Each week the New England Historic Genealogical Society surveys readers about their ancestors.  Last week the topic pertained to obsolete occupations.  Back in the 16th and 17th centuries, my West Yorkshire, England male Wood family members engaged in weaving wool, usually in the loft room.  Yes, he men did the weaving!  Once arriving in 1635 in New England, land speculation and cattle became more lucrative. Jeff Martin from Maine wrote: "My ancestor George Whittaker was listed as a 'knocker up' in the 1861 Manchester, UK, census.  For a small fee, the 'knocker-ups' woke people up by poking them through the bedroom window with a long pole or rapping on the window with a peashooter." Perhaps parents with children who like to sleep in need the long pole and peashooter in the house

The current race riots, polarized politics, and ethnic prejudices sadden and sickens me, especially because I often experienced the piercing condemning looks and horrific comments as a cripple. The current racial and ethnic prejudices sadden and sickens me.  I have an inkling of what ,and ethnic As a child growing up on a dairy farm in Pewamo, Michigan,  my introduction to prejudice began with droplets and then became a roaring gush after I moved to Grand Rapids, during the Race Riots of 1967.   Often I remark that being raised in the almost all white Catholic German community nurtured and protected me as a child.  Born in June 1949, the poliovirus struck in December 1949, partially paralyzing my right leg and leaving me with a very noticeable limp.   No one noticeably stared at me or made fun of my limp because I was either related to almost everyone I met or they were friends or neighbors.  Conversely, each person had a quirk or…

Those are the first longhand written medical words, under CHIEF COMPLAINT, of my historical orthopedic records.  Born on June 18, 1949, I contracted polio on December 9, 1949—almost six months after my birth.  Actually, my Mom always stated the date as December 10th, and she would remember best because the incident occurred two days after her birthday.  Mom told the story so many times—how I woke up crying around midnight and when she lifted me out of the crib and touched my right hip, I screamed with pain.  She immediately knew it was polio.  So I use December 10th as the date that changed my life forever.  These orthopedic medical records document the first doctor visit, observation and rehabilitation hospital stays, surgeries, the many Plaster of Paris cast removals, braces, broken bones, and then the onslaught of post-polio.  I am extremely lucky to possess these pages. The file passed from the original orthopedic doctor’s office on to three different specialists in separate practices. …