Ebola cases in Dallas and New York have captured the nation's attention and caused fear in many citizens.
But it is nothing like the terror in every town in America in the early 1950s about polio - a disease that seemed largely to strike young people. It was a disease seemingly just around the corner rather than in a distance city or continent.
A quick diagnosis of polio was not easy. Retired pediatricians who lived through the epidemic said one hint was a "double hump." Flu-like symptoms and pain would be followed by feeling better and then a return of the same or similar symptoms but with higher temperatures.
Today's senior citizens likely can recall how families reacted. My parents wouldn't let me swim if the weather was too hot. A friend said his parents said he could swim in Lake Delton but should prevent his feet from touching the seaweed on the bottom of the lake. Franklin Roosevelt had been stricken at age 39 after swimming with his children. Other parents thought an afternoon nap and rest were keys to avoiding the disease.
In my more than 50 years of journalism, two interviews stand out. One was that of Milo Flaten recalling landing on Omaha beach on D-Day. The other was Dr. Tom Geppert, a Madison pediatrician, remembering the polio epidemics. Both men, now deceased, spoke slowly and seemingly reluctantly about their experiences.
In those days the pediatric ward at St. Mary's Hospital in Madison was on the ground floor, Geppert recalled. It was jammed with patients. many in iron longs, precursors to today's ventilators. Parents had to stand at the door and just wave to their children. Grandparents had to look through outside windows.
There were widely different results. A few examples suffice. A retired university professor spent college-age summers as a lifeguard. He remembered "Bobby," a 10-year-old swimmer who would die three days after he was stricken with polio.
Or it could mean weeks and months in an iron lung. Fayth, who became a wheelchair-bound messenger in the Wisconsin Assembly, spent much of her 14th year of life in an iron lung. Parents could visit only once a week for a period of two hours.
"My mother was devastated," Fayth remembered. "She cried a lot."
Cheryl, who became a public health worker in Madison, recalled she was stricken with polio just after a party marking her seventh birthday. Her mother had to call the parents of other children who had been at the party and tell them about her illness. Many a parent undoubtedly prayed after getting such calls.
In 1952 Wisconsin had 2,288 cases of polio with 130 deaths, according to the State Bureau of Health Information. That jumped to a record 2,544 cases of polio with 166 deaths in 1955, the year that Dr. Jonas Salk's vaccine became available for use. By 1960 Wisconsin had only 27 cases of polio. By 1965 there were no new cases in the state.
Newspapers, of course, provided news coverage and information about the polio surge in Wisconsin and as did local news programs on radio and television.
But there were no 24/7 electronic news operations like today to report on Ebola developments with repeated interviews with federal health officials nor were there talk-radio programs to intensify worries. But images of children in iron lungs shown on the relatively new medium of over-the-air television had dramatic impact on viewers.
Polio now gets brief mention in the news, usually limited to the assassinations of public health workers providing vaccine to children in remote Afghanistan or Pakistan. But many senior citizens remember when it was a big concern with their families.
- Matt Pommer, a 35-year veteran of covering state government in Madison, writes the weekly State Capitol Newsletter for the Wisconsin Newspaper Association. His column is published Monday in the Times.
But it is nothing like the terror in every town in America in the early 1950s about polio - a disease that seemed largely to strike young people. It was a disease seemingly just around the corner rather than in a distance city or continent.
A quick diagnosis of polio was not easy. Retired pediatricians who lived through the epidemic said one hint was a "double hump." Flu-like symptoms and pain would be followed by feeling better and then a return of the same or similar symptoms but with higher temperatures.
Today's senior citizens likely can recall how families reacted. My parents wouldn't let me swim if the weather was too hot. A friend said his parents said he could swim in Lake Delton but should prevent his feet from touching the seaweed on the bottom of the lake. Franklin Roosevelt had been stricken at age 39 after swimming with his children. Other parents thought an afternoon nap and rest were keys to avoiding the disease.
In my more than 50 years of journalism, two interviews stand out. One was that of Milo Flaten recalling landing on Omaha beach on D-Day. The other was Dr. Tom Geppert, a Madison pediatrician, remembering the polio epidemics. Both men, now deceased, spoke slowly and seemingly reluctantly about their experiences.
In those days the pediatric ward at St. Mary's Hospital in Madison was on the ground floor, Geppert recalled. It was jammed with patients. many in iron longs, precursors to today's ventilators. Parents had to stand at the door and just wave to their children. Grandparents had to look through outside windows.
There were widely different results. A few examples suffice. A retired university professor spent college-age summers as a lifeguard. He remembered "Bobby," a 10-year-old swimmer who would die three days after he was stricken with polio.
Or it could mean weeks and months in an iron lung. Fayth, who became a wheelchair-bound messenger in the Wisconsin Assembly, spent much of her 14th year of life in an iron lung. Parents could visit only once a week for a period of two hours.
"My mother was devastated," Fayth remembered. "She cried a lot."
Cheryl, who became a public health worker in Madison, recalled she was stricken with polio just after a party marking her seventh birthday. Her mother had to call the parents of other children who had been at the party and tell them about her illness. Many a parent undoubtedly prayed after getting such calls.
In 1952 Wisconsin had 2,288 cases of polio with 130 deaths, according to the State Bureau of Health Information. That jumped to a record 2,544 cases of polio with 166 deaths in 1955, the year that Dr. Jonas Salk's vaccine became available for use. By 1960 Wisconsin had only 27 cases of polio. By 1965 there were no new cases in the state.
Newspapers, of course, provided news coverage and information about the polio surge in Wisconsin and as did local news programs on radio and television.
But there were no 24/7 electronic news operations like today to report on Ebola developments with repeated interviews with federal health officials nor were there talk-radio programs to intensify worries. But images of children in iron lungs shown on the relatively new medium of over-the-air television had dramatic impact on viewers.
Polio now gets brief mention in the news, usually limited to the assassinations of public health workers providing vaccine to children in remote Afghanistan or Pakistan. But many senior citizens remember when it was a big concern with their families.
- Matt Pommer, a 35-year veteran of covering state government in Madison, writes the weekly State Capitol Newsletter for the Wisconsin Newspaper Association. His column is published Monday in the Times.
