Be Kind to Your Web-Footed Friends

September 12th , 2003

It seems only an instant ago that I used to vent about gimp spaces. Every time there was a crowded parking lot, there were those damn handicap spaces beckoning to me. Good citizen that I am, I would resentfully pass them by. I understood, of course, that wounded soldiers are entitled to special privileges. For the rest I had little sympathy.

But oh, I have learned the error of my ways. It is probably too late now, but in my next life, if such there be, I promise to help old ladies cross the street and give my seat to pregnant women. Most of all, people with disabilities will always have my sympathy and my empathy.

Believe it or not, up to the age of about 60 I was a good, though not brilliant, athlete. What stopped me then were injuries to both arms. At 72, I still thought of myself on the DL list. After all, I liked to believe that my point of view had not changed from the time I was twenty-one. Yes, I knew that I had much more experience than I had then and was, perhaps, wiser, but the sight of a pretty woman still made my heart sing.

It therefore pains me to admit that I am now disabled, or, as society and the law would have it, handicapped. After a knee replacement and subsequent back surgery, walking is extremely painful and standing for more than a few minutes is impossible. The state of Pennsylvania has granted me a handicap tag, which sits on the dashboard of my car and enables me to park in a handicapped space at school.

Sharon Jezick, in a guest editorial in The Saucon News, undoubtedly was referring to me when she noted as lacking integrity the school board member who parks in the handicapped space to save a few extra steps. I asked The Saucon News and Ms. Jezick for a correction. She apologized but maintained that the reference was generic. Yeah, and I am Superman. Any day that Ms. Jezick wishes to exchange my ills for her sense of integrity, I would be happy to trade. Meanwhile, I will stick with my integrity and leave it to you to judge hers.

“Handicap” is a word of terrible origins. It derives from the term hand in cap, used to describe someone who was disabled and put on the street to beg. In our times, the word is no longer politically correct, although governments seem slow to change their usage. And the terms “disability” or “disable” do not have much to recommend them. The politically correct way to refer to people who are unable to physically perform as well as most other people is “physically challenged,” although that seems a little much.

The point is that when we refer to someone as disabled or having a disability, we should recognize that such a person may have certain kinds of physical limits, but may otherwise function very well. To take my own case, I can no longer play tennis or baseball or even walk very much, but I venture to say that I can beat most of you playing chess and, if I were you, I would keep me out of your poker game. I published a novel last year and, although I am stuck for the moment, I intend to publish another one next year.

To cite another example, Henry McClenahan, Jr. is confined to a wheel chair, but he is one hellova producer-director. Anyone who watched him work was stunned by his extraordinary energy. He would be on stage one moment during rehearsal and seemingly an instant later he would be in the back of the house to check on sound quality or staging. Moreover, despite his disability, he was absolutely inspirational. He was a stern taskmaster, yet the kids loved him. And he had a rare talent for organization that helped to make our district’s theatrical productions really excellent.

In general, many people tend to think of age as a disability even when no obvious physical limitations are present. Why listen to a doddering old man? He can’t be “with it.” It is certainly true that some older people are not “with it,” but that is very much like judging a book by its cover. Some of our ablest people--doctors, lawyers, writers, scientists, you name it--have been my age or older. Oliver Wendell Holmes served on the Supreme Court with continuing distinction well into his 90s. My friend Norman Corwin, at 95, is not someone you would want to cross wits with. He is still a wonderful writer and a great humanist.

Thus endeth my sermon. In the words of a song we used to sing at scout camp 62 years ago, “Be kind to your web-footed friends. A duck may be somebody’s mother.”

Oops, is that a non sequitur? I forget.