Dedication to Dan
This Site is dedicated to my Uncle Dan who died when I was just a few months old. I could just as easily dedicate this site to other family members because in reality, they all made an impression on me in how they faced disability and adversity.
Left to Right top row; Thelma, Fred and Harold. Bottom row Dan and Gene.
Dan's real name was Harold Daniel Pierce. His Parent's were Thelma and Harold Pierce. When I would visit my Grandmother, she would tell me stories about the family and people who lived before us. The thing that I most admired was how my Uncle, my Grandfather, my Grandmother and even Great Great Grandfather all handled adversity and disability. To them, it was nothing. They went on about there lives as though nothing was out of the ordinary but they were anything but ordinary to me.
When I was just 6 months old and my Mother was barely pregnant with my Brother the family decided to go on a picnic at the Dam. Mom, Dad, Uncle Dan, Uncle Fred and Aunt Elaine all went that day. Dan had epilepsy and was prone to fits from time to time. It didn't stop him from doing what he loved to do. That was fishing and swimming and it was a fine day to do it. While everyone was enjoying themselves at the lake that day, some Mexican Men approached my Mother and Aunt and began to try to force or coerce them away from my Dad and Uncle. Uncle Dan stepped in and beat the men off and told Dad and Uncle Fred to take the Women home as these Men did not appear to be put off easily. Dad and Uncle Fred took Mom and Aunt Elaine home and asked Dan if he was coming but Dan said he was going to stay and fish because there was a lot of fish at the Dam that day and he wanted to bring some home for Dinner.
The day got later and later and Dan didn't show up. Dad and Uncle Fred got worried and went back to see what was keeping him. Dan was not alive when they found him. It appeared he had an injury to his head and there was a live fish buttoned up in his trousers. Grandma thought that the Men who were beat up by Dan came back to hurt him now that he was alone. She thought they might have thrown rocks at him from above and killed him. Uncle Fred thought that maybe he had an epileptic seizure and he hit his head. If he was catching the fish with his bare hands then he might have placed them in his trousers for safekeeping. No one really knows what happened for sure and could only speculate but the one thing everyone did know was that Dan defended the honor of two Women family members before he died that day. He defended there honor and never said, "Oh, I can't fight these guy's, I have epilepsy. He just did what he thought was right with no consequence to himself.
Grandma and everyone else was devastated by the loss of Dan. My Mother and Father named the child she was carrying in honor of Dan. I remember hearing the story growing up and even saw the Newspaper Article once and asked about it. Now that I knew who Dan was, even though I had no male children I decided I would pass on the honorable name and give it to my last born Daughter and named her Danielle.
When I first came up with the idea to create this website I thought about Dan again and decided to name this website after him. Dan did have a disability and he was a noble person. He was a person with integrity and a person who put love and sacrifice in front of everything else, even himself. That's what Dan stands for and now you know who this is dedicated to. I thought it might please my Grandmother to know that the child she lost was not forgotten.
Disabled Artists Network is Dedicated to the Memory of Dan pictured above.
Grandma Thelma also had a disability. While she said it was a thyroid problem she had I suspect there was more to it then that as having a thyroid only problem would not usually prevent one from working. Grandma said it was after the chicken egg business during the depression that did it for her. I'm guessing that the physical exhaustion of running up and down stairs all day to fetch eggs from the basement for customer's was too much for Grandma. Later on, she developed a heart condition and had to have a pace maker put. Grandma's heartbeat was so fast at times it would wear out the pacemakers and other times so slow she was near death but one thing was for sure and that they had great difficulty getting both the thyroid medicine and the pacemaker to balance out and help her feel better. Grandma went through 5 pacemakers before they took the last one out and went up to 5 grains of thyroid a day at times being so highly resistant to the medication.
Grandma told me the story of when she was a girl of just 3 yrs. old that she attended the funeral of her Grandmother Catherine Roush. Grandma was born on Presidents Day, February 22, 1915. She was just 3 yrs. old at the time of her Grandma Catherine's funeral in 1918. What Grandma remembered the most about Grandma Catherine was how much people loved her. She was so popular and well loved in her community that the line of people who attended her funeral was very long. Grandma Catherine had 14 children but only 3 lived to adulthood. She herself had a thyroid condition so bad that her thyroid didn't work at all. They really didn't know much about it then and even though they didn't they surmised that taking it out would save her life so they did. Grandma passed down the story that Catherine was related to President Abraham Lincoln through a third or fourth cousin 3 times removed and was a purported favorite cousin of Abe's. Whatever that means, it still confuses me. I thought it was nice to know but I had questions that just didn't add up. Things like, well if that was true, how did President Lincoln come to have German Cousin's? Grandma said in those day's that it was not popular to be German so Catherine changed the spelling of her name from Rausch to Roush to make it sound more American. Even with that I guess one still had to try to be invisible as much as possible and perhaps that is why no one knew. I would imaging most people would not want to know anyway but in the end, does it really matter? Another family member had done a genealogy search and was the one who had found out Catherine's relation to President Lincoln. Grandma told me when she was still alive but I've had a terrible time locating her and asking for copies of the genealogy work done. Even though it doesn't really matter to anyone that much I would still like proof and it would help solve the mysterious genetic mutation question as well as help future generations stay well. Grandma's Brother Virgil lived to a good long age but her Sister died from Brain Cancer. If that Brain Cancer was the result of a pituitary adenoma and if the thyroid hormone resistance that seems to run in the family is the result of that same genetic mutation then it would help to know for sure and let us know what kind of testing we should be doing.
