Cathleen Casey
​
​
​
​
​
Third, I was fortunate to have intelligent parents who carefully considered each surgery, not allowing any intervention to or harvesting from my "good" right leg. My parents were also very athletic and outdoor people - hikers, swimmers, skiers and golfers. I was already swimming before I had polio, so I was initiated into the active life. Exercise was our way of life and communication mode, and nature our playground. However, they considered my polio to be temporary, so I was expected to participate and keep pace. I was always just one more surgery away from perfection.
My sociologist mother presented my case before the school board, so I was among the first of disabled children in Minnesota to be mainstreamed. Most disabled children were boarded in a special school in Minneapolis. She paid the custodian to take me around the three-story building when I was in a cast and deal with my boots in winter. My dad put old belt buckles around my ice skate to support my ankle, although I basically skated on the side of my foot, keeping up with my peers. I taught myself to skate backwards, even execute turns and jumps.
Since a surgery was scheduled roughly every two years or less, and always in the winter so as to not miss all the outdoor summer activities, I missed a great deal of school. But homework was always provided by compliant teachers who even made hospital and home visits. Hospital- and bed-bound for months after a surgery, I became an avid reader and artist, although I quickly fell behind socially. Friends and siblings were not allowed to visit, and all my roommates were sick or short-term. But I soon found school and peers tedious. While I was somewhat socially backward, I was more mature in many other respects.
School was torture with all the pranks and teasing. Remember Hopalong Cassidy? That was just one nickname. The irony of all this was that I was still a very good student and athlete, setting records in competitive swimming. None of them were allowed to stand as I was disabled. I was also a synchronized swimmer in high school and college. In college, I participated in gymnastics for a year. I couldn't do the balance beam at all, but I did the vault, uneven bars and floor exercise. I could rarely stick a landing but excelled in the unevens with my great upper body strength from years of using forearm crutches. I've always considered myself to be an other-abled athlete.
In the summer after fifth grade, my mother put in my application for Girl Scout camp. I'd been in Scouting and adored it, especially camping. After arriving at camp with all the others, I was separated from the rest and told to report to the director who told me that I couldn't stay because I was disabled. She called my parents to pick me up. My mother refused, it was a five-hour trip to northern Wisconsin; she said the camp would have to be responsible for sending me home. She also said there was no box on the application form or mention of issues taking kids with disabilities, so that was their problem. Since the camp couldn't afford to send me home, I was allowed to stay but on probation to see how well I could cope physically. I had no trouble keeping up with the exception of long backpacking trips which I simply didn't sign up for as an elective activity. Once in their system, there was nothing to be done, so I attended camp all through elementary and secondary school as well as being a CIT for two summers, then a camp counselor. It was crucially important to me, being part of the scouting community.
I got a BA in art and art history as well as elementary and secondary art teaching certificates as back-up. After saving money the summer after college graduation by teaching swimming and as a lifeguard, I headed straight for California to get out of the Midwestern winters and live near the ocean. I worked in San Francisco for ten years in graphic design and publishing. Throughout my career with large corporations and small entrepreneurs, I rarely had health insurance. With one company of 3,000 employees, I was the sole worker not given health insurance due to my "pre-existing condition." I unsuccessfully sued an employer for being excluded but lost the case and was fired.
It was in San Francisco that I heard about a new skiing program for disabled skiers. I found my way to the Lake Tahoe area to join a ragtag bunch of Viet Nam vets who were teaching amputees how to ski on a single ski and outriggers, Canadian crutches mounted on ski tips. I learned to ski from these great guys and soon became an instructor, the only female one. Men were bussed up from two Bay Area military hospitals and put on the slopes, many with fresh stumps and other war wounds. We were housed in a derelict former ski lodge and barely running on haphazard donations. The first challenge for each new prospect was ascending the narrow and steep staircase to the big bunk room. The only good feature of this lodge was its bar and jukebox; I've never danced so much in my life!
