The first hospital, in which I resided, was Boston Children's Hospital. When they did all they could to correct my crippled condition, I was moved to Wellsley for further medical care while waiting for space at Peabody Home for Crippled Children. This place was considered to be a hospital for innovative, long-term surgeries.

New England

Peabody Home For Crippled Children

Here is where I lived for too many years..... Most of us stayed here from six to twelve years and most of us left walking. We didn't walk perfectly but at least we were upright!

Peabody Home was an orthopedic hospital for children who had tuberculosis of the bones, infantile paralysis, severe accidents and birth defects. After my release from the hospital, I met a lady who lived for a few months in the same rooming house as I. She also had been at Peabody for several years when she was a child. She had broken her back when she fell off a swing. She asked me if I had ever seen the picture at Peabody of President Roosevelt. All I remembered was that I once saw a picture of FDR but did not know where or when nor why it was significant. It showed him sitting in a wheel chair. I learned that FDR kept his crippleness as hidden as possible from the public. There were (and are) many who believed that having a crippled body also meant having a crippled mind and therefore would not vote for FDR to be President of the United States. This lady told me that FDR hoped that those at Peabody Home who saw him with his braces and wheelchair would realize that being crippled was no excuse to give up.

History states that Franklin D. Roosevelt, himself, "refused to accept that he was permanently paralyzed." (Wikipedia)

As is written in an article: ( In 1894, Mrs. Harriet M. Peabody, said to be a woman of modest means, became interested in a child whose feet had been badly frozen. Unable to find a suitable home for him, 'she began to interest her friends in her plan for founding a home where destitute cripple children not only could be well cared for, but where they could be educated and taught to become self-respecting, economically independent men and women; and to this end she set about raising money.' "

The first Peabody Home was opened in 1895 in Weston, MA but, became overcrowded.  In 1900 a larger facility in Hyde Park, MA was established which also eventually could not accomodate the number of patients so in 1922 the hospital in the picture above (Newton Centre, MA) became opened.

       Susan Abele

A brochure about the Peabody Home for Crippled Children was located in Nova Scotia.  The purpose of this hospital was described as:

These crippled children below, from a past era, also appeared in the brochure about Peabody Home.  Funds were asked to be sent to one of the supporters (Mrs. Kellogg) of this hospital:


  In 2005, The Newton History Museum had an exhibition in regard to this hospital. It was organized by Susan Abele. Little did she know, at the time, what an impact it would have on some of the ex-patients.

I learned about this exhibition in 2008 and called the museum. For years I would search the internet for "Peabody Home for Crippled Children" but always met with unsuccess until 2008. For some this might seem stupid but it is so important to know one's roots. My life, that once was, had become found and at last I no longer had to feel so isolated with my hospital experiences. I was put in touch with another ex-patient who was there at the same time I was. I learned about the old men and women and their reactions to the Peabody Home exhibition. Many of these ex-patients were seen standing in the middle of the room, while looking at the displays. Tears of memories fell from their eyes.

(As you read how I remembered my experiences at Peabody Home for Crippled Children, please keep in mind that these are memories of a little child and how this hospital was seen though her eyes.).

Although we were all in the same hospital, our experiences were different and we were grouped accordingly. Some of us had clothes; others of us had nothing to wear but a "tee binder". Some of us had toys; others of us had nothing with which to play. Some of us had visitors that came that one Sunday a month; others of us had no one to come and visit. Some of us got to go to school in the lower level of the hospital or had a teacher come to their beds; others of us never saw a teacher. In my "grouped accordingly" area, we kids, due to our body casts, were always flat on our backs and could only move our arms and heads. (My body cast came up as far as the middle of my chest, all the way down to both of my feet with only my toes showing. A bar was inserted into the cast to keep my legs apart.) Our limited movement left our worlds basically limited to what was above our heads. We could not hold crayons or books etc. We probably would have dropped them on our heads or poked an eye out!! I could look side to side but the metal railings on my hospital bed hindered my field of vision.

