"What this power is I cannot say; all I know is that it
exists and it becomes available only when a man is in that state of mind in which he knows exactly what he wants and is fully determined not to quit until he finds it."

-- Alexander Graham Bell

"We will either find a way, or make one!"

-- Hannibal

"You become a champion by fighting one more round. When things are tough, you fight one more round."

-- James Corbett

"The man who can drive himself further once the effort gets painful is the man who will win."

-- Roger Bannister

When Gary McPherson was just eleven years old, he was faced with a potentially life-threatening decision.

He could remain dependent on a ventilator to breathe -- which in 1957 meant the constant possibility of life-threatening tracheotomy infections -- or he could consciously "remember" to breathe, and have his tracheotomy permanently closed -- and get on with life. It was his decision to make.

This is a story about determination. It is about a man who has overcome incredible odds. Although not always easy, Gary McPherson's life has been extremely rewarding. The places he has been and the people he has met have given him a deep appreciation for life. Over the years Gary has developed a strong understanding of what it means to face, and overcome, challenges. He has used this awareness to help others overcome obstacles in their own lives.

Gary's career spans four decades, beginning formally in the early 1970s with wheelchair sports -- but informally as early as 1967 with the National Wheelchair Games, and 1968 when Gary co-founded a computer software company. Throughout the '70s, '80s and '90s, Gary helped shape numerous services for people with disabilities in Alberta. Gary has been involved with many organizations over the past 30 years, usually in the early stages of their development. He has an inherent sense of where an organization needs to go -- and the ability to take it there. Although committed to sound process, when building organizations he focuses on results. He is humble in his achievements, emphasizing that whatever success he has achieved has been the result of collective efforts, not his alone.

Gary is currently Executive Director of the Canadian Centre for Social Entrepreneurship (CCSE), at the University of Alberta's School of Business. In addition, he is an adjunct professor, guest lecturer and a special advisor in the Faculty of Physical Education and Recreation. He is married and has two children, a boy and a girl.

His marriage, his family and the people he's worked with over the years have left their mark on Gary.

Throughout his life, Gary has been a close friend, mentor and inspiration to people across the country.

What makes Gary's story particularly interesting isn't the fact that he has overcome countless obstacles. Nor is it the fact that he has accomplished so much -- the world is full of creative thinkers and strong leaders. What makes his story truly remarkable is the combination: great accomplishments in the face of countless obstacles. Gary has had a significant disability since the age of nine, the management of which consumes several waking hours a day. He lived for 34 years in hospital, with few rehabilitation services and limited access to formal education. Nor was the environment outside the hospital particularly accommodating to people with disabilities -- especially a disability like Gary's.

With insight, wit, charm, wisdom and sometimes sheer willpower, Gary has contributed a great deal to his community, friends and family.

Gary's accomplishments are a testament to this incredible personality. It wasn't, however, a smooth road.

Gary was born in Edson, Alberta, on June 28, 1946. At the age of six he moved with his family to Swift River, a small village (12 families) in the Yukon. In 1955, Gary was a typical nine-year-old boy -- healthy and full of energy. Any parent would have been proud of him -- he was good-natured, bright, athletic, studious, humourous. He was a kid with a bright future, everyone said.

"Gary had already displayed tremendous potential," says his mother, Dorothy. "He'd skipped grades, and he had all kinds of ribbons for high jumping and for running. He was the most active kid on the block. He'd never missed a day for sickness." She adds, "Everybody thought Gary was great -- we had friends who named their son after Gary!"

On the last day of a family holiday to Edmonton, Gary began running a fever. By the next morning his mother knew something was wrong, and rushed him to the hospital. "I was sure he had polio before they told me," she says. "It was in the days when every mother's fear was infantile paralysis."

Although the hospital was only a few kilometres away and the trip by taxi just a few minutes, it was a trip that, for Gary, would last more than three decades. Arriving on October 2, 1955, Gary would not finally leave hospital until October 19, 1989.

Polio... In the 1950s, it was the scourge of the country. By 1955, thanks to a nation-wide immunization program, it was in serious decline. Unfortunately, living in the Yukon, Gary never received the immunization.

In a single 24-hour period Gary went from running around the backyard, enjoying the dying days of summer, to fighting for his life in an iron lung. Would the iron will of the boy be strong enough to overcome the grip of the iron lung? Many of the medical staff around him didn't think so. But he never gave up. Looking back, Gary acknowledges the early struggles but sees them in a bigger context -- the context of 45 years of learning and sharing.

"Our first question was, 'Is he going to make it?'," says Dorothy. After a month, although Gary was still medically "fragile," he had stabilized. "We recognized then that it was going to be a long uphill battle. You accept these things gradually, a bit at a time." Gary's parents learned that although their son was completely paralyzed, he might regain some movement over the next couple of years.

"He still looked like a healthy nine year old, tanned from the summer," Dorothy remembers. "It was hard to believe as he lay in the iron lung that he was really ill." The family decided not to return to the Yukon, so that they could be near Gary.

