conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for a story with the title 'Concussion'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Concussion
  All that gall, all that education, the refugee background, a misfit—Bennet saw much of his own story in Wecht's, and Wecht saw it, too. Bennet's meticulous work habits easily earned him the fellowship, then a staff position at the coroner's office—and in time the two formed a friendship, albeit a lopsided one.
  Sigrid, his wife, came in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "You got enough to eat, Bennet?" she said. She was dainty, with bright blue designer glasses, silky white hair.
  Bennet bounced his head back and forth, listening. He was by now used to Wecht-style constant bickering. Sigrid was badass. She and Wecht had raised four kids, had sent all four to Ivy League schools, had produced a neurosurgeon, an ad exec, an attorney, and an ob-gyn. Here, too, Bennet saw his own family, his brothers and sisters with their big careers. And like his family, the Wecht kids were close; their parents encouraged weekly phone calls to them and to one another.
  Now they practically treated Bennet as one of their own. It made him tear up sometimes, just the feeling of being treated like a son, and Sigrid and Wecht would roll their eyes with exhaustion when he got emotional. "Whatever." "Let's move on."
  But mostly Wecht didn't offer to let Bennet put his name on things. Bennet's work for Wecht was usually without credit, and for minimal compensation, and Bennet convinced himself that was okay. He felt rich, anyway. The coroner's office paid him enough to repay his family, and he even had begun sending money home to Chizoba, who was trying to buy a farm.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Concussion
  All that gall, all that education, the refugee background, a misfit—Bennet saw much of his own story in Wecht's, and Wecht saw it, too. Bennet's meticulous work habits easily earned him the fellowship, then a staff position at the coroner's office—and in time the two formed a friendship, albeit a lopsided one.
  Sigrid, his wife, came in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "You got enough to eat, Bennet?" she said. She was dainty, with bright blue designer glasses, silky white hair.
  Bennet bounced his head back and forth, listening. He was by now used to Wecht-style constant bickering. Sigrid was badass. She and Wecht had raised four kids, had sent all four to Ivy League schools, had produced a neurosurgeon, an ad exec, an attorney, and an ob-gyn. Here, too, Bennet saw his own family, his brothers and sisters with their big careers. And like his family, the Wecht kids were close; their parents encouraged weekly phone calls to them and to one another.
  Now they practically treated Bennet as one of their own. It made him tear up sometimes, just the feeling of being treated like a son, and Sigrid and Wecht would roll their eyes with exhaustion when he got emotional. "Whatever." "Let's move on."
  But mostly Wecht didn't offer to let Bennet put his name on things. Bennet's work for Wecht was usually without credit, and for minimal compensation, and Bennet convinced himself that was okay. He felt rich, anyway.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Luckasevic had to admit it was fun imagining something like that. Like a young Bill Gates and his pals tinkering in his garage. Like a young Steve Jobs doodling on a napkin. Ideas have to be born somewhere.
  To compile a case history on Andre Waters for his next scientific paper—"Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy in a National Football League Player: Part III"—Bennet decided to travel to Tampa to visit Andre Waters's family. Nowinski said he would come, too; they would meet at the airport and drive together.
  They drove out into the flat, marshy landscape of south Florida. They joked together, traded skepticism about the guys on the MTBI committee. Nowinski told Bennet about his headaches, and Bennet told Nowinski about Wecht, about Prema and the baby coming, and about how frustrated he was that the NFL was discounting his research. Nowinski made the point that Bennet did have a "believability problem." Maybe if he was an old gray-haired guy in his seventies, with a name like O'Malu, with a resume replete with Ivy League stamps and badges, maybe people would have believed him about CTE.
  It was a good point. And as they drove together, Bennet talked about the partnership he was forming with Bailes and Fitzsimmons. Fitzsimmons had been talking about doing the legal work, was going to put up the $10,000 seed money. Nowinski said he also had been thinking about a partnership with Cantu, the doctor who had first shown him the light about what was happening in his own bashed head.
  In the car, Bennet and Nowinski discussed the idea of their joining forces. They even came up with a name, the Sports Legacy Institute. Bennet liked it because it had a good acronym: SLI.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Luckasevic had to admit it was fun imagining something like that. Like a young Bill Gates and his pals tinkering in his garage. Like a young Steve Jobs doodling on a napkin. Ideas have to be born somewhere.
  To compile a case history on Andre Waters for his next scientific paper—"Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy in a National Football League Player: Part III"—Bennet decided to travel to Tampa to visit Andre Waters's family. Nowinski said he would come, too; they would meet at the airport and drive together.
  They drove out into the flat, marshy landscape of south Florida. They joked together, traded skepticism about the guys on the MTBI committee. Nowinski told Bennet about his headaches, and Bennet told Nowinski about Wecht, about Prema and the baby coming, and about how frustrated he was that the NFL was discounting his research. Nowinski made the point that Bennet did have a "believability problem." Maybe if he was an old gray-haired guy in his seventies, with a name like O'Malu, with a resume replete with Ivy League stamps and badges, maybe people would have believed him about CTE.
  It was a good point. And as they drove together, Bennet talked about the partnership he was forming with Bailes and Fitzsimmons. Fitzsimmons had been talking about doing the legal work, was going to put up the $10,000 seed money. Nowinski said he also had been thinking about a partnership with Cantu, the doctor who had first shown him the light about what was happening in his own bashed head.
  In the car, Bennet and Nowinski discussed the idea of their joining forces. They even came up with a name, the Sports Legacy Institute.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last two paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A final word of thanks to my giant, supportive family that gives me my footing, notably my husband, Alex; my daughters, Anna and Sasha; and my parents, John and Claire Laskas, whose steady prayers from heaven are duly noted.
  The Bennet Omalu Foundation is a nonprofit organization committed to funding research, finding cures, and providing care for people suffering from traumatic brain injuries and chronic traumatic encephalopathy. Visit thebraintrustfoundation.org for information on how to help.