The expectation of a teacher educating us was unrealistic. She would have to go to each bed and say, "This is the color red", as she held the color above each of our heads. The teachers at Peabody only had so much time in a day. I think that is why, for this group of patients, a yarn ball was hung on the head railings of each of our beds. We could throw the ball up in the air and catch it. In my mind, I always referred to this lady as "the yarn ball lady". I think she might have actually been a teacher because after I was moved, I would see this lady standing at a bookshelf while shuffling papers.

There were other differences as to our hospital experiences. Some of us were physically punished; others were not. Some were "happy" here but I only heard one ex-patient say that. Some were so sad here that one ex-patient was in the process of writing a book comparing Peabody Home to a concentration camp. He died before he finished his book. Some children were abandoned at Peabody; others knew what it meant to have a family.

As I said at the beginning of the above paragraph, "....we were grouped accordingly". No child in my immediate surrounding got to wear clothes or play with toys, or had visitors, etc. We were basically isolated from others at the far end of the porch which often seemed somewhat dark to me. The wall at the front of my bed was glass panes but also there were deep green shades which I guess had been used for the air raids during WW2. Behind my bed was a hallway which had glass panes built on the top of the partition. All day long I would see the tops of people walking up and down this hall.

What was assumed was going to be a happy story, because of all the stored photos of smiling crippled children, turned into a sad story when it was determined that the smiles did not reflect every crippled child's reality at Peabody Home. The exhibition went on much longer than scheduled. In fact, although the exhibition closed, in an odd way, it is still going on because because some other ex-patients have called the museum seeking their lives that once were. The last ex-patient, that I am aware about, called there in March, 2010.

Despite all the tears I shed at Peabody and the constant state of fear I was in, I will always be thankful for the surgeries that I received as a child.  I CAN WALK (even if it is often with pain). For most the act of walking is so natural that it is accomplished without thought or effort. For others, the act of walking is a long agonizing journey....My understanding is that the purpose of Peabody Home was to get each child to walk as well as possible and this required experimental surgeries. Several orthopedic surgeons have told me that back in my day, the standard procedure for my birth defect, outside of Peabody Home, was to fuse the bones. I would have then worn braces and used crutches or I would have been confined to a wheel chair for life. I was blessed to have been destitute and lived in Boston, MA. What a scary thought to think, "What if I had lived outside of New England?" "What if I had come from a wealthy family?"

As I said before: "Although we were all in the same hospital, our experiences were different." This was especially true in regard to enforcing the rules and the punishments received as a result.

One of the rules stressed for the children, was:


I was brought into this hospital when I was a baby and I was told, by those who knew me at the time, that I was immediately strapped to a board similar to the one below.


As the brochure said, "Hundreds of visitors from this country and abroad come here to study the methods..."  Many of the visitors who walked through our area often had tears in their eyes and looked at us with sadness.  Why could they cry and we were not allowed to do such?  Maybe that is why another rule (of which there were many) was told to us:


We had lots of visitors that looked at us, especially those whom I learned about as an adult, that were referred to as: "The Blue Bloods of Boston".  When I was an adult I learned how generous they were in their donations to keep the hospital open and they had a special "tea room" on the grounds which collected funds.  I wonder what these two visitors were thinking when looking in at all of the crippled children. It sort of breaks my heart seeing them standing there because they did not really understand "our world".



The strangest visitors of all, to me, were the women in long black gowns who seemed to glide rather than walk. Another rule I was told by the nurses was, "Whenever anyone asks 'What religion are you?' answer with":
These women dressed in black visited frequently and repeatedly asked me that question.  When I answered, they walked away with their eyes averted and glided along, as various things swayed from their waists, to another hospital bed.  If that girl answered, "I am a Catholic", they would talk to her and then she was given a pretty picture. I wished I had also been given one of those pictures. I later learned that these pictures were "holy cards".  I didn't know what the word "religion" meant. I did not know who God was nor who Jesus was. For sure I didn't know who "Holy Mary Mother of God" was.   The girls on each side of me got one of these pictures. From what I could see, these pictures were pretty. The girl in the bed on my right side had no arms so she couldn't hold her picture. The ladies in black taped it to one of the railings above her head.

