November 1944–January 1945
The next couple of months was like another wide river to cross. In some ways, time dragged like the end of a long school year. But in other ways, a lot happened to keep me occupied.
In November, President Roosevelt got reelected to his fourth term. I knew he would, even though I seen in the newspapers that plenty of people was against him. Some people said Roosevelt was going to die before he made it through his fourth term. His health was failing. His picture in the papers showed dark circles under his eyes, but I thought he could stand up to anything after licking polio the way he did.
After the election, I worked up my nerve to ask Dr. Bennett about him. He was the main doctor at Roosevelt’s polio center in Warm Springs, Georgia. And he come to our hospital every so often. He usually watched the physiotherapists check our muscles to see how much progress we made.
“Do you actually get close to the president?” I asked Dr. Bennett. “Does he talk to you?”
Dr. Bennett laughed softly. When he did that, his high forehead wrinkled and his kind eyes squinted almost shut. “The president talks to everybody,” he said. “If the Secret Service will let him, that is. And there’s a chance I’ll see him in a few weeks. He likes to be in Warm Springs at Thanksgiving to eat turkey with his polio friends.”
“You mean he actually eats with the patients?” I asked. I was so interested in the conversation I didn’t notice if Miss Ruth’s exercises was paining me or not.
“Yes indeed. And they entertain him with talent shows and special programs. Why, young lady, you could be down there performing for the president one day.”
You could’ve knocked me out of bed with my daddy’s big red handkerchief when he said that. “Wh-what do you mean?” I asked.
“Other patients from this hospital have gone there,” said Dr. Bennett. “Right now, there’s more we can do for you here. So keep working. But later, when you’ve reached a certain point in your recovery, you could be just the kind of person who’d go to Warm Springs. You’d get excellent care and more therapy.”
I tell you what’s the truth—it felt like my breath got snatched nearly right out of my chest when he said that. “But, sir,” I said, “I could never afford to go to Warm Springs.”
Dr. Bennett shook his head. “Warm Springs isn’t for the wealthy,” he said. “We have some beds for people who can’t pay. Or a businessman from your community might want to sponsor you.”
When he said that, I thought about Peggy Sue’s daddy, who owns that hosiery mill. But I didn’t tell Dr. Bennett about him. I was still trying to get used to the idea of me going to Warm Springs.
“Are you pulling my leg?” I asked.
Dr. Bennett busted out laughing when I said that. “No,” he said. “Miss Ruth’s the one pulling your leg. But I’m serious about you and Warm Springs.” He reached over and gave my foot a little tug. Then he moved on to the next patient—like it was any old conversation we just had.
That Dr. Bennett didn’t have no idea how weak and woozy I felt all of a sudden.
In December, the people of Hickory put on special programs for us. That was fun, but the best thing about Christmas was that I got a wheelchair. It belonged to the hospital, of course. But Miss Ruth acted like Santa brought it just for me.
My heart was pounding like a drum when they brought me that big wooden chair. It had a fancy cane back and wooden footrests and wheels on each side that had spokes like a bicycle.
At first I could hardly make the chair move because my muscles was so weak. But Miss Ruth worked with me. “Talk to those muscles,” she said. When I finally got it to move a few inches, all the other girls hollered and clapped and acted like a baby had just took its first steps.
Somehow I made it to the end of the ward. Which wasn’t easy because the chair was big and I kept bumping into beds.
After that, I got out of bed every chance I could. The girls who was stuck in beds begged me to visit them in my wheelchair. I’d read the funny papers to them and tell them what I was reading in the newspapers.
Every time we seen Roosevelt’s picture in the paper or a magazine, we put it on a bulletin board at the end of the ward. One of the girls who was real artistic cut out black and yellow letters that said OUR HERO. At the bottom of the board she wrote his famous saying: The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
Having the president right there on our bulletin board was like having our own guardian angel. It was like he was looking over the room and saying, If I can do it, you can too.
I liked to lay in my bed and look at him there. I could almost hear him saying something more—just to me. To me he was saying, Ann Fay Honeycutt, I’ll be seeing you in Warm Springs, Georgia.
Roosevelt’s birthday was on January 30. It was a big day for polio patients. It seemed like every town in America held a President’s Birthday Ball, and the money they raised from them dances went to the March of Dimes to pay for things like my wheelchair.
January was the month for the March of Dimes to raise money for polio. They printed a booklet called “The Miracle of Hickory” so everyone in America could see how much good they done when they give their dimes for polio. That booklet told how our hospital went up in no time flat, and how everyone in the community pitched in.
Well, I knew it was a miracle hospital, but still, I was getting plumb bored in that place. One day I got so bored that I started dreaming up ways to keep from going crazy. It suddenly crossed my mind that my chair could take me to see Imogene.
Then I got to thinking how Imogene was in a wheelchair too. She had got hers even before me. Maybe we could meet halfway.
I didn’t know if those nurses read the letters they took back and forth for us. So I thought we might have to come up with some kind of code. And then I realized we already had a code—from Momma and Imogene talking about bridges and muddy rivers. So I wrote:
Dear Imogene,
How are you? I’m bored. I miss you like always. I was thinking about that bridge my mother mentioned to me once and that muddy wide river you was talking about. I was thinking maybe we could meet halfway. Why wait for someone else to build a bridge when you and me both have what it takes already?
