THE THOMAS FRANCIS, JR. MEDAL IN GLOBAL PUBLIC HEALTH

Do You Remember...?

The polio epidemic affected “only” 1 out of every 5,000 people. But when the one it affects is you, your child, or a loved one, numbers don’t seem to matter.

Do you remember those days in the ’40s and ’50s where public swimming pools would close because of a polio scare…the days of iron lungs, hydrotherapy baths, and children in leg braces?

Maybe you were a “Polio Pioneer”—one of the 1.8 million school children who participated in the polio vaccine field trials, led by Dr. Thomas Francis, Jr. Maybe you were a volunteer who helped in the trials. Or maybe you just remember adding your dime to the "March of Dimes" effort instituted by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, a polio survivor himself.

Read memories

Bill Keigans

I was one of those children in Brooklyn, NYC, who was in that program. At the time I remember we lived in Coney Island and there was a large group of children infected in that area. I remember my friend next door to me having polio and I guess that is why my Mom agreed to sign me up, and also the fact that I had scarlet fever and was a sickly child. I still have a certificate somewhere that says I’m a polio pioneer.

Bill Keigans

John W. Ryan

I can't believe this is now coming back—what a memory.

We stood in line—and those getting the shot diappeared behind a white curtain. The shot itself was no big deal—and we got a lollipop and a “Polio Pioneer” button to wear.

Then—in a few days—I was sick—very sick. I hurt everyplace—I couldn't walk—it was hard to swallow. Mom put me on the sofa—so I would be near their bedroom. The doctor came out to the farm every few days—nice man with a big black bag. I was afraid—because I saw big ugly birds trying to eat me in my sleep. OK—but it was real to a kid and I never forgot those damn birds.

Anyway—some of the kids were even sicker from what I remember. We never knew what we did—or what it would mean.

John W. Ryan
Germantown, MD

Sue Thaler Martens

I was a Polio Pioneer! In 1954, I was one of the millions of school children around the country designated as such. The effort was coordinated by the March of Dimes, and the Kent County chapter apparently was active in promoting the cause. As a second-grader in Lowell, I was one of many participants. The mother of one of my friends, the late Janet Tapley, was the local chairperson, and signed my card. We also got a little pin. That friend, Kathy Tapley Dyer, is now a public health nurse for the State of Michigan.

I no longer have the card and pin, but I vividly remember lining up with the other kids in my school for our shots. As I later learned, some were given the real vaccine and the rest received a water shot. Some time later, I don’t know how long, those of us unlucky enough to get the water shots then got the real shots. I believe we did this three times and I got the water every time, making me a real pioneer and having to get a total of six shots!

But we felt it was worth it to help end the dreaded polio. I had two friends with polio, one with a withered left arm and the other who had to use crutches, so I was very willing to be a human guinea pig (but called a pioneer, a much more palatable term) help find a cure for the most-feared disease of our generation.

Sue Thaler Martens

Mary Jane Francis

Before the field trial formally began, all the children of faculty and staff in the School of Public Health’s  Department of Epidemiology were bled and received the vaccine.  I remember that we lined up and progressed from [Thomas Francis, Jr.’s] secretary’s office, thru his office and into the small meeting room beyond his office where the conference table became the site of being bled and ‘shot,’  My father [Thomas Francis, Jr.] told me that my blood had high levels of antibodies to Type I polio, which confirmed his suspicion that the severe stiff neck that had me laid out in bed when I was in 7th grade was probably polio.  I was fortunate that it didn’t progress beyond a stiff neck, but what a stiff neck it was.  It was unbearable to try and move.

I don’t remember any members of my high school class getting polio, although one of my classmates recently told me his older sister had a bad bout with the disease.  I do remember one of the girls in my brother’s class getting polio, which made the fear too close to home.  No iron lung, but she was physically handicapped and required long-term PT to return to her normal activity.

The day of the announcement of the results, I remember, was wild…non-stop busy, with the press all over the place.  Edward R. Murrow was in our home and gave my father a watch commenorating the occasion.  My brother has now offered that watch to the School of Public Health.

 

The Rev. Mary Jane Francis, Ph.D.
Retired Episcopal priest
Seattle, WA

Alakananda Mohanty
(reprinted by permission of the author)

Tale of a Survivor

It was the end of the summer of 1960 and my family and I had just returned from a rather tedious vacation from my ancestral village. I was getting ready to start school and I was extremely excited about wearing new clothes and meeting new friends. I was out in front of my home when I first experienced what seemed like flu symptoms. What bad timing—school starting and I was getting sick.

The next couple of days were a blur—our doctor visiting me at the house, family and medical personnel whispering in hushed tones. It was extremely difficult to sit up and I couldn’t turn or bend my neck without a great deal of pain. Unimaginable pain began to take over my back. Polio never entered my mind.

As a precaution, my mother informed me, I was to have a spinal tap. And there it was…not even a margin-lined diagnosis. Polio. I must tell you, this was not a sympathetic disease in any sense of the word. The next few days were a nightmare and I don’t mind telling you that when somebody asked me to participate here with my story, it brought back a flood of memories that I had suppressed. Once the word was out our neighbourhood went into immediate panic. Pools were drained. My family were shunned. Quarantine signs went up around my house and my brother was not allowed to go to school.

