In June of 1959, at the tender age of 5 1/2 years old, my life came to a screeching halt. I was dancing around the gym in kindergarten class when I collapsed to the ground. It was polio in one of the last polio epidemics in the US. I was blessed to have Miss Holly, an earth angel of a physical therapist and Dr. Moskowitz who specialized in the rehabilitation of polio patients. There was no disability awareness back then. My first summer camp experience was as traumatic as school was for me when it came to any kind of sports activities. Dr. Moskowitz suggested I attend Badger Day Camp. Dr. Moskowitz believed that swimming in an Olympic size swimming pool with swim times twice a day along with the caring and compassionate leadership of Ruth and John Collins, it would be the perfect environment for me to heal and thrive in the wake of contracting paralytic polio.
I flourished during my first season there and was eager to return for a second season. The counselors and fellow campers were a healing balm to the abuse I experienced at home and the taunting and teasing I experienced at school. One of my swimming counselors, Joe Stetz, invited me to participate in the end of summer camp Olympics (that they continue to have 60 years later) in of all strokes, the Butterfly stroke! There were only two other campers who were willing to compete in the Butterfly and I was guaranteed a place on the podium regardless of how long it would take for me to finish. I told him I was terrified of jumping off of the starting block and was challenged with turns at the wall. He knew of my history of polio but that didn't stop him from becoming my mentor getting me ready for the Olympics.
Here is a photo of Joe with John Collins, John Snooks, and Richard Tangeman posing at the Badger pool after breaking the American Record in the 4x100yard Medley Relay in 1962 🇺🇸!
How could I possibly have refused Joe with his strength, compassion, warm smile and deep soulful brown eyes! He was true to his word and worked with me to make sure I'd have the confidence I needed to go out in my lane swimming with heart as fast as my physically challenged body would take me. He told me to not look to my right or my left but stay in my lane and go as fast as I could. He knew how much courage it took for me to get to the starting block. He extended his hand to me when I touched the wall and walked with me to the podium where I received a bronze plaque for my effort.
On the last day of camp, he gave me a warm hug and wanted me to stay in touch with him. He was giving up a bid to compete in the summer Olympics in the Butterfly to pursue a career in medicine. We lost touch through the years but the imprint he left on my heart and soul has remained with me. I know that the experience I had at Badger enabled me to take on the challenge of the 2009 Boston Marathon in the wake of the diagnosis of Post-Polio Syndrome. As a VA social worker, we often read the Death Notices in the Boston Globe to see if our veterans had made their transition. Imagine my shock when, in December of 2004, I saw his Death Notice.
I did a google search to learn more about the incredible life of the man who helped me navigate the turbulent waters of my childhood. I was stunned to discover that we worked at St. Elizabeth's Medical Center at the same time when I worked as a social worker on the inpatient geriatric psychiatric unit.
From the Special Forces Association Tribute:
In 1971, Dr. Joseph J. Stetz, Jr. was drafted by the Army as part of the Berry Plan, which utilized young physicians and surgeons who had just completed residencies. Captain (Dr) Stetz was stationed in Okinawa, Japan, and his two daughters were born there in 1972 and 1973. He completed a Basic Airborne Course conducted in Okinawa. In 1973, he returned to the United States and was stationed at Cutler Army Hospital, Fort Devens, MA. After completing his Active Duty obligation, Major Stetz joined the RI Army National Guard (that desperately needed doctors) on one condition: he would be attached to Special Forces. Joe attended weekend training assemblies and Annual Training with SF in addition to fulfilling the requirements of RIARNG State Surgeon. Joe also became qualified as a Flight Surgeon. He would quietly remain in the background during SF operations. However, when SF soldiers were injured, he would immediately come to their aid. Joe would accompany them to the ER and take charge of their care. Colonel (Dr) Joseph J. Stetz, Jr. retired after 30 years of service. Joe was a Charter Member (D3819) of Chapter 48, SFA.
From the Boston Globe Obituary:
Dr. Joseph J. Stetz Jr. of Lexington, who picked medical school over a chance to compete in the Olympic swimming trials, was a man of few words except when it came to medicine. The former surgeon, who wore cowboy boots and was known to give hugs to patients, died Saturday at Boston Medical Center at age 62. He died 12 hours after he was in a single-car accident in Lexington. A family member said he died after his blood pressure dropped.
"He was an old-school doctor who didn't mind giving patients a much-needed hug," said Bernadette Trenholm, Dr. Stetz's personal administrator and close friend. "Appointments were always as long as they needed to be with him. If the patients needed two hours, Dr. Stetz would give them two hours." Dr. Stetz was a cardiothoracic surgeon at St. Elizabeth's Medical Center in Brighton for two decades until his retirement in October.
Dr. Stetz grew up in Manhattan and spent a lot of time swimming; his father was a swim coach. Dr. Stetz swam competitively at Harvard University and qualified for the 1964 Summer Olympic trials while a student. But Dr. Stetz, a butterfly specialist, faced tremendous family pressure to go to medical school and chose medicine over an Olympic bid. He received his medical degree from the SUNY Health Science Center at Brooklyn in 1968. In 1967 he married Estelle Manetas. He spent many Thanksgivings and holidays working. "He had no problem staying up till 2 a.m. at the patient's bedside," Trenholm said. "There were times that he would perform three open heart surgeries a day, and up to 600 a year."
Medical textbooks and magazines took up a great deal of space in his Lexington home. "He was an avid reader," his daughter Jessica said. "He kept every magazine, every book, and every article." Jessica, of Brooklyn, works in emergency medicine at SUNY Health Science Center at Brooklyn, her father's alma mater. "He was extremely dedicated to his work and had a huge desire to always read and learn more," Jessica said. "Medicine is something we bonded over."
Dr. Stetz's other daughter, Rebecca of Oxford, England, has a doctorate in chemistry and works at Oxford University.Dr. Stetz was interested in the outdoors. He had a Stetson hat and several pairs of cowboy boots. He loved riding Sassy, his horse of 15 years, and dreamed of moving to Montana, his daughter Jessica said. Until recently, Dr. Stetz rode his horse several times a week. In addition to his daughters and former wife, Dr. Stetz leaves a granddaughter, Julia."
Fast forward to the starting line of the 2017 Bermuda 10K. I was waiting for Tom to begin his race. As spectators often do, we struck up a conversation. She was a nurse who was scoping out the race as part of a medical preparedness team.
"Where are you from?" I asked.
"We live not far from Boston," she replied.
"Oh interesting. May I ask where you work?" (I had no idea why I asked her that question!)
"I work at St. Elizabeth's."
My breath caught. She mentioned she'd been there for many years.
"By any chance did you know Dr. Joe Stetz?" I inquired.
"I sure did!," and she went on to ask me about how I knew him.
We shared stories and our eyes filled with tears. She told me that Joe injured his hand changing the oil in his car and was devastated that he could no longer practice surgery. She shared that he was looking forward to retirement having time to read books, enjoy his grandchild and ride horses. The gun went off and we went our separate ways but not before I felt goosebumps from head to toe remembering Joe.
I know Joe was with me when I ran Boston and has been with me during all of my adventures as a most unlikely runner. He instilled within me the heart of a champion and taught me to never be afraid to finish last. At the tender age of 10 years old, I learned that despite all appearances to the contrary, I could exceed what I perceived to be my limitations and overcome my fears. But I did not do it alone. As Wilma Rudolph, polio survivor and Gold medal Olympian said, "No matter what accomplishments we make, somebody helps us."
In health and wellness,
Mary
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