Okay, after two columns featuring a 1964 Mercedes that is still owned by the family and still runs, although on the more recent outing smoke erupted from the right wheel well (a frozen brake), you’re going to think I’m hung up on transportation. And you would be right.

Not until complications following a couple of back surgeries did I realize how much I’d taken my own mobility for granted. If the grass needed cutting or the hedges trimming, those were simple tasks requiring not much more than an hour and a half out of the weekend. Running short on eggs and bread? Well, that was a 6-minute drive to Dave’s or, if I was going the other direction, to Sandy Lane Meat Market or Dockside.

But driving isn’t an option at this point and while I’ve used the lawnmower (I can use it to help stand up) I’ve discovered I don’t have the stamina I once had.  The yard has become larger than I ever imagined. I can cite numerous other actions from climbing stairs to taking a shower that have been impeded by the lack of mobility. This is not to evoke sympathy, but rather to open a window to how, until we personally experience it, or are close to someone experiencing mobility restrictions, we ignore it.

Some years ago as part of a story about legislation on handicapped accessibility, I and other reporters were introduced to wheelchairs and told to navigate across a room where chairs were positioned to represent doors and standard supermarket aisles. Going into the exercise, I knew what to expect. I would be hitting chairs and if I encountered a wheeling reporter going the opposite or the same direction on the aisles of chairs we were going to be in trouble. What I hadn’t anticipated was how difficult it was to maneuver a wheelchair or the realization that if truly handicapped I would probably be dependent on someone to get me in and out of the chair.

I had a new appreciation for what James Langevin goes through daily. His passion to serve the public and his commitment to the series of elective steps that brought him to the United States Congress where he could have stayed but chose not to seek reelection after having served the residents of the Second Congressional District for 18 years. His regimen between making public appearances so important in fostering a relationship with his constituents and maintaining a presence in Washington and the House of Representatives was self-imposed and highly demanding on his health and mental ability.

Over the years, I questioned some of Jim’s possible Democratic challengers, many of whom had strong platforms and would have made good representatives. What I heard is that they couldn’t beat Langevin’s “sympathy vote.” Jim is the victim of an accidental discharge of a weapon in the Warwick Police station locker room where he was in a Boy Scout Explorer program.  On reflection, I think his would-be challengers had it wrong. Constituents recognized Jim’s commitment to serving the public and admired his fortitude to overcome personal barriers to do so. Who better to understand their concerns?

I was reminded of Jim Saturday morning as now Beacon Media publisher Joy Fox pulled out of my driveway. She had picked me up on the way to the newspaper office on Warwick Avenue. Crossing our path onto Bellman Avenue was William Derrig, wearing a bright green shirt and riding his powered vehicle. Bill, thanks to his wife Leslie, is up and about.  Leslie recently published “A Stroke of Hope,” an account of her crusade to revive Bill following a stroke that left him paralyzed.  Neither she nor he let the misfortune stop them. 

When we pulled onto Bellman Avenue, Bill was already more than a block ahead. We stopped alongside him.

“You better watch out,” I said, “you’re speeding.” He laughed. We exchanged pleasantries. He was apparently on his way to the Conimicut Farmers Market, which as chair of the village association Leslie started this year.

“Wanta race?” asked Joy from behind the wheel.

“You know I can beat you,” Bill answered smiling smugly. “This is an electric vehicle…I’ll be ahead of you…for the first several feet.”

He’s right.

We should all celebrate our victories as large or small as they are. Maybe, I’ll get out the lawnmower.