When I arrived at City’s largest hospital with hundreds of others, I was strapped to a gurney and lined up in the queue, as there were no beds available. My parents were literally dragged away to avoid any contact with me.

As I recall, when I was lifted into a bed it was with a medical staff clothed in long smock, masks and gloves…again no contact. I was wheeled into a ward with others.

If you asked me what was my worst experience while battling this disease, I would have to say the pain: constant intensified, horrific physical pain. There was a nurse who had worked with polio patients and developed a treatment procedure that involved massage, exercises, and wrapping affected limbs to reduce muscle spasms and the resultant pain. When I tell you I counted the hours in between these treatments,it is not an exaggeration and my entire torso was wrapped. As a result of these treatments, I was left with blisters, but the submission of pain temporarily was worth it.

After the first few days, I had visitors. First to see me were my parents. You could tell by their eyes they were horrified as to what I must have looked like. So went my days, sobbing parents and the constant pain….

My best recollection is that perhaps two weeks after I entered the hospital, the pain subsided, and I was to be released to go home. My disabilities not yet compiled, nonetheless, I was deemed not contagious and with many stipulations set free. Keep in mind, I had not had the opportunity to try and walk during my stay and the doctors told my parents that I might never walk again without crutches. How I must have looked: my curly locks all matted, [thin] as a rail all curled up in a wheelchair being pushed to my parents. I still remember as I approached them, I asked the nurse to stop and I stood up and took a few steps into the arms of my father.

My follow-up visits were to be at the hospital for physical therapy and regular visits to orthopaedic department. My residual disabilities were limited to the left side of my body. One leg was shorter and my spine had a curvature. I also had a muscle weakness in my lower back, which has stayed with me.

The road back is never easy, but with the love and support of family and friends, the stigma of polio affliction was soon forgotten. I now approach the over-40 time of my life, and some of the old aches and pain occur once again.

The bottom line is that polio survivors are just that—survivors. We did what we had to do then and we have to make the best of what comes along now. We live with polio every day of our lives, be it a bad memory, a nagging pain, or a fear of a limb that may decide to give up…. But we go on. Being a part of the Polio Immunisation program seems right to me. If my involvement can spare just one child from the agonies of this dreadful disease, then it will be worth recounting the past. Now you can go and say, “I met someone today who survived polio.” I thank you for your time, patience, compassion, and most of all your friendship.

Alakananda Mohanty
Communications Associate
Rotary International PolioPlus Program
New Delhi, India

Henry Broder

I remember bringing home information from school requesting children to participate in the tests. My parents had a terrible fight over it. My Mom was against it but my Dad was convinced it couldn’t hurt and maybe help. For a change, he won out and I became a Polio Pioneer. I remember lining up in the school cafeteria with nurses in old fashioned nurse uniforms with hats, giving us the shot and then a lollipop. It’s a good thing I participated and got the real vaccine instead of a placebo because that summer I became deathly ill. My family had taken a summer bungalow at the shore in Coney Island. After the local doctor came and examined me, two more doctors came from the New York City Health Department came and examined me also. They told my mother to pack up our stuff and go directly home without talking to anyone. I guess they didn’t want to start a panic. After a couple of weeks I got better and the doctor confirmed that I had a very, very slight case of Polio. Had it not been for the shots, it would have been far worse and I would have been crippled for life or worse.

Henry Broder
Huntington Station, NY

Gary Harris

I was born in 1952 in San Francisco. I was an only child and my mother had polio when she was a baby. I was the apple of my parents’ eyes. When I about 2, my mother felt my head and then took my temperature. I had a fever of 104 and she thought I had Polio. My pediatrician examined me and told her it was just tonsillitis. About a year later the Salk Vaccine came out and she took me to the doctor. I was his first patient to get the Salk Vaccine. She told the Doctor that she had suffered with Polio as a girl and she did not want me to suffer. God Bless her.

I had all the childhood illnesses except German Measles. I probably would have had Polio too except for the Vaccine. When I was 17, I saw an episode (very old) of the TV Series “The Medic” with Richard Boone. A doctor came down with Polio and was placed in a iron lung. This episode was before the Vaccine. It really moved me. If only we could eliminate a lot more diseases.

 

Gary Harris
Structural Engineer
Las Vegas, Nevada

Barbara Kolekamp

Listen to an audio memory from Barbara Kolekamp > >
(requires Windows Media Player. Click here to dowload the free player > >)

Being a polio pioneer really had a big effect on my life. I always had the sense that I was part of something that was really big for humanity. In fifth grade I met a large group of new people;  one of the questions we asked each other was “Were you a polio pioneer?”

In my town, we got a lot of our shots, like smallpox, at school so that aspect of it was routine.

The term ‘polio pioneer’ was being used while we were getting our shots, and my mother said I asked where the covered wagons were because I had one sense of what a pioneer was.

