Gary McPherson contracted life-threatening polio during the epidemic of 1955 which left him a quadriplegic. He retains just enough coarse movement in his left hand to click a mouse and enough strength in his left leg to push his wheelchair backwards a few feet. Gary cannot feed himself or comb his hair. Yet his achievements are amazing. He is a husband and father, has coached championship sporting teams, is past-chairman of the Premier's Council for the Status of People with Disabilities, and is currently both a lecturer in the School of Business at the University of Alberta and executive-director of the Canadian Centre for Social Entrepreneurship. Foreword by Dr. Robert D. Steadward and Garry D. Wheeler.
" ... Explores a wide-variety of health issues and concerns to offer a holistic approach to care. Presented within a quality of life framework, it emphasizes the range of factors that can impact women's health and well-being, including physical, psychological, spiritual, socioeconomic, and family domains. In addition, it features updated content on DSM-V, case studies, research boxes, discussion questions, and Internet resources for more information."--
Fairview Park is truly a postwar community. Before World War II, it was mainly rural countryside just beginning to see some development. The Rocky River valley had been enough of a barrier to keep Fairview that much more rural until high-level bridges were built in the 1920s. A brochure at the time for the newly developed Coffinberry Estates in northeast Fairview Park refers to quick access to downtown Cleveland via Hilliard Road, Detroit Avenue, or Lorain Avenue bridges. The bridges residents now take for granted were then a major selling point. The farmland started to evolve into suburbia as spaces between houses were filled with more houses. Fairview Village became Fairview Park in 1948, and the year before, Cuyahoga Countys first shopping center was built here.
When Archbishop Henry O’Leary became the second archbishop of Edmonton in 1920, he had a dream to build a western Canada Catholic college that would educate students in the Christian intellectual tradition.This is the story of how a small Roman Catholic institution confronted daunting challenges to become a Christian beacon of enlightenment at the very heart of the secular University of Alberta. Scholarship and community life in residence was always supplemented with teaching from the Christian Ministry Team, to form Christian citizens who would go out into the world to serve the larger community following graduation. In 1963, the Congregation of St. Basil took over the administration of the College from the Christian Brothers de la Salle who had administered the College from its founding in 1926. Since its establishment almost ninety years ago, the College has continued to provide young men and women with post-secondary courses grounded in Roman Catholic thought while pursuing their undergraduate degrees at the University of Alberta. Initially, a residence was built for men, but O’Leary’s dream of also constructing a women’s residence never died and was finally realized in 2015. Faced with slender means, misunderstandings, student mischief and personality clashes, the mission of St. Joseph’s College has guided faculty, administrators, staff and Board members throughout its history and melded them into a close-knit community whose example is the envy of other units at the University of Alberta.
IN the Fall of the year when Krakatoa blew its head off in the East Indies, and sent its dust around the world, I fell sick of a fever in the city of Portate, which is on the west coast of South America. Portate had the latest brand of municipal enterprise and the oldest brand of fever. But they call any kind of sickness a fever there, to save trouble, and bury the alien with as little trouble as possible. I started for home, and came as far as Nassau, which is a town in the Bahamas. There, a wasted and dismal shape, I somehow fell into the hands of one Dr. Ulswater, who tended and medicined by back into the world of sunlight and other interesting objects. Nassau runs up the side of a bluff and overlooks a blue and dimpled harbour. Dr. Ulswater at last began to take me with him, to lie on the rocks and watch him search in the harbour shoals for small cuttlefish. He used a three-pronged spear to stir them out of their lairs, and a long knife to put into their vital points with skilful surgery. They waved and slapped their wild blistered arms around his neck and shoulders, while he poked placidly into their vitality. So, being entertained and happy, I recovered from yellow fever. By that time my handsome name, given by parents who recognised my merits, "Christopher Kirby," had come down handily in Dr. Ulswater's usage to "Kit," and we loved each other as two men can who are to each other a perpetual entertainment. Dr. Ulswater was a large, bushy man in the prime of a varied life. Born an American, he had studied in German universities, practised medicine in Italy, and afterward in Ceylon. One of his hobbies was South-American archaeology. He owned a silver mine in Nevada, and kept a sort of residence in New York at this time, and was collecting specimens for a New England museum. So that he was what you might call a distributed man, for he had been in most countries of the globe; yet he was not a "globe-trotter," but rather a floater,—in a manner resembling sea-weed, that drifts from place to place, but, wherever it drifts or clings, is tranquil and accommodating. He seemed to me suitable to the tropics and their seas,—large, easy, and warm of body; his learning like the sea, mysterious and bottomless; his mind luxuriously fertile, but somewhat ungoverned. His idioms were mixed, his conversations opalescent; his criticism of himself was that he had not personality enough. "No, my dear," he said, wrapping a dead cuttlefish up neatly in its own arms, "I am like a cuttlefish whose vital point is loose. You are an ignorant person, with prepossessions beyond belief, and absurd deferences for clothing and cleanliness; but you have personality and entertaining virtues. Therefore I will let you smoke two cigars to-night instead of one, and to-morrow maybe three, for your sickness is becoming an hypocrisy." Then we went over the rocks to our boat and the sulky sleepy negro boatman, the doctor with his flabby bundled cuttlefish, and I with a basket full of coral and conch-shells. The boatman rowed us out over a sea garden with submerged coral grottos; pink and white coral, branching and the "brain" coral, sea-fans and purple sea-feathers, coral shrubs, coral in shelving masses; also sponges, and green hanging moss, and yellow, emerald, and scarlet fish, silver, satin, ringed, fringed, spotted;—all deep beneath in their liquid, deluding atmosphere,—a cold vision, outlandish, brilliant, and grotesque, over which we floated and looked down.
