The Polio Clinic

In the early ‘50’s, one of the most evil demons to be feared was polio. My mother was terrified when my father was recalled to active duty and sent to what she considered the disease ridden South, and greatly relieved when we were transferred out in the winter, before the season of pestilence began. Still polio was to be feared and struck, on occasion, even up here in Maine, even on the street where we lived, although the young girl who contracted it, survived unscathed.
Movie theaters were off limits in the summer as well as fairs or any other large gathering, and getting your feet wet in a summer rain puddle was a sure ticket to a wheelchair. The Topsham Fair was declared safe, for it was held in the fall after the danger of infection had passed. Even here, however, we were not immune, for annually the March of Dimes hauled in a trailer in which lay for all to see, a victim in an iron lung, a giant tube from which only the head appeared. Bellows at the bottom sighed rhythmically. We filed by in lurid fascination, fearful and hoping it would never be us.
The advent of the Salk vaccine lifted that fear. Parents were relieved, and so were we kids, philosophically speaking. That was until the little, white slips began appearing for us to take home for parental permission to be the recipient of not just one but three injections. Brows creased, panic filled small bladders and bodies tingled as if sitting in a bathtub full of ginger ale. Dolores’ sunny, blond countenance took on a strained look of pain. Larry blanched. Nausea rose in my stomach, and in frenzy I turned my paper over hoping it would be blank.
My mother believed in the French judicial system whereby the condemned was never told of his execution date, so when the big day came, my mother had not told me of its arrival. At school the classroom was deathly still and all faces were pale. Only Miss Ridley was calm. Larry sniffed in his sleeve. The atmosphere was oppressive.
Outside in the hall began the shuffle of feet as the classes began their march to the office of Mrs. Higgins, the school nurse. The door closed behind the last unfortunate in Mrs. Russell’s room. We were next.
The black box on the wall buzzed. We struggled to our feet and shuffled out the door. The entire school was stretched out in a long snake down the corridor to the stairs, down to the first floor and around the gym to the nurse’s office.
At first all was quiet. The teachers kept us herded tightly against the wall to prevent escape. As we reached the first floor we were greeted by a constant murmur, like wind through leaves, punctuated now and then by a scream or loud crying. Still the teachers paced our line, keeping us docile.
Mrs. Higgins stood about eight feet tall, and her muscles strained the sleeves of her uniform. She ascribed to the medical theory of the time that what didn’t hurt or taste bad, wasn’t good for you. The doctors giving the shots were impassive. All veterans of the big war, they had seen it all, and we were nothing more than another line of draftees in the war against disease.
Larry began to howl as we drew near. Mrs. Higgins grabbed his skinny arm and dragged him in, holding him in a bear hug until the deed was done, and he was led sobbing back to the room.
Every nerve in my body screamed, “Run for it!” but I was more afraid of Mrs. Higgins than the needle, so I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes so tight, my hairline descended to my nose.
Back in the classroom, a sense of normalcy gradually returned. We felt good in the knowledge that some other poor slob was now on the receiving end of the syringe.
All this was training for life. The worst of basic training, we had been told, was the day you were inoculated against all diseases, foreign and domestic. But what the Army could dish up paled in comparison to the sheer animal terror of that polio clinic