This March 19, 1999, UC Davis press release describes the creation of the MIND Institute and acknowledges the role the California State Council on Developmental Disabilities played as the first seed money in the project:

FOUR DADS' PASSION LEADS TO NEW UNIVERSITY-BASED INSTITUTE FOR TREATING AUTISM AND OTHER DISORDERS Team effort and relentless drive makes parents' vision a reality.

(Sacramento, Calif.) - If your son's bike tire leaks, you patch the hole. If his fielding is weak, you hit him some grounders and fly balls. That's what dads do.

So when Chas, Mark, Russell and Ryan were diagnosed with autism, their dads, in an approach fundamental to fatherhood, acted.

"We are raised in our society to be able to fix things," says Rick Rollens, 48, father of eight-year-old Russell. "When someone in your life needs help or is in harm's way, you do everything you can."

The dads ( a general contractor, an investment advisor, a lobbyist and a cardiologist) decided in the fall of 1997 to build a research and treatment center devoted to autism and related disorders.

It was an audacious goal, and few thought the fathers would succeed. But the doubters underestimated the drive of these dads.

It took the men less than a year to raise more than $6 million and convince the UC Davis School of Medicine and Medical Center to sponsor and house the program. Within two years, the M.I.N.D. Institute (for Medical Investigation of Neurodevelopmental Disorders) had hired a research director and awarded $870,000 in research grants to support eight innovative and collaborative projects. These studies focus on identifying the biological basis of familial dyslexia, autism, Tourette's syndrome and other neurodevelopmental disorders, evaluating drug and cognitive therapies such as Secretin, and establishing a novel autism education outreach and brain library foundation.

"It is amazing, if you really look at it, what four people did," says investment analyst Rick Hayes, 33, father of five-year-old Ryan.

"We're all incredibly compulsive and focused," says cardiologist Lou Vismara, 55, father of five-year-old Mark (six on April 19). "Our passion was to bring together and support the best minds, so that they can find the answers our sons so desperately need."

Each father tells an uncannily similar story: Bringing home a beautiful, healthy baby boy who grows into a smiling, cooing infant, then a walking, talking toddler. Then realizing, at about age two, that their beloved sons are no longer learning new words, are disengaging from the world.

"You have this beautiful child you think is normal," says Hayes. "Then at age two you see he doesn't look you in eye. It's the hardest thing."

Autism describes a spectrum of symptoms and characteristics, from mild to severe, that affect a child's social and communication abilities, traits that, perhaps more than any other, set us apart as human. As many as one in 500 children develops the poorly understood disorder, typically between the ages of two and three. The great majority are boys. And there is evidence autism is increasing in incidence.

When Chas was diagnosed with autism, his dad, general contractor Chuck Gardner, 38, set out to learn everything he could about the disorder. "When I surveyed the whole landscape of research, I saw a few scientists but no cohesion. It was like they were building a house without a blueprint," he says. "It occurred to me that we needed a GC (a general contractor) on this project.

"If we could create a center that would be the GC and engage researchers throughout the country, great things could happen."

Mutual friends arranged for Gardner to present his idea to Hibbard Williams, former dean of the medical school, and Tom Anders, current associate dean, at Williams' home. Further meetings were scheduled with the heads of other relevant departments.

All pleaded lack of money, but Gardner wasn't dissuaded. As he would on any other job, the contractor asked for a figure.

"I said, 'Give me a number,'" Gardner recalls.

"They said, '5 million.'

"I went, 'That's nothing.'

"I was sure people would be engaged by the idea and willing to help. And they were."

Hayes, then vice president of marketing for AT&T, used his expertise in writing business plans to set the concept down on paper, creating an early blueprint for the M.I.N.D. Institute, initially named Project Hope.

Two other fathers of autistic children, Michael McIntire, a software developer, and Steve Koyasako, an environmental law attorney, helped Gardner write a proposal for a State Council on Developmental Disabilities grant. The effort garnered the M.I.N.D. Institute its first $219,000.

Vismara, when he came on board, persuaded the other dads to broaden Project Hope's scope. The physician argued the center should focus not just on autism but on related disorders of brain development, including dyslexia, attention deficit disorder and Tourette's syndrome.

Vismara also proved adept at private fundraising.

In June of 1998 alone, the respected Sacramento cardiologist raised $1.5 million from just four donors. Within a year, he and the other fathers had raised a total of $2.6 million.

Rollens now got involved. As secretary of the California Senate for 20 years, Rollens was a well-known and widely respected fixture in Sacramento. When he resigned to help care for Russell, his departure was front-page news in the Sacramento Bee.

Rollens, now a lobbyist for Sacramento's largest lobbying firm, worked closely with Sen. Diane Watson (D-Los Angeles) to pursue legislation earmarking $2 million in state funds annually to the M.I.N.D. Institute. The bill, which has no sunset date, passed without a single dissenting vote and was signed into law by Gov. Pete Wilson.

"People everywhere in the Legislature were well aware of my son and his condition," Rollens says. "My personal commitment to Russell helped make the difference."

Now the dads had $4.6 million.

UC Davis Medical Center agreed to kick in another $1.5 million, and house the new center.

At home, the fathers' work continues.

A special diet and experimental medications have helped Chas some. After four years of nearly round-the-clock wakefulness, nights shattered by his screams, the brown-eyed little boy now sleeps. He attends a private school for autistic children (his tireless dad is building a new facility for the school, one specially designed to meet the needs of kids with autism), and is happy and affectionate at home. Yet Chas has yet to say "daddy," and remains locked in some inner place, cut off from his new little sister, more interested in spinning a fire truck's wheels than playing with it.

Ryan underwent three years of an intensive, home-based behavior modification program developed for autistic children. For seven hours a day, six days a week, 365 days a year, tutors taught him step by step the skills other kids seem to master without thought. It took Ryan six months to learn 10 words, six months to learn to use the bathroom, six months to play a single computer game. "It's been a long, hard road," says Hayes, who is in his fourth year as president of Families for Early Autism Treatment (FEAT), a grassroots support and advocacy group where the dads all met. "He's definitely not normal, but he makes progress every day." Today Ryan attends a public pre-kindergarten program, where he interacts with other children and shows interest in music and computers.

Russell received more than a year of the same home-based training program, and has tried other new treatments, including Secretin. The therapies have built on the boy's above-average intelligence, strong motor skills and sense of humor. While it can be hard for him to express himself with language, he understands everything he hears. Today Russell is enrolled in a public special education class.

"He has made substantial gains from where he was when he was two and a half," Rollens says. "But he is not nearly as functional as we'd expected or prayed." Russell's continued bouts of frustration and rage are particularly troubling to his father: "I think he understands to a certain extent the predicament he is in."

Mark is a loving, affectionate child who is able to ask for things he needs, and is happy most of the time. He attends a public special education school, and receives intensive behavior modification training at home. For Vismara, the uncertainty of knowing how much Mark will ultimately learn is perhaps the hardest aspect of autism. "This uncertainty has tremendous impact on everyone in the entire family," he says.

All four fathers remain active on the executive board of the M.I.N.D. Institute. And Vismara has taken a six-month leave from his cardiology practice to work full-time as the institute's director of community outreach.

The dads' ultimate goal: To provide hope and answers to parents, children and teachers from all over the world.

For more information about the M.I.N.D. Institute, visit the Institute's Web site at http://neuroscience.ucdavis.edu/mind/