One time my Brownie troop took a tour of the local hospital, and I remember looking down one wing and seeing all the iron lungs lined up waiting for the next season. Polio was a big deal when I was a kid. I knew people who had it and I remember the fear in the summer.

I always think of my being a polio pioneer as the time my parents donated my body for science.

Barbara Kolekamp
Ann Arbor

Edward M. Anthony
(reprinted from the Michigan Daily)

 

As a loyal Michigan alumnus, I will follow with interest next week’s 50th anniversary celebration of the announcement of the Salk polio vaccine’s success—particularly since my own academic career was bound up with both of the institutions involved, the universities of Michigan and Pittsburgh. I offer a recollection, from the distant sidelines, that might be of passing interest.

 

On April 12, 1955, I was working in 1522 Rackham Building, where the announcement about Jonas Salk’s success was about to be made.  For some years I had an office in that large and austere structure. In those days, I was an academic recluse of sorts and had not been invited. Worse, I was only dimly aware of the momentous events that were unfolding several corridors and stairs away.

   

Suddenly a stranger in a suit and tie, unusual in my corner of the building (occupied at the time by the English Language Institute), entered and commanded our attention: Did anyone have a hotplate? I was the only proprietor of such a device, so I pleaded guilty. The stranger immediately demanded it. Somewhat diffidently, I tried to ask about his urgent need. I assumed, though, that I had to comply. This suit was clearly used to getting his way.

 

“Edward R. Murrow is reporting today’s ceremony, and he needs something to keep his coffee warm as he awaits the official announcement,” the stranger said. It was quite clear to this guy that Mr. Murrow’s coffee was as important as the announcement itself.  The occasion, he implied, would hardly have been wasted if Salk didn’t show at all—as long as the widely admired Murrow was there. And had hot coffee.

         

The visitor and my hotplate disappeared—probably permanently, I believed at the time. Later, they resurfaced, though I don’t remember a thank you. The stranger felt, no doubt, that the hot plate had been sanctified by its use, and that the very brewing of the Murrow coffee in itself was thanks enough.

 

Perhaps it was.  We in the ELI office thought briefly of asking the University to inscribe the device:  “Edward R. Murrow Once Kept His Coffee Warm on this Very Hotplate on April 12, 1955.”

 

But we didn’t.

 

Edward M. Anthony  (AB ’44;  MA ’46;  PhD ’54 Michigan)
Professor Emeritus of Linguistics
University of Pittsburgh

Dr. Betty Mayer

Of course, I am giving away my age, but my uncle was the president of the Florida Medical Association in ’53 and ’54. His daughter and I were polio pioneers at about age 9; first to get the vaccine in Miami (Coral Gables).

 

Our parents did not seem the least bit worried about the vaccine. At that time, they worried more about us going to  Venetian Pool, our local swimming hole. As an ARNP, and PhD in Nursing now, I wonder why they had no concerns about long- or short-term reactions. ???

 

Miami Children’s Hospital (then called Variety Hospital) was at that time loaded with iron lungs, and kids with polio wearing leg braces, from all over the South. At my last visit, they were still keeping an iron lung in their education area as a reminder of how it was. Pretty scary times when you look back.

 

Around 1985, one of my sons became suddenly strangely lame. He was admitted to the hospital immediately with a diagnosis of “rule out polio,” His diagnosis seemed impossible in that year, especially since he, of course, had the vaccine. I refused the steroids they wanted to start him on. The diagnosis eventually came back as myocytitis, inflammation of the muscles of his legs. All the memories of “our” childhood came flooding back to me during the horrible 48 hours prior to correct diagnosis. He was fine.

 

Dr. Betty Mayer, RN, ARNP
School of Nursing
University of Central Florida
Daytona Beach, FL

Marcia Staley Mellinger

I graduated from the U-M School of Education in 1952, and was in my second year of teaching at Eberwhite Elemenry School in Ann Arbor. I needed a job for the summer and got lucky. I joined the coding staff being recruited at the Vaccine Evaluation Center (VEC) at Survey Research Center on campus.

We were trained in coding the data reported by hundreds of schools participating in the Salk Vaccine field trials. The work was tedious but fascinating to me as each sore arm, headache, or cough was duly punched on IBM cards. That fall, I stayed with the study, electing not to return to teaching. Pressure mounted as the data were tallied and evaluated throughout the fall and winter.

Shortly before the scientific meeting in April, l955, I was asked to join a coworker to proofread the impressive but extensive final report—complete with charts and graphs. We were instructed to take as much time as needed, around the clock, and were sworn to secrecy. We felt excitement all around us and wondered what we’d find! It took us most of the night, as I recall, but we knew history was being made. As a bonus, we received coveted tickets to the Scientific Meeting at Hill Auditorium on April 12th. What a moment in history!

Marcia Staley Mellinger

Donna Ron

I remember the fear effect that polio had on our lives.  I was born in 1946 in Detroit.  In the summer of 1951 when I was five years old I had gone to camp—Riesman Farm Camp, and when I came back home my mother told me that my neighbor had gotten polio and my cousin had gotten polio.  My neighbor was a young man and was lucky and did not suffer paralysis.  My cousin, who was my age, apparently got a bad case. I know she was in the hospital for a very long time, I think she was also in an iron lung for awhile.  She wore a brace on her leg after that. I remember the effect it had on her as a growing girl.  I remember that they closed the wadding pool at Palmer Park in Detroit because there was a feeling that it could spread the polio virus.