Besides being German, Grandma said she was Scott Irish and had the coloring to prove it. She like my father had that dark hair and startling blue eyes. So startling that Women were either afraid of him or fell for him instantly. People said that when Dad looked at you with those eye's that it seemed like he was looking right through you. It kind of un nerved some people. Grandpa would laugh about it and say it was called the "Pierce Stare". Along with it came the "Pierce Nose". I knew I got that little bump high up on the bridge of my nose from Dad and noticed he had it too. When I was younger people would ask occasionally if I wanted to have it removed and I always said no. I loved my Dad so much and that was something he gave me. Why would I remove it? I could always look in the mirror and be reminded of him so long as I had it.
Grandma was kind, wise and patient so long as I knew her and was able to spend time with her. To this day I miss her so much just like my Dad. Grandma always had a story to share and she exuded warmth and love and made you feel loved when ever you were in her presence. Grandma was very smart but she never had the chance to do anything with it. Just like the 3 generations that followed her, she finished High School at just 16 yrs. old. She then went on to study accounting. Grandma did very well with accounting and was getting ready to take the test that would give her certification and the ability to get a good job. Right before the test Grandma fell ill with a dreaded childhood disease. I can't remember what it was now, it might have been mumps but it was contagious. The person who was to administer the test denied her the chance to take the test after she got well and cheated her of the opportunity for a better life. He said he would not give her the test because he thought she might be able to cheat by finding out what the test was and getting the answers from people who already took it. I think deep down he realized how smart she was and for her to go into a profession dominated by Men was a threat in some way. After all that studying and work Grandma never got her opportunity and let it go. That Man who cheated her out of her Accounting degree did not take into account that Grandma didn't need to cheat to pass a test. Anyone that finishes school 2 yrs. early doesn't''t need to cheat on tests. Cheated out of a career, Grandma went on to do what most Women during the that time. Being Wives and Mothers. Other then a stint at working as Riveter during the War Grandma was a Homemaker and helped Grandpa in his farming business.
Grandma met my Grandpa Harold through letters. Grandpa was a Navy Man at the time based on the U.S.S. Mississippi. A friend of his had a girl back home and told him he knew a better looking gal then the one he was currently dating. So began a romance by letter that eventually turned into Marriage on July 29, 1933 between my Grandmother Thelma Mc Daniel and my Grandfather Harold Pierce. All three of Grandma and Grandpa's Children were born at home and Grandpa delivered all three of his Son's himself. I couldn't believe he did this and asked him how he could do it. Grandpa just said it "Wasn't much different then delivering calves" and didn't think much of it.. I was horrified to think of what danger could have happened and what Grandma must have endured but according to my Uncle she was in much better hands with Grandpa then another Relative who had lost two children to the local Doctor who broke there necks while trying to turn them during a breach delivery.
Grandma was good about sharing with me the McDaniel side of the family history but when I would inquire about Grandpa's side of the family it was always a bit mysterious other then the proclamation that Grandpa descended from the Captain Michael Pierce who was the brother of Captain William Pierce and that they owned part of the Mayflower and sailed people over to America. Try as I could through the years I couldn't find any books or internet information that talked about this and wondered what Grandma was talking about. Grandma would also say that Grandpa was related to a whole bunch of Presidents so of course I was curious and asked Grandpa which ones. Grandpa would reply "It really doesn't matter if don't agree with there politics". Grandpa was always so humble about this and it didn't matter to him one bit who he was related to as in his mind, he was his own person separate from all that. Grandpa's famous relatives weren't the only thing he was humble about. All the time I knew him I never knew he was walking around on a wooden leg. I didn't want to embarrass him by asking to see it as obviously he would of have made it obvious had he wanted anyone to know. It took me over ten years to get the whole story behind Grandpa's wooden leg and what he was able to do with it.
Grandpa didn't always have a wooden leg. It wasn't until he had a farm during the depression that he lost his leg. Some family member's tell me that he lost it when a train ran over it and other's say it was a farming accident. The confusion arises out of the fact that the leg was passed down to him by his Great Grandfather Lorenzo Dow Gold on his Mother's side who also lost a leg in either a farming or train accident. One of them had a wooden leg and the other had a better prosthetic leg with a foot on it.
Grandpa was so skilled with that wooden leg that I never knew he had one. He walked so gracefully that you would never know unless someone told you. One day he told me a funny story about a Mennonite Preacher who came to visit him with the intent to convert him to his brand of faith. While the Preacher talked, a snake slither in the grass towards Grandpa. Grandpa glanced down at that snake and kept listening to the Preacher. The Preacher's eye's got wider as he looked at Grandpa, looked at the Snake and wondered if Grandpa was going to move away. Finally the snake reached it's destination and Grandpa moved his leg ever so slightly towards the snake and the snake lashed out and bit him on the leg. By the now the Preacher wondered if Grandpa would fall to the ground begging for help but he just stood there nodding his head. The Preacher thought for sure he had witnessed a miracle of some sort for who could take a snake bite and not die or need help instantly? Finally the Preacher couldn't take it anymore and got very nervous and left. He never returned to visit again after that. Grandpa would chuckle about this story and figured he wouldn't be bothered with anymore attempts to convert his faith. He never told that Preacher that he had a wooden leg and that he made the snake bite it.
