Phyllis McIntosh

U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt's use of a wheelchair was hidden during his lifetime but is now celebrated in bronze. Phyllis McIntosh is a Maryland-based writer who frequently contributes to Department of State publications.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt (FDR), who was elected four times as president of the United States, serving from 1933-1945—some of the most turbulent years in U.S. history—was the very image of a strong leader. Hidden from the public was the fact that Roosevelt, a victim of polio, could not walk. He was almost never photographed in his wheelchair.

Although attitudes toward disabilities had changed dramatically by the time a memorial to FDR opened in Washington, D.C., in 1997, a statue of the former president, nevertheless, depicted him wearing a large cloak that all but obscured his wheelchair.

"We felt it would be unconscionable for school children for years to come to go through that memorial and have no sense that Roosevelt led this country through the Great Depression and to victory in World War II from his wheelchair," says Michael Deland, president of the National Organization on Disability.

Deland, with help from honorary chairman, former President George H.W. Bush, launched a campaign to raise funds for a second, more honest statue. They welcomed their first donation—$378.50 from a bake sale held by a group of New Jersey schoolchildren—and went on to secure $1.65 million more from private donors.

Dedicated in 2001, the second statue shows Roosevelt seated in the wheelchair that he designed and used every day. Installed at ground level, the sculpture is easily accessible. Children gravitate to it and clamber onto the lap of the bronze president.

People in wheelchairs can reach out and touch it and read the inscription on the wall behind, which is also printed in Braille.

"The constant refrain," Deland says, "is from older people with disabilities or from teachers or parents saying to kids, 'Look, Roosevelt led this country from this wheelchair. You can do anything you set out to do, disability or not.'"

Phyllis McIntosh

A paraplegic adapts yoga movements for people with disabilities so they can achieve a mind-body connection.

At age 13, Matthew Sanford's life changed in an instant, when a horrendous car accident killed his father and sister and left him paralyzed from the chest down. After 12 years of regarding two-thirds of his body as an object, living as he says "like a head on a stick," he desperately wanted to get in touch with his whole body.

Sanford turned to yoga and discovered that its poses and postures gave him a renewed sense of energy, a "buzz" or "hum" throughout his body. In 1998, he began adapting yoga movements for people with a range of disabilities, including paralysis, brain injury, multiple sclerosis, and cerebral palsy. At the same time, he realized that his unique perspective was a valuable asset for teaching able-bodied students as well. "Living vibrantly through one's whole body, whether paralyzed or not, is a powerful part of living," he says.

Sanford went on to found Mind Body Solutions, a nonprofit organization dedicated to improving the mind-body connection in everyday life. Today, he offers a range of yoga classes through his studio, presents workshops and seminars for corporations and health care and community organizations, and continues to teach adaptive yoga at the Courage Center, a leading rehabilitation facility in Minnesota, where he lives.

Through programs called "Bringing Your Body to Work" and "Yoga at the Desk," he teaches employees how to use yoga to boost energy, reduce stress, and improve their mental outlook.

A husband and father of a six-year-old son, Sanford also has found time to write a book, Waking: A Memoir of Trauma and Transcendence, which chronicles his experiences and explores the importance of the mind-body relationship.

He sums up his philosophy this way: "Connecting mind and body is not just a health strategy. It is a movement of consciousness that can change the world."