I remember the profound joy around the development of the Salk vaccine.  I remember being part of a massive inoculation campaign at my local elementary school—Pasteur school.  I can’t be sure if it was part of the double-blind study or the actual inoculation after the vaccine had been proven safe and effective. I do remember going to the school gym with my parents in the early evening to get inoculated.

I remember well the sense of the miraculous surrounding the development of the Salk vaccine and Dr. Jonas Salk.  My parents continued to communicate to me wonder they felt at the deadly disease of polio being conquered.

 

Donna Ron
Israel

Michele Kling

When asked how he wanted to be remembered, Dr. Salk told a reporter, “I want to be there when a child in the next generation asks his father, ‘Hey Daddy, what’s polio?’ ” Well, on April 12, 1995, I was sitting in the second row in Rackham Auditorium, waiting for the festivities to begin, when two University of Michigan students sat down behind me, opened their programs, and began to examine them. After about a minute or two, one turned to the other and said, “So, I guess this polio thing was a big deal, huh?”

I still proudly display my purple Event Staff pass from the 40th anniversary on my bulletin board.

Michele Kling
Director of Media Relations
March of Dimes
White Plains, NY

Joyce Kemp Laben

I was a sophomore in the School of Nursing at the University of Michigan at the time of the annoucement of the polio vaccine.  One of my classmates had lost her sister to polio the previous year.  I can still visualize going with her to talk with the doctor about the condition of her sister at the University Hospital.  At the time of the announcement, I can remember standing at the back of the room in the auditorium while the announcement was being made.  How wonderful for the world that this illness is all but eliminated.

 

Joyce Kemp Laben
Class of 1957

Eleanor Bergeret Tapscott

I was in my freshman orientation week at the University in 1955 when I came down with polio. What a place to be if that had to happen!!! After determining that I had polio while in the Health Center, I was immediately admitted to the isolation unit at the University Hospital and who should be my doctor but Dr. Jonas Salk. After the initial mountain of pain phase and no more contagion of polio, I was moved to 4 Center, the polio unit, where I remained for the next three months undergoing intensive physical therapy of the latest methods. Released just before Thanksgiving, I went home to my parents to continue water therapy and exercise. Dr. Salk’s polio vaccine was released 11 days after I was stricken and I believe I was told at the time that I was the last recorded adult case before the vaccine was released.

I was determined not to miss out from a University of Michigan experience, so I re-enrolled in the second semester and was placed in Helen Newberry Residence. I started in my regular studies and, with the inclusion of one summer session, was able to graduate with my LSA class of 1959.

I think it was during my junior, or maybe even my senior year, that Dr. Salk once again entered my life. One of my maternal uncles had had polio as a child, and his daughter contracted polio also as a young child. Dr. Salk took an immediate interest in the fact that there were three blood relatives in the family who had contracted polio and was studying a possible genetic weakness or link to the disease. That was an exciting experience for me because he remembered that I had been his patient a couple of years before.

Now that there are enough of us who have survived polio past the age of 50 the relatively new discovery of post-polio syndrome has become a part of many of our lives. I have been affected by this and live with the original paralysis that I sustained in 1955, with easily fatigued legs and the inability to do a lot of the outdoor things that I used to do. Standing and walking on my legs for prolonged periods of time is virtually impossible. So life goes on.

My 3 1/2 years as an undergraduate at the University were some of the best years of my life. For many years I didn’t stay too closely connected but I am proud to say that I have just completed three years as president of the University of Michigan Alumni Club of the Sun Cities and West Valley here in the Phoenix, Arizona area. Go Blue!!!

Eleanor Bergeret Tapscott
Phoenix, AZ

Joan E. Smith

In 1994, I served as the Sign Language Interpreter for Dr. Jonas Salk at the 40th anniversary of the announcement of the Polio Vaccine on our campus. As we waited together backstage, Dr. Salk shared his excitement with us. He was handsome in his brown suit as he showed us his old brown watch. He proudly said he was presented with the watch by Edward R. Murrow when he made the famous announcement in 1954 right here in A2.

Little did I know [then that I would also serve] as interpreter for his lovely wife, Francoise Gilot, when she spoke at the School of Art and Design, by invitation of dean Allen Samuels. She was the mother of Paloma Picasso before marrying Jonas Salk. When Dr. Salk died, his obituary listed his wife, Francoise Gilot, and two sons. What a surprise.

I also remember receiving the polio vaccine when I was younger:

In 1954 I was a 12 year old in Flint, MI, and remember clearly how happy my mother was to stand in a long line while we waited for the “shots.” My sister and I were not happy. She really cried and we were both relieved when we were given sugar cubes the next time. Our Aunt endured Polio and wore a brace and a lift in her shoe. Our Deaf grandparents were worried sick we would get Polio, the dreaded disease.

