Nostalgic Memories of a Baby Boomer

by Phill Senters

 Apr 10, 2009

One mile from where the pavement ends stands the old homestead where my nostalgic tale begins.

    The 1950s, Growing Up In Spite of Polio.

 This is the true story I thought I would never make public.   My name is Phillip, but everybody has always called me Phill. Yep, that’s  my real name, and I am one of the “Baby boom” generation.

 I arrived in this world kicking and screaming on March 23rd, 1949. Now, all these years later, I think maybe the kicking and screaming may have been justified.

 Three months after I was born, I  caught a dreaded disease called polio.

  Here is a little info from Google about polio.

 Poliomyelitis (polio) is a highly infectious disease caused by a virus. It invades the nervous system, and can cause total paralysis in a matter of hours. It can strike at any age, but affects mainly children under three (over 50% of all cases). As most people infected with poliovirus have no signs of illness, they are never aware they have been infected. Some people unknowingly carried this virus and infected others everywhere they went, completely unaware that they were doing so. This is how polio epidemics were spread. Polio mainly affects children under five years of age.

 However, immune and or partially immune adults and children can still be infected.There is no cure for polio, it can only be prevented through immunization. Polio vaccine, given multiple times, almost always protects a child for life. Full immunization will markedly reduce an individual’s risk of developing paralytic polio. Full immunization will protect most people, however individuals can still contract the disease due to the failure of some individuals to respond to the vaccine.

 Of course, in1949 there was no such thing as Google , nor all the wonderful information that we now have literally at our fingertips.   There was no vaccine for polio, and even if there had been, most of the people where we lived would not have subjected themselves to getting stabbed with a needle by a stranger for a disease they thought they’d never get anyway.

 My dad said he took me to the nearest hospital when they couldn’t get me to stop crying and I  couldn’t sit up. They told him to “Get that baby out of here, he’s got polio and we can’t do anything for him anyway.” So we had to take a train several hundred miles to Louisville where I could be treated.

 All this had to be a terrible strain on Mom and Dad. His work didn’t pay well to start with, and now he had to take care of a very sick child for there was no one else who could do it. This scourge on the human race left both my legs paralyzed, twisted, and useless.

 My family lived near the small town of Middlesboro, Kentucky where my father worked in the coal mines and my mother must have been very busy taking care of my four (at that time) brothers, three sisters, and me. My only memories of that place and time are icicles hanging from the roof and watching my siblings (or at least some kids I believe to have been siblings) playing outside in the snow, and how I wished I could join in their fun.

 I don’t know much about exactly how or when, but our house burned down, and in 1953, we moved to Florida. A little town called Apopka was our destination.We lived for a while with  my Dad’s sister Florence and her husband, Jake. I don’t remember that, but that’s what Mom told me, so I believe it.

 While we lived there, Dad  bought a three acre patch of woods down an old dirt road about three miles south of Apopka for $695.00 . Then he found where somebody was tearing down an old wooden building and bought the lumber to build us a house.When it was done it had three rooms, the front room where the girls slept behind a curtain, Mom and Dad’s bedroom, and the back room where the kitchen was on one end and sleeping space for us boys on the other. No electric, no water, no privacy. Home Sweet Home.

  And it was, at least for us little kids. We didn’t realize we were poorer than a church mouse. And we never went hungry. There was always pinto beans and potatoes (aka beans n taters), along with Mom’s cornbread. If the state finds a family living like that now, the parents will likely go to jail for child abuse. But it was normal for us. We had it made! There were only ten of us living in that place, And it belonged to us! (and the bank, of course)Things got a little better when Dad managed to have a man come and drill a well just behind the house. That was something! Now we had nice clean water without having to bring it home in those big heavy jugs.The jugs now only had to be carried from the pitcher pump into the kitchen.

                                      Apopka.

 This name from the Seminole Indians  means “potato eating place” “Aha” for Potato, and “papka”, for eating place.

