People With MS and the Courage to Give

My wife, Dorothy, and I met on a used car lot in Brooklyn, New York. Her car had actually been stolen; she was with her best friend. We had an instant connection. Needless to say, she ended up marrying me, and her best friend married my brother. We’re all still best friends today.

When we were first married, the four of us would fish, play tennis, ride bikes, and play softball. There was no indication that I was sick. I was a dental technician, making great money. Plans were in place to go into business with my brother. But one day, out of the blue, Dorothy got a call from my boss. He told her, “Something’s wrong with your husband. His hands are shaking; is he on drugs? Is he drinking?”

I hadn’t told Dorothy about the symptoms I was experiencing. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I didn’t want to worry her. But now I couldn’t hide the symptoms anymore, so I sat down with Dorothy and told her everything— about the shaking hands and the change in my eyesight and now the loss of my job. We went to a series of neurologists and finally got the diagnosis of MS.

We were pretty shaken. I was out of work and I was having physical changes that I did not understand. I didn’t know what we were going to do to pay the bills. Dorothy had an idea. She had worked at a public library since she was fifteen years old. She suggested that I apply for a job there as a maintenance man. I got the job, but over time it became more and more difficult for me to do heavy maintenance repairs. I struggled with a leg brace and a cane, but fortunately I had a wonderful rapport with my supervisor, and when it became evident that I could no longer perform arduous work, he assigned me to work in the maintenance stock room. I worked at the library for over ten years and retired with a pension.

In 1999 I had a very severe exacerbation—an attack of trigeminal neuralgia— a disorder of the fifth cranial (trigeminal) nerve that causes episodes of intense,

go with Dorothy and help garden. She would pull me into the garden by a path she had made to accommodate my wheelchair. I spent many a day at our garden plot, and nothing beat the therapeutic restful feeling of a day in the sun there. I would paint with my watercolors and Dorothy would tend the vegetables.

But I used to see busloads of people with cerebral palsy coming there, and they couldn’t do the same thing I was doing because they didn’t have a special path. I told Dorothy that if we received the grant I wanted to build accessible community garden plots not only for individuals with MS but for all people with disabilities.

My dream came true. On July 21, 2002, a disability garden was dedicated in my name.

Many of my fellow gardener volunteers from the Floyd Bennett Garden Association (FBGA) helped design and build the garden. It features twelve wheelchair-level planting stations, each ten feet by two feet by thirty inches high, arranged around the perimeter of a 400-square-foot lot. A brick pathway leading up to the garden, paved aisles between the beds, and a wide center aisle with additional planting stations provide ample space for wheelchairs to maneuver. Hanging plants attached to pulleys can be raised and lowered as needed. A wide swinging entry gate allows gardeners to enter and exit without assistance. Volunteers also installed an irrigation system and two wheelchair-level sinks for clean up. Use of machinery, plants, and garden materials were donated by FBGA, and the signage was donated by a local business. The new beds have been planted with tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, beans, and other vegetables so that gardeners with disabilities can cultivate and harvest their crops.

Yes, I pulled myself out of the depression to create an opportunity to share the beauty of nature with other physically challenged people. At the dedication