However predictable Youk's death might have been at that moment, no one could have foreseen the circumstances in which it would one day take place. In desperate pain, with his body virtually shutting down, Youk died on Sept. 17 from a series of injections administered by assisted-suicide advocate Dr. Jack Kevorkian, who videotaped the procedure, then sent the tape to 60 Minutes. The program's Nov. 22 broadcast, watched by an estimated 22 million viewers, ignited anew the stormy debate over euthanasia.
In time, Youk's illness—a progressive degeneration of the nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord—had wasted his muscles, robbing him of the use of his legs, then his arms. Lately, unable to swallow, he had taken food through a feeding tube. "He was in agonizing pain," says David Gorosh, a lawyer representing Kevorkian, whom Youk's family contacted in mid-September.
When Youk told Kevorkian he wanted to end his life, Kevorkian persuaded him to wait a week to be certain. But two nights later, says Gorosh, Youk's brother called to say Youk was ready. "If the man is terrified, it's up to me to dispel that terror," Kevorkian told 60 Minutes, referring to Youk's fear of choking to death on his own saliva. On the night of Sept. 17, with a video camera rolling, Kevorkian administered three shots to Youk—a sedative, a muscle relaxant to stop his breathing and a third drug to stop his heart. Though he had by his own count overseen 130 suicides, this was the first time Kevorkian admitted to injecting the drugs himself. When the video—apparently made with Youk and his family's knowledge—was about to air, Youk's wife, Melody, called to ask the Skirmantses not to watch. "I was relieved," he says. "I want to remember him the way I knew him."
The second of four sons of an electrician and his bookkeeper wife in the Detroit suburb of Royal Oak, Youk served as an Air Force technician in Germany during the Vietnam War before going on to earn a degree in accounting at Walsh College near Detroit. Married in the mid-'70s to Melody Haskin—a high-school classmate he'd met again at a reunion—he spent more than 10 years as a commercial construction accountant, but his real passion was cars. When he was laid off in 1991, Youk worked briefly in quality control at General Motors, then opened his own small business restoring vintage Porsches. In 1994 he bought a '65 Porsche, fixed it up and began driving it in amateur races. Even Skirmants was surprised when Youk won a regional division championship in 1996. "It seemed like he really didn't have the time or money to do it," says Skirmants, "but then everything became very clear at the end of the season." That was when Youk revealed he had ALS.
Determined to pursue his passion despite limited use of his legs, Youk had planned to retool another Porsche so he could drive it without a clutch. But the illness progressed so quickly that by August, Youk, long confined to a wheelchair, was having difficulty breathing and speaking.
His death, though ruled a homicide by the Oakland County medical examiner, initially received little public attention. But then Kevorkian delivered a video of the fatal procedure to CBS, challenging prosecutors to charge him with murder and make Youk's death a test case for mercy killing. "I want a showdown," Kevorkian told Michigan's Oakland Press. "I am going to prove that this is not a crime, ever, regardless of what words are written on paper."
Opponents of doctor-assisted suicide noted that Youk might not have been aware of the wide range of care options and new technology to help terminal patients manage their pain. Moreover, Dr. Ira Byock of Missoula, Mont., who heads Partnership for Caring, an advocacy group for improved end-of-life care, says a patient's sense of being a burden isn't sufficient reason to end a life. "I think instead we can approach it as we do an infant in their physical dependence and incontinence," says Byock. "As family members and friends, this is a time to show some commitment to each other."
Youk's family says they did just that, but when faced with the painful final decision, supported his choice. "I was so grateful to know that someone would relieve him of his suffering," Melody Youk told Mike Wallace. "I don't consider it murder. I consider it humane."
In fact, legal experts say, it could be both murder and humane. "The consent of the victim is no defense. The motive of mercy is no defense. It's strictly murder," says Yale Kamisar, a noted criminal-and constitutional-law scholar who teaches at the University of Michigan Law School. "It's murder in every one of the 50 states." Oakland County Prosecuting Attorney David G. Gorcyca announced the day after the broadcast that he had subpoenaed the unedited videotape and would investigate further before filing charges.
In the days before their first Thanksgiving without him, Youk's family opted not to enter into the debate raging around his death. "Tom's very private," Melody said on 60 Minutes moments after millions watched her husband die. "And also, he believes it's a private issue."
Thomas Fields-Meyer
Sam Jemielity in Chicago and Eric Francis in Vermont
- Contributors:
- Sam Jemielity,
- Eric Francis.
VANISHED WITHOUT A TRACE
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