In the winter of 1972, eight of us piled into an old van to go on the new disabled racing circuit in Colorado and Idaho. We weren't allowed to set up our own race courses in Tahoe but managed now and then to practice on old rutted ones left from regular racers. The other US disabled teams had big funding, the best and latest equipment and stayed in nice hotels while we had used and donated equipment, no money [I quit my job and was funding my racing career with unemployment.] and we often stayed on the floors of friends and host people. When I raced and won my first giant slalom, I had never skied one before! We won everything whenever we went, even though we often couldn't afford wax for our skis. I was National Women's Slalom and Giant Slalom champion at the finale in Sun Valley. I was not allowed to compete again because dragging my little leg behind me was deemed to be cheating, even though it obviously did nothing but slow me down. But what a run! I taught for nine years in CA, then for the Courage Alpine Skiers in Minnesota for three years. I skied every resort in the west, including the most difficult runs and moguls.
I worked on both coasts and the Midwest: San Francisco, Philadelphia, Minneapolis and all over Oregon in graphic design, art direction and marketing. At thirty-one, I had my first PPS symptoms, well before it was medically recognized. I was variously diagnosed as hysterical, depressed and in chronic pain. Denial had always worked for me, so I ignored it all. I managed an alpaca ranch for eighteen months with thirty-two alpacas, a dozen chickens, fourteen cats, four dogs and two parrots with eight acres to mow and manage plus a huge truck garden. Later I lived nearly off the grid in a Bucky Ball with wood and passive solar heat on ten acres of Ponderosa pine and sage with a well for twelve years. I like to alternate urban and rural living. I've lived in Portland, OR, for the last six years.
My lesbian partner of twenty-six years and I had to separate due to her MS; I was her caregiver for the last fifteen until she was too physically and mentally debilitated for me to care for her. We separated six years ago; she's living in CO near her family.
I've been a part-time artist and have shown in small galleries, specializing in artist books and botanical drawings. [surendorf2artfoundation.org/aEthelred/] Travel is also a passion; three years ago I spent six weeks in Greece and Spain. I currently ride my recumbent hand-cycle, kayak, swim, camp, walk and hike, although I rest for a couple of hours daily. [I wear a full-length leg brace and use a cane.] A year ago I had my first EMG with a wonderful local polio doctor, Dr. Gary Ward, and discovered that I had polio in my entire body with the majority of it concentrated below my waist. I had always been told I'd had it in only my left quadrant. I'm happy I never knew the full extent until later in life!
At the risk of sounding Pollyanna-ish, I was one lucky person when I contracted polio in three respects. First, I was geographically fortunate to be born in Southern Minnesota, equidistant from Sister Kenny in Minneapolis and Mayo in Rochester, each 65 miles from Owatonna. I contracted polio at age twenty-two months in 1948. There are home movies of me taking my first steps, then walking. Little did I know that I would have to learn this seemingly simple skill over and over again after ten orthopedic surgeries by the time I was eighteen, including a single-spika cast from neck to toes when I missed most of kindergarten. My architect father made a handle which was fitted on the back, so he could carry me around. He also made a wooden angled platform which fit on the sofa, so I could slightly sit up. My parents took out a loan to purchase the first TV on the block for my entertainment.
Second, my mother was astute enough to recognize the symptoms immediately. I had an acute fever, refused to eat and couldn't walk, according to a single phrase in my baby book. I was rushed to Mayo where I was quarantined and hospitalized for six-and-a-half months. Two months later I was in a full-length leg brace and beginning physical therapy. My mother drove me in their new black Ford sedan four times per week for another six months. Two months later in early 1950, I had my first surgery, a tendon transplant on my ankle for drop-foot. I had the world's best care available. My orthopedic surgeon, Dr. J.N. Janes, was newly arrived from Canada and pioneered many revolutionary surgeries. In two cases, I was among the first to receive them. One increased the growth in my polio leg which reduced my leg length difference from three inches to half that. I also had a stellar physical therapist who followed me all through childhood, Esther Schwartz. She never failed to motivate and push me. My first five surgeries were paid for by the March of Dimes; my mother volunteered for them for twenty-five years in repayment.
Char MY STORY
Char Pennie here....not much to say about polio. Contracted it when I was 6 months old...at least that's what my mother told me. She claimed it was passed on to me from a cat we owned in Michigan. Said I was in a facility for over a year being wrapped in steaming hot blankets. Facial paralyzation is the most prominent feature that is noticeable. Both knees have loose joints and have a tendency to collapse when least expected. It use to be just one knee would go out at a time but a few years ago it was both knees going out at the same time. After breaking my fibula, big toe and cracking my elbow I went in for a lateral release of the right knee. The scare tissue that has built up around that surgery has made it close to impossible to go down stairs in a normal fashion. I now have to go down one step at a time. However, the good news is I am not constantly falling down.