When I was some where in my 5th year on earth, my bed was moved to the outer edge of my "grouped accordingly" area. It was here that I got to see more activities and people actually talked to me. My bed was in front of the hallway opening and there were older kids in the next area to my right. I couldn't always see them because there was some sort of barrier between them and us. Some of these girls would look over at me as they were coming and going and they would talk to me even when we could not see each other. These older girls taught me about life!! I was no longer invisible! Where my bed was before being moved, none of the kids near me talked. We basically just lay there in our own worlds. New things began to come into my life when I was somewhere in my 5th year but.... the bad things still remained.

It was at Christmas time that we had the most visitors walk through our area.  Presents would be put on our beds but, we had no idea what we were suppose to do with these colorful packages. I'm afraid we just wore blank looks and I'm sure the visitors were disappointed because they expected us to be excited. I didn't know what Christmas was so it had no meaning to me.  There were no "visions of sugar plums dancing in my head".  I didn't know who Santa Claus was. I don't remember seeing anyone dressed in a red coat. The older girls to my right tried to explain Santa to me and back then, I never understood their explanations.  I was told that Santa is really your father.  I can still hear myself saying, when I was somewhere in my 5th year, "OH, does that mean I have two fathers?"  I had just learned from one of these older girls that each child at Peabody had a mother and a father but, I didn't know what that really meant. I had absolutely no concept of family.  Maybe, it was for the best that the Protestant clergy didn't get involved with me because some minister would have told me about "God being my Father in heaven...."  Then I would have had three fathers! (An unknown man, Santa and God.)   If I had heard all the Catholic kids refer to a priest as "Father", I would have gone over the edge!  It was a struggle making sense of this world I was in.

 I know I would have remembered if someone who looked like this had stood beside my bed!  I do remember waking up and finding a little red stocking tied to one of the bars of my bed.  It was filled with candy.  That must have been Christmas Day.
 As soon as the Christmas visitors left, then the nurses took away the packages and toys that had been put on our beds.  In my area of this hospital, there was a special rule which was:



(I once asked my mother why some of the kids, such as myself, at Peabody were not allowed to have any toys. She told me that she once tried to bring me a toy and she was not allowed. She told me that the reason given by one of the nurses was because the children in certain groups would become too emotionally attached to their toys and that would not be good for their recovery.)


Maybe that is why I don't remember Santa coming to visit me. If I remembered the ladies dressed in black, I certainly would have remembered someone as funny looking as Santa.

Whoever heard of a Santa Claus who didn't bring toys?  

Maybe the nurses told Santa that the children in my area were not allowed to see him!!

  Since I came into the hospital as a baby, I had not been toilet trained yet.  The methods used by the nurses could be considered to be especially harsh.  Whenever I woke up in the middle of the night and realized that I had wet the bed, terror overcame me.  As punishment, my bed would some times be wheeled into a small, dark room and the nurse would put her face in mine and say, "The boogie man is going to get you". "You are a very bad girl". Then she would leave me in the dark and I was fearful while waiting for "the boogie man".  I would whisper out in the dark and my own voice would scare me because it sounded so hollow in this room.  Every now and then, I would be put in the toddler area as punishment and I knew the nurse expected me to be fearful or ashamed but I wasn't. I did, however, pull my sheet over my head so the smaller kids wouldn't look at me. It was here that there was a nice nurse who would pull the sheet away from my face and ask did I want some crackers with butter.  I eagerly ate these crackers because I was always hungry.   After I was done eating, I would pull the sheet back over my face. Being sent to the toddler area was not a punishment for me because I got a snack there!

Most of the time I was very hungry and I would tear the threads off my "tee binder" and chewed the threads as though I was eating real food. Every morning, a nurse would appear at the doorway of my area in the hospital. She would ask, "Who didn't do 'toilet paper' yesterday?" Every morning I raised my hand because I had figured out that if you did raise your hand then you would get a glass of prune juice and that meant having a little more food!! You would have thought that raising my hand every morning would cause the nurse to think, "There must be something wrong with that girl". Once again I had the good fortune to be treated kindly.