Joan E. Smith
Whitmore Lake

Joan Gassaway Berndt

In the late 1940s one of my playmate friends from elementary school was stricken with polio; it was the summer of a severe polio epidemic in the country and parents everywhere were frightened for their children.  She ended up living in an iron lung, and I remember visiting outside her hospital window (kids weren’t allowed in the building) at Herman Kiefer Hospital in Detroit.

In April, 1955 I was a freshman at U of M.  I remember walking across the Diag and seeing all the TV trucks, cars, etc. outside Rackham.  I knew that the press conference was going on announcing the success of the vaccine.  It is hard to explain to someone who did not live through the scary days of polio epidemics just what a blessing this moment in history was.

Joan Gassaway Berndt
Bloomfield Hills, MI

Carl R. Smith

It was 1954 in Southfield, Michigan and I was 7 years old in 1st grade. One afternoon just before we left to catch our school bus our teacher, Mrs. Raybine, spoke to us and said that we were special children and going to be a part of an important program. She then handed each of us a sheet of paper and asked us to take it to our parents, have them sign it, and return it to her. She said unless we returned it to her signed by them we couldn’t be a part of the fight against polio.

Polio was a very scary word to me because I vividly remembered the summer I was 5 being rushed to a hospital by my parents very late one night. They didn’t tell me then but they were worried that my extreme leg pains and cramps were symptoms of the dreaded disease. Fortunately for our family the doctor said my symptoms were just severe growing pains. Iwill never forget my mother’s joyous reaction at the doctor’s words and the feel of the big hug she gave me. Needless to say there was no hesitation in my parents signing the permission form.

On the day of our shots I remember our teacher lined us up in the long hallway outside our classroom and walked us to the health clinic room. As we waited and shuffled along in line we heard the cries of some of those ahead of us getting their shots, which made all of us a little scared. I recall several very important-looking people in white coats and dresses standing at the clinic door along with our school nurse. Each of us carried a name card which we gave to someone who checked off our name on a large paper list before they rolled up our sleeve and gave the shot. We waited in a line until all our class had received a shot and our teacher waked us back to the classroom. I don’t remember if anyone had any problems after receiving the shot but I do recall our teacher said it was OK for us to put our heads down on our desks and rest.

Long forgotten until this anniversary year is the “Polio Pioneer” button. I know mine was lost many years ago, as was the letter telling our family if I had received the real vaccine or the placebo. To this day I don’t know which I received.

Carl R. Smith
University of Michigan

RJV

I lived in Warwick, New York—dairy country, but not far from New York City. I was 8 or 10 (1950–1952)—just cannot remember the year since it seems to have faded from memory, but do remember that for a long part of one summer I could not walk—I was crawling around because my legs wouldn’t allow me to stand or walk. After a while I seemed to get better but had to go to a special building where they made me walk barefoot along a line. I also had to pick up marbles with my toes. At first both tasks were very difficult but after a number of days (it is all a blur now) I was able to walk the line and pick up marbles at will.

I was informed that I had a wild strain of Polio that was very mild and may or may not have gained immunity. I also remember looking out the window of that tall (4-story) building with creaky wooden floors at the parade for the March of Dimes. The bands and floats passed by with the mothers who were promoting the donation of money. I had several “dime banks” that we filled for the cause. I also remember several friends who actually were in the iron lung or who ended up on crutches. Fortunately I came out OK with no apparent lasting effects. However it did make a great story when I was teaching Microbiology and reached the topic of communicable diseases!

RJV

Anthony Peters

I was one of the volunteer children who participated in the polio vaccine trials. I was very active as a child, played lots of sports and my mother thought it was a good idea for me to participate. My mother was a pioneer herself in that she was one of the first women police officers in Ann Arbor, and she was always thinking of helping other children.

Anthony Peters

Lauren Friesen

In October of 1952, I ran a slight fever on a Saturday and then on Sunday the fever spiked. I recall vividly that at breakfast I attempted to eat but could not swallow. In an effort to provide nourishment, my parents told me that I had to drink a glass of milk but when I attempted to do so, it would not go down my esophagus but instead ran out of my nose back into the drinking glass. At that point they called the doctor and I was taken to the local emergency room. There the doctor performed a spinal tap and my mother and I were immediately transported to Lincoln General Hospital (Nebraska) where I was a patient for the next 3 weeks.

Initially, I shared a room with another polio patient who was admitted the same day. We were medicated so I do not recall that much from the first few days. What I remember is that every few hours I would be awakened and they would heat wool blankets in a steamer and then place them on our backs. Other than that, we were not supposed to move. After about the 5th day they brought in stacks of comic books and we were allowed to sit up and read them. When Halloween came, the staff attempted to cheer us up by filling our beds with orange and black balloons. As soon as they left, we had a great time swatting them around till they were all on the floor. We were informed in no uncertain terms that this was not appreciated by the kind staff that had provided the balloons!