Gary's fight for survival lasted a full two years. Although he had survived the initial onslaught of the virus, for months he faced many life-threatening situations. Polio had affected Gary's chest and abdominal muscles and he could no longer breathe on his own. He required a ventilator twenty-four hours a day. Doctors had performed a tracheotomy in order to remove mucous obstruction from Gary's lungs and enable clearer breathing. Unfortunately, the "trach" facilitated not only the flow of air but the flow of germs as well. During the first two years after contracting polio, his open trachea led to numerous infections, frequently resulting in medical crisis. Many of the medical staff around him continued to believe that Gary would not survive.

Something had to change. Unless he could learn how to breathe on his own, Gary would spend the rest of his life dependent on a ventilator to stay alive. Gary was determined to reach the point where he no longer needed the tracheotomy to breathe -- he was determined to find a way to breathe on his own.

Eventually, as he was rushed once again to the operating room, a decision had to be made. If the trach hole was allowed to close, the incidence of infection would be reduced; however, the likelihood for suffocation would be greater. The choice was left to the young boy. He chose to let the trach heal over.

Many said it was a dangerous decision, but for Gary it was an opportunity to move forward. It wasn't about proving the doctors wrong or about taking risks for the sake of showing off. It was about independence. Or, as many who had worked with him could attest, it was simply a reflection of Gary's inherent personality. By the age of eleven, Gary's indomitable will was already making up for his lack of physical mobility.

With a great deal of effort, Gary succeeded in breathing on his own for short periods of time. (In 1962, Gary would learn a technique called glossopharyngeal breathing ("frog breathing"), and in 1983 he would collaborate with medical professionals to create a teaching video on the technique.)

Getting on with life

Although everyone knew he would probably never walk again, when Gary finally began to breathe on his own, staff and family alike began to believe he had a future. Along with his breathing, Gary fought to regain the use of other muscles. It was a slow process. At first it was a slight movement of his left hand, then his left leg. Today Gary's mobility remains extremely limited with only minimal use of his left hand and left leg, and he continues to use a respirator to breathe at night.

With his health finally stabilized, a sense of normalcy began to return to Gary's life. The question arose as to whether Gary could return home, or whether the severity of his disability required him to live in an institution. It wasn't an easy question to answer. Eventually everyone agreed that, for Gary's safety, he should remain in an environment where he could access whatever care necessary, when necessary. Both Gary and his family agreed it was the right decision at the time.

"I don't think I would want to go back to that environment," Gary admits. "And yet, I don't regret having grown up in it. The real negatives about growing up in there I have a tendency to put off to the side, because what propels me forward are the strong positive experiences that I've taken away." He witnessed roommates who moved out without enough supports and services, and saw the strain on their primary relationships. He didn't want that happening to him. "I said to myself, I'm not moving out to the community until I've got things sorted out." Gary adds that living in hospital "was a pretty good life. I could come and go as I wanted." He felt safe there. He also didn't have to deal with responsibilities like paying rent and preparing meals.

Living in an institution has given Gary "great insights into what is going on in the medical care system today. It gives me an understanding that I'm very fortunate to have, and that others don't. I appreciate that." He remembers wonderful people, whether staff, volunteers or fellow patients. "It was a very rich, extremely diverse experience."

He also believes that to a large extent he shaped his own experience there. Gary confesses that if the hospital had kept to its traditional rules and regulations, often created for staff's convenience, "it might have been a lot different." He and his roommates were able to influence the way things were run.

While Gary's life was changing inside the institution, his family was having to deal with its own changes at home. Gary’s illness was traumatic for everyone, but it was especially hard on Gary's seven-year-old sister. She had looked up to her older brother. For her, it was as though Gary had died -- he was no longer a part of her daily life.

The family's move to Edmonton also wasn't easy. Although Gary's father was able to find a new job, it paid less than half of what he had been earning up north. There were still three children between the ages of six months and seven years to take care of -- not to mention the hospital bills. To make ends meet, his mother returned to work. And every day, after work, his parents visited Gary -- a two-hour round trip.

"I think it was a pretty difficult time for my parents," Gary says.

Medical care for polio, which in Gary's case amounted to $2,500 a month, was not covered for residents of the Yukon. The Alberta government would not pay the costs until the McPhersons had lived in the province for a year. But Gary was the first case from the Yukon in two years, and their MP "went to Ottawa and made a dramatic speech," recalls Dorothy, "that this little boy was the only one in Canada who was being discriminated against." Eventually, their community legion negotiated with the University Hospital to settle for fifty cents on the dollar. "The hospital at first wouldn't accept this offer, but my husband said, 'That's more than we are able to pay, so you'd better.'"

Life was stressful. But Dorothy declares, "the word 'stress' wasn't batted around like it is these days. It was life and you got on with it."

As Gary's life began to take on more of a routine, there emerged a range of outstanding issues to address, beginning with the need for education. Gary's mind had not been affected by polio. However, because there were no accessible schools in Edmonton (and, even if an existing school were made accessible, appropriate supports were not available), Gary was left to rely on tutors who came in to teach various subjects to kids of differing age groups and backgrounds, usually in a small group in the hospital lounge.

"I was a good student before I contracted polio," Gary says. But in the hospital, taking grades seven to ten through correspondence with his tutors, he "got bored with it. I didn't like correspondence." He enjoyed competitive subjects, like math, but not writing, which was part and parcel of correspondence education. "I liked reading, but I couldn't turn the pages." He does, however, remember many supportive volunteers who helped him with things like writing.

