Book Junkiez

Overcoming Cerebral Palsy, Abandonment, and Poverty

Date Published: August 29, 2025

The narrative begins on a seemingly ordinary summer bike ride, where
Buddy’s remarkable spirit first captured the attention of his fellow
cyclists. Despite facing the trials of abandonment and poverty, Buddy’s polite
demeanor and thoughtful presence soon revealed the depth of his journey. As
conversations around the picnic table echoed the desire to share his story, a
reluctant author was born. With the encouragement of friends, family, and a
determination to honor Buddy’s incredible life, the author embarked on a
mission to bring this inspiring tale to light.

Through a series of heartfelt interviews, we delve into Buddy’s memories
that trace back to early childhood, uncovering a treasure trove of experiences
that illuminate his unyielding strength. With contributions from friends who
painted the backdrop of his life, this book is not just a biography; it’s a
testament to the human spirit’s ability to overcome.

“Buddy” is a compelling read for anyone who believes in the power of
perseverance and the importance of sharing our stories. Join the author as he
takes you through the highs and lows of Buddy’s life, revealing the
beauty of friendship, the struggle for acceptance, and the enduring hope that
shines through even the darkest of circumstances. Discover why, “If not me,
then who?” is a question that resonates deeply within all of us.

EXCERPT

Chapter 1: Learning to Ride a Bike

      Why can’t I have a bike and learn to ride like all the other kids? 

     The thought swirled through eight-year-old Buddy Brown’s mind as he gazed longingly at the yard across the street that had multiple bicycles haphazardly strewn about. 

     It was a sunny summer morning in Sleepy Eye, Minnesota. The kind of day that starts cool, but by 10 AM, it’s so warm that all the kids in the neighborhood would come skipping outside. Minnesota youth know that they must capitalize on warm days because the weather is going to change in only a few short months. 

     Buddy was sitting on the front step of their trailer house, enjoying the warmth, listening to the birds, and observing the neighborhood. He couldn’t help but notice that the yard had a bike for each of the eight kids who were packed into the house, but he had none.

     Since Buddy’s family was poor, his father, Dewey, was always seeking the next good job. In the year and a half preceding 1972, the family had moved eight times. They cycled through Pepin, WI, and the Minnesota towns of Rochester, Watertown, Sleepy Eye, Circle Pines, and finally settled in Pillager. With the continual moves and tight finances, there was never money for Buddy to have a bike. 

     Sunday mornings were quiet in the mobile home park as many of the families were gone. No one was home in the house with all the bikes. Buddy shuffled across the street, cautiously studying the potential rides. He noticed the older kids had the cool banana-seat bikes. Since he had never ridden before, he picked out the smallest regular bike, which was purple with a black seat. He rolled it back to his house and managed to get his rigid leg across, getting seated while his feet touched the ground. Was this his chance to learn how to ride?

     In front of the trailer, a sidewalk made of pavers sloped toward the street. Even at age eight, Buddy was good with numbers. He calculated that if he would just count the number of pavers and extend his distance by one paver each time, he would soon know how to ride. He parked on the second paver and lifted his feet, whereupon gravity took over, and he promptly fell over. This routine was repeated several times until he realized he had to move forward before lifting his feet. Success came slowly and haltingly as his rides conquered three, four, then five pavers. 

     At the end of the pavers was a dead-end street, which was fairly quiet. He just rode out into it, not considering cars. By the time his rides consistently passed five pavers and continued halfway across the street, he called his stepmom, Wendy, to see what he had done. She erupted with whooping, hollering, and encouragement for him to raise his feet and put them on the pedals. Buddy didn’t realize that his legs were less flexible than those of the other kids. Even with stiff legs, he managed to get on the pedals and, after several tries, was able to push and keep the wobbly bike moving.

     When the neighbors came home, Buddy was excited and ran as best he could to tell them the news. The scrawny youth waddled and hopped since he couldn’t run as fast as the other kids, but he was still animated enough that they recognized his exuberance. The parents were friendly and gracious, encouraging Buddy to use a bike whenever their kids were not.

     Buddy never realized he had any physical limitations when it came to learning how to ride a bike. His legs did not flex well at the knees, and his Achilles tendons were tight and didn’t fully straighten out. He often walked on his toes with his heels off the ground. His right hand lacked fine motor movement, but he could still grasp the handlebars. His left hand was more adept. The bike he was riding had coaster brakes and no handbrake, so he was able to manage reasonably well. At this point in his life, no one had told him that he had cerebral palsy (CP).

      A week later, Buddy felt he was ready for a longer ride. He had put on several miles without pedaling, instead using the bike as a strider, following the other kids as they rode until he had acceptable balance. The trailer park was located between two hills. The entrance road had a long, downhill slope, with trailers parked parallel to the road, rather than perpendicular to it, as is typical in most parks. This resulted in a lower population density and reduced traffic. The blacktopped street split into a U-shape, with two dead ends at the bottom of the hill.

     Schwinn popularized the banana seat bike in the 1960s. It had high-rise handlebars and an elongated seat. The style was so popular that the high-rise bars were copied on a “chopper” motorcycle for the 1969 movie Easy Rider starring Peter Fonda. A neighbor, Jeff, two years younger than Buddy, owned a blue one and offered to share it. It was bigger and faster than the bike Buddy had borrowed earlier. Together, they schemed to take turns going to the top of the hill and riding down as fast as possible. The first two runs for each went well, giving a sense of exhilaration. 

     Riding up the hill the third time required him to stand up and rock his body side to side, straining to get enough power to the pedals for the climb. It was a hot, determined effort for Buddy with his chest heaving, legs burning, and damp perspiration on his forehead. After pushing off downhill, he felt a surge of elation as he sped up, moving fast enough that his skin cooled. The wind fluffed his hair and whistled in his ears while his hands shook with the handlebar vibrations. Of course, no one owned a helmet in 1972. 

     Confidence grew until he hit a speed bump. Buddy, who was unaware that he was not quite as coordinated as some of the other kids, crashed unceremoniously. It was a windmill fall with a blur of arms and legs fanning the air as he somersaulted to the pavement, striking his chin.   

     The impact tore open a gash in his chin, leaving a warm stream of blood running down his neck, soaking the front of his t-shirt. Road rash burned on his elbows and knees. With adrenaline pumping through his body, Jeff sprinted to get Wendy.  Buddy stifled his whimpers as Dewey had preached toughness in all situations. His usual comment was, 

     “Go back and play. You’ll be alright.”

     The family had only one car, and Dewey had it at work, so pregnant Wendy had to go to the neighbors and plead for help. They readily agreed to give her a ride to the hospital and take care of her other two children while she was gone. 

     The Sleepy Eye hospital was small, having only one room devoted to emergencies. When they arrived, the room was empty until someone came from the nurse’s station in the hospital to help. No doctors worked full-time in the hospital, so there was a delay while she called in one of the general practitioners from his home.

     Buddy immediately noticed the sterile antiseptic smell and the bright lights as he entered the room. He bravely held back tears until someone mentioned stitches. With a shriek, he grabbed Wendy until her comforting hug and soothing words calmed him down. The nurse gently washed his chin and wiped his tears with a warm cloth. Buddy clenched his fists, stiffened, and bravely held still while the doctor deftly slipped a fine needle into the cut to inject an anesthetic. A burning sensation spread across his chin as the anesthetic took effect, and his skin became numb. Eight stitches later, he was finished, relieved, and happy to be on his way home.

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