Patrick Mahomes’ High School English Teacher Couldn’t Afford Cancer Treatment, and Our Hero Stepped In
Patrick Mahomes was driving through his old neighborhood in Texas when he impulsively decided to stop by Whitehouse High School. He had been meaning to visit for years but never found the time. As he walked into his former English classroom, he expected to find it empty; after all, it was summer break. Instead, he found Mrs. Patricia Williams, his 11th-grade teacher, sitting alone at her desk, grading papers with the same red pen she had used to correct his essays years ago. What she told him about why she was there during vacation would change both of their lives forever.
This isn’t just a story about a teacher and her former student; it’s about the power of words, the cruelty of circumstance, and how sometimes the people who teach us to find our voice end up losing their own.
It was a humid July afternoon in 2021, and Patrick was in Texas visiting his family. After finishing lunch, he drove aimlessly through his old neighborhood and found himself turning into the Whitehouse High School parking lot. “Why not?” he muttered to himself, pulling into a visitor spot. The school looked different—newer buildings, updated signs—but the main hall still smelled like floor wax and teenage dreams.
Patrick walked slowly down the corridor, past trophy cases that now featured his jersey prominently displayed behind glass. He stopped outside room 237, Mrs. Williams’ English classroom. The nameplate was still there, though it looked newer: P. Williams, English Department. Through the small window in the door, Patrick could see someone sitting at the teacher’s desk. Summer school? He checked his phone; school had been out for three weeks. He knocked gently and pushed open the door.
“Mrs. Williams?” The woman at the desk looked up, and Patrick’s breath caught. It was definitely her—older, with silver hair where there used to be brown, and wearing reading glasses, but with the same kind eyes that had encouraged him through Shakespeare and college prep essays.
“Patrick Mahomes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Well, I’ll be damned.” She started to stand, but Patrick was already crossing the room.
“Please don’t get up. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Mrs. Williams smiled, the same warm expression he remembered from years ago. “Driving by and decided to visit your old English teacher? That’s either very sweet or you’re in serious trouble.”
Patrick laughed. “Definitely the sweet option. Though, you did give me a C+ on that essay about *The Great Gatsby*. I’m still not over it.”
“You earned that C+! Your analysis was solid, but your grammar was atrocious,” she replied, and they both laughed. For a moment, Patrick felt like a teenager again, sitting in the front row because Mrs. Williams insisted her athletes sit where she could keep an eye on them.
“What brings you here during summer break?” Patrick asked, settling into one of the student desks, which felt smaller than he remembered.
Mrs. Williams gestured to the stack of papers in front of her. “Summer reading assignments. Some of my kids are behind, so I’m grading their makeup work during my vacation. When you’ve been teaching for 42 years, you learn that learning doesn’t stop just because the calendar says it should.”
Patrick looked around the classroom. The posters were different, but the layout was the same: rows of desks facing the board, bookshelves lined with worn paperbacks, a corner reading area with bean bag chairs. “Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Of course.”
“Do you remember what you used to tell us about finding our voice?”
Mrs. Williams leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “I told you that everyone has something important to say. The trick is learning how to say it so people will listen.”
“You changed my life with that advice,” Patrick said earnestly.
“You changed your own life. I just helped you organize your thoughts.”
“No, it was more than that. You made me believe that what I had to say mattered, even when I was just some skinny kid who was better at football than book reports.”
Mrs. Williams’ eyes glistened slightly. “You were never just anything, Patrick. You had something special even then.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, then Patrick noticed something. “Mrs. Williams, your voice sounds different. Are you okay?”
Her hand instinctively went to her throat. “It’s nothing serious; just getting older.” But something in her expression told Patrick there was more to it.
“Mrs. Williams, what’s really going on?” he pressed.
She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers drumming on the desk. Finally, she sighed. “I have throat cancer, Patrick. Stage three.”
The words hit him like a physical blow. “What? How long have you known?”
“It’s been about six months now. The treatments… well, they’re not going so well.”
Patrick felt the room spinning slightly. “What do the doctors say?”
“They say there’s an experimental treatment available—something new, very promising—but…” She trailed off.
“But what?” he asked urgently.
