National Records Office of Sudan

Transcription

This is my neighbor, Charles McGonegal. I'd like you to meet him. I think he's an interesting fella. Watch him shaving, for instance. What's unusual about that? Well, Charlie has no hands. No hands other than those ingenious substitutes. But he does things as easily and as casually as any other man. And now he is shaving with a razor like mine, stroking like I do. Before he began shaving this morning, he did the same things that other men do when they wake up. He growled when he heard the alarm clock. Then he turned the alarm clock off and he got dressed You know if it were difficult for Charlie, the problem of his shaving could be solved as easily as walking to the corner barber shop. Quite a few men have barbers shave them, but the majority do it themselves and Charlie has patterned his life after every man. He maintains that if you think normally, there's no reason why you shouldn't act normally. A fella can get by without the use of his hands, if other people help him. Charlie prefers to be independent. It never occurred to him before World War I to have somebody else brush and comb his hair. And after a grenade exploded and blew his hands off in France he figured there still wasn't anyone living who would handle a McGonegal cowlick better than McGonegal. Tying a shoelace is a little trickier. I'd say that it takes Charlie about seven seconds longer than it takes me, which gives me just that much more time to catch the bus in the morning. But I lose it back again one the way because my shoe laces always come undone, But Charlie's don't. He ties his for keeps, and they're as neat as a sailor's knot. (Music playing) When he was about three, Charlie learned how to dress himself, and after the war the habit persisted. He does it alone from the first sock, to the final tilt of his hat. The vest, instead of buttoning up in the regular way, hooks together for convenience sake. Charlie can handle buttons, but the hooks are time savers. In a world where the tendency has always been to streamline time, there are forecasts of the zipper vests that you and I will be wearing when Hirohito and Hilter are things you talk about only in the past tense. like Dillinger and Model Ts. There's no magic in Charlie's dexterity. Controls lead from the artificial extremities to the shoulders. And manipulation of the shoulder muscles operates the hooks. And he can wind that watch as easily as he can throw a baseball. Next his wallet which he won pitching horseshoes. Then his glasses. He polished them when he took them off last night. Finally his coat. And if there were some fluff on the lapel, he'd pick it off. (Music playing) A pencil in the wrong pocket? Back it goes into the right one. And he does all these things as automatically as he'd turn a doorknob. Feeding himself is another lifetime habit that my neighbor McGonegal is determined to hang onto when he came back from France. In the hospital, and for a time afterwards, he felt uncomfortable being fed by someone else. And the first thing that he set out to master was the knack of eating. Now watch him at breakfast and see how well he succeeds. You know it's McGonegal's boast that there isn't an inch of McGonegal waistline that he didn't put there himself. (Music playing) One or two companies manufacture special knives and forks and glasses and coffee cups designed for such cases as Charlie's. But he doesn't even know where to buy them, and he never bothered to find out. He manages very well with the same utensils that he'd find in a restaurant. For awhile, during what Charlie called his "amateur days" it seemed as if it took him all day to eat. That wasn't for long though. You should see him wolf a meal at my place. Especially when it's porterhouse steak. Medium rare. You notice that sometimes he makes adjustments before certain operations? Well these are to change the width, or the tension of the angle. Charlie can still remember when wanting a smoke meant getting the aid of a nurse, or the man with the wounded leg in the adjoining cot. Lying in the hospital, thinking and wondering, planning for the future, a fella somehow needed a cigarette more than he used to. So smoking was the next thing he got after. Nowadays the only difficulties he has with cigarettes is staying away from them. (Music playing) Well, well, the Dodgers won a double header. How 'bout that? Well, let's see. Six players and the manager were yanked from yesterday's game at Evans field. Off to work. And here's another neighbor of mine. Walter Antonawitz. Morning Walter. Can I drop you off someplace? No thanks, Walter likes walking. Well, suit yourself fella. See you tonight for some ping-pong. There's nothing unusual about this car. It's the stock model, and no special gadgets. (Music playing) Ignition. Starter. Into gear. And away. (Music playing) Oh, I forgot to mention about Walter who likes to walk. He lost both legs in the other war. Charlie has a good job. A better job then most men. And by the way, he never learned to type until he came out of the hospital. Needless to say, he used a standard machine with a standard keyboard. Uh oh. Forgot the address. Joe Morgan will know it, and that means a phone call. Now let's see. What's Joe's number? Never can remember it. Better look it up. (Music playing) S...P...O...M. M-a, M-o. Here we are. M-o-r, Joseph Morgan. Atwater 93459. Everyday things, done with everyday ease. How long does it take a man who's lost a hand, or two hands, to resume his place in the scheme of normal living? Now you may have heard that anything can be mastered in time. That a man practicing four hours a day for six years could learn to throw a boomerang and catch it at the end of its circular flight. That after four hours practice a day for, let's say, five years, a man can hurl a knife fifty yards and pierce a deuce of hearts pinned to a tree every time. And so on. So you may think it took Charlie, who had so much more to learn, ever since World War I, to overcome the loss of his hands. To master the normal act, for instance, of signing his name with a floursih. Charles C. McGonegal. How long? Well let's hear what he has to say about that. Well, it took about three months. I wouldn't say it was as easy then as it is today. It takes a little time to learn anything. For three months after I was discharged from the Walter Reed Hospital. I was on the road as a traveling salesman. Not completely independent, but able to make my way. You'll pick up new things as you go along. It's a matter of learning. The most important thing, is the question of wanting to learn. For instance, in 1928, I was encouraged to take up flying as a hobby. After fifteen hours of solo, I took a special course in acrobatics. Now I have over 300 hours flying time. I have a productive job. And a happy marriage. My wife and I have two boys. One is in the Navy now. As a matter of fact, The loss of my arms hasn't been nearly the wollop that I'd thought it'd be at first. With these arms I can do practically anything that anyone can do. And there is no reason in the world that you fellows cannot do the same. My neighbor Charlie McGonegal has none of the characteristics of a super man. He is a man who lived normally before the war, and he set himself no goal, but to live normally after it. He succeeded because he had patience. He had faith in himself. And he knew that it could be done. It took a little while, but he got there.