Long after Grandpa died from Stomach Cancer, I brought this story up to my Uncle when I came to visit him in 2010. Uncle Fred told me matter of factly that Grandpa killed snakes all the time in this manner. Grandpa never bragged about what he could do and didn't think anything of it but I was very impressed with this, especially when I visualized in my head how in the world he was able to do this. Most people with a prosthetic limb don't care to walk on them much, let alone kill snakes with them but Grandpa did. Uncle Fred told me that Grandpa came across snakes all the time out in the field. When a snake would come slithering toward Grandpa he would stick his wooden leg out for the snake to bite. As soon as the snake bit it he would grab the snake just below it's head and hold on tight. Grandpa grabbed the snake with lightning speed at the juncture between the head and body. The recoil broke the snake's head from it's body killing it instantly. I loose my breathe for an instant realizing that Grandpa had to have deadly and precise aim to be able to grab that live snake in the exact right place every single time and to know every single time that the snake would bite his wooden leg and not his good leg. I never in my life heard of any Man who killed snakes with his bare hands let alone kill them while being disabled with one leg and killing them with bare hands. He only used one hand to grab the snake and he only used his wooded leg to trick the snake. He had to balance on that good leg all the while performing this act as he had to lift his prosthetic leg to entice the snake. He didn't use guns, knives or any weapon's at all and he did this all day long every day a snake appeared. Grandpa must have surely possessed some magic ability to be able to do that. According to Herpetologist Mike Leggett a snake takes only one half of second to bite it's victim from start to finish. It's so fast that the snake uses just one heartbeat and the movement is actually faster then what the eye can see. Here is a link to his interesting lecture
http://www.statesman.com/search/content/sports/stories/outdoors/11/17SNAKES.html
The only time Grandpa ever got bit was the time he reached down to toss a snake into the grass to decompose. The thing about snakes is that even though they may be dead they can still bite for a time afterward, That snake head bit Grandpa on the arm. Grandpa being Grandpa took it in stride. He just got his knife out, made a cut, sucked the poison out and went back to work. When he got home that night Grandma asked him why his arm was bandaged and Grandpa had to tell her. Grandma was horrified that Grandpa didn't come home instantly after the bite but Grandpa told her that since the snake already bit his leg it probably didn't have as much venom so wasn't quite as deadly. He never thought anything of it but we all did. I wanted to tell you this story about Grandpa because Grandpa had a very hard life. He suffered through the depression. He lost his leg and went into doing work that was hard, long and laborious. He farmed long hours and did it with one leg. He never asked for anything in his life but gave a lot of himself. He took good care of Grandma and his Children, one of whom was my Dad. Even though he was related to so many President's we lost track counting. Even though his first Generation Ancestor was a famous Captain who was responsible for helping Americans settle here and died in King Philip's War, Grandpa's life was hard. What he really wanted to do was be a writer. He used to write long letter's to me and it is all I had to remember him by until they were stolen. Grandpa never got to be a Writer so for you Grandpa I am writing this story about you. I know you would be too humble to tell anyone but I am telling the story of part of your life. Being not only a responsible hard working family man but being the most brave person I know. You are Harold Pierce the "Fearless Snake Killer". You were also a Navy Man following in the footsteps of former Pierce Captains by love of the water. Last but not least, you were a Golden Glove Boxer during the depression and won every single fight you were in. Not only are you my Grandpa but you are a legacy in your own right. I will love you always.
Pictured above is Harold Pierce as a Golden Glove Boxer during the depression training a young boy. Grandma said he never lost a single fight. I heard stories he also boxed with one leg.
Some of the other family member's who faced adversity or disability I did not find out about until my Visit with my Uncle Fred in 2010. Going back even farther in the family tree I found that Grandpa inherited that leg from his Mother's Father Lorenzo Dow Gold the first owner of that famous prosthetic leg. Lorenzo lost his leg after a farming or train accident and took himself to the Doctor. Lifting himself up on the table that day, the Doctor proclaimed they would have to take the leg due to it being so badly mangled and in danger of gangrene. With no anesthetic or pain killer's Lorenzo laid on that table wide awake while the Doctor sawed the leg off. His friends buried the leg in a cemetery with a headstone with a picture of a leg and foot on it out of love for there friend Lorenzo.
Lorenzo married to Campcedell West and they had about 10 children. They also had a farm and a garden. One day President Woodrow Wilson addressed the Nation with an urgent request for canned goods for the troops during the war. Lorenzo being the enterprising person he was got his license or permit signed by President Woodrow Wilson and set out to operate a canning business.
He wasn't thinking things like "Oh my life is over now because I only have one leg". He was thinking about how to take care of his family and business as usual. That he did and he and his family worked long hours into the night cooking and canning food. Even with 10 Children and a Wife to help it must have been a lot of work. Lorenzo loved the lord and the bible and this faith kept him strong. When it was too late to work, the family got lantern's out and continued to work. One day Lorenzo told his friends that he could still feel his leg and had phantom leg syndrome. He said it felt like he had gravel between his toes and that they were cramped. His friends looked at each other and immediately went to the place where Lorenzo's leg was buried. They dug it up, straightened out the toes and removed the gravel. How he knew can only testify to the power of phantom leg syndrome. Lorenzo lived a full life and had everything a Man could want. A beautiful wife, loving family and friends and a business that would help the Nation's troop's. A missing limb didn't stop him from enjoying all that life had to offer. While Lorenzo was buried with one of his legs, it was his Grandson Harold Pierce who learned from him what you could do with one leg and who would inherit the other leg when he needed it at a time in his life.