“But it’s not covered by my insurance, and it costs more than I make in two years.”
Patrick stared at her, processing what she had just told him. The woman who had taught him the power of words was losing her voice, and there was a treatment that could save it, but she couldn’t afford it. “How much?” he asked quietly.
“$250,000.”
To Patrick Mahomes, that was pocket change. But to a teacher living on a pension, it might as well have been $250 million. “Mrs. Williams, why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you reach out?”
She smiled sadly. “Patrick, you have a life. You have responsibilities. I’m just your old English teacher.”
“Just my old English teacher?” Patrick’s voice got louder. “Mrs. Williams, you taught me how to communicate. Every interview I’ve ever given, every speech I’ve made, every time I’ve had to find the right words—that all started in this classroom.” He stood up and began pacing. “You know what you told me when I was struggling with that college application essay?”
Mrs. Williams shook her head.
“You said, ‘Patrick, your words are your power. Football will make you famous, but how you communicate will determine your legacy.’ Do you remember that?”
“Vaguely,” she said.
“I remember it exactly, because it changed how I thought about everything. It’s why I was able to handle the media pressure. It’s why I could inspire my teammates. It’s why I can run businesses now.” He stopped pacing and looked directly at her. “Mrs. Williams, you didn’t just teach me English; you taught me how to be heard. And now you’re telling me you’re losing your voice, and there’s something that can save it, but you can’t afford it?”
“Patrick, it’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is. It’s exactly that simple.” He pulled out his phone. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m calling my assistant. We’re getting you that treatment today.”
“Patrick, no, I can’t accept—”
He put his phone down and knelt beside her desk, the same way he used to when she was helping him with difficult passages. “Do you remember what you taught us about accepting help?”
She looked confused.
“You used to say that pride was a luxury that poor people couldn’t afford. You said that sometimes accepting help was just another form of courage.”
Mrs. Williams’ eyes filled with tears. “I was talking about you accepting help with your schoolwork.”
“And now I’m talking about you accepting help with your life. What’s the difference?”
She was quiet for a long moment. “The difference is that this is too much. This is life-changing money.”
“Mrs. Williams, you changed my life every single day for two years. This isn’t too much. This isn’t even close to enough.” He picked up his phone again.
“Patrick, wait—” She paused. “If you’re really going to do this, I want to ask you for something else.”
“Anything.”
“I want to keep teaching, even through the treatments. The kids need consistency, and honestly, teaching is what keeps me going.”
Patrick smiled for the first time since she had told him about the cancer. “Mrs. Williams, you’re going to keep teaching for as long as you want to teach. In fact, I have some ideas about that too.”
Two weeks later, Patricia Williams was sitting in the office of Dr. Sarah Chen, one of the country’s leading throat cancer specialists. “Mrs. Williams, I’ve reviewed your case thoroughly,” Dr. Chen said. “The experimental treatment is definitely your best option, but I want to be honest with you about what we’re looking at.”
Patricia nodded, ready for whatever came next.
“The treatment involves targeted radiation combined with a new immunotherapy drug. It’s showing remarkable results, but it’s intensive. You’ll need to be in Chicago for six weeks, coming in daily for treatments.”
“What about side effects?” Patricia asked.
“You’ll be tired—very tired. Your throat will be sore, and your voice might get worse before it gets better. But if it works,” Dr. Chen smiled, “you should regain full vocal function.”
That evening, Patricia was staying in a furnished apartment that Patrick had arranged for her, just ten minutes from the hospital. Her phone rang.
“Patricia, it’s Patrick. How was your first consultation?”
“Overwhelming but hopeful. Dr. Chen seems confident.”
“Good. I have some news for you.”
“What kind of news?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said about wanting to keep teaching.”
“Patrick, I told you I can handle the treatments—”
“Listen, I’ve been talking to some people. What if teaching didn’t have to be something you worried about anymore?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if you could teach without worrying about insurance or pension funds or whether the school district is going to cut your program?”
“Patrick, what are you saying?”
“I want to start a foundation: the Patricia Williams Foundation for Educational Excellence. It would support teachers who go above and beyond—teachers like you.”
