I was born in 1947, one of many baby boomers — a mobile generation at the very least, consumed by the automobile and the independence that comes with it. Never mind that I am in a wheelchair, it doesn’t matter. I was shown at a very young age that there was a lot to see in this world and I was educated to fully realize this gift. This is a story that contains little drama but hopefully presents a philosophy that shows “necessity is the mother of invention.” In my life there have been eight modified and wheelchair accessible vehicles that have given me the freedom and independence to become the very best person that I could be and to compete on an equal field with all others in my age group.

This is the story of each of those vehicles and their highlights that enriched my life. My intent is to document the story behind each of these cars and the dedication of many people to make all of them a reality.

1950-1956

I contracted polio in 1950 at age 3. Wheelchair life now became a reality and transportation would be a necessity. My first car was a 1950 Chevrolet four-door, black in color with a stick shift on the column and a floor starter. The back seat had been removed completely. Wooden 2×4’s were fitted next to the differential bulge in the rear seat area to provide a flat space for the wheelchair.  Being loaded from the passenger side by whomever was driving me around at the time always brought an adventure — occasionally I would be dropped into rain water that would be rushing along the school’s curb. The ever-present chance that no curbs could be found would cause my mother to muscle the front wheels of the chair up enough to gain entry through the back door. The passenger side door hinges had been modified to allow the door to open 180 degrees rather than the normal 45 degrees. With minimal effort my mother could now maneuver me in my chair into the empty back seat area. No tie-downs. The rule was just hang on.

This car was responsible for getting my father and me stuck in deep sand while exploring a dry riverbed several miles from our home. My dad tried to get us “unstuck.” I remember him carrying me piggyback for several miles in search of help. Finally, at a lonely farmhouse in the middle of the strawberry fields, a woman came to the door, scared to death to see two faces staring at her through her screen door. After she realized we were asking for help, she offered us homemade cookies and her husband drove us home in his old farm truck. He and my father returned the next day, and with the help of this Good Samaritan’s farm tractor, pulled our Chevy out from the sand. Saved!

1956-1966   

By 1956, the old black Chevrolet was getting pretty tired. The trips back and forth to the San Gabriel Valley for my physical therapy sessions had taken its toll. So we bought another Chevrolet and fixed it up almost the same way, only this time we added a small table in the back for my amateur radio equipment. The door still opened 180 degrees and there still weren’t any tie-downs, but I couldn’t move very far anyway due to the limited space. This car would take me into my teenage years and my early college days. Exploration of the world was a powerful force then, and this vehicle took me on several trips around the western United States — Reno, Sacramento, San Francisco and more. The only drawback was someone else had to drive. So much for private drive-in dates with newly discovered girlfriends.

1966-1971

College days, independent thinking, rock ’n’ roll, the Vietnam War and a TV show called Ironside (the detective in a wheelchair rode in his own lift-equipped van) occupied much of my time. I needed my own independence and my parents knew it. Arrangements were made to design and construct a one-of-a-kind vehicle that I could drive from my wheelchair — a remarkable achievement in those early days. The vehicle chosen was a 1966 Chevrolet Carryall, blue and white with windows all around.

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A local steel fabrication manufacturer donated the parts and labor to build this vehicle from our ideas. Using diamond plate aluminum to create a completely new floor and passenger side entry ramp, workers then installed an 8,000-pound capacity boat winch in the rear. Using ½-inch cable to pull me in the wheelchair up the ramp and eventually into the driver’s seat took about six minutes to accomplish. A hard-wired remote control was developed that allowed me the flexibility to control the entire operation. There was no driver’s seat and any passengers would need to ride on a single seat that would roll down a built-in track in the aluminum flooring. This seat was normally tied down in the rear of the vehicle but was known to break loose on occasion, giving the unsuspecting passenger quite a thrill ride to the front. Curtains were installed all around, giving some degree of privacy. Hand controls were installed and my training in how to operate this “monster” began. I refused to drive it for three months due to my fright and concern that I would kill myself. It sat in front of my house all of this time, while I waited to work up the courage to begin what would become the adventure of a lifetime.

I would eventually discover the beach, the mountains, the desert, girls and all of the adventure and challenges that went with these things. I was so adventurous that one time during a rare Southern California snowstorm, I managed to break the van’s engine mounts, causing me to have to drive backwards several miles to a service station to get help.

1971-1986

Both of my parents died in 1970 and I was left to live life pretty much on my own. Despite my disability, they had taught me from a very young age to be an independent person. By now I was actively pursuing a career in the fire department as a dispatcher. I was close to finishing my college education, living alone in the 2,000-square-foot house inherited from my parents. A new, safer van was required and after I considered several designs, I decided to choose newly available technology. I selected a 1971 Ford E250 Econoline van, yellow, with a 302 V8 engine.

