I'm Walking as Straight as I Can: Transcending Disability in Hollywood and Beyond
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I'm Walking as Straight as I Can: Transcending Disability in Hollywood and Beyond
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Overview
Exposing real pain, unstoppable perseverance, and unquestionable faith in the human spirit, this autobiography offers a true glimpse beyond actress Geri Jewell’s public image as a one-dimensional hero. Born with cerebral palsy, Jewell made history when she became the first person with a disability cast in a recurring role on American television in The Facts of Life, and in the years that followed she experienced a string of other successes, including a performance at the White House and a role on HBO’s Deadwood. But along with such accomplishments, this personal story also depicts some of the less-than-rosy events that happened behind closed doors during her initial climb to fame—among them, her release from The Facts of Life; her manager’s embezzlement of the money she made on the show; and her struggle with chronic pain, despair, and a fear of revealing her true sexual identity.
Told with grace and humor, this inspirational narrative presents an honest portrayal of a woman who refused to give up when others kept knocking her down.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781554909759 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | ECW Press |
| Publication date: | 09/06/2019 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 252 |
| File size: | 4 MB |
About the Author
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I'm Walking as Straight as I Can
Transcending Disability in Hollywood and Beyond
By Geri Jewell, Ted Nichelson, Jennifer Hale
ECW PRESS
Copyright © 2011 Geri JewellAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-55490-975-9
CHAPTER 1
Buffalo, Wings, and a Prayer
It was a warm day on September 12, 1956. My mom was relaxing on the front porch, reading, when a car lost control, going too fast around the corner. The car hit the maple tree on our lawn, smashed into the front porch, and threw Mom into the air. She landed on the front lawn, bleeding and in pain. Our neighbor had seen the whole thing from her bay window. She was horrified, knowing that Mom was six months pregnant with me.
In 1956, my parents, Jack and Olga Jewell, had been married for 12 years and had two sons, David and Fred. Mom and Dad came from large families, and when they found out my mother was expecting another child, the whole family was excited. My brothers were hoping for another brother, but Mom knew instinctively that the next child would be a girl. Dad was employed by DuPont in Cheektowaga, New York, where they lived, and worked hard to put food on the table. He was a little worried about finances, but Mom had tremendous faith in God and believed that where there's a will, there's a way. She had no idea that this would be no ordinary pregnancy.
The story of my birth has been told by family members over and over again, and, to be honest, I have become bored with the retelling of it. Not that it was a boring event in itself, only that I have told it so many times that I sound like a broken record. (For those of you who are too young to know what a broken record sounds like, consider that a small blessing.)
My mother was rushed to the Sisters Hospital in Buffalo, where doctors frantically tried to save her life. She was hemorrhaging, and my parents were sadly informed that Mom had lost her baby. Mom was screaming that they were wrong — she knew that I was alive even though the doctors didn't. They explained to her that there was no indication of a heartbeat, and that they would have to do a Caesarean section. "We must remove the baby in order to save your own life at this point."
Mom had lost a lot of blood and suffered great trauma. They explained to my dad that it could be a very long night, as they had to stabilize my mom before they could perform surgery to remove me. My dad's sister, my Aunt Gerry, was in the waiting room with him, and she reassured him that it wasn't over yet — she told him not to give up. The following morning, after a tremendous effort in stabilizing Mom, the doctors were finally ready to perform surgery. However, the only thing that ended up being aborted was the surgery itself. In the process of prepping for surgery, a tiny miracle was born! On the morning of September 13 at 8:34 a.m., I came into the world with a faint heartbeat, weighing just less than three pounds.
Mom was crying, saying through her tears, "I told you she was alive!" Doctors immediately informed Dad that his wife was going to make it, and that he was the father of a baby girl. He hugged Aunt Gerry, realizing that she had been right. I was placed in an incubator, going from a womb without a view to a room with nothing but windows! My parents couldn't think of a name for me, so for the time being, I was only known as "Precious Jewell." In 1956 babies that tiny rarely lived, so the moniker was fitting and soon caught on with everyone. "Precious Jewell in the Glass Case" made the morning paper, announcing that at that time, I was the tiniest baby who survived at that hospital. That was my very first press release.