Pictured above is Artist Joyce Pruitt
There is one other family member I want to add to this story and that is Joyce Pruitt. Joyce was another Grandchild of Lorenzo and Campcedell who also had a disability. Hers was congenital and she was born with just one arm. How I happened upon the story of Joyce was through another Genealogy Search of my own when I saw name's and pictures in my Uncle's photo albums that I was not familiar with. That name was West. I saw the photo's and thought "This name is important". My gut feeling was that I would find something important if I continued to look. I also wanted to know about the mysterious Native American side that Uncle Fred and Grandpa seemed to be so appalled about. I had a different perspective on that as I never knew what it might be like to be ashamed to be Native American and had always been proud to be called Alaska Native Indian or Native American. In those days in the Midwest it was not so. I wanted to find out what the big secret was and why everyone seemed so horrified by the prospect. The horror was merely a learned response with no actual reason for it that I could find but after finding and questioning more unknown cousins and researching I came to find out it was Delaware Indian and it came through the West side of the family from Campcedell West and it wasn't even that much. Not only did I find out about the mysterious Delaware Indian blood but found that through Campcedell was also found through DNA testing and the West DNA project a shared DNA with the famous Artist Benjamin West. This would explain the creative traits and love of art somewhat in the family and brings us to Joyce Pruitt. Joyce was Lorenzo and Campcedell's Granddaughter through there Daughter Susie Gold and Ira Pruitt. Though she was born with one arm she was very much loved by her Parent's Susie Gold and Ira Pruitt. Joyce had a good sense of self esteem and went on to attend the California Institute of Art and may well have been the very first Disabled Artist in America. Because people were so busy hiding things like Indian blood and stuff like that Joyce never really got support or recognition of her work as an earlier predecessor Artist Benjamin West but as told to me by an older Cousin she was very good. Try as I might, I can not find her Descendants and my Cousin does not know there name but it would be nice to be able to find her Art some day and post it here.
The thing that struck me odd about all the three famous family lines was that everyone seemed to want to be invisible and did not want anyone to know about them or where they were. Was someone dangerous following them? I hope not. How could these families lines who were so instrumental in early American life come to be hiding out and living ordinary lives while there relatives lived in the White House and Castles and had name's like Lord, Duke, Earl, Duchess, Lady or President? Maybe they just wanted to be left alone. Maybe they only appeared on the scene when they did something great and noble or were wealthy. Catherine certainly didn't want anyone to know that she was German. Grandpa didn't want anyone to know that there was Indian Blood in the family. In those times I suppose it would be looked down on. Perhaps family members were banished or shut out if the pedigree did not look good enough or were ashamed. I don't know about them but I'm proud of my family, I don't care what they are and I don't care what I am. All I know is I love them and I want to honor them. I hope you will too.
For those who face disability and adversity every day I hope there stories will bring you inspiration and hope. As I honor them, I honor you with this website to show and share your artwork that you may realize your dreams and know that everything you do counts. Everything.
Everyone has a dream. If your dream is to be an Artist then I hope by providing this website that you may have the opportunity to show your art in whatever form it is and bring your dreams to life.
About Me
I was born Wanda Marie Pierce January 1, 1960 in Colorado. My Parents were Carol Gene and Patricia Lee. My Grandparents were Thelma and Harold on my Dad's side of the family and Marie on my Mother's side. We don't know who my Mom's Dad is. For the first few years of my life we all lived in Colorado near Grandma and Grandpa. Grandpa had a nickname for me. He called me booze. His affectionate coined term meaning end of a train and a papoose. My Mom was only 15 yrs. old and my Dad not much older when they married. My Brother came along February 5th, 1961. I think the young age of my Parents and stress of dealing with my Uncles death took a toll on there young and fragile marriage.
Mom took us back to Alaska to live with Grandma and there began my adventures of living in the wilderness. I came to saw my half blood Aleut Grandmothers as the bravest person I knew even though I was just a toddler. I learned early on that it was the Women who had to be brave, who had to be tough and who had to be strong. I saw my Grandmother lug heavy buckets of water from the well all the way up to the house over and over. She would go out and chop wood with an ax and make a fire. After she did all that she would pour water into a tin tub and heat it over the fire. This was quite a bit of work but Grandma did it and this is how we got our baths once a week. Everyone shared the same tub and lined up for there turn because who would really want to lug hundreds of buckets of water to the house? There was also no electricity and there was no indoor plumbing. The only light we had was supplied by kerosene lamps or something similar. The only bathroom was an outhouse that you had to walk to a fair distance from the house. It was always a little scary going there for you never knew when a bear might be about.
Grandma not only lugged the water to the house bucket after bucket and chopped firewood with an ax but she also made sure to put dinner on the table. Grandma would go out and set trap lines to catch animals like rabbit for us to eat. She would get vegetables from a neighbor who had magnificent radishes. His name was Herb and it suited him perfectly. Grandma also had a double barrel shot gun which she protected us with and used to hunt larger game. Nearby was a smoke house that was used to smoke meat and fish.