The hardest part was the fact that my family could not stop by to see me. After the 5th day, my mother was allowed to sit by the door for 20 minutes a day so we could talk. I did not see my brother, sister, and father until day 10. But the most frightening aspect was the iron lung in the room. We were told that at any time, if our breathing failed, either one of us could be moved into this monstrous machine. Luckily, that never happened.

It was on day 10 [that] my roommate and I were moved into a larger ward where there were 16 beds. After a week in the larger ward, I was helped out of my bed and stood on my feet for the first time in about 3 weeks. My first effort at standing, though, was a disaster. As soon as the nurses let go, I fell. This resulted in daily physical therapy in the hospital swimming pool. After a week, I was placed on my feet again and this time I was able to support myself and walk a few steps. Of the 16 persons in this large ward room, only 2 of us were able to walk. The rest of the patients faced the prospect of being confined to beds or even iron lungs for the remainder of their lives.

It was in late November when I went home. Everyone was thinking about Thanksgiving and Christmas when my mind was still occupied with the sights and sounds that had demanded my attention over the past month. It was difficult to readjust to a family routine. After such a basic struggle with such primary physical essentials, I saw everything else through a different lens. To a large extent, this even propelled me to accomplish things that I might never have attempted otherwise—such as college and graduate school.

Lauren Friesen, Ph.D.
University of Michigan-Flint

A. Lesa Quade

I was 6 1/2 years old in 1959 when I contracted polio. Although the Salk vaccine was available I was not allowed to take it because my grandmother didn’t believe in needles. Later it was given in the form of a sugar cube. I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. I fell and couldn’t get up. I was helped back to bed and assured everything would be alright in the morning. When morning came I couldn’t walk. My grandmother, aunts, and uncles gathered all around me to try to figure out what was happening.

They took me to the doctor and he couldn’t figure out what the problem was. He never thought Polio. Eventually I was admitted to the Children’s Hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas, and after many tiresome tests including a spinal tap, it was discovered I had Polio.

Being so young, I had no idea what was happening. I remember them putting on what were called Board Shoes. These were shoes that had two boards nailed to the bottoms, attached sort of like a brace to hold the shoes together and keep my feet straight. I had to sleep in these shoes for some time. I remember a lot of surgeries and braces. I was in the hospital for a very long time, in an open ward with lots of kids. I guess they became my family at that time. My family didn’t have a car and had to rely on someone else for transportation, so I was alone a lot without visitors.

One fun memory was treat night. We got to have an ice-cold Coca-Cola. This was when they were really good. My residual effects are a drop right foot, one leg smaller than the other, and a slight limp. I have maintained a very active life for over 40 years now and hope to continue. I have not experienced any Polio Syndrome so far…knock on word and thank God.

A. Lesa Quade
Flint. Michigan

Martin Pernick

I was a second-grade student at the Hewlett Primary School in Hewlett, Long Island, outside New York City, when my parents enrolled me in the Salk Field Trials. I remember them explaining to me that some kids would get real vaccine and some kids would get water, in order to test whether it worked. I remember being bussed to some other site to get the shots and that the shots did not hurt as much as I expected.

I particularly remember the day the results were announced. My parents sat me down to tell me that the vaccine was the greatest discovery of my lifetime, that I had played a role in history, and that I was one of the lucky ones to get the real vaccine. My memories of that good news are also closely associated with my memory of my parents solemnly sitting me down in the same chair a few days later to tell me of a great loss to science—the death of Albert Einstein. In retrospect, I think perhaps those events had something to do with my becoming a professor of the history of medicine.

In the fall of 1955, I changed schools, moving to PS 66 in the New York City borough of Queens. Shortly after that, the NYC public schools began mass immunizations with the new vaccine. I remember refusing to take the shots, because I had already had them. Neither my teacher nor the principal believed me. The principal all but accused me of lying to avoid the pain of a shot, and sent a note home requiring my parents to come to school if they wanted me to not get the shot. In retrospect I suspect that (unlike the field trial) this school simply vaccinated everyone without asking or notifying parents, since if my parents had gotten some kind of consent form to sign they would have been able to explain my situation in advance.

I’m not sure, but I think my family pediatrician gave me one or two annual “booster” shots in the years immediately after the field trial series of three injections. I recall being told that was because no one knew yet how long the initial immunity lasted.

Before the vaccine my parents and friends were very aware of the polio epidemics of the early ’50s. I remember before the vaccine being warned not to eat food that had fallen on the floor because if I did I’d “get polio.” (After the vaccine I was still not allowed to eat food that fell on the floor, but the explanation switched to “germs” rather than specifically “polio.”)

Martin Pernick
Professor of History
University of Michigan
Ann Arbor, MI

Anonymous

Recently my mother gave me a package of mementos from my childhood. The fact that she had kept our childhood mementos was amazing in itself—I was the first-born of ten children, and she had a package for each one of us. One of the items in the package was a “Polio Pioneer” button—like the one on the webpage!

I remember participating in the program to test the polio vaccine and the feeling of pride that I might have some small part in helping end this devastating disease.

This brought back some incredible memories for me!