My dream to be able to perform with a hula-hoop like this!
Carolyn Clark ---
A POLIO STORY - PART 1
​
“Your daughter may not live, and if she does, she may not walk.” Those were the words spoken to my parents, by the doctor, when I was diagnosed with Polio in May 1948. I was 18 months old. I later learned that this was common as so little was known about Polio and its effects. Many people ask why I hadn’t had the Polio (Salk) vaccine but that wasn’t available for another 8-10 years.
​
I was hospitalized at Rancho Los Amigos Hospital in Downey, California. It was one of the foremost hospitals, in the country, treating Polio patients. My parents, and 3 month old sister, Bonnie, were quarantined for 2 weeks, as was my cousin, Mark, as we had spent the day with his family the Sunday before. My dad was a “milk man” so was allowed to work since he didn’t come in contact with many people during his early morning route.
​
I don’t remember anything about my stay at Rancho but know I was there for 6 months. That had to be a traumatic event for a young child since parents weren’t allowed to stay with their children. Physical therapy and the “Sister Kenny” treatment were part of the norm so I assume I was subjected to all of those procedures.
​
My mother told me that when I came home, I had to use leg braces. I would walk a step or two, fall, crawl to the couch and pull myself up. Mom was told not to help me which I know had to be difficult for her. I can only guess that routine contributed to the persistence that is a hallmark of my personality!
​
My first memories are of going to Kabat-Kaiser Hospital on Muscle Beach in Santa Monica, California. I went for daily physical therapy (PT) and swimming. The Physical Therapist’s name was Cliff and he headed up group exercises. Our final exercise, each day, was the Rocking Horse where we patients brought our knees to our chest, wrapped our arms around our legs, then rolled back and forth on our spine. Cliff made this a race and, since I was the youngest in the group (about age 3), I almost always won! Years later, at about age 10, I showed Cliff how I had learned to swim. I swam across the pool, and back, and looked up to see Cliff crying. I was afraid I had done something wrong but my mom later told me that Cliff’s tears were those of joy. He had seen me transfigure from a little girl who could hardly walk to one who could swim with strength, using both arms and legs.
​
When Bonnie and I were about ages 2 and 3, my mom took us down to Muscle Beach, after a PT session. This was where the wrestlers, like Gorgeous George, who were seen on TV, practiced. They were huge, especially to our eyes but, with mom’s permission, they picked us up and let us hang from the rings, or go across the monkey bars. They were very gentle and kind and I became their biggest fan from that point on.
​
I was 4 or 5 years old when a doctor asked if I could go before a group of doctors who were attending a seminar on Polio. They said I would be on stage and it sounded very exciting. Mom bought me a new dress and we arrived at the auditorium, filled with men (few women doctors in the early 50’s). I went up on stage and a doctor started discussing my case, when one of them said “just a minute”, came up to me and tucked my new dress inside my underwear so they could see all of my legs. I was so embarrassed and humiliated. I hung my head and tried my best not to cry. I don’t remember what happened after that but I’m sure it was a quiet drive home.
​
My parents wanted me to attend Catholic school but when my mother tried to enroll me, the head nun said I couldn’t attend because my leg braces would scratch the desks. Now, I believe that was “nun speak” for not wanting, or knowing how to work with a disabled child. My mother talked to my uncle who was a member of the Knights of Columbus. He spoke to the head of his group, who called the Bishop of the Diocese, who called the head nun and said “ you let that child into the school.”
​
On the first day of school, I was excited but scared. New situations made me anxious as I didn’t know how others would react to my disability. I really hated being “different” and just wanted to be “normal”. Often, I would get literally sick with anxiety so my parents learned not to tell me about a new event until the last minute. I have memories of taking deep breaths, trying to calm myself down, before leaving home to meet new people.
