I began this trilogy on handicapped persons by saying that shortly before Christmas I had encountered within a week three persons who were severely handicapped thru no fault of their own and that they had and were coping remarkably well, astonishingly well. Their stories were so compelling that I felt constrained to write their profiles, not to solicit sympathy for them, because they were not seeking such, but to encourage others in like or similar situations and to communicate their needs to the public at large and to the medical community in particular that they might research techniques and methods that would allow greater service of these individuals to their fellow comrades, a service which they are already performing admirably against staggering odds.

Two of the three agreed to the publication of their stories: John C Campbell Jr. and Jonie Grace Hays and these have appeared in the Rabbi column. The family of the third prefers to remain anonymous and undisclosed and this is surely understandable because the material about which I have written is extremely sensitive and personal. A powerful story, perhaps it can be told publicly some time. Following is another example of a person who has overcome.

I was discussing issues of the handicapped at a New Year’s Eve party with some friends in Wesleyan Village and a friend, Lyle Thompson, related an experience that he had on a golf course near Orlando. A single golfer, he was placed with a threesome that was preparing to tee off. The three men were strangers to Lyle and as each introduced himself, he discovered that one of the men had no legs.

The legless man wore a leather contraption from the waist down to protect his torso and he walked primarily on his hands. His friend placed a stool for the tee off and he flopped himself onto the stool, balanced himself and hit the ball about 150 yards down the fairway. He then played the ball without further buddy assistance into the hole. His only complaint was when he got into a sand trap and got some sand in his leather girdle. And, Lyle said it was not really a complaint, more an expression of annoyance.

Lyle continued, “I learned during this amazing performance that this person was born without legs and currently was a student in a medical university.”

“By the way,” I asked, “What score did he shoot?”

Lyle, who is more than a respectable golfer, lowered his eyes and grinned sheepishly, “He scored better than I.”

And, there are many, many others out there—handicapped persons who are making the best of a bad situation: struggling, achieving, serving, aiding and abetting the cause of humankind. How can we forget Franklin D. Roosevelt? Or Helen Keller? Or the many service persons who are learning to cope with artificial limbs?

But, I am not sure we need to sympathize with handicapped persons, for as I have interviewed and written these profiles, I have concluded that perhaps we should extend sympathy to ourselves for handicapped persons appear to live on a higher plane than those of us who have all of our limbs and reasonably strong bodies. They have an unusual inner strength, forged like steel from the white hot fire of adversity that melts away the impurities that weaken our resolve.

For example, hand-icapped persons have frequently come face to face with death and thru deep inner resources and a Higher Power have prevailed. They make for excellent fox hole buddies for when all the ammunition has been shot, they will not give up, making mudballs and tossing them at the enemy. They have never learned how to spell “Quit,” or “Surrender!”

They have an amazing tolerance for pain and suffering, again developed not deliberately but from and by necessity. And perhaps it is this pain and suffering that purifies their souls and creates a pleasant disposition that is powerfully attractive. Contrast their dispositions with those of us who are able bodied as we complain about the weather and our sinusitis and our government and the stock market and our neighbors and the high cost of gasoline and who did not speak to us on the street.

Finally, my friends of whom I have written show a focus on the here and now. Today, not tomorrow. As the song says, they live one day at a time far more effectively than most of us. They seem to savor each moment, each nuance of each moment, observing and appreciating simple things such as the turning of leaves in the fall or the shape of snow flakes outside the window or the laughter of a baby. Precious things that we are too busy to absorb.

Why? I suspect it is because they feel as though they are living on borrowed time and wish to suck all the meaning they can from the reprieve which they feel has been granted them. Consequently their senses are more acute, and their powers of observation are more completely developed.

We can learn much from our handicapped friends about living effectively!

Smack me if I ever complain again! About anything!

PS: I will not be writing the Rabbi again until April as I am working on another project, and I need the respite to regroup and replenish.