The Bravest Man I've Every Known

Lest those of you who have bothered to read my other posts think that I dwell on the negative too much (and you’d probably be right), I thought I’d write about the bravest man I’ve ever know. I’ll call him “Joe”. Not a stretch, since that’s his name. I won’t use his last name though just in case you know him. He’s a very modest guy and I don’t want to embarrass him.

Joe contracted polio when he was about three years old and it left him mostly paralyzed from the waist down and on his left side. There is no noticeable musculature on his legs or on his left arm. Joe and his parents had a choice about how he would get around – crutches and braces or a wheelchair. They opted for the crutches and braces, which meant learning to walk again, which, in turn meant lots of pain and frustration, but a bit more freedom of movement. Besides, with the limited use of his left arm, he might have only been able to go in circles in one of those old-fashioned wheelchairs available in the 1940s and ‘50s.

There was a series of surgeries when Joe was a child in an effort to correct the curvature of his spine. These operations required him to be in a full body cast for months at a time. More pain, and ultimately the operations were not successful.

My first memories of Joe, or “Joey” as he was called as a kid, were of him pushing one of those little mini chairs used in primary schools down the halls of Mary Purcell elementary school. He used a chair to keep him upright instead of his crutches back then, and with the metal glides attached to the bottom of the wooden chair legs he was able to slide the chair over the smooth tile floors. It worked a little like the walker my mother used after she broke her hip. As I recall, if he was in a hurry, he’d sit in the chair and have someone else push him to wherever he was going.

Joe’s parents never coddled him. They wanted him to live as normal a life as possible. He once told me about learning to tie his shoes. Keep in mind that his left arm and hand are nearly useless. He wanted his mom to tie his shoes. She told him he had to do it himself. She wouldn’t help him. This may have been the point where he learned to swear with such color and imagery – but he learned to tie his shoes without help.

Joe and I both played coronets in the junior high and high school bands and we usually sat next to each other. Also, one of my friends was Joe’s cousin. We got to know each other over time and became friends. I became particularly good friends with Joe and his cousin when I got my driver’s license because neither of them drove. Being teens in the ‘60s, we went to a lot of dances. Of course Joe didn’t dance (or did he? More on that later).

The high school we attended, and later Western Washington State College (now Western Washington University) were not handicapped-friendly. Lots of stairs and no elevators, or even ramps for wheelchairs, not that Joe would have considered using a wheelchair. He’d put his right crutch in his left hand, and using the handrail, pull himself up the stairs by swinging one leg up to a step and then drag the other leg up. Sometimes he’d get someone else to carry his crutches up to the top of the stairs. In high school, he could often get another guy, usually his cousin or me, to get him in a bear hug from behind and drag him up the steps.

Joe isn’t afraid to try just about anything. After he graduated from college and got a job teaching at the local junior high school, he bought his first car, a blue Pontiac that he christened “Bucephalus” with a bottle of beer. Factory-installed hand controls wouldn’t work for Joe. He and his parents finally found a company in Vancouver, B. C. that built custom-made automobile hand controls. Joe could finally drive! He found that his crutches made handy enforcement devises when teaching at the junior high level.

Joe is one of the best storytellers I have ever met. It doesn’t matter if he’s relating a true anecdote or telling a tall tale, the man flat knows how to tell a story. I’ve tried to master the art, but I have never approached his level of skill.

I briefly touched on Joe not dancing when he was a teen. Well, DUH! The guy wears leg braces that keep his knees locked. Kind of hard to do The Twist, Frug, Watusi, or Bop (these were all dance crazes in the ‘50s and ‘60s for you younguns). Some time after I moved back to my old stomping grounds near Joe, we both got invited to a party a member of our community theater group was throwing. I zeroed in on a woman that I had been interested in for a while and worked on impressing her with my charm and wit. In those days I drank a lot and was known to smoke an illegal herbal substance when I could get it, so I considered myself extremely witty and charming with the ladies. There was a slow, romantic ballad playing on the stereo and I happened to pause my scintillating monolog to my, enraptured I’m sure, woman friend. I looked at where a few couples were dancing to the belly-rubbing music, and what did my bloodshot eyes finally focus on, but Joe and a woman DANCING! As best as I can recall, he went home with her that night. A few months later he called me and asked if I was sitting down. I answered that I was. He then asked if I would be his best man at the wedding he and Julie were planning – Julie being the woman he danced with.

Call it fate or kismet or destiny, but I believe that God figured that after all that Joe had been through with his handicap, he deserved some happiness. Julie has never considered Joe to be handicapped. He adopted her two young hellion sons and gave them a decent male role model.

Joe retired from teaching several years ago. He told me that what made up his mind to pull the plug was one of the students at the middle school where he taught brought a shotgun to the first day of school. He said the kid was so dumb that he brought the wrong gauge of ammunition, but still, enough was enough.

Joe and Julie are very active in their community. They’ve made trips together to Alaska, Florida and a couple of journeys to Scotland. He’s of Scottish descent and this may explain his liking for a certain imported spirit.

Joe will be 62 years old near the end of December. A few years ago he finally surrendered to the fact that he isn’t a young pup anymore and allowed his wife to get him one of those electric scooters they have for quadriplegics nowadays. He suffers from the mysterious post-polio syndrome, but you’ll never hear him complain. In the 50 or so years I have known him, I have never heard him complain about his plight and he doesn’t like it when people show pity or try to find out why he’s on the crutches. He just wants to be treated like everybody else. No special favors, no singling him out from the crowd because he’s “handicapped.”

Joe and I were roommates at Western and sweated out final exams together. We were best man at each others’ weddings. We’ve laughed at each other’s jokes and commiserated with each other about life’s disappointments. We have overlooked each other’s foibles. He is the most valuable thing you can have – a true friend.