“Michael, I’m not done—”
“This foundation would provide grants for teachers to pursue advanced training, funds for classroom supplies, and most importantly, supplemental health insurance for educators dealing with serious medical issues.”
Patricia felt tears forming in her eyes. “You want to name it after me?”
“Patricia, you’ve probably influenced thousands of students over 42 years. How many of them went on to do great things because you taught them how to communicate, how to think, how to find their voice?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. Because I’m one of them, and I guarantee you I’m not the only one.”
That night, Patricia called her daughter in California. “Mom, you sound different,” Sarah said immediately.
“I sound hopeful, baby. For the first time in months, I sound hopeful.”
Three weeks into Patricia’s treatment, Patrick flew to Chicago to check on her progress. He found her in the hospital’s family lounge, reading to a group of children whose parents were receiving treatment. She was reading *Where the Red Fern Grows*, and despite her raspy voice from the radiation, the kids were completely captivated. When she finished the chapter, the children scattered to find their families, and Patrick approached.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” Patricia said honestly, “but better every day. Dr. Chen says the scans are looking good.”
“That’s wonderful! And I see you haven’t stopped teaching.”
Patricia smiled. “These kids are going through something scary. Stories help, you know?”
“Patricia, watching you just now reminded me of something.”
“What’s that?”
“Senior year, when I was struggling with my college application essays, you stayed after school every day for two weeks, helping me find the right words to tell my story.”
“I remember. You were so frustrated.”
“I was terrified. I knew I could play football, but I didn’t know if I could convince a college admissions officer that I was smart enough to deserve a scholarship.”
“But you did convince them, because you taught me that intelligence isn’t about using big words; it’s about using the right words.”
Patricia nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately—about all the students you’ve helped over the years. All the kids who learned to believe in themselves because you believed in them first.”
“Patrick, that’s just what teachers do.”
“No, it’s what great teachers do. There’s a difference.”
Patrick pulled out a folder from his briefcase. “I want to show you something.” Inside the folder were dozens of letters.
“What are these?” she asked.
“From your former students. I put out some feelers, found contact information for kids you taught over the years, and asked them to write about how you influenced their lives.”
Patricia opened the first letter. It was from a student she’d had 15 years earlier, now a successful lawyer. “Mrs. Williams, you probably don’t remember me, but I was in your third-period English class in 2004. I was a shy kid who never spoke up in class until you created that poetry unit where everyone had to read their work aloud. You told me my poem about my grandmother was beautiful, and it was the first time anyone had ever told me my words mattered. I’m a civil rights attorney now, and I fight for people who don’t have a voice. That started in your classroom.”
Patricia’s hands were shaking as she read. “There are 47 letters in there,” Patrick said quietly. “Teachers, doctors, business owners, artists, parents—all of them saying the same thing: that you changed their lives.”
Patricia wiped tears from her eyes. “I had no idea.”
“That’s what makes you special, Patricia. You changed all these lives and never even knew it.” He pulled out one more document. “This is a petition signed by 200 of your former students. They’re requesting that Whitehouse High School rename the English department in your honor.”
Patricia stared at the petition, overwhelmed. “There’s more. The *Charlotte Observer* wants to do a feature story about you. The North Carolina Education Association wants to give you their Lifetime Achievement Award, and the University of North Carolina wants to offer you an honorary doctorate.”
“Patrick, this is too much.”
“This is just the beginning.”
Six weeks later, Patricia Williams walked back into room 237 at Whitehouse High School. Her voice was stronger, her energy was returning, and the latest scans showed no trace of cancer. The classroom was exactly as she had left it, except for one thing: there was a large package on her desk with a note from Patrick.
“Patricia, thank you for teaching me that words have power. I hope these help you keep changing lives for years to come.”
Inside the package was a state-of-the-art computer system, a high-quality document camera for sharing student work, and a library of new books for her classroom. But at the bottom of the box was something else: a small red pen with an engraved message: “For the teacher who taught me to find my voice.”
Patricia was still holding the pen when her phone rang. “Patricia, it’s Patrick. Did you get my package?”
“Patrick, this is too generous.”
