Slain teen's eyes give Portsmouth musician the gift of sight
For the past ten years, 28-year-old Andre Jones has had to play his piano with his face inches from the keyboard.
Doctor's say the Portsmouth musician's cornea thinned, and at 18 he started to lose his vision.
"When I wasn't able to see loved ones, and buried my mother a few years ago and I had to get this close to the casket," recalled Jones.
Ever since, he's fought to find the right match with no luck. But late one Saturday night, something happened.
Two teenagers, Tessa Trachant and Alison Kunhardt were sitting at a traffic light on Virginia Beach Boulevard when they were allegedly hit by a drunk driver, a man in the country illegally.
While the nation fought over how the immigrant was in the country, Jones got a call that he would soon gain sight.
“They said, ‘Andre we got you a great piece of tissue.’"
They told him about a crash, and how the teen behind the wheel had the perfect cornea to give him sight.
He knew Kunhardt's story, and had a feeling that 13News investigators confirmed; he has Ali Kunhardt's cornea, and the surgery was a success.
"They put a chart and I was like, ‘E.’ And they were like, ‘Yes.’ And I said, ‘What!’"
And while all this was going on in Portsmouth, Ali Kunhardt's father was fighting the pain of losing his baby girl.
“The third week after things died down, that was a rough week for me. I still have trouble working a full day. I still have trouble getting to sleep,” said Dave Kunhardt.
But, for the past 48 hours that hasn't been because of hurt, but excitement as he was eager to meet the man who can see thanks to his daughter
It turns out, Jones and Alison shared a lot.
“This is definitely a bigger match then a cornea; the fact that she played the piano," said Jones.
They listened to the same bands, spent time at the ocean. Even Dave Kunhardt and Jones had similarities. Before long the two men who had never met were finishing each other's sentences.
"There's only so much anyone can do," said Kunhardt.
"And once you slow down, it's right there,” finished Jones.
They promised to stay in touch, work together to raise awareness about drunk driving, immigration, and now, organ donation. And the musician who can finally see without having his nose right up to the keyboard is working on an album to say thanks.
"Aly Kunhardt and Tessa Tranchant will never be forgotten because they saved my life. Though we just met, I miss you, already, and I thank you Alison," sang Jones. "That's the chorus."
And it's one he's proud of, but also very humble about it all.
"I’m happy this shouldn't be a sad story," said Jones. "I hate to put focus on what I’ve been through, but this is the best day of my life."
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| Andre Jones’ surgery restored not only his sight but also his confidence, faith and love of music. He had been nearly blind for almost a decade. MORT FRYMAN/THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT Cornea transplant recipient says 'Thank You Alison' |
By SUSAN E. WHITE , The Virginian-Pilot © May 29, 2007
PORTSMOUTH — As a teenager, Andre Jones often practiced for the moment when he would lose his sight. He’d awaken in the early morning hours and clench his eyes shut, beckoning the darkness to remain. The exercise eased his fears.
Yet preparing to see again after almost 10 years of near blindness terrified him. Jones had suffered from a corneal disorder since his teens.
As he sat in a Granby Street medical office last month, worries washed over him. What if the transplant on his left eye hadn’t worked? What if his eye became infected? What if his body rejected the new tissue?
Dr. Vincent Verdi reassured his patient. The surgery had been successful. His left cornea was healing nicely. If everything progressed as expected, a transplant on Jones’ right eye would be possible by summer’s end, Verdi promised. Then, the test.
| Audio interview: Hear Andre Jones sing an excerpt of "Thank You, Alison," a song he wrote in appreciation for the young woman whose corneas were used to restore his sight.
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Jones stared forward as two fingers were held up about 15 inches from his face.
“How many do you see?” Dr. Verdi asked.
Jones beamed. “Two!”
He wanted to scream. His life had been altered in just over 24 hours. But guilt tempered his jubilation.
In Virginia Beach, two families were still reeling from the sudden loss of their teenage daughters. Alison Kunhardt, 17, was a junior at First Colonial High School. Tessa Tranchant, 16, was a freshman at Kellam High.
The close friends were killed the night of March 30. A drunken driver slammed into the back of their car as it sat at a stoplight on Virginia Beach Boulevard. Alfredo Ramos, an illegal immigrant, was charged with the crime, which attracted nationwide attention.
Jones had heard about the crash but learned more after his surgery. Recuperating at his Portsmouth home, he cried as he and his girlfriend, Chelsea Mills, read a newspaper article that gave details of the wreck. He’d suspected that his transplanted cornea had belonged to one of the teens. Within days, he knew Alison was the donor.
“It worked wonders for my faith,” Jones said. “But at the same time, I kept asking, 'God, why would you allow this?’ I would have gone a little longer for those girls to live.”
 Andre in a uplifting moment working with the choir at Portsmouth’s New Testament Church. |
Jones, 28, doesn’t know the exact time his world faded away or whether anyone was with him when it happened. He doesn’t even think he immediately said anything to his family. At age 18, he’d already become fiercely independent.
He just recalls blurred images of lush green grass in the backyard of his grandmother’s Deep Creek home in Chesapeake.
