THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, July 17, 1996 TAG: 9607170043
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: 87 lines
ONCE YOU'VE WATCHED Tom Orgsbon, 65, stand beside his metal wheelchair, fold it and toss it into the back seat of his car and drive away. . . Well, then you'll never pity him. And he's too proud to let you.
``Why should I let you put the wheelchair in my car when I can do it better than you?'' he asked, looking me square in the eyes.
Why indeed?
Tom lost his legs years ago because of a diabetic condition. But he refuses to let the missing legs slow him down. He can walk for brief spells on his plastic legs and feet. But he uses a wheelchair, mostly.
Even in the wheelchair he seems to radiate confidence. Part of it is his large frame: the massive thighs and strong arms. And part is his deep, resonating voice.
But there's something else. Tom is one of those people who seems closer to the Lord than most of us.
You've probably known people like that. All I know is that people who meet Tom like him right away. And when he departs, spinning the wheels of his chair, they also feel a little better about themselves.
Five days a week Tom gets behind the wheel of his old Lincoln and drives from his home in Chesapeake to Hillhaven Rehabilitation and Nursing Center in Virginia Beach.
Tom chose Hillhaven for his volunteer work because he was a patient there after the amputation of his second leg in 1982.
``The people here took real good care of me,'' he said. ``They refuse to let people feel sorry for themselves. I just wanted to pay them back for their kindness to me.''
Tom, who drives to the center from Chesapeake, has been doing his volunteer work at Hillhaven for more than a dozen years.
What he does mostly is hang around the halls and brighten everyone up. He has a broad smile, and a booming baritone. He wheels up beside a lonely patient, extends that strong arm for a handshake and says:
``Hello, how ya doin'? My name is Tom.''
Instant friends.
He calls out the numbers during bingo games. His voice carries so well he doesn't need a microphone. And he runs errands for patients.
Betty Freeman, the nursing home administrator, said Tom has even weeded flowers in the beds outside the building from time to time.
``He just does whatever he can to make everyone around him feel better,'' she said.
Tom was the head bellman for a big Virginia Beach hotel before losing his legs. And he made good money. Handsome and smooth as silk, Tom would greet every guest at the door with that booming voice.
``I hope you had a nice trip. Welcome to our hotel!'' he'd say. Folks didn't quickly forget his courtesy or bearing.
When he lost his legs, it wasn't the hotel he missed so much as the inability to support his family as he had in the past. ``That was a terrible blow,'' he said.
``But in time I realized that I was lucky and how good the Lord has been to me,'' he added.
Tom has handled his disability so well that he's often called to offer hope to those who have undergone amputations or are about to.
``I recently got a call from a friend at Virginia Beach General Hospital who asked me to visit a man who was feeling pretty sorry for himself because they were going to amputate a leg.''
Tom showed up unannounced at the doorway of the man's hospital room, using a cane instead of his wheelchair.
``I just walked in and asked how he was doing,'' Tom said. ``The man cried as he told me they were going to amputate his leg next morning.''
Tom shuffled into the room with his cane and sat beside the man's bedside. ``Well, why don't you tell me about it?'' Tom urged.
As the man talked, Tom didn't utter a word. But he began to roll up his pants legs. First one, then another, revealing his glistening artificial legs made of reddish-brown plastic.
Suddenly, the man in the bed, sat upright.
``And you walked in here on those?!'' the man exclaimed.
Tom said the two of them said the 23rd Psalm together. When he left, the man in the bed was no longer crying, he said.
I told Tom that he was a minister without a pulpit.
He shifted in in his wheelchair and looked away for a moment or two before facing me again.
In that deep, biblical voice, he said, ``Well, I certainly like to think of myself that way.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color photo by Jim Walker/The Virginian-Pilot
Orgsbon once was a patient at the Hillhaven Center. by CNB