Being toilet trained was traumatic. It isn't as though any of us children, who had always been non-ambulatory, could get out of bed and go the bathroom.  I didn't even know what a bathroom looked like.  It isn't as though we could call out for a bed pan any time we wanted.  We were suppose to adhere to a schedule and we were never allowed to call for a bed pan during "rest time".  That was one of the times when the rule of


was in effect. I violated that rule when I once asked for a bed pan during "rest time".  The nurse ignored me and I couldn't hold it in.  I don't think the nurse knew that "the yarn ball lady" was nearby because this nurse started yelling and threatening me with punishment and I cried from fear.  It was then that "the yarn ball lady" confronted the nurse for yelling at me and said to her that I had asked for a bed pan.  This time I wasn't punished.  My sheets were changed and my tee binder was changed and all was well with the world.

The worst memory I have in regard to toilet training was when a girl, who was three beds away from me, had soiled herself and as punishment, defecation was put on her face.  She wasn't allowed to hide her face and was violently crying.  Seeing this caused something inside of me to hurt and I had to look away. 

Every now and then a doll was put on all our beds.  That must have meant that some very special visitors were coming to visit.


  Another rule was:


(An article in the Boston Globe on 04/28/2005 reported that the reason for this rule was "because doctors thought more visits would make the children upset and would take longer for them to heal".)

If you are only allowed to see parents twelve days a year, how much nuturing can there possibly be? A year in a child's life is the same as "forever".   I had entered at such a young age that I had no memories of my mother.  I didn't know I belonged to a family. Although I learned what parents were from an older girl, I didn't know if I had any.  This one day a month was considered to be "Visiting Day" for those who knew they had  parents. For me, "Visiting Day", was "Chicken, Peas and Mashed Potatos Day".  It was the one day a month I got to eat something that I really liked.  After I learned about parents then "Visiting Day" also meant that maybe some one might come and "visit" me too.  

Lo and behold this happened during my fifth year. One "Visiting Day", a blonde haired lady stood by my bed and said, "I am your mother".  Then I knew I had one.  When my mother did visit, she always brought ice cream and some balloons. I asked this blonde haired lady to tie a balloon on the head railing of the girl with no arms. No one in my specified area ever had a parent visit. I also always had to have my ice cream stirred until it was soupy.   What my mother didn't know is everything I had been given to eat at the hospital was basically "mushy" and that was the only kind of food I knew how to hold on a spoon.  There was no way I could hold that one big lump of ice cream on a spoon! When I ate I had always had a wooden tray with legs which was put right under my chin so I could scoop the food into my mouth.  I must have previously been considered to be "abandoned" at this hospital because I learned later in life that when I was put in the hospital, my mother had moved to Norfolk, VA for several years. On another "Visiting Day" another lady came to my bed and said, "I am your grandmother".  I noticed that her head was "different".  Later I would find out why. I really had no understanding as to what was the significance of having a mother and a grandmother. They were not in my world where I was growing up.

When it was cold then hospital gowns were put on us and heavy socks were placed on the feet of our body casts.  Also during the cold weather a wooden board would be put under each of our chins.  On the board there was a tin cup with lukewarm cocoa.  It took awhile to get to the cocoa because a thick skin had formed on top of it. You had to be careful getting through the skin of the cocoa because if you spilled it, you did not get another cup.

Most of the time we just wore what were called, "tee binders" (as seen on the girl below).


At Peaboody there was the rule of:



I grew up on "institutional food" and was often hungry so this rule didn't bother me.  Those who had lived at home for several years, before entering Peabody, had learned to make independent choices.  As with most normal kids, they had learned that the foods they especially disliked somehow were pushed to the edge of their plates. 

One of these girls, who had come into Peabody as a youngster, assumed that she would be allowed to have some independence as to what she chose to eat.  Before being admitted, she had been a happy, spirited person living a normal life with her family.  (I think for these kids adjusting to Peabody was more difficult because they knew there was a better world somewhere else.)  One day this independent youngster  refused to eat one of the foods that she didn't like.  That night she was physically beaten by a particular nurse who scoffed at the girl and said, "So you think you don't have to eat everything you are served."  This girl was in a body cast and still that nurse, whom we all knew as being especially mean, physically beat her.  Not too long ago, I talked with this ex-patient from Peabody and she shared that ever since that beating she lost confidence in herself and to this day recognizes that that "spirit" she once had never returned.  (Fear is a destructive force especially when it remains hidden inside.)