My first memorable experience was the day my Grandmother and Mom saved my life. I was only about 3 or 4 yrs. old at the time but remember it like yesterday. I was playing in the brush, fascinated with how you could move it around and hide in it. Not far away a dangerous grizzly bear spotted me. Just coming out of his winter hibernation he was ravenous for something to eat. My Mom and Grandma happened to be outside with me at the time and spotted the bear as he came roaring out of the woods. My Mom, even though she was just a teenager barely over 17 yrs. old stood bravely by about a hundred yards away and yelled at Grandma to go get the gun. My Grandmother quick as wit, raced into the house and grabbed her double barrel shot gun and pointed it above the bears head. The bear was moving quickly towards me and Mom yelled to me. "Don't move!" I froze into place watching the bear, watching my Mom and watching my Grandmother. I knew my life depended on them at that very moment. Grandma pointed her gun into the air above the bears head and shot several rounds into the air. Grandma being the experienced pioneer she was knew exactly what to the expect. The bear frightened more by the sound then his need to eat ran back into the woods after a few more shots.
As I watched my Mother and what she did day after day I learned what perseverance was. Surely other teenagers had an easier life then my Mom and other Grandmothers had an easier life then my Grandmother. Every day there was work my Mom walked the mile or so to town to go to work in the canneries. I didn't see her much in my early life because she was always working. She took care of everyone. Not just my Brother, Sister and myself but Grandma and even her Brother's who really did not do much to contribute. Mom faced bears every day she walked to work alone and from time to time she would come on one standing in the road on her way to work. I remember her telling the story of how she thought the bear might attack her but it just looked at her and walked away. This didn't stop her from going to work. There were no excuses and Mom bravely set out on her journey day after day.
There were no luxuries in that time and even the simplest of things were hard to come by. I saw only one photo of myself as a child and in that photo I had a cloth diaper wrapped around my head to stay warm because there was not even money for a hat or a coat that fit. Of course when your that young you don't care anyway as there were always much more pressing things to be concerned about. In any event Mom did the best she could and really did much more then any teen I have ever heard of. Mom faced a lot of challenges and heart break throughout her early life. Some of that from loosing most of her Brother's and Sister's to Cancer as well as being the sole provider of the family. Before the 1964 earthquake we moved from Seldovia to Kodiak and Mom went to work in the canneries there. I still don't remember her much until I was in Elementary School. By that time she had met and was remarried to a fisherman. Times were still hard and luxuries were still non existent. I remember the first joyful thing that entered our home was music. We had a babysitter name Candy who loved to eat M & M s which she shared with us and play the record or radio when she babysat. We sang along and danced in the living room and it was the first time ever I learned what joy was. I was soon inspired to write poetry while in elementary school and by the 6th grade my best friend Theresa Howard and I would get up in front of the class and sing the made up songs I had created. They laughed and made fun of us but we still did it just for the joy of singing.
In the years leading up to this we were introduced to black and white television. Television opened up a whole new world that we never knew before. There was singing and dancing and all kinds of fun things going on that we didn't know about through that television. I watched the Ballerina's on TV and one day decided I wanted to be a Ballerina. I guess I was about 7 or 8 yrs. old. or more. I practiced for hours every day after school standing on my tip toes. I started to get this big lump on my leg below my knee and asked my Stepdad what was wrong with me. I thought some deformity had occurred or that I had cancer on my leg or something. He laughed and said, no, "It's just a calf muscle". I thought it looked strange and it took a while to get used to it as it was something new. I really could stand on my toes by that time and felt that was as far as I could go unless I had lessons. I went to ask my Parents if I could go to Ballet Lessons and was really excited about becoming a Ballerina. Grandma Powell thought that Tap Dancing was better and she loved Tap Dancing but I loved Ballet and the graceful way the dancers moved on the stage. I loved the way dancing made me feel. It was a happy feeling. My Mom said no to the lessons. With five kids to care for alone the prospect of having to drive me back and forth to college for lessons was just too much for her to take on at that time. I asked if I could walk there but that answer was no also. It was probably for the best as it was quite a long way for child to walk with long stretches of wilderness on the way so I stopped dancing and gave up that dream.
Because we lived in such a remote area we pretty much only saw older shows on television and were probably about 10 yrs. behind the rest of the world it seemed. One day I heard my own voice on a tape recorder and was appalled. I thought it sounded awful and wondered why I was not able to hear myself when singing. It occurred to me it might have been from some hearing loss and damage to my eardrums when they burst from untreated ear infections when I was younger. I decided that since I was such a terrible singer that I could at least continue to write songs and at the age of 12 or so saw an ad in the back of one my Mom's romance magazines advertising for songwriters. I set out to become a songwriter in hopes that I could get a job writing songs for Elvis Presley and eventually Marry him and move to Hollywood.
I sent my songs in to a place called Liberace Records and they choose one titled "Love" and made it into a real vinyl record which they sent to me. We were excited and put it on the record player. Then we listened to it and well.... thinking it would be a catchy tune like Elvis sang was disappointed that it was not and the record got set aside and forgotten for the time being.
A few months later another record company called MSR Records sent a letter saying that they would set it to new music for a fee of $200.00 and publish it for free. I thought that was a fair deal and asked my Mom and Stepdad if they would help me. The answer was no. I was disappointed but figured I could earn the money myself.
I got a job delivering newspapers after school when I was 11 or 12 yrs. old. I had a bicycle that I rode and delivered papers on in the opposite direction of school and home. The route was pretty long and it had to be done before dark which took about 2 hrs. It wasn't so bad until Winter set in and the blizzards came. So long as you were pedaling, you could stay warm. I had other jobs I did like babysitting and selling candy at the orphanage. In about 2 weeks time or so I had saved almost $20.00 I thought for sure that I was really going to accomplish this. I earned another $3.00 that day and went into my Parent's bedroom to add it to the pink plastic cup with the white lid that held my dreams. I opened it up and all the money was gone that I had earned! I couldn't believe it. I ran into the Kitchen and asked my Mom who was washing dishes. She wouldn't look at me but said "Maybe someone came in the window and took it while we were gone". I went outside and looked to see if someone had pushed something up to the house and gotten in the open window. Nothing was there and it was too high for a kid to climb in without putting something under the window and too small for an adult to get in. I figured this explanation was probably not what happened. I never knew who took the money but I did know it would be pointless to try to earn any more money if it was not safe to keep it in the house so at that point, I never wrote another song and put aside my dream to be a songwriter and write songs for Elvis.
