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THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN PRESS Ann Arbor

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First paperback edition 2007 Copyright © by Simi Linton 2006 All rights reserved Published in the United States of America by The University of Michigan Press Manufactured in the United States of America

Printed on acid-free paper

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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

A CIP catalog record for this book is available from the British Library.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Linton, Simi, 1947– My body politic : a memoir / Simi Linton. p. cm. ISBN-13: 978-0-472-11539-6 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-472-11539-1 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Linton, Simi, 1947– 2. Women with disabilities—United States—Biography. 3. Paraplegics—United States—Biography. 4. Traffic accident victims—United States—Biography. I. Title. HV3013.L56A3 2005 362.4'3'092—dc22

2005017907

ISBN-10: 0-472-03236-4 (pbk. : alk. paper) ISBN-13: 978-0-472-03236-5 (pbk. : alk. paper)

ISBN-13: 978-0-472-12128-1 (electronic)

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Acknowledgments

It is for the pleasure of their company that I dedicate this book to the disabled people I know: the ribald, the kind, the uncompromising, the surly, the burly, the invincible . . . the mothers of invention.

And then, with thanks, to: Bob Lescher, my wise and steadfast agent, my very good friend, for all

he has done, for the muffins and for his wonderful stories. The expert Barbara Craig and Carolyn Larson at Lescher and Lescher,

Ltd. Sara Bixler, for unleashing her smarts on this book and strengthening it

immeasurably. The executive editor of all time, the gracious LeAnn Fields, a friend to

books everywhere and, to my great benefit, a friend to mine. The staff at University of Michigan Press, in particular Mary Bisbee-

Beek, Marcia LaBrenz, Rebecca Mostov, and Pete Sickman-Garner. Alvaro Gomez, for the words, and for being, with grace and good

humor, my right and, on alternate days, my left brain. Myrtilda Cissy Tomlinson, for her great care. Everyone who read large and small quantities of these words: Gene

Chelberg, Anne Finger, Rosemarie Garland-Thomson, Cathy Kudlick, Paul Longmore, Corbett O’Toole, Harilyn Rousso, Barbara Waxman- Fiduccia, Florence Weiner, and others.

My darling David, who, despite being confined to a pair of roller skates lo these many years, has managed to triumph over his affliction and lead a serious life. Skate-bound, as it were, he is a credit to his kind and an inspiration to us all.

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Contents

1. Conscripts to the Cavalry

2. Brave New World

3. Coming Out in the West

4. A Special Education

5. Going Away

6. Pleasures and Freedoms

7. The Design of My Life

8. I Sing My Body Electric

9. What I Learned

10. Weddings and Marriages

11. Citizens in Good Standing

12. Lessons from Children

13. Rufus

14. Odyssey of a Sure-footed Man

15. The Cripple Girl & the Blind Boy Go to the Museum

16. Our Body Politics

17. Epilogue

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Conscripts to the Cavalry

On a spring day in 1971, my husband, my best friend, and I set off from Boston, Massachusetts, bound for Washington, D.C. We walked down the street together, we stood together near the entrance to the Mass Pike, and in unison we thrust our thumbs out, looking for the ride that would take us far on this first leg of our journey. We got the ride, and then another, and then another. And with each ride we got closer to Washington. But we never got there, and by the end of the day, my friend Carol was dead and my husband John, the ferociously smart man I’d married much too young, was in a coma he would never wake up from. I lay down the hall from him, tethered to tubes and machines, breathing hard to keep myself alive.

We had been on our way to Washington to protest the war in Vietnam. We had no doubts on that day we set out. This was the demonstration that would end the war, and we would—we must—voice our outrage. While it hurt us to know about the horrors, we lived at a safe distance from danger. Just two years before, John and I had been planning to go to Canada so that he could escape the draft, but then, just weeks before we were to leave, he fell and damaged his knee and his draft status was changed to 4- F, an immediate exemption from service. Carol and I had been training at a local center to be draft counselors, to assist young men who were trying to avoid the draft. We wanted to do something meaningful—something to show that we were not just tie-dye hippies, flashing peace signs to passersby.

We all knew of men who had been killed, and of those who were wounded and wouldn’t ever walk again, or hear again, or breathe properly. But we were safe from that. We could only speak out against the injustice, and so we set off.

Suddenly, this became my story alone to tell. I lost my husband John, a wry wit who rebuked all that was hypocritical and phony. He led a frantic life, and was heard to say openly and with assurance that he knew he wouldn’t live long. He had a nervous energy and a long lean body that caught my eye the first time I saw him. John dropped out of college shortly after I did, and we both had a defiance about us. Neither of us wore it comfortably. Mine was tinged with self-doubt, and his with a brashness

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and a lust for beer that often muddied his righteousness. We were living together and apart. He had loved me and been my friend, but he had hurt me too. He pulled and pushed, wanting too much, or nothing. I loved him too, and pulled and pushed back, and neither of us was wise enough to make it better.