Author Norbert Nathanson of Northport will give a presentation on his book, A Secretly Handicapped Man: A Memoir, at the Camden Public Library on Thursday, December 12, at 7:00 pm. Mr. Nathanson was born with no feet and with only one hand. He struggled to be accepted by society and had a hard time finding full-time employment. After more than 30 years weathering stares and severe public and professional stigma, growing up in the working class of Depression Era Pittsburgh, and trying desperately to enter the new field of television, the author experienced a miracle. New advances in medical science provided artificial legs which gave him a normal height, a natural appearance and gait, and permitted him to enjoy a previously unknown, life-altering public anonymity. Being out of the spotlight of public stigma brought him peace. He never shared his story, and held his secrets fiercely. He has never seen himself as being different, nor defined himself in dramatic terms. An experienced, serious, and driven educator and television executive, outdoorsman, sailor, carpenter, fisherman, he has formed his reality. His survival is a triumph, his life a victory. He doesn’t understand that his accomplishments are remarkable.
“In the space of seventy years,” says Nathanson, “I was variously labeled as crippled, deformed, handicapped, and disabled, more recently as a person with disabilities, and currently as physically challenged. The evolving choice of epithets traces the gradual changes in societal perceptions, but all these terms have a common theme; they designate someone who is different.”
“This is the inspiring story of a man born with just one hand and no feet who struggled to overcome the physical pain and social stigma of his disabilities. Wading into a cold mountain stream fishing for trout, piloting his sailboat up the Atlantic coast, or scripting and directing the television production of St. Louis’s Mid America Jubilee, he never accepted the judgment of others that he was crippled, impaired, or disabled. There are not many who would decide to have their legs amputated to significantly improve their lives. This was the choice the author made, and it was transformative. Fitted with prosthetic legs he was now normal height, walked with a normal gait, and with long pants could keep his disability a secret. After thirty-four years of pain standing and walking, stares, epithets and social rejection, he appeared normal. With the right arm of his jacket altered, and with the skills of a magician, he was able to distract others’ gaze from the missing right hand. He was now able to marry, have children and pursue a professional career in education and television as the bread winner for his family. Although his work life was always precarious, he was able to achieve his own version of the American dream. It is a remarkable story of courage, resilience, discipline, intelligence, and skill.” –Buzz Rice
Norbert Nathanson lives in Northport. He frequently speaks to college audiences, including occupational therapy students about how to treat the disabled.
“. . . it is truly inspirational . . . it will help other people to have a greater appreciation of the issues you so eloquently describe by your experiences. . . . It is an extraordinary work. I could not put it down!”
– Dr. Anthony Grieco, MD, MACP ’63, ’60A, Professor of Medicine, Associate Dean, NYU School of Medicine, NYU Langone Medical Center
“What I so admire is the lack of self pity. It is one painful step forward after another, instead of railing at the world. The author gives us a metaphor for many people’s life. And the memoir holds a happy ending after all the difficult decisions he had to make.”
–Diane H. Schetky, M.D., retired psychiatrist and poet.
From the Foreword by Jared Lucas Nathanson:
. . . We never told anyone. It wasn’t the world’s biggest secret, nor was there any shame or scandal, but it was my father’s desire. In my mind he was, and is, tough, self driven, and capable, and the least disabled person I’ve known, but unable to recognize and enjoy his achievements.
It was only in college that I realized how much his story defined us all, how proud and in awe I was of him, and how angry and confused I was to be prevented from expressing my pride in his accomplishments. Born with severe disabilities in a time of great\ inhumanity and economic ruin, he spent a third of his life enduring ridicule and pity, underestimated by both his community and colleagues. In a world that had no room for him, he demanded space for himself. . . . After being perceived for more than 30 years as a “cripple,” walking with a short awkward gate, conspicuous in any public place, attracting unwanted and unavoidable attention and constantly in pain, he then experienced a miracle. Modern advances in medical science provided him a new façade. Artificial legs and feet normalized his height, gait, and appearance and facilitated a privacy he had never known. No longer a public spectacle, he was free to enjoy anonymity, but the memories of years of prejudicial treatment did not disappear behind his new façade.
As society slowly redefined its prejudicial view of people with disabilities, my father enjoyed a now protected privacy. With disabilities now hidden, he did not venture to share his story, fearing that disclosure could invite return of discriminatory treatment he had previously experienced. He became involved with helping to tell the story of disabled people and was active in their search for independence, but he never fully understood the accomplishments of the person he had been and was now, an experienced, driven television executive, educator, outdoorsman, sailor, carpenter, and fisherman, enjoying the peace that being out of the spotlight of public stigma offered him.
Growing up in his world, I knew him to be a compassionate man, a leader, a capable person. It has always been a wonder to equate his physical disabilities with his actual capabilities. I’ve frequently reflected on what he has overcome. It was not easily done.
Through sheer force of will he forged a life, accepting his triumphs as unremarkable, normal, effortless, never defining himself dramatically and never perceiving himself as disabled. He is a survivor, and his survival is a triumph, his entire life a victory. In later life, he enjoys privacy and lack of attention, and remains dissatisfied with his accomplishments, believing them to be minimal. He is unable to envision them as I do, as trophies. For him they were merely steps along the way.
The battles that formed him were costly. Had he not been strong, he would not have survived, and the armor that was his protection and the means for accomplishment still hangs on him today, secretly ready.
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