Prognosis? Father Knows Better

by Maureen O'Halloran Clark

It was September, 1956, and Dick Wieler's physician at St. Joseph's Rehabilitation Center in Omaha was discussing the sixteen-year-old's prognosis. He had been stricken with polio a year earlier. For five weeks, Dick fought for his life in an iron lung. Though he had been a strong farm boy, he emerged from the iron lung emaciated and paralyzed, except for some movement in his fingers, his toes and above his neck.

After eleven months of rehabilitation he had made little progress and could barely sit up. "Mr. and Mrs. Wieler, we have done all that we can for your son. You can do for him at home what we are doing here. As far as long term prospects, it is unlikely he will live past thirty." He ended by suggesting that Dick could sell Christmas cards from home.

Mr. Wieler, an eighth grade graduate, listened to this many-degreed medical expert in quiet anger. No, he wasn't buying it. His son could do more. He had carried a man's load in the family's cattle feeding operation. He offered the doctor a cold thank you and goodbye. Then firmly took his wife's arm and led her out of the office. They would prove this doctor very wrong. After lifting Dick into the car, they drove the two hours to West Point, Nebraska, silent and heartsick. Polio had already taken their daughter's life, now this. Plus, there was a bewildered six-year-old at home who was struggling to adjust to life without his two older siblings.

From an early age, Dick had helped with daily chores on the family farm. He remembers, "Dad wanted me to use my brains as well, and nine was soon enough by his reckoning to see if I had any." That's when he and his Dad went to the bank. There Dick emptied his savings and borrowed money for his first load of feeder cattle. He took total responsibility for them, including maintaining his own checking account, from which all expenses and taxes were paid. He reinvested his profits and took out more loans to buy more cattle.

"By the summer of 1955, I had 110 head of cattle on feed, as well as ownership of a tractor, a corn cultivator, a plow and a mower." The fifteen-year-old's dream of being a cattle feeder was already a reality. Then polio struck. During the silent drive home, the couple clung to two kernels of hope. They had already applied to the premier polio rehab center, the Franklin Roosevelt Rehabilitation Center in Warm Springs, Georgia.

Because the Wielers had been hit with huge losses from plummeting cattle prices, drought-induced crop failure and medical bills, they had also applied to the March of Dimes for funding to pay for the rehab if Dick was accepted. Both applications were accepted, and so in December, they left Dick at Warm Springs. There he was fitted with arm orthotics, also known as "feeders". With them, he learned to feed himself. From then on he ate in the cafeteria, not in bed. The feeders also enabled him to sign his name and scrawl short notes. With a mouth stick he learned to type and to turn book pages.

Though he was there for only six months, the experience was "life changing." At Warm Springs, the philosophy was "Don't worry about what you can't do, worry about what you can do." Dick returned home to wonder about his future. His family continued his daily physical therapy but was forced to accept the reality that Dick's paralysis was permanent. Nonetheless, the Wieler's would not let Dick give up. At Warm Springs, he was urged to study and seek further education. So, finishing high school became the next priority.

However, as was typical in the 1950s, his high school was not wheelchair accessible. The school superintendent, R.C. Anderson, decided to teach him at home. It soon became evident that Dick was well read. Before polio he often read at night in bed using a flashlight. When Mr. Anderson assigned papers and gave exams, his mother would write as Dick directed. Mr. Wieler hadn't put much stock in "book learning", but he realized that education was Dick's only hope. He confided to a friend, "Dick's got to go to college because he can't do anything with his hands." He didn't fully realize that one day his son would be living independently and earning a good income.

College presented the next problem. The family had already sold off machinery and vehicles to pay debts. Not only would Dick need tuition and room and board, he would need help with personal care and with transportation across campus. This would include lifting Dick and his wheelchair up and down flights of stairs. The Vocational Rehabilitation Act provided federal money to assist with these types of expenses. However, funds were limited. Those charged with distributing the funds did not consider Dick a good investment. How could a young man so severely physically impaired have the stamina to complete college much less go on to be employed? Funds needed to be spent where there would be a better return for the dollar and less risk of failure.

Finally, Dick's uncle, LeRoy Johnson, with his wife Joanie, came up with a plan. LeRoy had been offered a position at Lockheed Aircraft and one at the State University of South Dakota. He accepted the faculty position at SUSD in order to help Dick. "Look, the only way we are going to prove anything to these people is if he goes. Dick can live with us and enroll at the University. We can rent a big house with enough rooms for other students in exchange for their help with Dick." They could not afford to feed the helpers. Nonetheless, several students accepted the arrangement. Grandma Johnson, also volunteered to live with them and care for Dick.

That year was a "heck of a winter" in Vermillion, South Dakota, Dick recalls. "The snow got so deep we kind of made a dog sled out of the wheelchair. With a rope around the front, two guys pulled and Uncle LeRoy pushed the three blocks from the house to campus." Dick asked professors to allow him to take exams orally. If they insisted on written exams, he told them he would dictate them and his helper would transcribe them. That year he finished on the Dean's list. Point proven, Dick enrolled at the University of Missouri, which had received funds to become wheelchair accessible.

He went on to attend the University of Missouri Law School and then became an assistant attorney general for the state of Missouri. Serving in that capacity for 22 years before retiring, he argued over 200 appellate cases, most of them before the Missouri Supreme Court.

Richard Wieler Sr. was right. He understood what the doctor did not. Though the doctor was well schooled in medical knowledge regarding anatomical structures and physiological processes, he failed to factor in the resilience of the human spirit. His prognosis overlooked the mind and the perseverance of this Nebraska farm boy and of those who loved him.

Maureen O'Halloran Clark

Contributor's postscript: I am posting this story in honor of Dick's father and my father. Both men had pancreatic cancer and went home to be with their heavenly Father the same year this story was written. The last lines of this story were inspired by an inscription that my father, Joseph P. O'Halloran, wrote in my brother's orthopedic textbook, reminding him not to overlook the humanity of each of his patients.

Biography Maureen O'Halloran Clark After Maureen O'Halloran Clark submitted this true story to Chicken Soup, she and Dick Wieler decided to collaborate on writing a memoir. "Chasing Normality" gives Dick's account of his life and his reflections on living independently with quadriplegia. For more information about this book or to contact Dick visit www.maureenoclark.com