THE MAN IN THE IRON LUNG

THE summer of 1952 was sizzling hot – even by Texas standards – but swimming pools were shut throughout the state. So too were cinemas, bars and bowling alleys.

Even though by now health officials knew that mosquitoes didn’t spread the disease, city streets were doused with DDT insecticide in an effort to make it look as though something was being done.

But nothing seemed to work. As the summer wore on, the numbers of polio cases increased.

One day in July, in a quiet Dallas suburb, a six-year-old boy named Paul Alexander was playing outside in the summer rain. He didn’t feel well – his neck hurt, his head pounded. Leaving his muddy shoes in the yard, he walked barefoot into the kitchen. Taking one look at his feverish face, his mother gasped and ordered him to bed.

But even as his fever soared and aching pains blossomed in his limbs, his parents were advised not to take him to hospital. It was clear that he had polio, but there were just too many patients there, the doctor said. Paul had a better chance of recovering at home.

Over the next few days, the boy’s condition worsened. Five days after he’d walked into the kitchen barefoot, Paul could no longer hold a crayon, speak, swallow or cough. His parents rushed him to Parkland Hospital. Though the staff were well trained and there was a dedicated polio ward, the hospital was overwhelmed. There were sick children everywhere, and nowhere to treat them all. Paul’s mother held him in her arms and waited.

When the boy was finally seen by a doctor, she was told that