Life was dismal for some time after that. I went to school, came home, cleaned the house, cleaned my room, helped with Dinner Dishes. Afterward I went outside to play or watch TV. Our favorite show was Disney and every Sunday we could look forward to a new show on the Wonderful World of Walt Disney. I was mostly bored out of my mind a good deal of the time but for whatever reason was not really allowed to have any friends or go to friends houses. Making friends up to that point was a mystery to me. After being denied the company of peers for nearly 12 yrs. of my life I had few social skills. I didn't know what to say to other kids. Other then my Grandmother, Sisters, Brothers and Cousins what I knew of other families and the rest of the world was pretty limited other then the Television. I knew for sure that my Grandmother loved me and when she died I nearly had a nervous breakdown. I loved her so much and even though I only saw her once a year at times, every moment counted. Grandma spent time with me showing me how to iron clothes and how to knit. At night she would sneak marshmallows to us in her apron pockets at bedtime even though she wasn't supposed to and we went to sleep knowing we were loved.
By the time my Mom permitted me to have friends I was starting to turn into an adolescent. Instead of friends I ended up with enemies and girls began to despise me. The beatings started in the 6th grade and continued up into High School. It was usually over something dumb like being accused of talking to a boy that another girl liked which wasn't even true because I hardly talked to anyone for being shy. I came home after being punched in the stomach or getting bloody noses upset not because of the temporary pain but because they hated me so much. In High School my head was bashed into concrete cinder blocks over a girl being jealous of a hat my Mother bought me. Why did people act this way? I didn't know. Life was lonely and I was alone a good deal of time except for the rare friend I made who was willing to be my friend despite my appearance. A girl who was capable of being a true friend and who was not consumed by jealousy was a true friend indeed.
One of my first real friends was another girl named Theresa. I loved to spend the night at her house and it was the first time ever I saw what other families were like. Her Dad was no nice and made the sleepover a special event. He would cook this delicious home made spaghetti for us and serve it on blue and white plates. For dessert he made fudge which I had never seen made before. I thought I was in heaven. Later that night he offered us some pickled octopus. I looked at that piece of octopus in the mason jar and wondered what it might taste like. Would the little suction cup on the octopus stick to my tongue I wondered. I watched my friend Theresa eat a piece then decided to try it. Well, it didn't taste that bad. In fact it was kind of chewy and rubbery. If I could best describe it I would say it was like chewing on a piece of pickled tire. I would never forget the experience. Theresa had a family I would never forget and she was a friend I truly treasured.
Throughout High School I had a total of three real friends and a few frenemies. It was still somewhat of a mystery to me why it was so hard to make friends but I tried. I received invitations to go places and do things from time to time but every time something fun or interesting was offered to do the answer was 9 out of 10 times a resounding no when I asked my Parents to go. After a while, I think people just quit asking and gave up. I quickly learned that the only way I was going to get out of the house to do anything at all was to join sports. That was one thing I was allowed to do with no limitations so I joined all the sports offered at School just to be around kids my own age. I joined Track, Cross Country, Drill Team, Cheerleading, Flag Football and the Swim Team. I regret that I was not very good at sports and could not get the ribbons and awards that my team mates were adept at winning. I did show up though and did all the same training and attended every event.
In High School I discovered Art. I fell in love with it like I did Ballet and Songwriting. Art became my new passion. Every recess and break was spent in the library and I would pour over huge art books of the Great Masters and looked at them over and over. Every magazine from the time of print to the current day that was in the library got added to my pile as I enjoyed looking at the fashion and photography as well as the art. To this I added other piles of books and stories. This was a place I could go to escape my miserable existence. This beautiful world of art and literature.
By the time I entered the 9th or 10th grade I signed up for Art as my elective. This was a class that my Parents approved of and they supported my decision by buying expensive acrylic paints , canvas and supplies. My other favorite elective class was sewing. I learned how to paint and paint I did. I was very picky about it though and for some reason I was never satisfied with a painting until it blended so seamlessly with every line that it was more dream like then realistic. It took quite a bit of time to do this and one painting would take several months. I watched my other classmates paint much quicker then I did and thought to myself that they could probably earn a living at this as they could put out paintings months ahead of me. I would be lucky to complete 3 or 4 paintings a year painting in my chosen style. The other thing I thought was that the truly great Artists did not need a subject sitting in front of them to copy in order to create a work of art. They could paint with nothing in front of them and it would be beautiful and original. For some reason I felt that simply copying another piece of art by painting it on your canvas was just not original enough to justify being an artist. Some time after I moved away from home my expensive paints were stolen. Not being able to afford new supplies I never painted again.