Several times we each had been told another rule which was to:


anyone about our experiences at the hospital and we never did. Being hospitalized for six to twelve years was the norm. When we were released, we each went our separate ways and no one asked, "What was life like at Peabody Home?" It was odd to learn that we each had kept that world separated within. When the exhibition was held in 2005, those who attended, who were once patients, began talking with each other about their experiences.

Maybe we were told to "never tell" because some of the punishments were unthinkable. One of the girls was put in the same totally dark closet where I was sometimes put. This girl, being totally petrified, was put on a shelf in this closet and then the light was shut off. Much later a nurse came in and flicked on the light, cockroaches were then seen scattering on the walls, the ceiling and on the girl herself.

I learned that some of the ambulatory kids caught cockroaches for pets. Others rendered the cockroaches unconscious with nail polish and then pulled off their legs. This was considered to be a FUN activity!!!!

As punishment, some of the boys were dressed as girls and moved to the girl's area. For some of the boys, this had no consequence. For other boys this was traumatic. One of the ex-patients remembered that he was put in a straight jacket when he would not be quiet during "rest time".

An older girl was wheeled through the boy's area wearing nothing but a "tee-binder". She was horrified, mortified, embarrassed that this was done to her. She was in traction and was scheduled to see a doctor. This girl never overcame that incident because she was at that fragile, modest age when this happened to her. The surgeons were on the other side of the boy's area. The nurse PURPOSELY did NOT put a sheet over her when wheeling her bed through the boy's side. There was no need for that nurse to even use the boy's area as an access way to the surgeon's office because there was a hallway that could be used directly from the girl's side to the medical side.


In my "grouped accordingly" area we ate from metal bowls and cups.  (I once saw a movie about men in prison who were clanging their metal cups against the metal bars and I immediately thought of Peabody Home because we had metal cups and stayed for years in beds with metal bars on all four sides.)

I hated it whenever my body cast was going to be cut off because that meant that there would be another surgery or some other kind of pain inflicted.  Some man with big metal clippers would start cutting and I would start crying. The nurses would hold me down and their faces were filled with anger. The sound of the cast cracking and breaking into pieces and the metal clippers touching my skin was just too painful for me. I did notice that the part of me that had been in the body cast was discolored with big, shiney, brown scales. When my skin went back to normal, another surgery would be done. It was the sickening smell of ether that caused me to fight, scream, and squirm the most. The nurses did their best to control me and of course they won! When I healed, my stitches would me taken out. I had been sewn with heavy black cord and when the doctor removed the stitches, some blood would come out with each pull. Once again, I had to be restrained by the nurses. Eventually, another body cast would be put on me. I could handle that because there was no pain getting plastered!!

I received a letter from another ex-patient, who stayed a Peabody Home for twelve years. He wrote as to how much he related to my cast cutting experiences and "that he could remember his own as clearly as if it was yesterday".

"Hi Janice: Your cast cutting experience was similar to mine. My cast covered the entire left leg and was to be removed after an operation which had been done a year earlier. I was eleven years old at the time of the surgery on my knee. I recall the maintenance man approching my bed with these huge chromed cutters. One nurse came to my bedside to observe the cast cutting procedure. The cutting went OK on the outside part of the leg, however, the inside part close to the knee was something else. As the clippers approached closer to the protruding knee, the pain was unbearable. That's when another nurse came over to hold me down while I was screaming, yet the maintenance man kept pushing the clippers over the knee. I have NEVER experienced so much pain. When the cast was finally cut off, all the skin on that side of the knee was torn off making it a bloody sight. I still have the scars.... To this day, I can not understand how any hospital would allow such a painful procedure on the kids."