​
Thus, school was a scary venture but I really wanted to go. Though I know my mother meant well, before we left for school, she told me that I needed to be very good as “they didn’t want me there”. Yikes! Fortunately, my first grade teacher was a nun who was very kind and considerate, making me feel like I belonged.
​
My early years certainly did not fit what most of us would think of as a great childhood. However, despite the difficulties brought on by Polio, I am grateful to have been part of a loving family, with lots of aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who accepted and loved me for who I was. They included me as they would anyone else, with the kids finding games and activities in which I could participate. I was not seen as different and could not get out of things by claiming “I can’t” because of my disability. Instead, I learned how to adapt and they adapted with me. What a blessing!
Fred Leonard
​
April 19, 2019
​
A group of mothers with their children wait outside a clinic for polio vaccinations to begin in May 1956. Fox Photos/Getty Images.
​
I was 1 year old in 1949 when polio struck my mother. As I got older and could understand why she was in a wheelchair, she told me about her time in the hospital — more than a year — most of it an iron lung. Late at night she would lie awake, listening to the rhythmic pumping of the iron lungs on her polio ward and to the whooping cries of babies with pertussis that echoed down the hospital’s corridors.
​
That scene of polio patients in iron lungs and babies with pertussis struggling to breathe was played out in hospitals across the country. In 1949, 42,000 cases of polio were reported in the U.S., along with nearly 70,000 cases of pertussis. There were also more than 600,000 cases of measles reported, though the actual number was probably more than 3 million since most measles cases were never reported to health departments.
​
In some ways my mother was one of the lucky ones from her polio ward: She left the hospital alive. And though she had reduced breathing capacity and permanent paralysis of both legs and one arm, she could still breathe on her own. Some of her ward mates went home in iron lungs; others died.
​
When the Salk polio vaccine became available in 1955, my mother made sure my brother and I lined up to get it. And when the Sabin oral polio vaccine came along, we got that one, too. It’s not that my mother rushed us to the doctor for all the latest treatments. We were rarely in a doctor’s office. But she knew all too well the value of immunization.
​
I was 18 when my mother died from complications of polio. A year later, I was in an immunization line at boot camp. The military didn’t waste time trying to figure out what immunizations we recruits had previously received. We just got them all. When it came to immunization, the military and Mom saw eye to eye.
​
After leaving the military, I used my GI Bill benefits to go to college and medical school. By that time, widespread immunization had all but eliminated polio and pertussis in the United States, and the measles vaccine had been almost as effective. The authors of a 1985 article in the medical journal Pediatrics estimated that in the 20-year period since the measles vaccine had been introduced in the United States, it had prevented 52 million cases of measles; 17,400 cases of what was then called mental retardation, a complication of measles; and 5,200 deaths.
But other severe infections were still common. Doctors routinely saw children with bacterial meningitis and with epiglottitis, a frightening infection that can rapidly result in closure of the airway and suffocation. Thanks again to new vaccines, bacterial meningitis is rare in childhood and many recently trained doctors have never seen a case of childhood epiglottitis.
But the success of immunizations in the U.S., as well as in other developed countries, has had unintended consequences. Having never seen someone with polio or pertussis or meningitis, or had a loved one die from these diseases, many people no longer understand the value of vaccines, and some have even come to view them with suspicion. At best, such individuals see vaccines as having significant risk and little benefit. At worst, they regard them as a sinister plot forced on a naive public by misguided doctors and greedy drug companies. While it is true that everything we do in medicine has risk, including administering vaccines, there is nothing else we do that provides such an overwhelming benefit with so little harm.
​
I continue to be saddened when I see or read about a child who suffers or dies from a disease that could easily have been prevented by a routine immunization. I understand that in most cases their parents were just trying to do what they thought was best for their child. But with no personal experience with vaccine-preventable diseases, and exposed to ongoing misinformation campaigns by small groups of vaccine opponents who spread their erroneous claims on the internet and social media, they made the wrong choice.
I also understand what propels parents to blame immunizations for other conditions that strike their children, such as autism. In 1998, the Lancet published the now-infamous Wakefield study that claimed to have identified a link between the measles, mumps, and rubella (MMR) vaccine and autism. The study was subsequently determined to be fraudulent and based upon falsified data, and was eventually retracted by the journal. But the damage was done. And even though multiple subsequent studies have shown no link between autism and vaccines, and the Institute of Medicine and Centers for Disease Control and Prevention have both gone on record stating that the evidence does not support such a link, some parents desperately searching for the cause of their child’s autism still blame vaccines. The connection seems to make sense: their child is vaccinated, and then later develops autism.