When most babies come into the world, they find the reassuring comfort of being held in their mother's arms, being fed and cared for. I always wondered what it must have felt like for me living within a heated glass enclosure for the first three months of my life. I have seen pictures of me inside the incubator with one leg propped up on the thermometer. Perhaps I was content; after all, what did I have to compare it to? It was all I knew.
One morning at 4 a.m. my parents were awakened by the shrill ring of the phone. They immediately went into a panic, knowing intuitively that something was wrong, and expected the worst. Somehow I had managed to get pneumonia, and I was not expected to survive the night. A nurse told my parents it was imperative that I be baptized immediately. "We have contacted the parish priest," she said, "and he will be waiting for your arrival." Mom notified my godparents, Aunt Gerry and Uncle Russell, so they could be present for my baptism. Soon everyone was gathered around me, praying for my life but knowing that I might not live to see daybreak.
I obviously lived but was unable to keep any formula down until a doctor decided to give me some mashed banana, mainly for the potassium and weight gain. It could have been a combination of everything that gave me the strength needed to survive: between the Jewish doctor who had donated his blood for my transfusion, the Hindu nurse who watched over me, and the Catholic priest who performed my baptism, it seemed I had many faiths rooting for me! I was finally named Geraldine Ann Jewell, but "Precious Jewell" remained on my incubator. Aunt Gerry always thought I was named after her, but Mom had named me after Saint Gerard, the sacred saint of life, because I fought for my life coming into the world. "Geraldine" was as close to "Gerard" as Mom could get without it sounding butch. Aunt Gerry couldn't have been more pleased that I was named after her, and my parents were not about to spoil that pleasure for her. My name was always spelled Gerry until I personally changed the spelling in the ninth grade to Geri.
At three months, I finally weighed in at seven pounds, and my parents were notified. "Come get her quickly, before she loses any weight!" When my parents brought me home, it was a huge celebration. I was the size of a doll, and my brothers were amazed that they could hold me with one hand! Our German shepherd, Kim, intuitively took her post as my protector, standing guard over the bassinet and watching me intently. This made Dad nervous.
"Get Kim away from the baby!" he said.
"Dad, Kim's not going to hurt her!" David protested. Nevertheless, Dad ordered Kim to come over to him, but she refused. She just gave Dad a doggy dirty look and lay down under my bassinet. Everyone agreed, Kim was very protective of this precious jewel.
Once, when Aunt Gerry babysat me, Kim wouldn't let her near me. My family backed down the driveway in their dark green 1955 Chevrolet station wagon, leaving the three of us alone. When Aunt Gerry went to pick me up, to her surprise and frustration, Kim wouldn't budge and actually growled at her! There was no way Kim was going to leave her post. My aunt was wily, though: she threw a bone down the basement stairs and locked Kim down there. As much as Kim loved me, dogs will be dogs. She ran after it and felt duped. When she was finally let back in, she ran faster than Rin Tin Tin, right back to my side. Kim adored me, and at night she was always curled up on the floor, watching over me like a guardian angel.
The entire first year of my life was jotted down in a steno pad. Every movement, mood, and bowel movement was painstakingly kept in a journal by Mom. I was being monitored closely, just in case my health took a turn for the worse. Mom didn't mind doing this at all. In fact, by observing me so closely, she became aware that something wasn't right with me. Dad sometimes became impatient with her very detailed account of everything and felt at times that she was looking for problems that didn't exist. "My God, Olga, you're so bent on every single detail, you'd think this steno pad belonged to a detective working on an unsolved murder!" Mom just ignored him most of the time, but it did create some tension between the two of them.
As much as Mom wanted to believe that everything was all right, she couldn't shake the feeling that I was different. As the months went by, Mom became more and more convinced that something wasn't right. She kept comparing me to what my brothers had done at the same age, and even though her pediatrician kept assuring her that I was normal, that not every baby does everything at the same time, Mom was not convinced. She took me to two other doctors, seeking second and third opinions. One sleepless night, she woke up my dad, telling him that she believed that I had cerebral palsy. Dad didn't think he had heard her correctly, but she repeated the same words with equal conviction in her voice.
The following morning, Mom brought up the subject again. "Jack, we need to talk about Geri. She is not progressing normally."
"Olga ... the doctors say she is fine, just a little slower."
