WOODSTOCK — As an advocate for disabled people, Louise Russell had multiple ways of transmitting a message. Some involved talking, others simply doing.
As the first director of Harvard University’s Accessible Education Office, Russell sometimes came into contact with students who wanted to delay their end-of-term exams by appealing for “pink slips for some tropical disease or other to do what was needed,” longtime friend Alice Boelter described last week.
“She would say, ‘Let me look in your file.’ She would walk on her crutches around the desk, go behind them, open the file drawer behind them, and she would stand there flipping through files slowly and deliberately. The person who had been sitting in that chair would then be gone. They’d realized that she’d got their number.”
Russell was born with spina bifida, a defect in the spinal column that required significant hospital time during her early years and the use of crutches and wheelchairs the whole of her life. Buoyed by a family that set her up to succeed, however, Russell worked to make others aware of the needs of disabled people while also showing how essential they are to society.
Russell, who moved to Woodstock in 2007 prior to retiring from Harvard, died on April 14 in Needham, Mass., from acute respiratory failure and pneumonia exacerbated by the COVID-19 virus. She was 74.
Bill Russell, of Hanahan, S.C., one of Louise Russell’s two older brothers, said she was something of a “miracle story,” because babies born with spina bifida in the 1940s didn’t have long life expectancies. She had her highs and lows adapting to her disability as a child. The highs won out.
“There wasn’t a cause and effect, but by virtue of her condition and having an intense desire, encouraged and expected by our parents, to participate in all ways, even if only partially,” Bill Russell said. “That is basically what is responsible for what became a very self-confident, independent and quite intense, self-reliant (person).”
Russell’s parents set goals for their daughter, but nothing unreasonable. There was anger and frustration early on, Bill Russell said, but his sister adapted quickly.
“In many respects, that’s what she knew,” he said. “All of those challenges came with the order, so to speak.”
Louise Russell attended Beaver Country Day School, in Newton, Mass., before the family moved to suburban Cleveland in 1958. There she met Boelter as they entered ninth grade at the Laurel School for girls.
Boelter said Louise’s father “schooled her in that you can do anything; nothing can stop you.” Others may have found it remarkable to see her conquer the architectural challenges of getting around the school or other buildings, but Russell looked at it as a problem to be solved.
“She was really such an amazing woman in terms of the way she adapted to her disability and made her life work in a way that not everybody had the capacity to do,” said Laurie Harding, of Lebanon, one of Russell’s 25 cousins.
Russell enjoyed a professional career that regularly put her in the role of valuable resource. The passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act in 1990 opened the door to her most important work.
Harvard reacted to the ADA by establishing the Accessible Education Office in its Faculty of Arts and Sciences, then sought out and invited Russell to apply. The school hired her in 1991, and she worked there until retiring in 2010.
Russell oversaw the administration of services to more than 300 students, undergraduates and graduates, whose physical, learning and psychiatric disabilities made Harvard a challenging place to be. The fact that Russell herself was disabled gave her a level of authenticity others couldn’t have achieved in the job, her brother said.
“If you have a war veteran talking to kids about the military, it means more than if you have somebody who’s never served,” Bill Russell noted. “It carried some, not only presence, but authority.”
Russell also cherished her mobility. It started in Ohio, when her father built the teenaged Louise a sidewalk-capable vehicle out of plywood, metal framing and a lawnmower engine “that was so loud, the EPA would have disbarred it right away,” Bill Russell said. The fact her father muffed the steering mechanism — turning the wheel right would make the car go left, and vice versa — “was an advantage,” he said. “She would get used to it and have no problem, but no one else would get used to it.”
Russell earned her driver’s license at age 16 in a car with handle adaptations taking the place of foot pedals. As an adult, she had a similarly equipped van that could store her mobility tools, all of which she removed and replaced on her own.
“She was a negotiator, because she had to negotiate her life,” said Elizabeth Nilsson, of Chestnut Hill, Mass., who befriended Russell when both worked at Boston Children’s Hospital. “Just about everything in her life had to be negotiated, but she was never one to feel sorry for herself, never one to say, ‘I can’t do it.’ She might say something like, ‘Let’s try it this way.’ There’s a difference there.”
When Harding sought to represent Lebanon in the New Hampshire House of Representatives, her cousin took on the role of driver during campaign stops.
“She was a person who had a tremendous sense of commitment to the community, the state and the country,” Harding said. “She always did it with an amazing sense of humor, which I tremendously appreciated.”
Russell’s community interaction continued when she moved to Woodstock. Jay Bragdon, a longtime family friend, recalled Russell’s role in helping the Vermont Institute of Natural Science address access needs at its Quechee campus. Russell also joined a task force that attempted to make Woodstock’s downtown shopping district — filled with 19th century brick buildings — easier for disabled people to navigate.
“She didn’t want other people with handicaps to have to live a limited life,” said Bragdon, of Woodstock. “Just as she wanted a full life for herself, she wanted others with handicaps to have a full life. I think that was a very strong motivation for her.”
Vermont State Sen. Alison Clarkson, a member of the task force, said it had limited success when it came to making actual architectural changes downtown. But Russell’s input raised the town’s awareness of the need for better access for the disabled.
“As Louise always pointed out, people who are disabled have credit cards, too,” said Clarkson, D-Woodstock. “You can’t assume that the disabled community doesn’t have a wide socioeconomic range.”
And sometimes, for Russell, that counted as a win.
“Accessibility doesn’t happen overnight,” she told the Valley News in 2012. “While people may be empathetic to the cause, it often takes a personal experience with a visual or unseen loss of function — a broken hip, stroke, breathing problems, loss of vision or hearing — to limit one’s ability to go to a restaurant, participate in a Town Meeting, shop, travel, read. Whether temporary or permanent lifestyle changes, they needn’t create lack of participation or isolation.”
Greg Fennell can be reached at gfennell@vnews.com or 603-727-3226.