From Fear to Hope

But as my grandmother told me one day, there was something more striking about Dolly than her adorable smile. Under that blue dress, Dolly’s little legs were covered with metal braces. The braces, bound tightly to her legs with leather straps, kept her stable so she could stand. At my grandmother’s wedding, she made her way down the aisle with slow, halting steps, with the help of two wooden crutches.

Dolly’s legs had been damaged by a disease called polio. Until the 1950s, polio was one of the most dreaded diseases in the world. It killed thousands. Many who survived were like Dolly, left with lifelong damage to their limbs.

But my grandmother told me something surprising about Dolly one day. Under her blue dress, Dolly’s little legs were covered with metal braces. The braces were held tightly to her legs with leather straps. They kept her steady so she could stand. At my grandmother’s wedding, she made her way down the aisle with slow, halting steps. She used two wooden crutches.

Dolly’s legs had been damaged by a disease called polio. Until the 1950s, polio was one of the most dreaded diseases in the world. It killed thousands. Many who survived were left with lifelong damage to their limbs.

Dolly and my grandmother grew up in the 1920s and ’30s. Their parents and their parents’ siblings had all escaped from Russia, where, as Jewish people, they had faced hateful prejudice. They came to the United States in the early 1900s and all settled in Chester, Pennsylvania.

Life wasn’t easy. They worked hard jobs in factories and shipyards. They struggled to learn English. But over time the family made strides. My grandmother’s father, Ben—my great-grandfather—became the first Jewish police captain in Chester, a source of great pride for the family. My grandmother’s cousin Isador was a gifted piano player who gave lessons to the family, including Dolly. Isador grew up to become a famous composer for movies.

But amid the happy times, the threat of illness was ever present. My grandmother and Dolly grew up before many modern vaccines and medicines. In 1918, two years before my grandmother was born, a pandemic of influenza—the flu—killed more than 50 million people around the world. Outbreaks of measles and mumps were common. Without antibiotics, an ear infection or a simple cut could turn deadly.

Dolly and my grandmother grew up in the 1920s and ’30s. Their parents and their aunts and uncles had all escaped from Russia. Because they were Jewish, they had faced hateful treatment there. They came to the United States in the early 1900s and all settled in Chester, Pennsylvania.

Life wasn’t easy. They worked hard jobs in factories and shipyards. They struggled to learn English. But over time, the family did better. My grandmother’s father, Ben—my great-grandfather—became the first Jewish police captain in Chester. The whole family was very proud.

But along with the happy times was always the threat of illness. My grandmother and Dolly grew up before many modern vaccines and medicines. In 1918, a pandemic of influenza—the flu—killed more than 50 million people around the world. Outbreaks of measles and mumps were common. Without antibiotics, an ear infection or a simple cut could turn deadly.

Polio was especially feared. The disease had been stalking humans for thousands of years. But it was mostly unknown in the United States until the late 1800s.

Outbreaks struck every few years, exploding out of nowhere like horror-movie monsters. My grandmother had vivid memories of when polio struck Chester. Her school would shut down for weeks or longer. Stores and movie theaters and libraries would close. When a person became ill, their entire family was forced to quarantine. Some towns even placed armed guards at their train stations to prevent outsiders from spreading the illness. Hospitals became overwhelmed.

Nobody knew what caused polio or how it spread. And there was no treatment. Fortunately, most people suffered mild symptoms—a fever, sore throat, body aches. But in severe cases, polio attacked the nerves that controlled muscles, including muscles needed for breathing. This is how people died. Others were left paralyzed, unable to use their legs or arms.

Anyone could catch polio. But terrifyingly, the disease most often struck children.

Polio was especially feared. The disease had been around for thousands of years. But it was mostly unknown in the United States until the late 1800s. 

Outbreaks struck every few years. They exploded out of nowhere like horror-movie monsters. My grandmother had clear memories of when polio struck Chester. Her school would shut down for weeks or longer. Stores and movie theaters and libraries would close. When a person became ill, their entire family was forced to quarantine. Hospitals became overwhelmed.

Nobody knew what caused polio or how it spread. And there was no treatment. Fortunately, most people got only a fever, sore throat, or body aches. But in severe cases, polio badly affected the muscles. It could even attack the muscles needed for breathing. This is how people died. Others were left paralyzed, unable to use their legs or arms.

Anyone could catch polio. But sadly, the disease most often struck children. 

As my grandmother remembered it, Dolly got sick when she was 6. The family rushed her to the hospital, fearing the worst. Many children with polio died of it. Others spent months in the hospital, away from their families. There were few medicines to ease pain, no streaming shows or video games to help pass the time.

Dolly had a severe case. But after a few weeks in the hospital, she was able to return home. My grandmother and Dolly’s other cousins took turns visiting—singing to her, performing puppet shows, and reading her favorite nursery rhymes.

