How Did He Survive? -a Story

The First Congregational Church in Moline, Illinois, has a large capacity but on a special day decades ago only standing room remained as the crowd waited for an extraordinary event.

It was a wedding involving a couple in their 50s; not an exceptional event, except that the groom, who waited quietly in his wheelchair at the altar, was not supposed to be there.

Tom Rogers, the groom, had been stricken with polio as a teenager, turning him into a quadriplegic, paralyzed from the neck down. Few expected him to survive more than a brief period after the attack, much less ever get married.

The real story is not about his remarkable survival, but in the way he conducted his life.

He was a normal 17-year-old, enjoying a Michigan summer in Ludington, on the state’s west coast. A cottage on the resort was for sale, and he poured over its rooms, even the attic. He didn’t know that the inhabitants had come down with mononucleosis, which affects the body’s immune system.

He was in that weakened state when the polio hit. It devastated him. They rushed him to a hospital in Grand Rapids, placing him in an iron lung, with only his head emerging from the gruesome device. The doctors gave him only a short period to live.

He had other ideas. He told me years later he set a secret goal to make it to age 30.

He also said because of his “peculiar condition,” he had to have special social skills.

And so he did. He eliminated all traces of self-pity, root and branch. In years of friendship, I never noticed the slightest deviation from this path. It could not have been a façade.

What he did do was focus all his attention to the person he was engaging. He could re-engage with someone after a six-month break and pick up the conversation as if had happened the previous day. He never forgot personal details about their life and interests. It was a powerful tool, and put others at ease in an awkward setting. Many people avoid others in such a state, not wanting to struggle to try to make small talk.

He became a great host, featuring parties with mock murders and handwriting experts. He was competitive and also loved challenging party games.

Not satisfied, he became economically self-sufficient as a stockbroker for a Chicago firm. He was bored with safe bets, like bonds, and delighted in bleeding edge instruments like butterfly straddles and car dealer partnerships in Florida.

He pitched me once about importing a fish from Brazil that tasted like chicken, opening up a new market for those who didn’t like the taste of fish but wanted the healthy benefits. That was too much for me, and I declined. Later, fate took me on a business trip to Sao Paulo, and a dinner at a leading restaurant which featured that fish. It did taste like chicken, and I kicked myself for doubting Tom.

He was curious about the world but could only travel short distances in his van because it could not contain the oxygen and other items only available at his home, making overnight trips impossible.

Finally, he saved up enough to buy and outfit a full-sized bus, which permitted extended travel.

He took off like a rocket, exploring the US from coast to coast. He even ventured down San Francisco’s famous Lombard corkscrew street, getting his bus stuck at the top and asking for help. That was a metaphor for his life, pushing himself to the limit, avoiding safe boring choices.

One of his passengers on his travel was a widow from the neighborhood, who fell in love with him, but needed a friend to wake him up to the opportunity he was facing. He responded with all his heart and wrote a letter to her children asking their blessing that was a masterpiece.

His wedding was unforgettable. The wedding ring was placed on the bride’s finger by the minister, in a moment that stayed with his friends and admirers for the rest of their lives.

He had a number of happy years after that, finally succumbing to the disease in a final losing battle.

I am grateful for his memory and for the example he set.