Nonfiction | June 01, 1992
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“The wheelchair was the way home.” The line is from my first book, published in 1964, when I believed I was forever done with wheelchairs. I was thirty when The Long Walk Home appeared, a husband and father, about to embark on a Fulbrightyear abroad. But the words younger men choose have a way of catching up to the realities older men must face–and if the self-consciously dramatic tone I used to describe the origins of my love affair with the wheelchair is a trifle embarrassing today, the judgement itself remains surprisingly accurate.
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