Anonymous

Melissa Berry
for her brother Joe Hanna

I was 3 in 1953 when my big brother came down with polio; he was only 7. I remember the night he woke me, screaming in pain, my parents running around gathering him up in their arms, making frantic calls to the doctor and to a niece to come sit with me while they rushed off into the night with him.

I remember only being allowed into his room at the U of M once a week and crying when I had to leave him. I don’t remember the iron lungs but he does and my parents remember the other parents, especially the ones who lost their children to that terrible disease.

My brother who so loved sports endured several operations on his left leg in hopes that he could participate, was left on the sidelines. He was dealt a bad hand physically but his sense of humor and genuine care for others has far exceeded what ever the sports may have given him. At least that’s what I think. He is now disabled due to the post-polio syndrome, walks with a cane and has a good amount of pain, but nearing 60 he seems to have adjusted.

I remember those days, weeks and years vividly even as a three-year-old, the long drive to the hospital and back, the exercises my brother did on our kitchen table after they finally let him come home. The braces he had to wear. And I remember thinking then, how brave my big brother was and how very proud I was of him then and now.

Melissa Berry
Office Assistant III
University of Michigan Zone Maintenance
Ann Arbor
For my brother Joe Hanna, polio survivor 1953

Nancy Murray

My sister and I both were in the study. I got the vaccine so I didn’t have to get the shots again, but my sister had gotten the placebo so she had to go get the real shots the following year.

We went to parochial school and I think we were just schooled in sacrifice. They made a big deal about how important it was for us to be involved and I remember feeling very proud. I’ve bragged about it to friends a few times over the years.

Nancy Murray
Ann Arbor

Nancy Wells

It was August, 1952—I was 4. My mother was the camp director at an all-girls (grades 3-5) camp in northern Michigan. Mom had decided to take me to camp with her, as it would be easier for Dad to take care of my older brother and sister at home without me. The first day and into the second day of camp, I ran a temp and cried all day. Mom called Dad and told him he had to come and get me, and by the time he got there, I was sicker. He took me to the doctor, and it is strange that with all the scare over Polio, they did not suspect it and could not decide what was wrong. After a few days, I was hospitalized and it was discovered that I did, indeed, have Polio. I was in and out of a couple of hospitals and then finally sent to Mary Free Bed Hospital in Grand Rapids. I was there for six weeks and when I went home, my only residual from the Polio was a paralyzed right arm and hand.

I do not have good memories of my hospitalizations—I was separated from my family and only allowed visits once at week while in Grand Rapids, for instance, and for a four-year-old that is very frightening. I remember the iron lungs and how huge and loud they seemed and how small the children in them. Our beds were in large open wards with many children in one ward, and I remember the crying at night. To this day, I cannot stand the smell of warm, damp wool which was used during physical therapy. Apple juice, while it doesn't taste bad, brings memories of having to drink it every day, so I don't care for it either. It was a terrifying time for patients, as well as families. What a relief when the vaccine came out and with each year, the reported cases of Polio diminished—we have much to celebrate now 50 years later and I didn’t have to worry about my children, and now grandchildren, ever having to experience this dreaded disease.

Nancy Wells
Department of Neurosurgery
University of Michigan
Ann Arbor

Hal Morgenstern

I still have the card issued by the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis, certifying that I was a Polio Pioneer in the 1954 vaccine trial directed by Thomas Francis, Jr. I had not seen the card in many years, but it turned up unexpectedly when my wife and I moved to Ann Arbor in late 2003. Even a cynic might see this as a sign that I had made the right move, because Dr. Francis’ position as Chair of Epidemiology and his U-M office in the 1950s are mine today.

Hal Morgenstern
Ann Arbor

Rich Lichenstein

All the kids in my grade at PS 104 in the Bronx were taken to the gym one day. It seemed like there must have been 100 long tables, all with crisp white tablecloths on them, and behind each one was a nurse in a bright white uniform and hat and a doctor in a white coat. This was the place where I played basketball and all kinds of other games, and it just seemed so imposing instead of like the fun place it usually was.

I remember there were all these kids falling on the ground and screaming because these were some pretty big needles. I didn't cry though, because I was supposed to be a tough kid.

You had to go back for a series of shots, and one time during the vaccine trials, the syringe broke while the needle was in my arm and all of the liquid spilled out. Of course I didn't understand this then, but because it was a double-blind trial, they didn't know what to do. They didn't know if I was getting the real vaccine or the placebo, and I had to sit there for about an hour, probably while they called Michigan to get instructions.

Ultimately I remember my parents getting the letter saying that I had gotten the placebo, not the real vaccine. So I would have to go back again to get the real shots. To say the least, that was not my favorite piece of mail ever!

Rich Lichtenstein
Associate Dean
U-M School of Public Health

Janice La Pointe

I was attending Kemble School in Utica, New York. I remember we all went to the gymnasium to get our shots. Our parents must have had to sign a permission slip. I am sure we were told we were making an important contribution, but at that age I doubt we realized just how big it was.

About six months later, those of us who got the real shot were called up to the front of the room and given our Polio Pioneer pins and a certificate documenting what we had been a part of. I’ve kept my pin in my jewelry box, and always remembered I was a Polio Pioneer but I don’t think it hit home until 30 years later when we moved to New Hampshire and we learned that the reason our minister walked with brace crutches was because he had had polio as a child, and I thought how sad [that] he had not been given the shot.