Over the next year, Dolly learned to walk using crutches, with braces that locked her legs into place. She was able to return to school and continue learning piano. She was thrilled when my grandmother asked her to be the flower girl at her wedding.

Dolly got sick when she was 6. The family rushed her to the hospital, fearing the worst. Many children with polio died of it. Others spent months in the hospital, away from their families. There were few medicines to ease pain. There were no streaming shows or video games to help pass the time.

Dolly had a serious case. But after a few weeks in the hospital, she returned home. My grandmother and Dolly’s other cousins took turns visiting. They sang to her, performed puppet shows, and read her favorite nursery rhymes.

Over the next year, Dolly learned to walk using crutches. Braces locked her legs into place. She was able to return to school and continue learning piano. She was thrilled when my grandmother asked her to be the flower girl at her wedding.

By the time of that wedding, scientists had begun to solve some of the mysteries of polio. They would soon learn that it spread through the feces—poop—of a person who was infected. If that person didn’t wash their hands thoroughly, they could leave microscopic bits of the virus behind on surfaces for another person to touch. The virus could then enter that second person’s body through the mouth.

During the 1940s and early ’50s, Americans mobilized in an all-out crusade against polio. People across the country volunteered to help raise money for research. Children sold lemonade. Disney characters like Mickey Mouse paraded across movie screens, urging audience members to contribute. “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho,” they sang. “We will cure polio!”

Millions of dollars poured into laboratories where researchers were racing to develop a vaccine. And in 1953, there was jubilation when a 38-year-old scientist named Jonas Salk announced that he had successfully developed a polio vaccine.

The following year, 1.8 million children known as “polio pioneers” lined up in their schools to receive the vaccine. Within a few years, polio cases in America plummeted. By the time I was born, in the 1960s, polio was almost unheard of in the United States.

By the time of that wedding, scientists had begun to solve some of the mysteries of polio. They learned that it spread through the poop of an infected person. What if that person didn’t wash their hands carefully enough? They could leave tiny amounts of the virus on surfaces. Another person might touch the surface. The virus could then enter that second person’s body through the mouth.

During the 1940s and early ’50s, Americans mobilized in an all-out crusade against polio. People across the country volunteered to help raise money for research. Children sold lemonade. Disney characters like Mickey Mouse paraded across movie screens. They urged audience members to donate. “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho,” they sang. “We will cure polio!”

Millions of dollars poured into laboratories where researchers were racing to develop a vaccine. And in 1953, there was jubilation: A 38-year-old scientist named Jonas Salk announced that he had successfully developed a polio vaccine.

The following year, 1.8 million children lined up in their schools to receive the vaccine. They were known as “polio pioneers.” Within a few years, polio cases in America plummeted. By the time I was born, in the 1960s, polio was almost unheard of in the United States. 

The vaccine couldn’t help people like Dolly; her bout with polio left her with complications for the rest of her life. Like my grandmother, she married and started a family. But as she got older, the pain in her legs worsened. It was hard for her to work, to travel, to walk. She died at the relatively young age of 71, in 1999.

My grandmother lived much longer. She died just nine years ago, at the age of 92. I miss her deeply—and think of her constantly. And the polio stories she shared are echoing loudly through my mind these days, as we all cope with a different disease: Covid-19.

There are so many similarities. Like polio, Covid-19 was a mystery to scientists when it first appeared in December 2019. The outbreaks have shut down our schools, closed our restaurants and libraries, and canceled our vacations and sports seasons. Covid-19 makes us feel scared and uncertain.

But my grandmother’s stories of polio give me hope. We conquered polio. And this gives me confidence that we will conquer Covid-19. While I was working on this story, the first vaccines against Covid-19 were being approved.

I will always have memories of this remarkable time we are living through. And of course, so will you. Perhaps one day, you will pass your stories on to your grandchildren, with lessons that will fill their hearts with hope.

The vaccine couldn’t help people like Dolly. Her bout with polio left her with troubles for the rest of her life. Like my grandmother, she married and started a family. But as she got older, the pain in her legs worsened. It was hard for her to work, travel, or walk. She died at the age of 71,
in 1999.

My grandmother lived much longer. She died just nine years ago, at the age of 92. I miss her deeply. And I think of her constantly. The polio stories she shared are echoing loudly through my mind these days. Because now, we all cope with a different disease: Covid-19.

They are similar in so many ways. Like polio, Covid-19 was a mystery to scientists when it first appeared in December 2019. The outbreaks have shut down our schools and closed our restaurants and libraries. They have canceled our vacations and sports seasons. Covid-19 makes us feel scared and uncertain.

But my grandmother’s stories of polio give me hope. We conquered polio. And this gives me confidence that we will conquer Covid-19. While I was working on this story, the first vaccines against Covid-19 were being approved.

I will always have memories of this remarkable time we are living through. And of course, so will you. Perhaps one day, you will pass your stories on to your grandchildren, with lessons that will fill their hearts with hope.