My first years in the business:

After release from active duty with the United States Air Force and transfer to the reserves in the summer of 1964 I was ready to start a new career in prosthetics. My dad, retired US Army, and now working as a civilian in the Inspectors Generals Office 5th Army, knew someone who knew Jack Armold, PhD, Director of the prosthetics program at Northwestern University. This then was my track into a new pilot program that Northwestern would be starting in a few months for young people wishing to become prosthetists.

Following interviews and aptitude tests I was instructed to find a local apprentice job in prosthetics until classes start in the fall. Being a candidate for the new prosthetist pilot program at Northwestern was a plus in locating a job and I was soon hired by the Bardach-Schone Company located at 106 S. Canal in Chicago. This store font limb shop was two blocks north of Union Station and just a few blocks from Chicago’s skid row where the mass murderer of student nurses, Richard Speck, was found hiding.

The Bardach-Schone Company was owned by Mr. Waldmar Schone, CPO, his partner Mr. Bardach having passed away many years before. Waldmar, a jovial rotund German gentleman with an above the knee amputation who enjoyed making unsociable noises by releasing air from his suction socket prosthesis, did not spend much time at the shop. His nephew Harold, a few years older then I, was working toward his certification as a prosthetist after traditional training at Northwestern but did not have any say in the workings of the company.

My work station (bench) was located at the end of the shop next to the water heater with a window that opened onto a space that permitted steam from the dry cleaners next door to come in. The dry cleaning store was owned by George and his two single sisters from the old country. The sisters dressed and had hair styles straight from the 1940s.

At the bench next to mine was Vula who was from Yugoslavia and had a below the knee amputation. He was a true artist and artisan, and taught me much about the "art" of prosthetics. It was said he did a portrait for King Peter of Yugoslavia at one time. He was single but very active sociality within his church where he had a room for lodging. Vula had the ability to shape a prosthesis so that it was lifelike. I have an example of his work as part of the artificial limb exhibit at the VA Medical Center in Minneapolis.

Vula had no formal training in prosthetics and his education was strictly OJT, but he was able to carve out a full below the knee prosthesis from one piece of wood, and often custom made feet for prostheses.

Next bench over was Pete also from Yugoslavia and an above the knee amputee. Pete was tall, lanky, and had attended one of Northwestern's short term courses for fitting PTB prostheses. For reasons unknown to me and before my time Pete and Vula did not speak to each other, and they would only converse through a third party. Like most prosthetists of the time he wore a prosthesis that was unfinished, but always a work in progress.

Facing Pete’s bench was Carl from Germany who had a deep scar on one arm, but he was not an amputee. He was the shop’s leather man and did the leather work and sewing that was needed to finish a prosthesis. Carl was a bit of a mystery. He had a green card, which authorized him to work in the U.S., but he didn't seem to like Americans.

The shop foreman was Gunter Gehl, CP a certified prosthetist born in Germany but younger than the others. Gunter would later become an instructor of prosthetics at Northwestern after a falling out over the inheritance of the company following the death of Waldmar Schone.

The company was managed day to day by Jack Hensley an above the knee amputee from southern Illinois. I never did know Jack’s background for running the company, but he kept an eagle eye on the front office and did not tolerate any prying eyes - your job is in back stay there.

I recall one time when I saw a copy of the O&P Almanac published by the American Orthotic and Prosthetist Association (AOPA) laying out and started to look through it. It was then that I learned that the publication was for shop owner’s eyes only! For many years the O&P Almanac was a publication that only shop owners had access to. As a prosthetist working in the industry I was not privy to insider news and information relating to the trade I worked in. It was not until 1970 that individual prosthetists and orthotists working in the trade would have a voice in the industry with the founding of the American Academy of Orthotists and Prosthetists.

Next but not least was Carmen the secretary/receptionist, and all around office manager. Carmen was wiser and older beyond her years and ran the office with an iron fist. You would find her before we opened in the morning having a cigarette at the bar on the corner, and by ten she would have a highball on her desk. Her desk had a glass top that covered photos of our artificial limb customers many of them children from the Shiner's Hospital with which we had the contract. Carmen wore billowing dresses and would come in back to adjust her nylons while standing in the middle of the shop rather then using the restroom.

The uniform for the shop was company issued white bakers pants with a button fly front, white T-shirt, and a pair of worn shoes covered with gunk and white glue. Carl and Pete wore a butcher’s apron over top. Not the designer shirts, ties, and lab coats we see today. Of course this was cool in the summer as we did not have air conditioning in the shop, nor did we have a dust collector for the wood dust generated in the making of wooden legs.

I spent time doing odd jobs like cutting and gluing together pieces of coarse sandpaper to make sanding cones for the router, or pulling the stretch out of waxed suspender cords for ropes and rollers suspension systems. I remember watching Carl pouring acetone many times from a five gallon drum into bench top dispensers with a lit pipe in his mouth.

We did not have a coffee maker so I would go to the corner bar to get coffee for everyone, sometimes paid for by one of our customers. It was not uncommon for the customer to pay a tip after work had been done on their prosthesis. In the afternoon around three we would have mixed drinks or beer that Carmen would bring back from the corner bar. Carl liked to have a six pack of beer while the rest of us enjoyed mixed drinks. Lunch breaks were time enough to finish a sandwich and then back to work, unless you were smart like Vula and went out for lunch.

Limb shops were not located in modern facilities within suburban medical centers, but in the low rent districts of downtown. Coming to work it was not uncommon to find whiskey or wine bottles in the doorway, and some times the drunk with them. Hanger was located on South Clark Street, and you had to ring a doorbell before someone who knew you would let you in the door of the shop.

Wooden legs were purchased by the customer usually at 50% down and the rest on delivery. There was no Medicare and few insurance companies paid for artificial limbs. Of course an above the knee prosthesis cost around $600. That same identical prosthesis costs thousands of dollars today.

We had amputees come in off the street with no money and would try on an old prosthesis and if it fit close enough give it to them. I recall hauling a bunch of old legs over to the J.F. Rowley building and noticing the stares I got from the people driving by in cars. It was in the old Rowley building that a machine would carve out knee/shin setups that would get shipped out of country for prostheses. This was where Ollie worked finishing knee joints that we used for our wooden socket below knee prostheses. Ollie had an engineering degree from Northwestern University, but was down on his luck and had a bed in a flop house on skid row. We even had a one-legged prostitute customer who worked the bars a few streets west of the shop.

Earning $87 per week take home pay I was able to afford a small room at the YMCA on South Wabash across from a Catholic church. The room had a single bed, desk, chair, and closet. The showers and toilets were a short walk down the hall. This was not the accommodation I had in the Air Force, but would do until I moved into Northwestern's dorm Abbott Hall at 710 North Lake Shore Drive.

I would walk back and forth to work saving money, an on the weekends walk around exploring Chicago, and in the evenings enjoy the Go-Go bars on Rush Street. However, I was able to save enough money to buy my first 35mm SLR camera replacing the viewfinder 35mm I had used in the Air Force. I used The Konica SLR for photos at work, while attending Northwestern, and learning more about photography from RICs official photographer Ed Bonk.

So began my years in the artificial limb trade.