was often busy with work or school, but a never-ending stream of med students swung by the apartment for study breaks. They played games, they took walks, they went to the park.
Sometimes Louis slept at the hospital while Cindy worked an all-nighter.
“He was never alone,” Cindy says. “The nurses always wanted to hang out with him. He saw a lot of love from people who were not related to him.”
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Gina Caputo is a yoga instructor and loves it. But not even all the feel-good exercise and meditation in the world can keep her from feeling a bit down sometimes.
Her first call is almost always to little brother. About five years ago, Louis told her something that is still with her.
Sometimes you have to realize your body will do more than your mind wants to do.
“That was a 13-year-old that told me that,” Gina says. “And he’s absolutely right. Our minds seek comfort and habit, but our bodies can do more. I’m not kidding: Some of my best philosophies in life are from him.”
Among Louis’ very best friends is Jeff Winkler, Gina’s 36-year-old husband. He just graduated law school, and as Gina says, “is not some nerd who plays Dungeons and Dragons all the time.”
Winkler genuinely likes hanging out with Louis. He is a competitive cyclist, so they have athletics in common. He’s also an avid reader, regularly suggesting books. The one in Louis’ backpack right now, for instance, is a Winkler pick.
It’s called The Golden Ratio: The Story of Phi, the World’s Most Astonishing Number.
“People who are very talented, very smart, often don’t apply themselves as much as others,” Winkler says. “Louis works as hard as anyone I know. I know I’m not the perfectionist Louis is.”
Just recently, Maria, his other sister,was trying to take a queen-size mattress up a flight of stairs to her room. When she busted a hole in the wall, and wedged the mattress between the staircase, her first call was to Louis, whom she made bottles for growing up but never treated like a baby.
“We always talked to him like an adult,” says Maria who along with her sister Gina moved to Blue Springs to be closer to Louis. “We didn’t do the baby talk. He was always around adults, so he became one.”
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Timm Burrow has been in Louis’ life, literally, from the beginning. Ever since Burrow’s phone rang one Saturday morning, around 2:30, with word that Cindy just gave birth.
He rushed to the hospital in time to hold Louis when he was about 90 minutes old.
“After that? Forget about it, he was perfect,” Burrow says. “He is the star of the world.”
Burrow first met Cindy when she was pregnant and moving in one floor below in the brownstone apartment building on Pine Street in downtown Philadelphia. They became quick friends, in part because of connections to the Midwest.
With Cindy buried in med school, Burrow began acting much as a father would. Gave baths. Read books. Cooked meals.
Within a year, John McGaw, Burrow’s live-in boyfriend, received a promotion, allowing Burrow to quit his job as a sweater designer and devote more time to Louis. He packed Louis’ lunch with peanut butter and jelly, walked him the six blocks to school, played Legos, took him to the pool, even made elaborate Halloween costumes.
McGaw too became enamored with the little boy, and agreed to pay for Louis to attend a well-respected, church-based, private preschool and kindergarten.
McGaw, Burrow, Cindy and Louis ate at a diner down the street at least once a week. Burrow always brought a bag of toys for Louis, but the staff there sometimes played with the toddler more than anyone.
“Louis is a living example of that saying, ‘It takes a village to raise a child,’ “ McGaw says. “That’s really the theme of Louis’ life so far.”
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Out in Columbus, Ohio, Louis Caputo Sr. is retired now after 27 years in the FBI. At the family’s request, he has talked to his son just once in the last three years, when he showed up at the state wrestling tournament in February.
Louis Sr. has a new life now, a new Croatian bride and twins. He follows his namesake’s exploits through the Internet and says it’s “unsettling” how much Louis looks like his old man did at 18, just before attending Missouri on a football scholarship.
It’s a difficult thing, having a son you hardly know. Even harder when that son carries your name, your face, and is the talk of a town 650 miles away.
“He seems to be an exceptional kid,” Louis Sr. says. “I would like to say I contributed to some of it, but that’s not the case.”
To reach Sam Mellinger, sports reporter for The Star, call (816) 234-4389 or send e-mail to [email protected].
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