Janice La Pointe
Secretary III
Otolaryngology-Audiology
University of Michigan
Ann Arbor

Paul N. Courant

Several years ago my parents handed me an envelope containing two documents. One is a card, certifying my status as a “Polio Pioneer,” in recognition for “taking part in the first national tests of a trial polio vaccine conducted during 1954.” The other is a form letter, produced via typewriter and carbon paper (the preferred technology of 1955), dated April 18, 1955, addressed to “Dear Parents.” It is from one Philip J. Rafle, M.D., then Commissioner of Health of Suffolk County, NY, where I then lived. After a long paragraph of congratulations and gratitude, it conveys the sad news that I had only been given a “placebo control solution injection,” and explains that I am eligible to receive the real thing at the local school, if they fill out the enclosed form. They did fill it out, and I got the second injection, and have lived happily ever after.

My only memory of the actual trial is standing in line—I don’t remember the injections of either the placebo or the real vaccine. I do remember the excitement when the vaccine was announced. It was big news. And, in retrospect, I am struck most by the second letter, produced within a week of the confirmation of the efficacy of the vaccine, in which the public health system, calmly and expeditiously, made sure that the recipients of the placebo were going to obtain the full protection of the vaccine.

Paul N. Courant
Provost
University of Michigan

S.M.

In 1954, I had just turned 8 years old and participated in the “polio pioneers” trials. I was in either 2nd or 3rd grade and lived in West Hartford, CT. Actually, although my parents signed a paper giving permission, I don’t think they really understood the total dynamics of it.

I was given a button to wear that said “Polio Pioneer” which I have since lost, but I kept it for a very long time. There is a little pride associated with being a pioneer of anything. The children in my class were vaccinated (via injection) in school. Shots were never my favorite thing…and it seemed like we were all a little scared standing in line waiting for the needle…but I remember being brave, and then almost passing out and having to go to the nurse’s office to lay down, but I was fine in a little while and went back to my class.

As synchronicity would have it, in 1995 I worked for a man who had contracted polio 50 years before when he was 25 years of age. He zoomed around in his wheelchair until he was 74. Interesting that a polio pioneer would eventually serve as secretary to someone who had lived much of his life with polio. It certainly made me appreciative of the efforts of those who worked to eradicate the disease.

S. M.
Springfield, OR

(anonymous)

It has been fifty years since the event.…Wow!

In the spring of 1955, I was a senior at Ann Arbor High School, aka the Frieze Building. I remember that we vaguely knew that the Salk studies were being done in Ann Arbor. I just knew Dr. Francis as Mary Jane and T’s dad.

In his announcements the morning of the press conference, the principal told us about the studies and noted that we would be witnesses to important history. So that warm April [day], classes stopped and we listened to the press conference (or at least part of it) being held at Rackham over the public address system of the high school.

Everyone was excited by the news. And as I think of it now, perhaps the adults in our lives—parents, neighbors, and teachers—were the most joyous. This disease seemed to strike in capricious ways. No one was safe. We were kept away from crowds at lake beaches near Ann Arbor and away from theaters, and I remember “required” afternoon rests. The vaccine brought relief to everyone.

After school on the day of the announcement, we walked down the block to Rackham to see the crowd. At the time, Ann Arbor was not accustomed to the national press and celebrity. Very exciting, indeed.

(anonymous)

Toby Citrin

My brother Marty was at Herman Keifer Hospital in Pavilion 6, which was the polio building that year. Mother used to come at night and smuggle in some corned beef sandwiches through the first-floor windows of the pavilion. Marty told us how they’d frustrate the nurses by unscrewing the light bulbs at night to prevent them waking them up at all hours of the night to take their temperature—there was a picture of two of the guys forming a pyramid to reach the ceiling bulb for that purpose.

Toby Citrin
Adjunct Professor, Health Manangement and Policy
School of Public Health
University of Michigan

John Dann

I was one of half a dozen kids who got polio at a YMCA camp in northwestern New Jersey in August 1954. My only real regret at the time was that I missed going to a Brooklyn Dodgers-Philadelphia Phillies game, because I had to go to the hospital!

I was sort of proud of being “Case 100” from the state of Delaware that year. Mine was pretty severe, both paralytic and bulbar, and it was 50/50 for a couple of days whether I would make it. I was lucky to have a supportive family with zero tolerance for feeling sorry for one’s self. I have never thought of myself as handicapped and never been too concerned about what others thought.

In the long run, it probably was the best thing that ever happened to me. I learned at age ten to savor every day and every friendship as if they were the last, to be particularly aware and observant of other people’s feelings, and unimpressed by superficialities. I eventually figured out that my brain was going to take me a lot further than my athletic skills!

On the other hand, I do still resent missing that doubleheader! As I remember it, it was going to be Robin Roberts vs. Carl Erskine and Curt Simmons vs. Preacher Roe.

John Dann
Director, Clements Library
University of Michigan