It was on my 6th birthday that I had the longest, saddest, most heart-breaking day.  The morning nurse told me it was my birthday. Somehow, on this day, I thought I was told that I would be visited.  Maybe my mother told me she would come and see me on my 6th birthday and maybe since it was not "Visiting Day", she was not allowed to see me.  I don't know what went wrong.  From my bed, I could see the tops of cars on the road below the hill.  All day long I looked at each car and thought, "Maybe this will be my mother".  When I heard any noise behind me, I would look to see if my mother was in the hallway.  I did this all day until it got dark and I could no longer see the tops of cars.  A day in a child's life is very long especially, when waiting for something good to happen.    I was so sad when this day was over because I knew there was no hope for anyone coming to visit me on my 6th birthday....
  (To tell you the truth, I don't even think I understood what a birthday was. I did somehow pick up that birthdays were important.)

My 6th year on earth also included dramatic changes. I was put in braces which kept my legs apart and I was strapped down on my bed to prevent me from moving any part of my body below my waist.


Very few people remember when they took their first steps.  I remember that day vividly.  I was carried into one of the bigger girl's area because there was some space there for those who were learning to walk.  I was placed inside a metal square with wheels and rails on the bottom and rails for my hands to grab on the top.  The nurse pulled me and I learned that my feet had to move in order to keep up otherwise, I'd be flat down on the floor. When I caught on as to what was expected, soon I was off and running inside the metal square.  Twice a day, I was able to walk in my metal contraption  but was still considered to be non-ambulatory. 

One day when I was "walking", the nurse left my side. I asked some of the older girls to put me in the laundry container and give me a ride.  The container was big and on wheels.  From my area I used to see them give each other rides until a nurse yelled at them. When the nurse was gone, they began the rides again until the container was taken away by the laundry lady.  At last I got a ride when several of the older girls lifted me up and put me in the container.  They put laundry on top of me to keep me hidden.  It was fantastic being given a ride!   Suddenly I heard, "Where's Janice?"  All that was left was the "metal square" where I once had been. That was the end of that fun!!

In my 6th year, I was given an eye test as were all the other girls in my area. Our beds were wheeled into a big room. The railing on my bed was put down so I could see the big board up front. I was told to "point my three fingers" in the direction of the letter "m". A person with a long wooden pointer would point to these "m's". I was told to use my three fingers to show the direction of this letter "m". I had not learned the alphabet yet so I had no idea what an "m" was. I just pointed my three fingers in any direction.

Maybe it really was for the best that we, "basically abandoned children", be separated in our own area.  It would have been too cruel to be within an area where there were kids with toys, clothes, books, crayons, radios, and capable of leaving their hospital beds. My daily life was spent looking out the window to see if there were any blimps in the sky.  Someone had to protect our country from the falling bombs and that was my job!  All I knew was that there had been a war (WW II) and bombs were dropped from blimps. When the bombs landed they hurt you. So we children in the hospital were ever vigelent to look for blimps in the sky. The older kids remembered blackouts, and being doubled-up in beds while being wheeled to the inner parts of the hospital. One of my biggest accomplishments, as I lay in my bed, was I learned to whistle which took me a very long time to learn. Another part of my daily routine was to throw my yarn ball up in the air and catch it.  Some times my bed was wheeled outside to get some sun on me. 

The ambulatory patients were allowed outside in the sun to play.

In the game of Baseball at Peabody Home, you were considered to be "SAFE" as long as your crutch touched the base.


I learned as an adult that Boston Bruins players and Red Sox players (such as Ted Williams, Bobby Doerr and Johnny Pesky) came to visit many of the children at Peabody Home.  (Just as with Santa, they did not visit the "grouped accordingly" area. Once or twice a year, the ambulatory children were brought to Fenway Park and sat in the box seats to see a game.  This girl below actually wrote to Johnny Pesky and even received a reply.

  This girl and I became friends after the, "We Lived at Peabody Home for Crippled Children" exhibition. She had bone tuberculosis in her right foot which required her to be hospitalized for seven years.


In reality, for most of us, it didn't matter if we were ambulatory or non-ambulatory because we all felt the same lonliness of being separated from what we knew or didn't know.   