"When I hit high school," says Gary, "I tried to go to the public school system. But I was refused because they didn't accept kids with those kinds of physical disabilities. I never did complete high school." Gary’s formal high school education ended partway through grade eleven.

Venturing afield

Living in an institutional setting meant that Gary was surrounded by others with polio. He was in a hospital wing with several other young people and, although he was the youngest and most significantly affected by polio, he developed close friendships with many of his "roommates."

About half a dozen of them became known as "the boys." Says Gary: "There were some real characters in that group. We became friends and did a lot of things together. We played games, we used to go to shows, we used to go to concerts. We actually turned out to be very good bridge players -- we would rather play bridge than go to school."

The patients became a family of sorts. They supported each other. Those with relatively minor disabilities were able to come and go as they wished and had certain liberties. This paved the way for Gary and the others with more significant disabilities to seek similar "freedoms." Although they were living in a hospital, Gary and his fellow polio survivors soon learned that by working together they could change the facility to better accommodate their needs.

Whenever they wanted to change a policy such as allowing pets or, later on, permitting alcohol on site or allowing girlfriends to spend the night, Gary and his friends would get together to prepare their position. They would then meet with hospital administrators to make their case. Using this approach over the years, not only did they change the institution, but some, like Gary, developed strong negotiating skills and an ability to develop and present logical arguments.

Reshaping the policies of the hospital "didn't come easily," says Gary. "It took many years. I was probably the one who benefited the most from all of that, because I was there for a long time, so I appreciated the progress we made. It was interesting, you know," he adds. "You'd fight for all these freedoms, and when you got them sometimes you didn't even use them -- like drinking any time you wanted or having girls overnight." And as for revising the no-pets rule, "I never did get a pet -- although I did have a bird at one time -- but, I mean, I got permission to get a dog if I wanted to, but I never did."

"There were a lot of rules," his mother Dorothy agrees. "It was Gary who told the group that this was their home. He'd tackle the big brass and go to bat so that they would be allowed to have stuff. One time they had somebody build them a portable bar! He was the one who always seemed to be stirring up trouble -- shaking things up and wanting to scrap the rules that applied to everybody else, because this was their home."

Although Gary recalls his hospital living in a positive light, he does concede that it wasn't always easy. "I was the youngest in the polio ward for a long time," he remembers. "I was still a kid, but I wanted to be treated like an adult." He preferred to be helped by the male orderlies instead of female nurses, but "I was small enough that the nurses could handle me," and the orderlies were generally less available. "When I think back," Gary says, "that made me uncomfortable, and it made me angry at times, and it made me frustrated."

There were also adolescent issues to deal with. "I would become infatuated with beautiful volunteers," he remembers. "I didn't know how to physically express it and my words were not up to doing it for me, so there was a lot of frustration. Although maybe I had a lot more personality than I gave myself credit for, I did some really stupid things to attract attention." He also points out that, in a hospital, "there was absolutely nowhere that you could have any sort of privacy. I was in a room with seven other people. If you started to get fresh with a girl -- well, all of a sudden, man, you were up for teasing."

As a young teen, Gary and his roommates began to venture further and further afield. "When I was a youngster, the Edmonton Flyers were the hockey team here," he says. "You could get a disabled kid in just about anywhere if you wanted to, so I went to the dressing room a couple of times." Pat Riggin was "a pretty good high-profile goalie for the Calgary Flames and the Atlanta Flames." Gary met Riggin's father, Dennis, also a goalie, in the hospital after he sustained the first of the injuries that would end his hockey career. "It was contacts like that, that cemented my interest in hockey. So I had lots to keep me occupied."

Much of Gary's education at this time was informal. Often someone would come in to visit Gary or the others and would mention an interest in a particular topic or activity. Other times Gary would read about something and take it upon himself to learn more. That was how Gary became a ham radio operator, which eventually led to his involvement in wheelchair sports.

Gary read about amateur radio in an international magazine about polio survivors, the Toomey J. Gazette. "I think becoming a ham radio operator in 1964 was important because it opened up a whole new world for me," Gary says. "It expanded my world from the University Hospital to the world."

Another phenomenon in 1964 was the emergence of computing science. As it happened, the University of Alberta's Dean of Computing Science was also chairman of the Canadian Paraplegic Association of Alberta. He "saw all these young guys with polio who had energy and interest and desire to do something. He thought that we could all learn how to be computer programmers," Gary recalls. In a pilot project, Gary and five others took a computer science course at the university. Then, in the hospital, they started their own computer software company. "It eventually grew and we had an office downtown," says Gary. "That company expanded and, at one time, had 27 employees." To this day, one of Gary's former roommates ("Beaver," as he was known to Gary) continues to work in the computer field as a senior systems analyst.

In addition to all the rest, the boys became avid horse racing groupies, often going to the track several times a week to watch and to bet. Gary started going to the track at about the age of 13, after a chance meeting with a race horse owner on the hospital's orthopaedics ward and a subsequent invitation to "come out to the track" to watch his horse race. "We got up early in the morning and went down to the track and fed the horses sugar and all that kind of stuff," says Gary.