"Jack, I don't care what the doctors say. They don't see her day in and day out. They see her once a month for about thirty minutes!"
He cut her off, waving his arms. "And they are the doctors! Did you go to Harvard?"
"Jack, I know Geri has cerebral palsy. David started crawling at six and a half months, and Fred was crawling by eight months. Geri hasn't even tried to crawl yet, and she's almost a year old!"
"What makes you believe that she has cerebral palsy? I mean, there are other conditions that it could be as well."
"Do you remember when I took that job in Maine for the summer, as a nanny?"
"Well, yes, but what does that ...?"
"Jack, they had a twelve-year-old daughter with cerebral palsy. Her mother, Anna, gave me a crash course on cerebral palsy. She wanted me to fully understand Ann's condition, so that I could be more able to care for her properly."
Dad was stunned, not least because the girl's name was Ann and that is my middle name. "Did you name Geri after this other child?" Mom admitted that, in fact, she had. She loved the Turner family and wanted to pay tribute to Ann. Dad had always assumed I was named after his mother, Anna Jewell.
Naming me was one thing, but Dad was beginning to understand that Mom's intuition wasn't something to be ignored, so they promptly made an appointment with a specialist in downtown Buffalo. The doctor there was the first to agree with Mom. After examining me, he believed that there was definitely something not right developmentally. In fact, he even suggested that they give me up before they become too attached. "What?!" Mom was stunned, to say the least. "She will be a year old next month! It's a little late to not get attached, don't you think?"
"Listen, I know you think I am being cruel to suggest giving her up, but believe me, it is the best thing for you and the child." The doctor had been through this routine time and again and was used to this reaction; he felt with absolute conviction that it was the right thing to do, to spare families of any further grief down the road.
Mom was furious. "Well, does she or does she not have cerebral palsy?"
"We will have to run some tests to find out conclusively. However, I have seen babies like this before, and I can tell you that most likely she will never be able to walk, and she probably has mental retardation. It is my professional opinion that these babies are much better cared for in state institutions. They have qualified staff who give the absolute best care possible to these unfortunate children. I assure you that the pain of giving up your daughter at this point is nothing compared to the future heartache and financial burdens these babies ultimately come into the world with."
Dad was beside himself. "The only financial burden we have right now is paying your astronomically high specialist fee! What is your specialty, doctor? Is your degree in Insensitive, Stupid, and Assholiness training?"
"I understand your anger, Mr. Jewell, but I know what I'm talking about."
As far as my parents were concerned, regardless of what diagnosis I was given, they would absolutely never hand me over to the state. Mom believed that I was put into their lives for a reason, and it was their responsibility to care for me. She understood that it might not be the option for everyone, but in her heart of hearts she knew she couldn't live with herself if she did anything other than provide a loving home for me. "No one's going to rip this family apart. If anyone should try, they're going to have to get past Kim first!" Not another word was ever said about giving me away. End of story.
My parents were so frustrated and overwhelmed. They went to at least six doctors over the following year, seeking second, third, and fourth opinions and getting nowhere, or so it seemed. She decided to call Anna Turner. The Turners knew Mom now had a daughter, but Mom didn't want to worry them with her own concerns. Now it finally occurred to her what a valuable resource they might be. After all, they had been through this whole ordeal with their daughter. Mom had a lot of anxiety about calling them but didn't know where else to turn. She felt better simply by hearing the lovely calm voice of Anna Turner on the other end of the line. "Hello?"
"Anna, it's Olga."
"Oh, how wonderful to hear from you! I haven't gotten a letter from you in quite some time. Is everything all right, dear?"
"Well, truthfully, I'm calling because I need some advice."
"Oh? About what?"
"It's about Geri. Anna, I don't mean to upset you, but I think Geri has cerebral palsy just like Ann." There was a deep silence. "Anna, did you hear what I just said?"
"Yes, of course I did, child. I have been waiting for this call."
Mom's eyes welled up with tears. "What do you mean?"
"Ever since we heard about Geri's traumatic birth, her lack of oxygen, we believed that there might be further consequences down the road, but it wasn't our place to raise these concerns. If everything had turned out okay, then we would have worried you needlessly. You had to be the one to mention it first."