 Apopka is still known as “The Indoor Foliage Capital of the World”. There are more foliage nurseries in and around Apopka than anywhere else in the world. I’m sure I Haven’t seen them all, even after having lived in the area for nearly 60 years.

                                    Oranges.

 My brothers, sisters, and I grew up playing in orange groves. Some might say I should call them orchards, but I respectfully disagree. They were orange groves then, and to me that’s what they will always be, groves. I think there were more orange groves in the foliage capital than nurseries.

 Most of the groves are gone now. Cold spells destroyed many of them. Just a few hours of 28 or 30 degrees is all that’s needed to ruin the fruit on citrus trees, and very little more to kill the tree. We lost many to the cold over the years, and many more to development. Houses, schools, shopping centers, and roads have crowded out a lot of our old playgrounds. But Apopka still has more flowers and ferns than anywhere else in the world. It’s hard to keep those potato eating people down!

 In 1955, we got the last new addition to our family. A little guy named Larry Paul. Why we called him ‘Paul’ instead of Larry will always remain a mystery to me, but everybody loved him anyway. He was everybody’s pride and joy. Paul was the favorite, everybody’s favorite, even mine. We couldn’t get get enough of that kid. As he grew older, his antics kept everybody in smiles and laughter. My brothers used to bring him little sweet snacks or toys when they’d come home from work, and I remember he had not a selfish bone in him. He’d share everything with anybody. Really a great little kid.

 When I was 7 years old, a lady came from the county and told my parents that it was time for me to start school. Dad told her that he wanted me to go, but that I Couldn’t walk, so he didn’t see how I could. The lady told us not to worry about it for now, she’d be back. She kept her word. Seven years old and I had never taken my first step.Where I went, I crawled on hands and knees. I got to be very good at it. I’d go anywhere the other kids went, a little slower, maybe , but I got there.
 When that lady came back, it was the first time I ever heard the words ‘disabled’ and ‘handicapped’. She was very good at rattling off words like that. It was really hard to understand what she was talking about. But I started to catch on when she mentioned ‘doctor’. Dad said “Doctor? I thought we were talking about schools, not doctors.” (At this point, I would rather have been hiding in one of those tunnels we used to dig in the soft Florida sand).

  Then she explained that we needed a doctor to figure out what could be done to get me fitted with braces and crutches so I could stand up and walk, then I could go to school.

 This was beginning to sound pretty good! Was there really a way they could help me walk? What is a brace? a Crutch? I’d never heard of these things before, and I was full of questions and excitement. It was almost impossible for me to wait till the appointment with the ‘brace man’. Finally, the day arrived! Dad took me to Orlando for the first time. What a BIG place. I thought it was the biggest city in the whole world. Never had I seen so many cars, trucks, buses, and even trains. And lights! What a profusion of lights. Red, green, blue, white, orange, yellow. On and on. Everywhere! This was the biggest place I’d ever seen, and they stretched on and on as far as I could see. Wow! But soon I would forget all that for a while. There was something even more exciting waiting for me.

                                   Mr. Bremmer.

 A name I’ll never forget. Out of all those doctors, nurses, physical therapists, and teachers, (Yep, teachers. They even had teachers to teach me how to fall down without hurting myself. Imagine that!) His name is the only one I still remember after all these years. Mr. Bremmer’s face I can still see in my mind. He looked kind of old to me. He had white hair, not gray, it was bright white and looked silky smooth. His face was rough looking, like leather that’s been outside for a long time.

When he spoke, it was with a deep bass voice that was surprising because it came from such a little man. He wasn’t nearly the size of my  dad or my older brothers,but he was rather tall. Maybe that’s what made him look so small.

                                        Gentle.

 That is the only way to describe the way his hands felt as he moved my legs around while measuring me for those braces. My own mother’s hands couldn’t have been more gentle. And that  voice so soft and deep and friendly. Two minutes around this man, and no child would be afraid.You’d know he was a friend.

