Texas State Historical Association - My Texas

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Helping Hands

Texas has always been dangerous. In Dallas in 1949 there was a creeping fear that no one wanted to mention. I remember my Mom restricting my time outside and the time I spent with the friends that I had such a difficult time meeting in the first place.

Okay, this is where I have to admit that I am NOT a native Texan. Against my wishes, I was born in September 1944 in McPherson, Kansas, but I got here as fast as I could, honest. We arrived in the summer of 1948, a family of five. We had to stay in Ennis for a few weeks while our house was being completed in Dallas (actually Oak Cliff, which was a part of Dallas, but none of us knew how or why that was so). My brother Tom and sister Joan Kay were eight and a half and seven and a half years older than me, respectively. I think I am the only person that remembers much about staying in Ennis. It was a rooming house and it had rooms to let on two floors. We were on the second floor, which I thought at the time was a tremendous stroke of luck. Right outside our room was a huge oak tree. We had breakfast every morning in the room. Tom and Joan had to go to school for six weeks. I got to stay inside and look at that dadgum oak tree and wonder if I would ever be big enough to climb something so big. The oak tree must have been six feet in diameter. The first branch was about twelve feet from the ground. There was no way that I could try climb it from the ground, but a large branch was just a few feet outside of our second-floor window. If only.

Finally it was time to move into our brand new home. So off we went in our 1938 gray Ford, heading north, to Dallas or Oak Cliff or whatever. I mean it was Texas, how much better can it be? Reality struck on the way there and it started to rain--hard. While that isn't a very big deal these days, the Ford had a four-foot square of rubber on the roof. It leaked when it rained. Everyone else complained, but since I was only four, I was fascinated by the steam coming off the muffler and tailpipe, below the rotted-out floorboard below.

My Dad had worked for Santa Fe Trailways Bus Lines in Kansas and transfered to Dallas to work for Continental Trailways. He had been careful to buy a house two doors down from Lavelle Williams, who also worked for Continental Trailways. When we drove up to the brand-new, 1,012-square-foot, three-bedroom, one-bath home, I was amazed. There were just five of us. For me, at four years old, we were living the large life. There were kids up and down the block that were the same age as me. I had Texan friends as last.

Things changed in 1949. The fear that I spoke of that was gripping Dallas, was of polio. At the time knowledge of the disease was limited, even so far as what caused it. As a child I wasn't really concerned, but I do remember the fear all of the adults expressed. I contracted polio in September. Mom and Dad drove me to Parkland Hospital on the evening of September 5, 1949; it was Labor Day and two days before my fifth birthday.

The waiting room at Parkland (which was across from present-day Scottish Rite Children's Hospital on Oak Lawn in Dallas) was about 10 by 40 feet and lined with chairs along all of the walls. I remember the smell of alcohol and the sight of blood on white shirts. There was moaning and cries for help. I could see the fear in my mother's eyes as she held me like an infant and rocked me back forth in her arms and told me that everything would be okay. I have always felt that my Mom and Dad were the courageous ones throughout the whole process. That process would end up lasting over a year.

I had both kinds of polio, bulbar and spinal. It should have affected my arms, legs, spinal column, brain, and lungs. At first it did, all at once. My temperature was 108 degrees for the better part of a week. When I stopped breathing, I was put in an iron lung, as they were called at the time. A cylinder pressed down on my diaphragm, allowing me to exhale, and released, allowing me to inhale. I was in the iron lung for several months. During that time, I was given the "Sister Kinney" treatment. This treatment consisted of brown towels soaked in boiling water that had some sort of liniment in it. I mention the liniment because of the smell. If you ever smelled it, you would never forget.

The boiling hot towels were placed on the polio-affected areas, which in my case was all over my body. I cannot explain how excruciating the pain was when the towels were applied or how much I complained or the terrified tears in my Mom's eyes when they were applied. I know it hurt her more than it did me. The process finally came to an end. I could breathe on my own. I could move my arms. I could even walk with the assistance of leg braces and crutches. I was very, very lucky.

Time passed and I threw away the braces and the crutches. The only muscles that completely atrophied were the quadriceps muscles in both legs. If I locked my knees when I walked, you could hardly tell there was anything wrong with me. My friends knew, but I tried to hide my challenges from the new people in my life when I started to school.

Polio is the gift that keeps on giving, but that is a story that will have to wait until the next time we get together.

Terry McIntire
DeSoto, Texas
Published: November 14, 2005