Medical Pioneering: Tiny Stitches

My grandma lived with us while I was growing up for stretches of several months at a time. I treasure the time I had with her and the many things she taught us. Among those were how to play canasta and euchre, along with the colorful expressions one uses while playing those card games. None were bawdy, just hilarious, much like the altered lyrics to old songs she sang. She regaled us with countless stories of her and my father's various escapades involving her myriad siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, and neighbors, all living in a tight-knit German community in the midwest. 
I wish I had written those stories at the time, preserving the details of names and places and punchlines. Much stays with me, but so much is lost. 

One thing about which she spoke only briefly and occasionally was unforgettable. 

I had an aunt I would never know. My father was the oldest of not three siblings, but four. He had a baby sister, Rosemary, who lived only a few hours.  She was a "blue baby", and that expression was followed by saying she was born with a bad heart. I still recall my earliest, confused images of what "blue baby" meant, progressing over the years to an adult understanding of congenital heart defects and cyanosis. 

Lee and Low, 2016

While serving on the nonfiction panel for Cybils awards I read TINY STITCHES: The Life of Medical Pioneer Vivien Thomas. Medical progress since the 1920s is impressive on countless fronts, and many individuals deserve credit. In this picture book the author, Gwendolyn Hudson Hooks, reveals the overlooked life of Vivien Thomas. His childhood dream of becoming a doctor was a daring one for an African American at that time in history. He was derailed from his quest after only a year of college by the financial crash of the Depression. 
Thomas found work in a Johns Hopkins medical laboratory, eventually becoming a surgical assistant to a noted heart surgeon. He transferred his desire to become a doctor to dedicating himself to developing procedures and adapting  techniques and tools specific to serving the youngest patients. His devices and processes were capable of performing corrective heart surgery for the tiniest hearts of all, those of blue babies. Surgeries previously thought to be impossible.
With direct and descriptive narrative, Hooks reflects the purposeful and steady approach Thomas took toward this goal and others throughout his professional life. Because he lacked a medical degree he wasn't allowed to perform the surgeries himself. He stood at the elbow of others, guiding them in the live-saving techniques that came too late to save my Aunt Rosemary. His race reinforced many limitations, but eventually he was recognized for his life-saving innovations. 
Colin Bootman's illustrations complement the text perfectly, conveying the intensity and dedication Thomas demonstrated throughout his career. They also portray a realistic view of medical settings, including laboratories and operating theaters. The angles and perspectives within various page spreads show Thomas in relation to others. Those perspectives and expressions tell a story in themselves about both the credit and the dismissive attitudes he dealt with throughout his career.
The good news is that he was eventually awarded an honorary medical degree, joined the faculty of Johns Hopkins Medical College, and is credited with his role in the development of materials, techniques, and care that saves lives on a daily basis around the world. Today the vast majority of infants born with heart defects can be treated successfully and go on to live full and healthy lives.
Read more about Thomas in this archived article, here.
The extensive titles nominated for Cybils non-fiction means that many outstanding books missed the cut as finalists. I'm spotlighting this book because it is among those remarkably well-done books that deserve every bit of attention we can give them. In my opinion it should be included in every library "maker-space" and STEM classroom. And, as I've said so often, it should not be relegated to a box of "Black history" books that are hauled out once a year and then stored away until the next year. The best books are timely and timeless, as this one is. That's true of so many books by Lee and Low Publishers.
Don't miss this one.

Never Too Soon for Baseball... or Too Late!

All it takes is a few days of mild January weather and some media buzz about the Baseball Hall of Fame votes and I can't resist sharing a title that was simmering on the back burner waiting for "real" spring. I was especially motivated to spread the word about this title now by the news note that  the Baseball Veterans Committee approved White, Ruppert and O’Day (a player, an owner, and an umpire)  for Hall of Fame Posthumous induction.

Lee & Low Books, Inc 2012

So, for 2014, may I offer for your consideration... ta-da!
SILENT STAR: THE STORY OF DEAF MAJOR LEAGUER WILLIAM HOY, by Bill Wise, illustrated by Adam Gustavson. 
Baseball is a game of statistics, so let's start with notes from the afterward:
 "Of the tens of thousands of players who have made careers in major league baseball, William Ellsworth "Dummy" Hoy* (1862-1961) ranks in the top twenty-five in all-time career statistics: stolen bases, outfielder assists, double-plays by an outfielder." 
His stats continue in this informative section, and his accomplishments continue to amaze, standing up after nearly a century of competition. He was inducted in the Ohio Baseball hall of Fame in 1992 and the Cincinnati Reds Hall of Fame in 2003. In The Sporting News in 1961 (at the time of his death) Pat Harmon wrote, "His record was remarkable. In black and white, it stands with the best of all time."

Fifty-one years later, his numbers stand tall at the top of baseball's best. And yet, in this game of statistics, this sport of numbers and career records, he is not in the Baseball Hall of Fame- yet.

He was, however, among the first five people entered into the American Athletic Association of the Deaf's Hall of Fame. Although born with the ability to hear, William nearly died of meningitis at the age of three. When he recovered, the high fever left him unable to hear well enough to understand speech so he never developed the ability to speak intelligibly.

At age ten when he  attended a school for the deaf he learned to sign and finally made friends. Mostly, he played and loved baseball. He ate, slept, and dreamed baseball, even though the only deaf major leaguer at the time was a pitcher and William was an outfielder. 

The excerpts and quotations above make it clear Hoy did not settle for dreams deferred. His is a story waiting for a groundswell of growing awareness, possibly fueled by social media and a kids' letter-writing campaign. When the sports writers vote next year, again likely snubbing the steroid-tainted candidates, the name William "Dummy" Hoy should make its way into the discussion, guaranteeing that he will finally get full recognition for accomplishing his baseball dreams. 

Read some of the many outstanding Kirkus and Goodreads reviews of this book.

**The author points out that calling someone who was unable to speak "dumb" was conventional at that time, and Hoy preferred the nickname "Dummy" to his own name.

The name of last week's giveaway winner can be found here.