“Actually, that’s just the warm-up gift. The real surprise is happening tomorrow.”
“What do you mean?”
“Be at school at 9:00 a.m., and Patricia, wear something nice.”
The next morning, Patricia arrived at Whitehouse High to find the parking lot full of cars and a small crowd gathered near the main entrance. As she got closer, she saw a banner hanging over the door: “Patricia Williams English Excellence Center Grand Opening.”
Patricia stared at the banner, confused. Surprise! She turned to see Patrick walking toward her, followed by a crowd of people she didn’t recognize at first. Then she started recognizing faces—former students now adults with families of their own, colleagues from her years of teaching, her daughter Sarah, who had flown in from California.
“Patrick, what is this?”
“This, Patricia, is the grand opening of your new domain.” He led her inside to the English department, which had been completely renovated: new desks, new technology, new bookshelves filled with fresh books. “The Patricia Williams English Excellence Center will serve as a model for English education programs across the country,” Patrick announced to the crowd. “It will also house the teacher training program for the Patricia Williams Foundation.”
Patricia was crying again, but this time from pure joy. “You’re going to train other teachers?”
“We’re going to train other teachers. You’re going to be the director of the program—that is, if you want the job.”
“But I’m already teaching here!”
“You’ll still teach your regular classes, but three afternoons a week, you’ll work with new teachers, showing them how to do what you do: how to find each student’s potential, how to make kids believe in themselves.”
Patrick gestured to a group of young people standing nearby. “These are the first ten teachers who’ve been accepted into the program. They’ll be working with you this year.”
One of the young teachers stepped forward. “Mrs. Williams, I’m Jennifer Martinez. I’m starting my first year teaching, and I chose to work here specifically because of you. My older brother was in your class 12 years ago. He’s a journalist now, and he always said you were the reason he learned to love writing.”
Patricia looked around at all the faces—former students, new teachers, colleagues, family. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll keep doing what you’ve been doing for 42 years,” Patrick said. “Say you’ll keep changing lives.”
Six months later, Dr. Chen gave Patricia the news she’d been hoping for. “Your voice is completely normal,” she said, reviewing the latest tests. “No trace of cancer, full vocal function restored. You’re officially cured.”
That afternoon, Patricia stood in front of her newly expanded English classes. Now she taught both regular students and the teacher training program participants. “Today we’re going to talk about the power of voice,” she said, her words clear and strong—not just the physical voice, but the voice that comes from having something important to say.
She looked around the room at the eager faces—teenagers discovering literature for the first time, young teachers learning how to inspire the next generation. “Everyone in this room has a voice. Your job is to find it, develop it, and use it to make the world a little bit better.”
After class, one of the new teachers approached her. “Mrs. Williams, how do you help students who are afraid to speak up, who don’t think they have anything important to say?”
Patricia smiled, remembering a skinny football player who used to sit in the front row, convinced he wasn’t smart enough for college. “You show them that everyone has a story worth telling. You help them find the words to tell it, and you never, ever let them give up on themselves.”
That evening, Patricia was grading papers in her classroom when Patrick stopped by for one of his regular visits. “How are you feeling?”
“Strong. Grateful. Ready to teach for another 20 years.”
“Good, because I have news about the foundation.”
“What kind of news?”
“We’ve received applications from 12 other school districts that want to start Patricia Williams Excellence Centers. We’re going to need more training programs.”
Patricia laughed. “Patrick, you realize you’re creating a lot of work for me?”
“Patricia, you realize you’re creating a legacy that will outlast both of us.”
They sat in comfortable silence, surrounded by stacks of papers covered in red ink—the same red ink that had corrected Patrick’s essays years earlier.
“Patrick, can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Do you ever think about what would have happened if you hadn’t stopped by that day? If you hadn’t impulsively decided to visit your old school?”
Patrick considered the question. “I think you would have found another way. Great teachers always do. But I’m glad I was here to help.”
“You did more than help. You saved my life.”
“Patricia, you saved mine first. You just did it 30 years earlier.”