I was about one month past my 6th birthday and this was the first day I had been taken out into the world. I was still non-ambulatory but was temporarily out of a body cast so I could be transported.  A benefit concert, at the Totem Pole in Normbega Park, was being done for the hospital where I lived. Even when brought out into the public, those of us who were "destitute" were not fully clothed.  At least they found shorts for us and shoes for me.  The other two girls in this newspaper photo had their own specialized shoes which allowed them to walk with crutches. They were not in my ward because they were not confined to staying in a hospital bed.

(Boston Daily Record)


Since I still could not walk independently, I had to be carried from place to place.  We "crippled children" were brought to the front row for all to see.  We were suppose to sit on "camper stools" but I didn't know how to sit.  The nurse put me on the stool and I immediately went backwards onto the floor. Then they tried to hold me up until I understood what was expected of me. As soon as they let go, down on the floor I went again! Then someone stood behind me to try to teach me how to keep my balance but I kept on falling backwards. It had to have been a funny sight!  I was no better than a "rag doll".  Finally someone realized I had never sat before so I was put in a folding chair with a back to it. Now I could sit because I could lean back. After all my falling, however, I held on to the seat.

Then a clown and a puppet sat next to me and I didn't know who they were and didn't know why they were talking to me. I realize that at the time, I thought the puppet was just another person. I think they were trying to get me to smile but I didn't know how to smile just as I didn't know how to sit. All I could do was look back at them because I had nothing to say and I was scared of all the "new" things coming into my life on this day. I had never seen so many people walking and this scared me. Even the dog walking on its front paws scared me. (In another Boston newspaper a picture of we three girls was taken of us watching this dog. The caption read something like: " 'Chuckles' Causes Crippled Kiddies to Laugh". The news reporter covering the same Totem Pole event was not very astute because when you look at the picture, all three of us were pulling away and we were not smiling.) I did not know I was looking at a dog. I figured it out later in life that that is what I saw!

After the show, I was carried to one of the picnic tables and I was secured so I wouldn't fall off the bench. The other kids from Peabody were playing and I was sitting alone watching all the activity around me. Suddenly a woman sat beside me and put her arm around me. She asked, "Do you miss being home?" and "Do you miss your mother?" At the time, I didn't know what a home was and I didn't know what a mother really was. This woman was a gentle, kind person and I began sobbing. This woman tried so hard to console me and she had such a confused expression on her face at my reaction to her questions. I could not be consoled and the tears would not stop. Several people tried to get me to stop crying but I couldn't stop. Once these tears started there was no way of putting them back inside of me. Eventually a nurse came and got me and carried me to one of the cars going back to Peabody Home. I stayed inside the car crying until it was time to go back to Peabody. I don't remember when I stopped crying on this day because when I was put in my bed, I was still crying. On some level, I must have known something is terribly wrong but I had no idea what.

Whenever I thought back on that day I felt so sorry for that woman who tried to console me because she had no idea why I sobbed. Here she was trying to be nice to "the cute little cripple girl" and I burst out in tears and there was no way to comfort me.


There came a day when I was discharged which was two months shy of my seventh birthday but I had no idea what was happening to me. I was put in a room by myself, away from everyone else. A nurse bathed me and then I was put in my very first dress.  It was light blue with pink flowers and socks to match.  (I do not know why I remember the color of things at the hospital because I had yet to be taught the names of these colors at the time.)

I was told that I would be leaving the hospital. I didn't know what that meant but the last time I had left the hospital was to go to Normbega Park where Gene Krupa had done a benefit concert for the crippled children at Peabody Home. I was traumatized by that experience so I asked the nurse, "Could I have my yarn ball?" I learned, at a much later time, that none of the children who left the hospital were allowed to take any of their own possessions with them. My mother came into the room and we went out to a waiting car and we were driven to 263 Newbury. After I left here, I would experience many more "firsts" which others learned at a much younger age. 

I had spent many summers and winters here and now it was time to leave.  I would still have to wear  "cripple shoes" and walking braces and use crutches for another year and a half.  At night I was still made immobile with special braces that could only be worn when lying down and which kept my legs apart.

I wonder if I will ever learn to smile?

To erase my sadness would mean to erase this child that lives within.

Now I was entering a NEW WORLD....