What Forward readers remember about polio vaccine – the Forward

My dad isn’t the type to tell childhood anecdotes, but there is one story he loves to tell: it’s about his polio vaccine.

He was in elementary school when the Sabin vaccine (named after Alfred Sabin, the Jewish scientist who developed it) became available for general use. He lived in a small town in Connecticut where crowds and public swimming pools, two common sites of polio transmission, were nonexistent. Yet he had seen spooky photos of the “iron lung,” a ventilator used to treat children who had contracted the disease, in “picture magazines” like Life. So it was some relief to reunite with classmates outside the town rectory, where local authorities had disposed of dozens of paper cups containing the oral vaccine. Then, he remembered, everyone got a treat: orange soda.

This story always struck me as a fairy tale, something completely separate from the modern reality that my father and I share today. But as the coronavirus vaccine began to roll out – albeit in spurts – I thought of my father’s generation, who experienced the polio epidemic early in life and broke through. now found among the most vulnerable populations during a pandemic.

So I reached out to Forward readers and asked them to share their memories of receiving the polio vaccine. Some received the first round of the Salk vaccine, which went into effect in 1955; others recalled being amused by the Sabin vaccine, which debuted in 1961 and often took the attractive form of a lump of sugar. Some have seen friends or family contract polio. All recalled the feeling of relief when the vaccine made the disease a fear of the past.

Below is a sample of the thoughts people have shared with me. These responses have been edited and condensed for clarity.

Sharon Halper, 76Warwick, New York

I don’t remember any restrictions because of polio, I don’t remember it impacting my life in that way other than the reflected terror of my mother and the general population. When the vaccine came out there was no doubt we were going to get it. I had cousins ​​who were doctors in Brooklyn, and I remember very clearly that one day after school, my mom took me there to get it. I don’t remember much from that time, but it was nothing miraculous.

I also remember learning that Dr. Salk was Jewish. My parents were immigrants from Nazi Europe, and my mother’s reaction was mishpucha. One of our boys did. This was important given the American era and how refugees from Nazi Europe likely felt their entire lives in terms of American identity. While they loved America, there was always a question of whether America loved them. We lived in the reflected glory of Dr. Salk.

Jeanette Friedman, 73Paradise Valley, Pennsylvania

My twin brother and I were in Yeshiva Hudson County in 1954. We were in first grade and our names were called on the public address system to leave our classroom and go to the principal’s office. They sent us home, where we found out that our three-year-old brother had been rushed to Sister Kenny Hospital with polio. Someone with syringes was waiting for us in the house. We didn’t know what it was, but we were told that this needle would make sure that we didn’t get sick like my little brother. They hadn’t announced the discovery of the vaccine yet, so I guess we were ‘test’ cases.

Beverly Greenberg, 75

We lived in the “co-ops,” which was a Yiddish experimental community in the Bronx. It was really cool, we had our own library and our own dance class, it was a very isolated community. So we thought, then this horrible polio virus appeared. It changed us forever.

One of my first grade classmates died of polio. It stayed with me for a long time, that a child could die like that. And then another good friend got her, but they put her in an iron lung, and she survived. They made us take hot baths because they thought hot baths were good. They didn’t let us into the pools. One day, they had everyone come to the school gymnasium for the vaccine. They had these giant vaccine needles – they don’t have anything like that now – and they would clean them between people.

Rebecca Jacobs, 64Quincy, Massachusetts

My father was a rabbi, and one Shabbat afternoon in the spring we walked a mile to school and stood in line. I think there were two choices as to how the vaccine worked, it was either an injection or a lump of sugar. I just remember being there and knowing it was important. And see all the little cups lined up on the table.

Esther SilverBrooklyn, New York

I was born in Germany, in a DP camp. When we got here we heard about this really horrible disease. My mother was upset that we came – I was her only child. I went to Yeshiva Brooklyn. A girl in my class had polio. She had a splint to walk on and we all helped her. The rabbi said, “We are going to get polio shots today.” No permission, nothing at all. We lined up and doctors came, and we were all shot. When I got home my mom was thrilled because it was free and you didn’t have to wait. My mother told me it would protect me and I was very happy.

Alex krislovShaker Heights, Ohio

It was really very simple. We had something in Ohio called “Sagan ‘Polio Sunday”. Everyone had the right to go to the center they used to distribute the vaccine. You’ve stood in line and you’ve got a lump of sugar. We lived half a block from the school they were using, so one Sunday my sister and I went to get our shots. We were amused that it was a lump of sugar and still good for us.

Eva krausBoca Raton, Florida

We lived in a mountain town in Czechoslovakia, and 50 kilometers away was a rehabilitation center for children with polio. My parents had friends, a couple whose son had contracted polio and was in the rehabilitation center. The reason the couple found us was because we were one of two Jewish families in town, and they were Jewish and looking for someone to stay with. I know my parents were very worried. One day a doctor came to the school and gave us all the vaccines. There was no question: “Do you want the vaccine or not?” It was obligatory.

Morris Kagan, 73Los Angeles, California

I had polio in 1948, but still got both shots when I was in high school. When I was hospitalized, I still did not speak English. My parents were survivors and I spoke only Yiddish. The separation at 18 months took its toll as I couldn’t understand English. Fortunately, I made a pretty good recovery and even became a leader in college.

Irene Katz Connelly is editor-in-chief of The Forward. You can contact her at [email protected]. Follow her on Twitter at @katz_conn.