 Mr. Bremmer pulled and measured, twisted me this way and that. He pulled and measured some more, twisted some more. He had me lay this way on one side, that way on the other. He measured my legs it seemed a hundred times. He even measured my arms a few times. When I asked why he measures so much, he said “I want to do it right the first time”.

                                     And that he did!

 Two long agonizing  weeks later, on my second trip to the big city , I was barely aware of all the sights except when Dad stopped and got us a Coca Cola. (another first for me, I still love those things).  I was so excited I kept asking things like “what’s it like to walk, Dad? Does it hurt? Will I still fall down when I try to do it?” Poor Dad, he had no answers. But that was OK. Even if all that happened, it’d be alright. As long as I could stand and walk instead of crawling, the rest wouldn’t matter.

                                 We finally got there!

 Mr. Bremmer. He had the braces. He strapped those things on me with those gentle hands as he explained in his soft German accent how they worked and how to do it myself. They fit me perfectly, and they did what they were supposed to, they gave me the ability to stand up on my own two feet for the first time in my long, long life of about seven and a half years. But I still could not walk. It felt so good to stand there, but I wanted to walk. “This won’t work after all”, I thought “might as well give it up” . But Mr.Bremmer had other plans. When he put those crutches under my arms and said “Put your weight on the handles with your hands”, It was if the whole world exploded open for me to walk around in. I still don’t have words to explain the way I felt when I stood and walked the first time. It was as if I had grown maybe 8 or  10 feet all of a sudden. I felt light as air and my head was spinning around. Down I went, but there was Mr. Bremmer, holding on to me and saying “Easy, slow down a little till you get your balance”. I slowed a bit and walked all over that big room with no help! WOW! Imagine that, I’m walking,”Look Dad” I had forgotten he was there till now. He looked like he was trying to say something, but I couldn’t hear him. His face was all wet. I’d never seen my dad like that before, so I said “What’s the matter, Dad?” He said “I need to use the bathroom”. Then he went out the door.

Mr. Bremmer told me that it would get easier with time, and I would get better and better as I learned to control my balance.

                               He was right again.

 When Dad came back, Mr. Bremmer told him we were all done and he could take me home now. Dad shook the man’s hand and started talking with no sound again. Mr.Bremmer put his arm around  Dad’s shoulder and said “There is no need, I have reward aplenty.”

 We made many trips to see Mr Bremmer after that. As I grew, the braces would have to be adjusted, and sometimes replaced. I never saw another ‘brace man’. Only Mr. Bremmer. He never changed through all the years, he was the same every time I ever saw him, he wore the white clothes and those glasses on the end of his nose. And he never seemed to age. He remained the same, year after year. The last time I saw him, I was 18 years old. That’s 11 years of braces from the never changing Mr. Bremmer.

  To this day, when I hear somebody talk bad about Germans, I tell ‘em about Mr. Bremmer. Shuts em up every time!

 The trip home was way too slow! I didn’t care about the cars and trucks and lights so much this time, I couldn’t wait to get home and show everybody I could walk! When we finally got there, I climbed out of the car and promptly landed face down in the sand. Those darn crutches weren’t co-operating. They sank about 4inches in the sand every time I put my weight on them. But I figured it out and made it up to the house. There I found another obstacle. Steps! Three of em. From the ground to the top step might well have been a mile. “I Can’t do it.” I said “I never had to do anything like this before.” “Well”, Dad said behind me, “Can’t never could do anything.” “My name ain’t can’t!” I said. My dad hated the word can’t, and I have learned to feel the same way.

 My brothers laughed at me when I fell, but they’d help me get up so I could try again. My sister, Midge got mad and yelled at them for teasing me, but I told her to let em be. She was always trying to protect me, she meant well, but that was embarrassing sometimes.

  I kept at it till those three steps were easier than traversing that sand trap we called a ‘yard’. They all cheered when I made it.

                        MY NAME IS NOT CAN’T!

  We never did get any grass to grow in that sand pit!