The way I see it, if Roosevelt could get in the White House, the rest of us can get out of this place if we put our minds to it.
I go all over the ward in my wheelchair. But this ward is too small and I’m about to go plumb out of my mind. Sometimes I just want to bust out of here.
What are you doing on Saturday night around 11:00? I sure wish I could see you again.
Your friend always,
Ann Fay Honeycutt
I picked Saturday because not so many people worked weekends now that the epidemic was over. At night, the nurses would sit at their work station and write letters to the soldiers overseas, doing their part for the war. And some of them would nod off every now and again.
Well, when I got Imogene’s letter, I could see right away she caught my meaning.
Dear Ann Fay,
I’m working on getting out of here. I just keep talking to my muscles. And every now and then they take a notion to do what I say.
Ain’t no river so wide we can’t cross it. It took me a minute to figure out your meaning. But I know we’ll both cross at the proper time. Be careful and don’t forget to say your prayers.
Your friend,
Imogene Wilfong
It was Thursday when we swapped those letters. When Saturday night come, it started raining before most of the girls had went to sleep. I groaned and pulled my pillow over my head. I could tell from the way it was driving against my window that it wouldn’t let up for a while.
Then I got to thinking that the rain might help us. Nobody would expect two patients to go outside in this weather.
By this time I could get into my wheelchair by myself. The nurses had got to where they left it by my bed. So that was a help too.
Nurse Amanda nodded off and took to snoring about 10:45. I pulled my chenille housecoat on overtop of my hospital gown.
When the clock on the wall said 11:00, the girls was mostly sleeping. But I could tell that Betsy, whose bed was right by the door, was still awake. I could hear her humming to herself. I was afraid she’d give me away if she seen me go out the door.
But first I had to get past Nurse Amanda. She was sleeping with her head on the side of a bed. She fell asleep singing “I Couldn’t Sleep a Wink Last Night” to Shelby, one of the little girls.
A floorboard creaked right when I went past her. Nurse Amanda stopped snoring. She opened her eyes and looked at me and then she pulled her head up fast. “Where are you going, Ann Fay?”
Well, I couldn’t just tell her I was going outside in the rain to see Imogene.
Then Nurse Amanda answered her own question. “To the bathroom?” she asked. “Need any help?”
I started breathing again. “No, I can handle it,” I said. Nurse Amanda kept her eye on me, which I reckon was her job. So I went to the bathroom even though I was losing precious time. I sure hoped Imogene wasn’t going to give up on me.
I stayed in the bathroom with the door open a crack till I heard Nurse Amanda snoring again. Then I come out as quiet as I could. I wheeled fast to the door at the end of the ward. I opened it and started to push my wheelchair through.
Betsy said, “Hey, Ann Fay, where you going?”
I jerked my head around to see if Nurse Amanda heard, and I seen then that she opened her eyes for a second. But I don’t think they was open long enough to focus on anything because she went right back to sleep.
“Shhh!” I said to Betsy. “Don’t wake the nurse. It’s a surprise.” And just like that, I went out the door.
I didn’t have no experience riding that wheelchair over the wet boards on the ramp outside. At first I thought I might jolt myself right out of the chair. But once that chair started rolling down that ramp, it just kept going. Just when I thought I was going to go flying, it landed with a jolt and a crunch on the dirt at the end of the ramp.
Suddenly those wheels didn’t want to go nowhere. I grabbed them with my hands and pushed with all my might. But my muscles was weak, especially the ones in my left arm.
The rain was coming down hard now, and I knew I couldn’t just sit there and get soaking wet for no reason at all. So I started talking to those muscles. “Get your lazy bones moving,” I told them.
I put my whole mind to moving those wheels just the tiniest bit, and I felt them turn. I yelled at my muscles some more. “Get a move on it. Giddy up!” The wheels moved some more, and I could see I was getting off the soft muddy area and onto the solid ground of the hospital driveway. I closed my eyes and pushed on those wheels with everything I had in me. I imagined a river and me trying to swim across it.
And next thing I knew, I was moving along and the chair was rolling almost easy. I headed toward the building Imogene was in. At first I didn’t see no sign of her. But then I heard her laugh and seen her dark shape come around the side of the building.
She done it! Somehow she had got out. We headed toward each other, our wheelchairs moving like two boats on a dark river. We was practically swimming with all that rain coming down on us.
When we got close we reached out and grabbed ahold of each other’s arms and laughed. Imogene threw back her head and laughed a big belly laugh and I did too. We opened our mouths and let the rain fall inside.
In the light coming out of the building beside us, I seen the rain collecting in little drops on Imogene’s hair. It seemed like her hair wasn’t even getting wet and mine was all soaked. The water was running off me like a river. Imogene laughed. “I could wring you out like a dishrag,” she said.
By then my teeth was chattering. “I c-could use you to m-mop the floor,” I said.
“The dishrag and the mop,” said Imogene. “That us.” She laughed again. “And I got a feeling, somebody is gonna mop the floor with us when they finds us here.”
“Well,” I said, “they won’t need no bucket of water, will they?” I lifted my hands and Imogene’s too. We danced a little hand dance back and forth in the air and threw back our heads and squealed. I felt the rain run down my face and drip off my chin.
Then I heard Nurse Amanda hollering, and I knew she had caught us already.