As a result of this early experience at the track, two of Gary's roommates, Clayton May and Bob Johnson, bought horses of their own -- and raced them successfully for many years. To satisfy their lust for racing the boys created their own horse racing board game to play in the hospital. "We tried to simulate our experience at the track," Gary says. After refining the rules, with input from everybody, they even marketed the game. "We had to set up a little manufacturing plant right there in the hospital... we never sold very many, but the game was good and we had a lot of fun with it. It kept us occupied for several years."

Gaining confidence and maximizing opportunities

By 1968, Gary was 22. He was restless. He was looking for more in life, but had no idea what. One day he came across a newspaper ad for Junior Chamber of Commerce Week. When he called to find out what it was all about, the fellow at the other end of the phone invited him out for an evening. Gary explained that he used a wheelchair, but the fellow offered to pick Gary up himself. Gary couldn't say no.

In order to attend "Jaycee" meetings, it would be necessary for Gary to be carried in his wheelchair up and down a flight of stairs. Undaunted, Gary joined. It was yet another life-altering decision, fundamentally shaping Gary’s future directions. Jaycees offered courses in self-development and personal growth, leadership development, public speaking and parliamentary procedures. Gary took them all. In addition he became a member of the Leadership Training and Public Relations Committees. In 1969, Gary was nominated to the board, where he took on responsibilities as the director responsible for the Leadership Development Committee.

Through his activities with the Jaycees, Gary learned about committee procedures, how to chair committees, budgeting and many other skills necessary to run an organization. Courses in public speaking helped him develop a comfort with presenting in public. His confidence grew and he began to realize that he was not just taking -- he had something to contribute as well.

In 1971, Gary ran for and was elected to the executive. The election was a milestone for Gary.

"I gained confidence, because people accepted me for what I could do, not for what I was -- disabled," he says. He was elected first as a board member and, later on, as secretary treasurer. The election didn't just boost Gary's confidence; it also taught him that he could compete successfully with his able-bodied peers.

In 1972, Gary had to make a decision: Should he run for president? People expected him, as a member of the executive, to run. But although he had enjoyed his experience and had learned a great deal, the job would be demanding of his energy. There was still no access. He was already being carried up and down stairs for the monthly and committees meetings, and the presidency would require him to do even more. The office wasn't accessible, there was still limited access to transportation, and travel and mobility were expected of the president.

The added responsibility of the president's duties didn't worry Gary; however, the lack of access, and lack of confidence at that time to overcome these hurdles, convinced him that it was time to look for new opportunities.

Gary left the Jaycees. It was a low point in his life. Gary describes it as "losing momentum" -- he was now close to 25 and still looking around, experimenting with different activities.

By this time, however, Gary had begun what would be a lifelong love affair with travel. Although he had travelled a bit to visit his parents, who lived in Prince George, B.C., from 1966 to 1968, Gary's first big trip came on his 21st birthday when his grandmother invited him to England for a visit. She hadn't seen Gary since he was a baby.

The trip lasted 34 days.

The 1960s are not generally considered an enlightened decade when it comes to accessible travel. Indeed, there were no accessible transportation services -- in Canada or anywhere else in the world. There were no building codes in existence that stipulated wheelchair access. Because so few people with disabilities had the financial means to travel, the lack of access wasn't even considered an issue. The mere sight of a traveller with a disability was enough to throw airline staff and hoteliers into a panic. So, what would be a significant undertaking for any 21 year old was a true adventure for Gary -- an adventure not without a certain amount of peril, given his level of disability.

Like ham radio, the trip to England had a huge impact on Gary's life by expanding his world. "It was a good education," Gary remembers. "I came back after 34 days a little more worldly, a little wiser." He adds that it gave him confidence for later expeditions, including one to Heidelberg, Germany, for the 1972 Paralympics, and "it helped me with the planning of the trip in 1976 to Hawaii."

"Project Hawaii" was an organized vacation for 30 people from the hospital's polio ward. Gary now had enough travel experience to put together a trip for his roommates and himself. Thirteen of the travellers were "either ventilator or oxygen dependent," which meant the planning included bringing ventilators on the flight.

Gary had gotten to know the executive assistant to the president of Wardair, who was a regular visitor of Gary's roommate, Clayton. To help facilitate the planning of the trip, Wardair provided complimentary flights to Gary and his friend, Ron Fortin, to go to Honolulu on a "reconnaissance trip."

"We had to set up and make arrangements for oxygen, batteries for the wheelchairs and the ventilators, arrange the handicapped transportation, arrange the hotel, and make arrangements for emergency requirements should they be necessary," Gary says. "As well, we had to cement the contacts we'd made through the Kiwanis Club in Edmonton and the Kiwanis Club in Hawaii." This was all in addition to the logistical difficulties, including safety procedures for that many ventilator and oxygen users on one airplane flight.

"That turned out to be a great trip," recalls Gary.

Over the years Gary has always been able to take advantage of circumstances -- turning challenges into opportunities. Indeed, Gary has an ability to see opportunity where many would see despair. This is probably Gary's greatest gift – with his positive attitude he is able to capitalize on events going on around him. Because of this attitude, people enjoy working with Gary. With his charisma and zest for life, Gary overcame the institutional mindset generally associated with hospitals and not only got on with his own life, but helped many others in the process.

