Memory

James Moore, 48, stands tall and broad. His Native American heritage gives his skin a deep, rich tan that contrasts with his bright eyes and wide, white smile. This afternoon, like most afternoons, he is enjoying a can of Old Style at the bar at Vermont Street Barbecue. He's sporting his orange Oklahoma State University hoodie and has a book about Prague in front of him.
"If you ever make it to the Czech Republic, you must go to Karlovy Vary," he says. He's talking aloud to the staff at the bar.
"The German's call it 'Karlsbad'," he continues. "There are hot springs and it's beautiful. You can buy a mug and dip it in the springs and carry it around and drink from it all day."
The trip happened in 1977. He has no trouble recalling the dearest detail.
But just four years ago on November 13, 2004, James was hit by a car and lost his short term memory.
The Brain Injury Association of America estimates that 1.4 million people in the United States suffer from traumatic brain injuries each year.
"There is not an exact number of those who suffer from memory loss," said Greg Ayotte, director of consumer services for the Brain Injury Association of America. "But it is the most common issue post injury."

Today, Moore has no problems recalling vivid details of his trip to a group of communist countries in Europe. He knows he lived in Boston from 1972-1973 while his mother was getting her masters in English at Harvard. He knows that he celebrated his twelfth birthday on Friday the 13 while living there. He knows exactly when he moved to Stillwater to go to school at Oklahoma State University. He remembers the chants of his fraternity, Acacia, and if you ask nicely enough he'll chant them to you.
Moore speaks eight languages, three of them fluently. He knows the names of all of bars and restaurants he's ever worked in, particularly the three he managed in Tulsa for seven years. He remembers driving home to Tulsa after visiting friends in Dallas, seeing people in their homes watching TV and saying to himself, "That could be me." And then making the decision to relocate there in 1992.
Moore's injury happened quickly. He had been living and working in Dallas for 12 years as a bartender. It was a Saturday night and, after work he and some co-workers went out drinking.
"I was trying to catch a cab, and some S.O.B. tried to run me over," he says.
He remembers being hit. It was a white car. But that's all he recalls.
James' father, Ed Moore, was living 250 miles away in Jenks, Okla. One of James' co-workers contacted him.
He was in the hospital, including intensive care, for three months. James only remembers it being a week and doesn't remember any details.
It's 5:00 p.m. on a Monday in October and a new group of employees is coming into work at Vermont Street Barbecue.
"Hey, James," a waitress says to him.
He recognizes each one, but occasionally struggles with names.
"Want to know a funny story?" Moore says. "I escaped from the hospital after the accident. I ended up at one of my favorite hangouts, got a bottle of Coors Light and a shot of Jaeger. Then my boss found me and she lost it. 'What the hell are you doing serving him? He's in his hospital clothes!'"
He doesn't remember it, of course. He's just been told the story. His family knew there was a problem when they were watching an Oklahoma State University football game and James got up to turn the television off, a strange move for the die hard fan.
There was a sign in the hospital. A few months before the accident, James traveled with his brother Greg and his dad to the Grand Canyon. In the hospital, he told multiple people how much he wanted to travel west because he'd never been there.
"He had a hard time remembering what happened yesterday, but could remember things back years or months ago," his father said. "But couldn't remember... real real short term stuff. He couldn't remember anyone visiting him in the hospital."
Once Moore was released from the hospital, he moved to Lawrence to live with his mother. He began receiving social security benefits and saw many doctors.
One psychiatrist saw Moore just 11 months after the accident and said he was in stable condition to work. In doing this, Moore's social security benefits were taken away from him. His primary doctor did not release Moore to work until 2006, well over a year after the psychiatrist did. The state of Kansas would not issue him a driver's license until April 2006. He had to hire a lawyer and has been stuck in a legal battle, driving to Kansas City for teleconferences with judges in Arizona, trying to appeal the case.

"Would you like another beer, James?" the bartender asks him.
Moore smiles and nods. He waits patiently as she helps a few more customers before bringing him his beer. He takes a sip.
"I want to go back to Dallas," he says. "Lawrence is my hometown and I love it, but I want to visit, not live here."
He's been working; an overnight cleaning job at Checkers, working for Smart Building Services last summer cleaning apartments and businesses around the Lawrence area. He's saving up his money so he can move back to Dallas. Not having his social security benefits make it rough. He has some friends who work for Southwest Airlines, which is based there, and he'd like to be a flight attendant. He points out that he worked in the service industry for over a decade. It would be a good fit, he says.
His family is supportive of him and the strides he's taken to get better.
"It's a gradual process and he still doesn't remember some things. You'll ask him a question and he has to think about the right the answer," his dad said. "He's usually quick to fire back though."
"My comment to people is what am I going to forget?" Moore says. "You can't remember everything either."