An interior side-mounted lift with electrically operated doors and hand controls still allowed me to drive from my wheelchair while sitting under the steering wheel. Of course, interior paneling, overhead tapestry, front and rear privacy curtains and custom “mag” wheels would be necessary to complement the “not quite waterproof” sunroof that occasionally dripped on my head while I drove in the rain. Shag carpeting, a bunk-type bed and a small refrigerator would shortly be added, allowing me for the first time to spend time away from home.

Thus began my trips to the Salton Sea, Colorado River, Baja, Mexico, and the search for New Mexico’s famous Trinity Site somewhere near Alamogordo. By now, I had gotten a job with the fire department, and fire fighters contributed to this van’s final design and construction. It would serve me well, but between you and me, Ford’s transmissions left a lot to be desired. I eventually sold this van to a rancher who used the lift to move hay bales and deliver them to the horses.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention: This van survived a fire caused by an electrical malfunction under the dash. Luckily the side lift still worked, even though the van’s engine compartment was on fire, and I was able to escape without injury.

1986-1995

By 1986, a side lift, electrically-opening cargo doors and under-the-wheel driving was a locked-in concept and served me well. All I needed was a little more “bling.” A louder exhaust system, bigger tires and a leakproof sunroof were added to the already customized interior. The van of choice this time was a 1986 Ford Econoline, light blue, with the 302 V8 engine and a “better transmission.” So much for the improved transmission — I went through three of them in the nine years I had this van. I remember sleeping in this van while on a trip to Las Vegas in 1989, staying in the RV section of the Circus Circus Hotel. Using my newly-installed electric fold-out couch in the rear, I somehow managed to strand myself on the bed, unable to reach my wheelchair. After several hours of struggling in the Nevada heat, I was able to reunite myself with my wheelchair and continue my journey. My lesson had been learned. Be more careful!

I sold this van to a disabled woman living in the Mojave Desert who had never driven a vehicle from her wheelchair but was in desperate need of transportation. After a short orientation for her, I watched her drive into the sunset while sitting on an old milk crate, having transferred herself from her wheelchair so she could “feel safer.”

1995-1999

In 1995, I acquired my last “normal” van. Purchased already converted off a car lot, this 1995 Ford E150 Econoline, white, with a custom tan interior, had been altered by a third party but never used. A new side lift had already been installed and would only need minor modifications to enable me to use it. I was still working at the fire department but had slowed down my worldly travels as my work was becoming more and more demanding.

2000-2014

Around 1998, I began experiencing what I would soon find out were post-polio symptoms — loss of upper body strength, decreased arm mobility and the onset of normal symptoms of aging. If I were to continue driving, I would need something easier to manipulate, something, I would soon find out, science fiction-like in concept. With the help of the California State Department of Vocational Rehabilitation, Rancho Los Amigos Hospital, and Mac’s Lift Gate in Long Beach, Calif., I found a solution.

Up to this point I had never received any financial assistance from any government agency for any of these previous vehicles. This was going to be a different situation because the cost of this new “fly-by-wire” innovative van was in excess of $70,000 — money I definitely did not have.

After almost a year of design, construction, testing and working out financial arrangements with the state, I was presented with a 1999 Ford E350 extended length van with a V10 engine. The vehicle had a side-mounted lift but no steering wheel as such. Instead a small disc was mounted for my left hand for steering, and a throttle assembly for the gas/brake on my right. All other controls were operated by micro-switches or voice commands controlled by small onboard micro-computers. This was probably the scariest contraption I had ever seen, much less even thought about driving.

Over the next several months and with the aid of a special adaptive driving instructor, I was certified to operate this vehicle and never looked back. While the stories that could be told about my experiences in this vehicle are many, suffice it to say that “I survived.”

In 2012, due to more post-polio problems, I chose not to continue driving. I was married in 2002, and from that point on my wife did all of the driving with me as a passenger and happy camper. The 1995 Ford Van was given to my mother-in-law, and with few adjustments, she has mastered the art of driving this van. After trying to sell the science fiction van and receiving few offers, I decided to donate it to Make-A-Wish Foundation. I’m sure they put it or the proceeds from the sale of the van to good use.

We are now using a wonderful 2002 Dodge minivan with a side-mounted, under the floor electric ramp. I am held securely in place by an EZ Lock device on the passenger side. My power wheelchair fits perfectly into this van and I have retained my mobility, as well as the colorful memories of many, many years spent as an independent driver in this, my life on wheels.

Unfortunately, David Dowling passed away not long after documenting his love affair with adapted vehicles. A polio survivor and active wheelchair user for more than 60 years, David Dowling retired after a 40-year career in emergency communications with the San Bernardino County Fire Department in California. He passed away in 2014. Besides being a car lover who traveled extensively, he held a general class amateur radio license, was a former musician, model train and weather enthusiast, and a freelance writer in his later years. He lived in Highland, Calif., with his wife Cathy, their three dogs and 30 tropical birds.

 

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