As you listen to Gary tell his story, it is easy to forget how serious his disability is. It is only when he lists his many friends who are now deceased that you realize Gary's accomplishments are that much more significant. The two friends who owned racehorses are both dead -- both died while in intensive care as a result of complications. Bob Johnson died in 1977, and Clayton May in 1988.

Before our interview, I had expected Gary to be critical of life in an institution and to tell me that he couldn't wait to move out on his own. I was wrong. As he shared his story, I quickly realized that he's the type of person who will make the best of life wherever he is. Even in a hospital, Gary was able to take the good and ignore the bad.

"High achievers" generally tend to be opportunists. Gary is no exception. He takes advantage of circumstances, not to the detriment of other people, but to his own benefit. For Gary, getting polio was a chance to travel down a different path. It didn't matter that he lived in an institution. If events had been different and Gary hadn't contracted polio, he would have taken advantage of opportunities to overcome whatever challenges that life had in store for him.

"I've come to realize," says Gary, "that if you don't take care of yourself, nobody is going to. If you don't take care of yourself, it's very difficult to give. I think selfish is good to a point. I don't think everything has to be altruistic. When it comes to taking care of oneself, we should be a bit more selfish then we are, on occasion. Not to the point where it hurts others, but to build a foundation for giving."

"There's something special about him"

"I'm a person who likes people," Gary tells me. "I care about others."

Given the environment in which he grew up it is not surprising that Gary has an unusual mix of friends. Certainly Gary always remained close to his roommates, but he also has a network of friends established through his extracurricular activities. During the 1971 Alberta provincial election campaign, Gary became interested in politics and decided to volunteer his time. He began hanging out at the election office of his local Conservative candidate -- not because of any particular Conservative orientation, but because it happened to be the closest candidate's office to the hospital (only a block away). As good a reason as any to adopt a political philosophy, I suppose! His candidate was elected that year. Gary and he have remained good friends ever since. That man is Don Getty, former premier of Alberta.

One of Gary's deepest and most enduring friendships is with Dr. Robert (Bob) Steadward, a professor at the University of Alberta. Bob was the founding president of the International Paralympic Committee, and was recently appointed as one of Canada's members on the International Olympic Committee.

In 1968, however, Bob Steadward was simply a university student looking for help from a group of guys who had access to ham radios. Bob was a member of the national committee to organize the 1968 National Wheelchair Games. With little money, the committee's interprovincial work was done primarily through the mail. When the postal service workers went on strike early in 1968, the games themselves were put in jeopardy. Bob had heard about this group of polio patients who used ham radios -- one of them, of course, was Gary McPherson -- and approached them for assistance. It's not without a certain irony that these men, none of whom could play sports, were instrumental in saving the national games.

Over the past 30 years, Gary and Bob have developed a strong friendship based on mutual interest and respect. Bob says that although their friendship was rooted in wheelchair sports, "our relationship has gone far beyond that. I would say that we're like brothers. He's had a profound effect on my life."

Bob adds that the recognition he's received for his own accomplishments is due to "people like [Gary], because I've always believed that no one achieves anything on their own. We've been friends, we've been colleagues and we've worked together at the university."

Bob and Gary's history includes "some really great discussions ranging from politics to sex, about independent living and getting the hell out of the hospital." Bob, who has travelled around the world during his career, meeting with royalty and with heads of state and dignitaries in numerous countries, says, "I see the skills and abilities that they have, and then I see the kinds of experiences that I've had with Gary. I would always choose to be with him rather than these other kinds of people because of what he offers from his friendship: his intuitiveness, his integrity, his understanding, his tolerance and his wisdom."

When Bob met Gary he was living in a hospital, but Bob agrees that Gary and his roommates didn't live an institutional life. "Physically, they were there," says Bob, "but in their own minds they were always looking for ways of getting into the community and getting involved with other activities."

Once Bob got involved with the group, they developed an interest in sport -- "Particularly Gary," says Bob. "Very quickly after those days he became involved with the local wheelchair club, and he eventually became the president of the organization."

Bob had no doubts that even with disabilities, Gary would be more than able to do the job. "He said, 'I don't have to do anything physically, and I've got the creativity and the organizational skills to do it.' I noticed those skills in Gary instantly. Whenever I went in on a Sunday to do those ham radio sessions, I was always amazed at his steel-trap mind. Everybody remembers people -- but he remembered numbers and places and times and dates of things that most people would never be able to remember.

"I was always amazed at how he'd developed his mind and his curiosity. When I first met Gary, I couldn't believe a person could ask so many questions -- and ask so many questions that didn't have answers! The wheels in his brain were always turning. That impressed me. He may not have a lot of formal university education, but there aren't many professors who have the wisdom and smarts that Gary does."

Many people Gary encounters are impressed by this. And those lucky enough to become his friend will find that relationships, to Gary, are a big responsibility. He puts a lot of energy and a lot of himself into them. Gary's mother, Dorothy, says that whenever Rod, her husband, would feel frustrated at the end of the day, he would go to the hospital and talk to Gary and come out feeling better.

Bob agrees. He constantly hears similar stories, "and it doesn't matter where," he says. As an example, when Bob was chatting with the Alberta Premier at a Calgary banquet for returning Paralympic athletes from Negano, the Premier suddenly said: "Why isn't Gary down here? I want to talk to him. There are a couple of areas where I think he can really help me." Bob says he can describe hundreds of other examples from the past thirty years.