Today, there are Patricia Williams English Excellence Centers in 15 states. Over 300 teachers have been trained in her methods, and thousands of students have benefited from her approach to education. Patricia Williams, now 68, continues to teach full-time while directing the foundation’s teacher training programs. Her voice is strong, her passion undiminished, and her red pen is still helping students find their own voices.
The experimental cancer treatment she received has now been approved by the FDA and is helping patients across the country. Most importantly, the foundation has provided emergency medical assistance to over 200 teachers facing health crises, ensuring that financial worry doesn’t prevent educators from getting the care they need.
Patrick Mahomes visits Patricia’s classroom regularly—not as a celebrity, but as a former student who understands that some lessons last a lifetime. In room 237 at Whitehouse High School, there’s now a plaque next to the door that reads, “The Patricia Williams English Excellence Center: Where Every Voice Matters.”
And on Patricia’s desk, next to her grade book and lesson plans, sits a small red pen with an engraved message: “For the teacher who taught me to find my voice.”
Because sometimes the most important lessons aren’t about football or business or fame—they’re about finding the words to express what’s in your heart and having the courage to use your voice to make a difference. That’s what great teachers do: they help us find our voices. And sometimes, when they’re in danger of losing their own, it’s our turn to help them find it again.
Millionaire Patrick Mahomes is Giving Back to the Community With a $150,000 Scholarship Which Benefits 15 Students
Texas Tech alum and Kansas City Chiefs quarterback Patrick Mahomes attends a press conference at Jones AT&T Stadium, Friday, Aug. 23, 2024. Credit- Nathan Giese / USA TODAY NETWORK via Imagn Images
Sports have a unique power to unite people, forming tight-knit communities with a shared passion. Because athletes live among these fans and interact with them regularly, they become an extension of that community. Many players recognize the role these fans play in their journey and feel a responsibility to give back to the people who helped shape their success. Patrick Mahomes’ philanthropic efforts in and around Kansas City, for instance, have touched many lives over the years.
Continuing those efforts, Mahomes has partnered with Bold.org to launch the 15 and the Mahomies Foundation Scholarship Program, a new initiative for uplifting young students. The program will award scholarships worth $10,000 each to 15 exceptional high school seniors — five each from the Kansas City area, Tyler, Texas area, and Lubbock County.
The recipients will be selected based on academic achievement, leadership qualities, and community involvement. But the application process doesn’t end there. Eligible students must also submit a 300 to 500-word personal essay detailing their story, passions, future goals, and the challenges they’ve overcome. Basically, the students have to chronicle the experiences that shaped their journey and character.
This is just the latest effort from Mahomes’ 15 and the Mahomies Foundation, which he founded in 2019 to support initiatives focused on health, wellness, and underserved communities, particularly children. Over the years, the foundation has become a force for good in Kansas City and beyond.
Earlier this month, the foundation donated to the Kansas City Public Library’s Summer Reading Program, enabling the purchase and distribution of nearly 6,000 books to local kids. Mahomes also hosted the foundation’s annual Vegas Golf Classic, combining a golf tournament and gala to raise funds for ongoing programs.
In April, the foundation joined forces with The HALO Foundation to launch the Fresh Start Fund, which provides new clothing to homeless children. Mahomes contributed $15,000 to the initiative, supporting 50 children in need.
The foundation has also tackled food insecurity. In collaboration with local nonprofit Pete’s Garden, it provided over 500 meals to families in the Greater Kansas City area. Meals were prepared by culinary students from the Manual Career Technical Center and featured hearty dishes like lentil ragu over pasta.
At its inaugural gala in 2019, the foundation donated $15,000 to each of 15 nonprofit organizations. The giving only grew from there. Last year’s gala awarded over $1 million to 20 local charities, drawing more than 900 attendees.
In December 2022, Mahomes personally signed 24 checks — each worth $15,000 — for 24 different nonprofits. In 2023, he also made a significant donation to Big Slick Kansas City.
He also donated $5 million last year to his alma mater, Texas Tech, to assist with stadium and football center projects.
Through all of this, the two-time NFL MVP has remained deeply connected to the community that has embraced him. His efforts off the field are every bit as impactful as his play on it.
To the people of Kansas City, Mahomes isn’t just a star quarterback — he’s a true MVP of the community.
