The subhuman treatment of people with disabilities is not a distant memory for many people, but for some, it is a daily reality. The Americans with Disabilities Act was passed merely 34 years ago. However, these issues are not something families often discuss.
As a genealogist, I seek out records to understand what life was like for my ancestors: their thoughts, feelings, and experiences through a historical lens. The first step in genealogical research is interviewing living relatives, who provide information that guides your research. That is where I began researching my maternal great-grandfather, James Peckels.
James Donald Peckels was born on May 29th, 1923, in Parkville, St. Louis County, Minnesota. His father, Peter, was Luxembourgian, and his mother, Nellie, was Irish. He only went to school through the eighth grade, and by age 17, James was working for the family junkyard. A family story says that he made enough money to buy a car, but his father eventually forced him to give it to his brother, who was more successful with a wife and children.
He was drafted into the U.S. Army in 1942 at 19 years old. I knew he received an honorable discharge from the military but never heard why, so I requested his military records from the National Archives. Unfortunately, the National Archives suffered a fire in 1973 that destroyed most of the Army personnel records. After many months of waiting, I received scans of some of his military records, albeit charred, thanks to some diligent NARA staff. What I learned was shocking.
On September 20th, 1944, he became unfit for duty due to epilepsy: grand mal and petit mal. The onset was listed as 1931 when he would’ve been eight years old. However, it was not in the induction papers. None of us knew about his condition. I heard stories that he would stay awake for days like he was afraid to fall asleep. Now I know that some types of childhood epilepsy cause nocturnal seizures. I can’t reconcile how he was able to keep his disability secret, even from his children. Maybe the stress of the war caused it to flare up, or he self-medicated. I will never really know.
What I think I understand is why. In Minnesota in 1945, people with epilepsy were forbidden to marry by a clause in the marriage license application. A 1914 article stated, “A strong moral sentiment already exists against the marriage of persons tainted with insanity, epilepsy and venereal diseases.” People with epilepsy were considered mentally deficient, physically incapable, and disruptive people. If he wanted to be married, he would have to hide his condition.
A Minnesota child welfare manual says, “An epileptic person frequently is a burden and even a disrupting influence in the family. Also, he is frequently unadjusted in the community and is usually dissatisfied and unhappy.” In 1962, there were laws restricting marriage for people with epilepsy in six states. Throughout the 20th century, people with epilepsy were subject to job discrimination, marriage, inequality, forced sterilization, and institutionalization.
It is sobering to think that he may have had the same condition as I do. It just did not have a name back then. My family was the ideal target of eugenics legislation: people with an undesirable, heritable condition. If the law had worked as intended, I would not exist. Was I doomed to be a poorly adjusted, dissatisfied, and unhappy human being because of my genes?
My disability has been a strength in many ways–it made me persistent, curious, and even optimistic. That is what disability pride means to me: accepting the challenges that come with having a disability while celebrating how I have become better for it and remembering those who were not lucky enough to celebrate their differences.