"There are so many people who will take his counsel, who will sit down and talk to him. Maybe they have so much respect for him because of what he's achieved in such a seemingly limited environment. Here's a person who's severely disabled, who's lived in a hospital most of his life, who is still so smart and has so much wisdom, and what he has to say is usually right. Maybe they feel that there's something special about him."

Bob nominated Gary for his honourary Doctor of Laws degree and had what he calls the "privilege" of introducing him at convocation. "That was really a thrilling situation for me," he says. In his thirty-plus years as a university professor, attending convocations twice a year, it was the only standing ovation he'd witnessed there. "It was quite remarkable. He didn't come across as this world authority from an academic background -- that would have lost every graduate sitting in the audience. They don't want to hear some nuclear physicist talk about how atoms are splitting. He could talk to them about life -- what they're going to experience, what they're not going to experience and what they're in for.

"It was quite inspirational."

Although many of Gary's friendships grew out of his earlier days at the hospital, he didn't start dating women seriously until the 1970s.

Dating is never easy for anyone. The average teenage boy meets girls through school or sports; Gary spent all of his teenage years living in a hospital, didn't play sports, and took his courses through correspondence. Dating for Gary posed its own set of challenges.

"You start to notice girls," he says, "and there's a lot of embarrassment that goes with that. It was not easy. A lot of the feelings I chalked up to disability in those days. On reflection, I think most of those things I went through were what every young guy goes through. I didn't give myself enough credit for being normal."

Gary recalls that "the first girl that I think I ever really fell in love with was a candy striper. I spent hours on the telephone with her. It was always very frustrating, because she was very kind and caring, and I think she did care about me a lot -- but her boyfriend would pick her up, you know."

Gary's roommate Beaver had "a whole stream of good-looking cousins" whom Gary would date from time to time. Although they were fun, he found his environment was not "conducive" to taking the relationships further. But he does reflect that "I probably got a little more attractive from relationship to relationship or encounter to encounter."

Gary was 31 before he had his first long-term relationship -- which again transpired because of his network. Her name was Renee. Renee was the roommate of his late brother's fiancée. But they didn't really get to know each other until 1977 when she volunteered to work on the Canadian Winter Games for the Physically Disabled. Gary was coordinator of the games, held at the University of Alberta. On the final night, at a social, "I asked her to take me home -- and we went out for three years. She was a girl I probably could have married but didn't know it." He admits that "I was still lacking a needed confidence."

Gary began dating his future wife at a New Year's Eve party in 1980. Valarie worked at the Aberhart Hospital. "I was always afraid of Gary," she says. "Every time I had him as an assignment I was petrified of him because he was so intimidating -- he was so bossy."

As she got to know him, Valarie's fears were dispelled. She says she was attracted by his looks. "He'd always give you this look with his eyes, kind of smile from within, always tease you and make you laugh."

Valarie says that at first, dating a person with a disability, she wondered, "what will people think? But after a while I didn't care. It got to the point where this felt right." And although some people were concerned about her relationship, "once people got to know him they realized what I saw in him."

But she did find it awkward in the early 1980s to be with a man with a disability. "We went on dates and people would just stare. Gary was used to that, but I sure wasn't. That was very difficult for me to get used to." People frequently assumed she was his nurse.

Today things are different. And Gary and Valarie's marriage is still going strong. They now have two children. Of their 20-year-long relationship, she says: "It's about trust, friendship and just good support. We're very good friends, and being able to share experiences has helped us grow together."

She believes the most important ingredients in a successful marriage are "a sense of humour... and you have to be flexible. You have to do a lot of give and take. One thing that we really learned -- and I'm still learning -- is that you shouldn't have too many rules."

Is she concerned about the future, about having to give a lot of physical support to Gary? "That, to me, isn't a big part," Valarie says. "I get a lot of support from Gary and that's the biggest thing. For the physical part, we can always get somebody to help us. But things won't work if the emotional support is not there."

One area in which Gary contributes a lot of support is parenting. Gary as a father is "a great communicator," says Val. "There are situations where I just get frustrated. I think I'm just so close to them in terms of taking care of them physically all this time. Sometimes they need somebody to come in and talk to them. They respond very well to Gary, actually much better, sometimes, than to me."

Valarie continues to be inspired by her husband. She was just 21 when she first met Gary and "I didn't realize how much he had already accomplished in his life. As I meet people who have known him from years back, I'm still learning more about him, about what he's done and what he's achieved." What she's learning about Gary is that "he's very committed and he's a great visionary. He makes things happen."

Travelling the career path

While Gary developed friendships and relationships, his career was also blossoming. In 1972, just two months after leaving the Jaycees, Gary was approached by a friend to run for the presidency of the Paralympic Sports Association (PSA). Although unable to attend the annual general meeting because he was in an iron lung recovering from pneumonia, Gary was elected.

At this point Gary reconnected with his old friend, Bob Steadward, who was now the Athletic Director of the PSA. It was a great opportunity for both of them. Gary explains, "Bob and I grew up together. Initially, it was him on the athletics side, me on the administration side." Taking over the presidency of the PSA gave Gary a chance to practise some of the skills he'd developed over the years with the Jaycees. Not surprisingly, Gary is well known in his circle as a great committee chair.

