The State of the Mobility Union

By Alan A. Reich

When President Franklin Delano Roosevelt slipped behind the wheel of his handsome blue 1936 Ford four-door convertible, he epitomized the spirit of the American motorist. Roosevelt particularly treasured automotive independence; his car offered him escape from the important duties of the presidency and mobility was a serious issue: He'd been paralyzed by polio a decade before his election.

The president's car was equipped with hand controls that made it possible for him to drive (you can see the car, with the hand controls still in place, at the Roosevelt home in Hyde Park, New York). As a person with a disability who served in our nation's highest office during times of great crisis, FDR is a hero to the disability-rights movement. He was also a real person who, like Motor Trend readers, delighted in the freedom and joy he got from his automobile.

Like most American men of my generation, I grew up loving cars. For 14 years in the postwar era, I enjoyed time behind the wheels of a 1937 Chevy and a 1948 Ford. However, my love affair with the open road was interrupted when I broke my neck in a 1962 diving accident.

As I recuperated in a Veterans Administration hospital, I knew my life would change in many ways. I was determined to have as normal a life as allowed by the quadriplegia that eliminated motion and sensation below my shoulders, but my independence and ability to get to work were in doubt, since I assumed I would never drive again.

I learned otherwise during an annual exam a few years later.

I've been driving hand-controlled cars for almost four decades now--a 1967 Chevy Impala, several Oldsmobiles, and now a 2003 Cadillac DHS sedan. In that time, I've seen many optional and standard pieces of equipment developed to make commuting easier for people like me. I can even rent a vehicle with hand controls when I travel.