As a kid, Jones loved running barefoot across the lawn and playing tag and football underneath mammoth oak and pine trees.
He and his adopted mother, Andretta Jones, had moved in when he was 12. His sister, Alyssa, was born soon after.
To create a space of his own, Jones set up a makeshift studio in the barn behind the house where he could practice playing the drums and keyboard for hours.
An aspiring gospel singer and musician, Jones loved performing, especially at Norfolk’s St. Andrews Temple Church of God, where his grandmother, Lauretta Jones, was a bishop and his mother a youth pastor.
Music soothed him, especially when his vision slowly worsened his senior year in high school.
While at Deep Creek High, he said nothing to his teachers or friends about his eyesight and shielded the problem from his family. They were struggling financially and were without insurance.
His mother’s declining health also required more attention. She’d been diagnosed with HIV years earlier. Jones, who already was having trouble in school, dropped out to help care for her.
“I was scared of going blind, but I didn’t want my mother to see me that way,” he said. “I was fine as long as I had my strength.”
Emotionally, Jones was hurting. He was on the verge of manhood but still developing socially. For a young man, blindness was embarrassing.
“It just does something to your self-esteem,” he said. “You’re always afraid that people are watching you.”
He finally sought a diagnosis in the late 1990s. It was keratoconus, a progressive thinning and curvature of the cornea. The disease often affected teenagers and young adults.
Many patients did well with glasses or contact lenses, but Jones was told that he fell into the percentage that would eventually need corneal transplants.
The diagnosis frightened him. His family didn’t have the thousands of dollars needed for the surgery, and Jones was determined not to look for handouts. So, he waited.
“With men, you also have to understand that if something is broken, you find a way to get it fixed on your own,” he said. “With my sight, I just figured I’d find a way to deal with it.”
He dove deeper into his music. He’d always played by ear, but his ability to pick out notes improved as his eyesight worsened. He could learn to play a song in less than 10 minutes.
Jones had been taught to rely on his faith, especially in troubling times.
Five years ago, after learning that a grant from a volunteer service group would pay for his transplant surgery, he sensed God’s plan for him. Then, the grant fell through.
“I had been taught about this invisible God, this can-do-anything God, but after that, I almost questioned his existence,” Jones said. “I was in so much turmoil.”
His mother’s death in 2002 was another setback. The day he buried her, he leaned in close and kissed her on the cheek. It was the only way he could see her to tell her goodbye.
People, objects – everything – had dimmed into silhouettes. Jones did his best to play it off. If he walked into a room full of people, he’d ask a friend to give him a rundown of the guests.
More and more, he was fighting to maintain his independence. At Portsmouth’s New Testament Church, Jones, the music director, struggled during services. He could barely see the organ without pressing his face to it. He considered quitting music altogether.
Mills, Jones’ girlfriend, had always been impressed with his self-sufficiency. But enough was enough. Family members urged him to apply for Medicaid, and Mills encouraged him to havethe corneal transplant.
The day he walked into Portsmouth’s Social Services Department, Jones checked his pride at the door. A social worker who helped fill out the paperwork eased any last-minute fears he had about accepting assistance. Jones said she told him she suffered from the same corneal disorder.
“It had to have been God,” he said.
Weeks after his surgery, Jones took pleasure in the little things, such as reading the back of a CD cover. He also felt as if he were meeting friends and loved ones for the first time. He’d relied so long on memories. Seeing himself again was equally surprising.
“From looking in the mirror, I can tell I had a large imagination,” he said.
His sight was improving daily. As long as he took care of himself, his doctor predicted full recovery and, most likely, 20/20 vision.
Word spread quickly of his surgery, including to the Kunhardt family. Jones and David Kunhardt, Alison’s father, agreed to meet and appeared together on a local TV station. Then “Good Morning America” called. The program is expected to show the interview early next month.
Alison Kunhardt had mentioned her desire to be an organ donor only a month before the crash, her father said. In meeting Jones, Kunhardt said he was comforted by Alison’s donation.
“To see the joy in Andre’s expression, it made me very happy that Alison made a difference,” he said.
For Jones, the teen’s gift has helped restore his confidence and love for music. He’s even written a song, “Thank You, Alison,” to express his gratitude.
In the first verse, Jones sings: “A senseless death claimed the lives of a mother’s princess, a father’s baby girl. Do we blame immigration, blame alcohol, or quietly mourn the jewels we lost?”
He hopes to record the song soon. He’s also planning a benefit to raise awareness of organ donation and the dangers of drunken driving.
In regaining his sight, Jones has rediscovered an appreciation for his faith. At a recent church choir rehearsal, he confidently walked around embracing the singers after an emotional song of prayer.
God’s blessings were at work, he said.
“For so long, I couldn’t look forward to the future because I couldn’t see the present,” he said. “I now know I have a lot to look forward to.”
Learn more
For more about Andre Jones’ benefit, including sponsorships and donations, e-mail Jones at adj42079@yahoo.com.
Jones’ interview with “Good Morning America” is expected to air June 6.
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