Why I love biographical dictionaries (#3)

For earlier installments in the series, see #1 and #2.

Again, the Australian Dictionary of Biography comes through with a winning disability-related snippet:

Although she dressed 'carelessly in skirts and sweaters', Dreyer had 'a passion for ornate drop earrings and exotic perfumes'. Humorous and warm hearted, she gave an annual party for 'Annabella', her wooden leg.

That would be from the entry on writer and journalist Marien Oulton Dreyer (1911-1980), who used a prosthetic leg from her childhood. She wrote a script for the Australian Broadcasting Commission in 1951 called "Story of a Lame Duck" which was "largely autobiographical," and another script in 1953 about tuberculosis recovery from the patient's perspective.

Website: Hidden Lives of the Waifs and Strays

[Image description: a black-and-white photograph of ten smiling English girls in 1915, at least three of them (in front) seated in wheelchairs.]

A remarkable website has come to my attention (hat-tip to Jennifer Bazar). Hidden Lives Revealed is a "virtual archive" preserving the photographs, publications, stories, and sometimes extensive case files of British children in care, 1881-1918. The personal names of the subjects have been removed, but you can access transcripts of correspondence as well as facsimile images. And, because "disability" is one of the keywords in the index, you can find the stories (and there are many such) in which a child's or a parent's disability is a factor in their care arrangement.

Take, for example, J., whose file runs over fifty items. J was born in 1870, and the very first boy in the Society's care. A childhood fall and an accidental burn resulted in physical "deformities." The boy was working as a streetsweeper at age 10; a health inspector removed him from his "wretched and degraded" family and placed him in care. At age 12,

He is now able to run about but a year ago he was compelled to lie on his back & was considered by several doctors in a very precarious condition he is naturally a very good, quiet, little boy & where-ever he has been he was evidently a great favourite. He is decidedly ignorant & can read & write very little.

J. was featured in a Society publication in 1901, as a success story. At the time, the thirty-year-old was working at a printing firm, married, the father of a little girl. But the case file continues for years past this happy ending: there are letters from J himself, and poems he wrote for Society publications. There's a photograph of him c.1923, in a suit and mustache. In 1930, he writes to tell his contacts at the Society that his health has worsened (tuberculosis) and he can no longer do physical labor. There's a flurry of letters as the Society tries to find provisions for this "first boy," but J. died in February 1930.

A. was born in 1892, and orphaned before she was 10. She lived with an older sister who wasn't well-equipped to care for another child; and A. contracted tuberculosis that required a right leg amputation. She was admitted to the Lockett Home for Crippled Children, Southport, in the winter of 1901, in good health. Five years later, a report explains that she's using crutches, healthy and strong, but "her intellect is not very bright." The report concludes that she could earn a living doing ironing if she had a "false leg." "She might also do stocking knitting," opined the writer. Unlike J., we don't know the rest of A.'s story--we don't even know if she got that leg.

Students might quickly take from these case files that work and vocational training are a major concern of the Society--much of the paperwork involves finding placements for teenagers who will soon leave care and need to support themselves. Another issue is morality--standard forms will ask such questions as "Are you aware of her being addicted to any unchaste practice?" The legitimacy and baptismal status of a child is frequently recorded, and the alcoholism and sexual behavior of parents is also a constant theme. Tuberculosis and untreated infections and injuries may strike some students as remarkable common in these materials--an opening to discuss the ways medical care changed in the twentieth century, and how medical history intersects with disability history.

September 6: Jane Addams (1860-1935)

[Image description: Sepia portrait of an unsmiling Jane Addams, younger, seated, facing camera with her elbow on a table and an open book nearby]

I do not believe that women are better than men. We have not wrecked railroads, nor corrupted legislatures, nor done many unholy things that men have done; but then we must remember that we have not had the chance.

--Jane Addams, in a speech to the Chicago Political Equality League in 1897

Settlement movement leader, feminist, and Nobel laureate (Peace, 1931), Jane Addams was born on this date in 1860, in Cedarville IL. She was a major figure in the international women's suffrage and peace movements, and among the founders of the ACLU and the NAACP.

Addams had spinal curvature and other permanent effects of tuberculosis in childhood, effects which were treated with experimental surgery and injections in her twenties, and a back brace made of steel, whalebone, and leather. She experienced chronic back pain for much of her life, both from the disease and from the treatments available. She mentions her own disability (and uses that word) in her classic memoir Twenty Years at Hull House; she also writes about the "crippled children" she sometimes encountered in her work:

The first three crippled children we encountered in the neighborhood had all been injured while their mothers were at work: one had fallen out of a third-story window, another had been burned, and the third had a curved spine due to the fact that for three years he had been tied all day long to the leg of the kitchen table, only released at noon by his older brother who hastily ran in from a neighboring factory to share his lunch with him....Hull-House was thus committed to a day nursery which we sustained for sixteen years.... (88)

February 26: Lesya Ukrainka (1871-1913)

[Image description: an oval framed, black-and-white portrait of a young woman in an embroidered blouse and jacket]

Who told you that I'm weak,
That I succumb to fate?
My voice is strong when I speak,
My thoughts and songs vibrate.

Ukrainian poet Lesya Ukrainka was born Larysa Kosach on this date (more or less--depends on which calendar you follow) in 1871. From age 10, she had chronic joint and bone pain caused by tuberculous arthritis. In search of relief, she traveled a lot to warmer places, seaside towns on the Crimea, in Italy, in Egypt, and elsewhere. Her parents taught their children Ukrainian language and culture, when such things were banned in the Russian-run schools. As a result, she took the pen name "Ukrainka" (Ukrainian woman), and published poetry, drama, essays, and literary criticism, all informed by her study of Ukrainian folktales, history, and culture. Her controversial works had to be published in another part of Ukraine, outside Russian jurisdiction. (She also published translations, including a 1902 translation of the Communist Manifesto, which got her arrested.) The ferocity of her cultural nationalism was often contrasted with her physical "frailty," a false contrast that provoked her to write the lines above.

Today, there are monuments to Ukrainka throughout Kiev--and a boulevard named for her. There's also a monument to her at the University of Saskatchewan, and another in downtown Cleveland. Her image has been featured on Ukrainian postage, coins, and banknotes.

Rice Crackers and Sunshine

There was a great opinion piece in Sunday's LA Times. Titled "You know what makes me sick?" by Massachusetts writer Heather Abel, it details the years of misdiagnosis and mistreatment she experienced before getting the right diagnosis for her (celiac disease). She concludes with the bottom line:

I am relieved that treatment for celiac is as low-tech as rice crackers. But I wonder whether, if my disease did have a pharmaceutical remedy, doctors would have diagnosed it earlier. 'Here,' they would have said, 'free samples! Take four.'

Heather Abel's mother, Emily Abel, is credited as contributing to this essay. Emily Abel (a professor at UCLA) has been writing about the history of public and private health issues for years; her Hearts of Wisdom (Harvard UP 2000) is my favorite go-to text on family caregiving in US history, rich in detail and variety. Her latest book, Suffering in the Land of Sunshine (Rutgers UP 2006) is about tuberculosis as a public health issue, a cultural phenomenon, and a personal experience in early 20c. Los Angeles. (Haven't checked it out yet, but it's on my list.)