But autism and other conditions also emerge after a child has had breast milk or formula; after a child has ridden in a car seat; after a child has been exposed to televisions, smartphones, video games, and other electrical devices; and after a child has had a whole host of other experiences common to early childhood.
No matter how well-intentioned, blaming vaccines for autism and other unrelated conditions is like convicting the wrong person of a crime. Not only does it unfairly condemn the innocent, it hinders attempts to find the true culprit. As parents shy away from vaccination, they aid the reemergence of multiple potentially devastating and life-threatening infectious diseases like measles, pertussis, polio, meningitis, and encephalitis. And that puts at risk and harms the most vulnerable among us — babies too young to be vaccinated, children who don’t have a choice about vaccination, and those with conditions such as leukemia and other disorders that suppress the immune system.
I do my best to explain to parents the true value of vaccines and why immunizing their children is so important. But too often the message doesn’t get through. At those times, I wish my mother was with me. Maybe she could help them understand.
Fred Leonard, M.D., is a retired emergency and preventive medicine physician.
What my polio-stricken mother would tell parents today about the importance of immunization
Hello
My name is Allen G. Hanna
Allen G. Hanna
My story is similar to most boys of the baby boomer generation. Growing up in a typical post-World War II neighborhood. Football, baseball, and basketball were my passions. Sandlot baseball in a vacant field during the day and hide and go seek after dinner. The only thing that was different for me was a bout with polio in 1951. At the age of three months, I was diagnosed with the virus that was sweeping the nation.
I didn’t walk until I was three years old, and then it was with the aid of parallel bars at first, crutches were next, and then a full leg brace on the left and a knee brace on the right. My dad bought me a tricycle before I could walk. That was the beginning of my love affair with anything that had wheels. More on that subject in a few paragraphs.
My family lived in Olympia, Washington. Unfortunately, my doctors and therapists were nearly seventy miles away in Seattle. Father was an entrepreneur in the automotive business with an auto shop and later an auto wrecking business. Mother was a stay-at-home mom raising me and my two brothers. A full-time job to say the least. Dad worked very hard to provide for us and Mother was a saint. In fact, if she isn’t in heaven right now there is no such thing. She worked tirelessly for the March of Dimes in our area, she was a room mother at school and a Den Mother in Scouts. Mom and Dad treated me no differently than my brothers. I have two brothers, one older and one younger. Thankfully, they treated me like any other kid in the neighborhood. I believe it is why to this day, I have an attitude. You know the one, I dare you to tell me I can't do something.
Mother would be tasked with driving me to Seattle to endless doctor appointments and many surgeries at Children’s Orthopedic Hospital. There was no I-5 then, and because we lived so far away, Mother would stay in Seattle to be with me. Because we spent so much time together, Mom and I formed a bond that I cherish to this day.
(Some of the following language may be inappropriate today, but was common in the 1950s)
When I was about to enter first grade, my parents were told the teacher had reservations about having a “crippled child” in her class. So, it was determined by the school I would go to the “Special Room,” the classroom for severely mentally disabled children. My dad just happened to work on the principal's car at his shop. I remember Dad taking me by the hand, walking into the school's office, and asking for Principal Reeves. We went into Mr. Reeves's office and Dad said Bill, Allen’s leg is handicapped not his mind. He will be in first grade like all the other kids. A footnote, the first day of school I put my teacher’s mind at ease during my first recess. She looked out the window and saw me leading half a dozen kids all limping just like me. Incidentally, the teacher turned out to be one of the best teachers.
After the fifth grade, we moved to the country, just south of Tumwater. I graduated from Tumwater High School in 1969. My high school years were very enjoyable. I was an average student, more interested in having fun and being the class cut up. One day in a class called General Business we took turns suggesting what each student in the class should consider as a profession or vocation. My class unanimously agreed that I should be a disc jockey. That stuck in my mind, although I didn’t act on it until a few years later.
