The Misanthrope’s Corner

I WISH baby boomers would stop telling me what I remember about Franklin D. Roosevelt. Ever since the wheelchair controversy erupted over his planned memorial, a chorus of know-it-all media goslings has been saying, “People of his time didn’t know he couldn’t walk.”

Of course we knew. We saw photos and newsreels of him clinging to the arm of one of his sons, usually James, with his other hand gripping a cane. We saw pictures of him seated with his leg braces visible around his ankles and bulking squarishly under his trousers at the knees. True, we never saw him in a wheelchair, but we didn’t have to. It was an era of starch and vests; “foundation garments” and “best dresses.” Common sense, born of our own experience, told us that when his public day was done he removed the heavy braces and slipped into something more comfortable: in his case, a wheelchair.

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Florence King

Florence King was a contributing editor of National Review.

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I WISH baby boomers would stop telling me what I remember about Franklin D. Roosevelt. Ever since the wheelchair controversy erupted over his planned memorial, a chorus of know-it-all media goslings has been saying, “People of his time didn’t know he couldn’t walk.”

Of course we knew. We saw photos and newsreels of him clinging to the arm of one of his sons, usually James, with his other hand gripping a cane. We saw pictures of him seated with his leg braces visible around his ankles and bulking squarishly under his trousers at the knees. True, we never saw him in a wheelchair, but we didn’t have to. It was an era of starch and vests; “foundation garments” and “best dresses.” Common sense, born of our own experience, told us that when his public day was done he removed the heavy braces and slipped into something more comfortable: in his case, a wheelchair.