"Oh, Anna, it has been a nightmare. She is almost a year old, and she can't even sit up on her own yet! And the doctors! Last week we were told it was best to give Geri to the state, to have her institutionalized!" Anna wasn't the least bit surprised, as she was told the same thing 22 years earlier. She asked Mom how my dad felt about the situation. Mom explained that, although he became short-tempered at times, he was not about to give me up. However, they didn't know where to turn or where the best-qualified help was. "She hasn't even been officially diagnosed yet," Mom explained. Anna was a no-nonsense type of person and didn't waste any time pointing Mom in the right direction.
She suggested that she call the March of Dimes Foundation. Mom was surprised, as she had always thought that their cause was the fight against polio. At one time, that is what the March of Dimes represented. In fact, it was Eddie Cantor who coined the phrase "March of Dimes" as a campaign in theaters to raise money to help the fight against polio. But by 1956, the March of Dimes had expanded its scope to the prevention and treatment of all birth defects. Mom couldn't thank her friend enough, and Anna told her that she could call her anytime.
Mom called the March of Dimes Foundation in New York City. The woman she spoke with was supportive and didn't once suggest giving me to the state. She explained how crucial it was for me to be diagnosed as quickly as possible so early intervention and therapy could begin immediately. She gave Mom the names of two very good doctors in New York City and said an appointment was well worth the train or plane ride. When Mom hung up, she realized there was some truth in what the first specialist had said: a trip to NYC wasn't in their budget.
When Mom told Dad about her call to the March of Dimes Foundation and how she was directed to these two wonderful doctors in the city, he seemed a bit overwhelmed. His concern was the same as hers. How were they ever going to afford such a trip? The next day, before Mom could even dial one of the New York numbers, the phone rang. It was Anna, who told Mom that she'd just become aware of a fabulous organization called the United Cerebral Palsy Foundation, UCP for short. Some of the best doctors on the forefront of cerebral palsy research were in southern California, making groundbreaking progress with children. Dr. Margaret Jones and Dr. Kenneth Jacques were the forerunners in the field at UCLA. "You must take Geri to California!" exclaimed Anna. Mom could only laugh. "What is so funny, Olga?"
"Oh Anna, Jack is going to lose his mind!"
"Well, let him lose his mind, dear. You take that baby to California, I tell you!"
"But ..."
"No buts about it!" Mom knew Anna was right, and whatever the cost, they would find the money somehow.
The time came to tell the boys about the trip to California and that their baby sister might have cerebral palsy. The whole family sat down for dinner, which always began with a prayer, and thanked the Lord for their meals, which tonight was Hungarian goulash and Buffalo wings. Dad told the boys that their mother and sister were going to take a trip to California to see some doctors there who would help their little sister. Fred didn't quite understand. "Is she sick, Daddy?" David punched his younger brother in the arm.
"No, she is not sick," my dad calmly explained, "but she has some kind of a disability." Although David and Fred had already heard the term cerebral palsy" one night when they were lying awake, this was one meal of Hungarian goulash and Buffalo wings the boys would remember for a long time to come.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from I'm Walking as Straight as I Can by Geri Jewell, Ted Nichelson, Jennifer Hale. Copyright © 2011 Geri Jewell. Excerpted by permission of ECW PRESS.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Cover,Imprint,
Dedication,
Preface,
Foreword,
Buffalo, Wings, and a Prayer,
A New Life Out West,
Changes, Challenges, and Choices,
Innocence Interrupted,
The Highs and Lows of High School,
Escaping CP Land through TV Land,
Waiting in the Wings of College,
Sneaking into the Store and Stealing the Spotlight,
My First "Funny Business" Manager,
Another Suitcase, Another Hall,
Nice Dreams,
Out of the Closet, Onto a Pedestal,
Big Dreams, Dark Shadows, and Frolicking in Between,
Breaking Up Is Hard to Do,
The Three Faces of Geri: Jewell, Warner, and Tyler,
Touring with "Geri",
From Sesame Street to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue,
The People You Meet on the Way Down,
An Amazing Decade of Making Lemonade,
Richard, My Ex-Husband,
Honesty Within,
Building on a Shaky Foundation,
Finding My Way Back Home,
My Ground Zero,
The Three Ds: Divorce, Deadwood, and Determination,
Thank You,
Photo Section,
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