Shortly after I graduated, I was invited to compete in the national para-games in New York City. The USA Para Games qualified athletes who would represent the USA in the world Paralympics Games. That year the Paralympic games were held in Brazil. Although I won two silver medals in swimming and a bronze in the sixty-yard dash wheelchair track event, I didn’t make the team. I was thrilled for my teammate, Guy Holder of Tacoma who did make the team and won four gold medals in swimming.
Later that summer I took a job at the Tacoma Brace and Limb Company in Tacoma. I had an interest in designing and building prosthetics and orthotics. Although I learned a lot and was grateful for the opportunity, it was not going to be my choice of career. That fall I started college at Green River Community College in Auburn, Washington. Scholastically, I surprised myself and did very well, however, after a year, I realized college was not for me. A very good friend of mine suggested I come to live with him and look at the school he was attending. I will always value my friend's suggestion as it turned my life from uncertainty to my ultimate career choice. After touring the school, Bates Vocational and Technical Institute, I was convinced. At first, I decided on a class called data processing, an early version of computer programming. The only problem there was a six-month waiting period. The administrator who enrolled me suggested I take another course until the data processing course opened and I could make up my mind then. Well, what’s available I inquired? She said, radio and television. It was the beginning of the career path I would take for the next forty-five years.
In 1973 I married my wife, Marla. We made our home in Tacoma, where I was working as a disc jockey at KTAC radio. In 1977 we moved to Spokane, Washington where I was employed by the KING Broadcasting outlet, KREM, as the afternoon disc jockey. That year we had our first child, Melissa. We were enjoying Spokane for a short seven months when The KING Company’s Portland radio station, 62 KGW called me to take the early evening show. In those days when a larger market radio station called, you took the job or risked being left behind. We jumped at the opportunity, making our home in Vancouver, Washington.
In 1979 our son Zachary was born. It all seems like such a short time ago, but life in SW Washington and my career in Portland radio and television have been very fulfilling in so many ways.
While at KTAC, the program director asked me to change my name to John Williams. I didn’t particularly care for the name but wanted to work there so badly that I would have agreed to anything. Over the years as my name became familiar in the business, there was no turning back. I had a wonderful career in Portland media. I loved my days at KGW, then KISN, KEX, and finally Oldies 106.7 and K103. Television appearances on local shows and commercials. For thirteen years I was the voice and on-camera talent for Smiths Home Furnishings. Co-host of the Jerry Lewis Labor Day Telethon on KPTV, Channel 12 for many years. Active in the Muscular Dystrophy Association, March of Dimes and I sat on the Easter Seals Board of Directors for nearly twenty years.
Following my retirement in 2013, Marla and I formed a company called Wheelchair Destinations. Our goal was to produce videos that show the accessibility of outdoor recreation. Playing wheelchair sports and being around people with mobility issues, I felt I was a bit of an expert on the subject. After a year of knocking on doors, Grant McOmie of Grant’s Get Aways contacted me to do a feature on our work. The US Forest Service saw the show and contacted me. Over the next five years, we produced over thirty, five-minute videos, called Accessible Recreation. Still visible at https://www.fs.usda.gov/r6
I obtained my private pilot's license about the time Mt. St. Helens blew her top. I enjoyed flying family and friends around the mountain and seeing the devastation of the volcano, and amazed at Mother natures ability to repair the damage caused by her wrath. I loved flying, but a wife and family with school, sports, etc., not to mention the expense, I haven’t flown for many years.
Earlier I mentioned anything with wheels. Growing up and living in the country, my brothers and me were able to have go-carts, motorcycles, dune buggies, and pretty much anything with wheels.Today my passion for wheels continues. Marla and I have a 1955 Chevy retro-rod that we love to cruise and enjoy. We’ve driven it to Mt. Rushmore, down the Oregon/California coastlines and it’s still going strong. Also, I attend the Baja Races in Baja California, Mexico several times a year
Marla and I spend our time traveling, including a jaunt to Arizona for spring training baseball each year. We especially enjoy our children and three grandchildren. Marla is very creative and loves to host family and friends for holidays, birthdays, or anything we can dream up to have people enjoy our home with us.
I am grateful for meeting this group and sharing experiences with people who have been through life with the same experience as me. I appreciate all of you.
Allen G Hanna