In 1974, Gary moved from the Paralympic Sports Association to take on the responsibilities of Executive Director of the Canadian Wheelchair Sports Association (CWSA).

In his new position, Gary was responsible for leading the development of a national organization without much more than his personal passion and the help of other volunteers across Canada who believed in wheelchair sport. What he lacked in resources, he more than made up for in creativity and ingenuity and by calling on his now vast network of colleagues from coast to coast.

As a young organization, the CWSA had little funding. The Government of Canada did not yet recognize it as a credible national sporting body worthy of equitable federal funding. More formal recognition was given to organizations with Resident Status -- a status which, in addition to federal dollars, meant other critical supports, including office space and access to administrative supports. For his first two and a half years as executive director, until the CWSA received Resident Status, Gary worked on a volunteer basis.

One of Gary's two major goals for the organization was to secure federal commitment. The other was to work with the board of directors to re-tool wheelchair sports at the national level, to develop elite wheelchair athletes who would allow Canada to be more competitive internationally. By achieving the latter, he was able to achieve the former, and, in 1976, the Canadian Wheelchair Sport Association received partial Resident Status. This was Gary's legacy with the CWSA.

With the Resident Status, Gary was finally able to draw a salary. However, by securing partial Resident Status, he was also putting himself out of a job! Capitalizing fully on the national sporting structure meant relocating the office to Ottawa. Without proper supports, Gary knew that he would not be able to move with it. So, in 1978, Gary gave up his position as executive director for CWSA.

While overall Gary felt his tenure with CWSA was a success, he did have some regrets. "I think the biggest regret I have is not putting into position a strong infrastructure for succession planning," he says. "We focused on getting the wheelchair athletes the support and the recognition they deserved. However, by the late 1980s we hadn't done a good job bringing along new leaders.

"In the process of advancing elite sport, we may have thrown the baby out with the bath water."

But, typically, Gary is quick to point out: "That's hindsight and that's learning, and organizations all go through cycles. Perhaps they're not regrets so much as questions."

Having spent the previous six years involved in wheelchair sport, Gary was reluctant to give it up. "I lived, ate and breathed wheelchair sport," he says. After leaving the CWSA in 1978, Gary turned his attention to another fledgling club -- Alberta's provincial wheelchair basketball team, the Northern Lights.

It was during his activities with the Northern Lights that Gary got to know Rick Hansen who, although a player for the British Columbia squad, was involved with several joint activities with the Alberta group. In 1979 Gary managed Canada's basketball team at the Gold Cup in Tampa, Florida. Rick was one of his players.

Throughout the 1980s, Gary's interest in wheelchair sport never waned. In 1981 Gary got reacquainted with the CWSA after accepting the role of treasurer. Then in 1985 he ran for, and was elected, president of the CWSA.

During that same period, Gary became more involved with Rick Hansen -- this time, by supporting Rick in his dream to wheel around the world. Gary became the Chairperson for Alberta of the Man in Motion World Tour.

As Rick rolled across Canada, having already completed more than 30,000 kilometres, momentum for his cause began to build. As he wheeled through Alberta, thousands of people were crowding streets to encourage and marvel at this amazing man. It was in this environment that Rick met with Gary and the Alberta organizing committee to discuss a legacy.

With public support at an all-time high, it wasn't difficult for Rick and the committee to secure commitment from the premier (who was the Honourary Chair of the Alberta leg of the Man in Motion tour) and his government to examine disability issues in Alberta and take the action necessary to remove barriers confronting citizens with disabilities. By the time Rick left the province, the government had committed to working with Albertans with disabilities to establish a task force that would review existing services and make recommendations for their improvement.

Gary, although not directly involved with the review, helped set up the task force. A major recommendation of the report was the creation of a Premier's Advisory Council on the Status of Albertans with Disabilities. The council would be given the task of shepherding the implementation of the task force's other recommendations. It was a unique entity -- neither government agency nor NGO. It reported directly to Cabinet, not through a department.

As the Premier's Advisory Council was being created, Gary received a phone call from an old colleague -- Don Getty. Don had remained close to Gary over the years. He had watched his career develop and had come to recognize Gary as a strong leader -- a man who could take charge and deliver. Don's career, too, had flourished. No longer an MLA, Don Getty was the Premier of Alberta and, without hesitation, he turned to Gary, asking him to lead his newly created council on disability.

Gary accepted and, in December, 1988, after putting together his team, began the task of reshaping Alberta's services for people with disabilities. It was a job Gary held for ten years, finally leaving in 1998 to accept a position at the University of Alberta, the job he holds today.

As chairman of the Alberta Premier's Council on the Status of Persons with Disabilities, Gary was responsible for leading the development of a comprehensive disability agenda for the province of Alberta. In this capacity he was required to work closely with government as well as representatives of the disability community -- two groups that rarely see eye to eye on disability issues. However, as a wheelchair user himself, Gary understands the issues from both a personal and professional perspective. He was able to use his skills and networks to bridge the philosophical and practical chasms that separate Albertans with disabilities from their government.