My next artistic venture was Modeling. A Modeling Teacher named Connie suggested to my Parents that I would be a good Model and so began Modeling Lessons. It was something new to learn and was easy so I thought why not. They seemed to think I would be good at it and at that point I didn't think I was good at anything so I gave it a try. It was fun, I learned all kinds of poses and helped put on a fashion show. My self esteem rose a tiny bit and I even had a boyfriend. I moved away from home and about the time my Boyfriend proposed to me my Parent's offered to send me to Modeling School at John Robert Power's in Anchorage. I truly loved my boyfriend but I felt I was too young to get married and just was not ready yet as I had hardly experienced life at all yet. I felt he would wait until I was little more grown up but that did not happen. I had not finished High School on account of moving away from home so young and having to go to work to support myself. Being Naive' as we all were at that time, everyone actually thought Modeling was a career choice. No other choices were really presented to me so I hadn't thought too much about doing anything else. Because of my hearing loss everyone assumed that I was stupid or dumb even though I was a mostly A student.
I went to John Robert Powers Modeling School and stayed with an Instructor who worked there. Her name was Jodie and she was really nice. I don't remember how long it was before I was informed that I needed to get a job and move out as my Stepfather was no longer going to pay the rent for the room there at her house. There were no canneries in Anchorage and I didn't have a lot of different job skills but I set out to look for work and a place to live. I was truly on my own as it was a big city and I knew no one. I finally got a job at a clothing boutique which I loved. It was my first introduction to clothes which I hadn't thought much of before beyond some Levi's and tennis shoes. The apartment I ended up moving into was frightening. It was all I could afford and it was across the street from a gun shop and convenience store that unsavory people frequented. I would wait for the bus every day to go to work. One day a guy in a car drove by trying to get me into his car. I told him no thank you. He drove by again and trying to grab me and pull me in but I dashed out into the moving traffic to avoid him. I was scared he wouldn't go away but then a nice old drunk man came out of the building and offered to share a taxi with me downtown. I said yes and we split the fare and got out of there. Taxi's were expensive but not as expensive as what could happened to young girls getting kidnapped.
In my travels I made a friend with a girl name Renee. She had no place to go and I told her she could stay with me. I was glad to have company and she was really nice. Later on her situation improved and she returned the favor and offered me a room at she and boyfriends beautiful A-Frame house.
During my time at the apartment my Sister got in a bad accident. She was only a teenager and she and her friends had gone over a 250 foot cliff in a blizzard in Alaska. One of the boys walked several miles in a blizzard with a broken ankle to call for help from a coast guard station. My Sister was airlifted in Anchorage at the Native Hospital for life threatening injuries. She had a golf ball sized hematoma at the base of her spine, a concussion and dislocated pelvis. The Doctor's told Mom they didn't think she would live. Mom had to leave and go back home to Kodiak. My Sister was all alone. I began to go to the Hospital after work every day. My Sister told me she wanted to die and I thought if I didn't talk to her and talk her out of it she just might. I begged her to stay alive and so began our time together. The nurses let me sit in the chair next to her bed at night. When they came to turn her over because of the hematoma she would cry in so much pain and say she wanted to die. I would cry and say please don't die. I love you and I would hold her hand and talk to her. The nurses came in a few times a night to do this. I didn't want to go home and sleep because I thought even one missed visit would mean my Sister might not make it through that night. Eventually I got tired and was late for work. I never explained why I was tired or late or that I was sleeping in a chair at night, not that it would matter but in any event but I was fired.
I had no way to pay the rent but my friend Renee came to my Rescue and offered me a room at she and her boyfriends home. I couldn't believe it, it was so nice and I slept in a waterbed. I felt safe here and there were no scary people outside the door waiting to pull me in cars. I By this time I had graduated or was close to graduation I was working at a Alaska Woman's Magazine at 17 yrs. old as an Advertising Executive. I loved my job there and was responsible for making appointments with potential advertisers to advertise in the Magazine. I learned about ad layout the old fashioned way and learned how to write form letters from Ann, a nice Woman who worked there who had previously worked for Time Magazine as an editor. My Sister finally recovered from her serious injuries sometime after the New Year and was allowed to leave the Hospital in a Back Brace. She had a long road to recovery still but she was going to live and I couldn't be happier. I had my beloved Sister back.
I had some success at Modeling and managed to get the best jobs despite not being the tallest or thinnest in the selection process. About the time I was offered a Magazine Cover the Magazine went bankrupt when the most unscrupulous head Executive stole the publication's publishing money and put the magazine out of business. I went on to work in a shoe store then went on to work as an Instructor at Eileen Seals Models International. I loved the owner and loved to listen to her Australian accent which I found myself adopting after a while. During this time the economy was in poor shape. This was my only job and it was part time only. The boyfriend I had at the time for some reason decided to take a Life Insurance Policy out in my name. I thought to myself, why would he do that? Something was afoul and I felt my life was in danger. My Father offered me a job in Texas with him working on a gas pipeline and I told my boyfriend I was going to go visit him. I left everything I owned save a few clothes and took off to Texas never intending to return to him.
Thus began time getting to know my Dad. I'm so glad I got that chance because he was a genuinely decent person. Dad spent time with me teaching me things and telling me about life. He was always patient, kind and wise. He never got angry and never raised his hand or had a harsh word to say. The work I did was long, grueling and hard but I didn't care. I got to be with my Dad. The first day on the job I dressed up in pink coveralls, a pink hat and a pink handkerchief around my neck. I wore cowboy boots that I had never worn before and they felt alien but Dad insisted this was what you wore to work. The heat was stifling and I couldn't get used to it after being in Alaska all those years in the cold. I had never felt anything like it. I had never even seen air conditioning and my Step Mother laughed and explained what it was after I arrived at the airport rolling the window down on the car gasping for air. She said "You'll be a whole lot cooler if you roll that window up", then laughed. I looked at her like she was crazy but rolled the window up and sure enough some cool air came out of those vents.
The first day on the job I arrived dressed in pink with my standard issue half peanut butter sandwich of former model fare meal for lunch. I was to learn that I would need a whole lot more then a half a peanut butter sandwich to get through this kind of work.
I was ready to go and ready to please my Dad and asked him what would you like me to do Dad? He stood there with his Welder cap on and said "Jump on in the ditch and grind the pipe". I panicked and said in Dad's ear "Dad, I don't know how to grind pipe and didn't know what he was talking about. Dad goes "Here, I'll show you". Dad jumped in the ditch with that big monstrous grinder and began to grind a weld. Hot sparks flew everywhere and burned just like the Sun did. I looked terrified I'm sure of that whole process but was determined to do it. All the guys stood above the ditch watching and waiting for the entertainment they were sure to get that day as I tried to do my best. I grabbed the grinder and pressed it against the pipe wondering how hard to press it and what I should expect. It was heavy and hard to hold in that position for long and when I pressed it against the pipe all these hot sparks flew out burning my skin. I closed my eyes while doing it thinking that would make it better but it didn't help much. All the guys standing above started laughing and thought for sure it was the funniest thing they had seen that day. I was mortified.
For the next two weeks Dad and I went to work. I drove the truck and dragged the heavy vise grip down into the ditch and back out again at every stop. I would hand him his leads and welder rods. I was happy and thought I was doing a good job and thought I was doing what I was supposed to. This was not the case as I soon learned. Dad being the patient person he was didn't say a thing. He let me backslide for two whole weeks before saying something giving me a chance to get acclimated to the work and heat. Then one day he looks at me and says "You going to let that old boy take your job"? (In the Midwest the term "old boy" has nothing to do with age) I looked down in the ditch to see one of the Hickey boys grinding the pipe. These guys never said a word and never complained about doing what I was supposed to be doing. I looked at Dad and said no and thought for sure that I was going to loose my job if I didn't get down in the ditch and grind the pipe. I proceeded to jump down then told the young man grinding the pipe "Are you trying to take my job"? I put my hand out for the grinder which he handed to me and from that point on I did what I was supposed to do. Grind the pipe. It didn't matter how much, how big, how small the pipe was or how long the day was. I never missed a day of pipe grinding after that. Dad and I got to know each other really well during that time and it was some of my best memories. Nobody had ever talked to me before that. I had always merely existed and was a family member but no one ever talked to me or told me about life or explained things to me.
My Dad did. One day he got tired of me asking him questions and finally said "Well, just watch and you'll figure it out. It was one of the best things he ever could have said. From then on whatever I didn't know how to do, I would just watch and learn. Not only did we spend time together at work but we spent time together after work. When we worked out of town we would have a beer together and shoot pool for fun. When we were in town Dad and his friends would often spend time in the garage working on cars. Whatever Dad was interested in, I was interested in so I would go out to see what it was all about and Dad would teach me how to change the oil on the car, change a tire and do simple maintenance. He would explain how the mechanical things worked and showed me tools and diagnostic instruments. I thought it was all interesting. Sometimes I thought he was wishing I was a boy or that he didn't really understand girls but I didn't care. This became apparent to me when Christmas came and my gift from him was a lug nut wrench or battery cables. I looked at these gifts in puzzlement shaking my head then later on I would get it when I got stranded on the side of the road needing a jump. There in the trunk would be the battery cables gifted to me by my Dad. Even more puzzling was that I would have to explain to strangers where the red one went and where the black one went. I just assumed everyone's Dad taught them these things but this was not so.
As time went on we went to visit Grandma and Grandpa. I loved going to there house and everything felt so calm and normal. Grandma loved Daddy so much and I could tell they were really close. Grandma made a wonderful meal and afterward she would say "Ducky, would you like another piece of cake" in her best Catherine Hepburn voice. Dad would reply...... "Well........ as he drew out the word into a long syllable. Maybe just a little bit. Everyone would snicker a little bit because we knew no one could resist Grandma as every piece of cake offered was a piece of her love.
For now, I will end the story about part of my life. Next to having children of my own this was truly the best part of my life and I feel blessed to have had the experiences and time spent with the people I love. Through out my life I attempted many times to pursue a career in some artistic fashion. I tried my hand at Dance, Singing, Music, Song Writing, Modeling, Fashion Design, Advertising, Hair Design and writing social reform projects. All in all, it was always something creative that captured my attention. If it was not creative my heart did not sing nor did my soul. Because of this I truly understand the artistic passion that people have. It was not my destiny to become a famous anything or even an artist in any form or fashion of note and every attempt was squashed or stolen or some other things came to prevent it but the artistic soul in me never died.
It is not myself that is to be the Artist. It is in the promotion of other's and helping them to achieve there dreams that my dreams now lie and it is the best choice of all for I have found true beauty in the hearts and souls of every person I have met on this long journey in promoting artists on Disabled Artists Network. I am blessed for knowing these Artists and having them as my friends.
Every new Artist is a joy and inspiration to me and nothing makes me happier then seeing them soar and watching there dreams grow. Giving hope and inspiration is my art now. Lending support and watching true artists grow and succeed is what makes my heart soar. This is my happiness and it is a blessing to have it. I am blessed because of you.
With heartfelt thanks ,
as I was......W. M. Pierce