Leading the advisory council wasn't always an easy task. The council was charged with addressing major, often complex, disability issues, such as deinstitutionalization. In the 1990s, Alberta entered a period of fiscal restraint. Government priorities shifted. The government became less focused on disability issues, and as a result, significant changes became harder to implement. The provincial bureaucracy, never thrilled with the special relationship the advisory council held with Cabinet, used the opportunity to marginalize the council's recommendations further. As government priorities shifted, departments became less concerned with the council's mission. Gary, trying to work with both the disability community and the government, often found himself, and the council, caught in the middle.

All in all, it was an interesting time. Looking back, Gary says, "Did we accomplish everything we wanted? Not really. Did we improve the way people with disabilities live in Alberta? We sure did!"

Moving out and moving on

Gary moved out of the hospital and into the community at the age of 43 -- over three decades after he contracted polio.

Recalls Gary: "Leaving the institution, going from a place where I had my rent paid, my meals paid for, no financial concerns or stresses, to one where I was totally responsible -- it was a big step." He found that in his new lifestyle, when it came to household decisions or budgets, he had to "account for everything and take part in it."

"I guess I was fortunate to have enough support around me," Gary says, "and have a woman whom I was involved with who believes in me, and gave me a strong enough magnet to overcome the reverse pull of the institution."

Today, Gary and his family live in a bungalow in Edmonton's west end. At 54, his list of accomplishments is lengthy. He doesn't, however, see his work as over.

What motivates Gary? He says that perhaps as a younger man he was driven by ego, or the need to prove to others or himself that he could do things. Now he is motivated by his wife and children. "It's important for me to maintain my health so I can make a contribution to this family in a way that I'm pleased with. That's a big motivator for me." He also feels that his years of experience and knowledge gained have taught him to be more efficient and effective at his achievements, both of which are complemented by advances in technology.

Gary feels, considering his unique institutional upbringing, that he has an "obligation to share the lessons I've learned.

"I still feel that I'm destined to make a bigger contribution to life than I've already made," Gary adds. "At this point in my life, I have more knowledge. I have more insights. I have more understanding. I'm more humble -- I recognize that the more I know, the less I know. I feel I have more to express and more to give, in that sense."

Institutional life didn't confine Gary McPherson the way many people would expect. It helped him develop many of the skills and the strengths he has used throughout his life. Gary's environment taught him how to be assertive. It taught him how to listen. It taught him how to think logically. It taught him how to develop an argument in such a way as to convince decision-makers to change policies. It taught him how to build consensus around an issue. It taught him how to work with diverse people -- from people with disabilities to doctors and other professionals. And, finally, it gave him a clear goal: to make something of his life -- to leave his mark. These are highly sought-after skills in many industries.

"I don't regret growing up in that environment," says Gary. "In fact, I feel quite blessed. I've often joked that if I'd grown up in the Yukon I'd have been worse off. Maybe getting polio was God's way of saving me from myself. I came through some difficult times personally, and I'm a better person for it, although it was difficult to see at the time. I think my education was very rich. I don't spend a lot of time wondering, 'what if?' I'm more interested in knowing where I'm going next."

In addition to his own future, Gary is pondering the future of our country. "I think the greatest challenge is retaining what we've got in this country. I think Canadians take for granted things that make this Canada. I think we don't appreciate sometimes what we have because we're always thinking there are greener pastures."

Another issue Gary sees facing Canadians, one that he believes will challenge fundamental social cohesion, is our tendency to focus on what divides us as a nation rather than what unites us, and the relationship between diversity and economic disparity. "We are becoming more diverse in our makeup," says Gary. "There are trouble spots all over the world between certain ethnic groups, and those same groups are present in Canada. As we create a growing gap -- whether it's perceived or real -- between those that have and those that don't, the challenge of retaining and maintaining what we call Canada now and the social cohesion that comes with that, I think will really be tested.

"To tell you the truth, I think we have a lot more social cohesion then they do in the U.S. And I think, if we're not careful, it would be very easy for us to slip into the more negative elements that you might see south of the border. I know there are some great people down there and some great happenings, but there are also some things that I don't want to see in Canada. The U.S. is driven more by ideologies and less by heart."

He adds with fondness: "I love this country and I care about the people."

Gary also has some thoughts on the current state of health care in Canada. He doesn't believe that Canada is defined by its health care system, but he is concerned for it. "Our reliance on it is related to fear, but it is important. The pressures that we're putting on what I call the 'medical care' system that's disguised as a health care system are only going to get worse as people age -- that's a black hole in terms of finance. You can never satisfy the insatiable appetite of the system and the people who are involved in it. Given the lifestyle road that we're on, we're going to create more and more business for that system.

"I think the approach we're taking is not necessarily the right approach to fix the thing. What do we do if the thing collapses or comes apart? We must address the fundamental problems with health care, and that goes beyond simply injecting more money."

In general, Gary at middle age is looking forward to the years ahead. "I'm becoming more spiritual as I get older," he says. "I'm becoming more at peace with mortality, and I don't think I've always been there." Although "I don't have the same energy as I did when I was younger, I don't waste as many steps as I used to either!"

In hearing Gary's story, one wouldn't think he has really wasted any steps at all. That is part of the magic of Gary McPherson's life.

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