It's surprising to learn early on in Harriet Johnson's memoir, Too Late To Die Young, that there is a contingent of disabled people who despise the annual Jerry Lewis telethon. Some, including Johnson, who herself has a muscle disease, go so far as to attach cardboard signs to their wheelchairs and scoot around the venue chanting protest slogans, their complaint being that the telethon generates pity more than it does money. Pity, other peoplesÕ pity as well as her own, is Harriet JohnsonÕs worst enemy. Her writing is so devoid of self-pity that I imagine she must discipline herself from having those kinds of feelings, or at least from expressing them. In an early chapter of her memoir, Johnson attends the 1996 Democratic National Convention in Chicago, the same convention that Christopher Reeve, in one of his first appearances after his accident, rolls on stage and calls upon the nation to help its disabled citizens. Johnson, sitting in the audience, is horrified. IÕm still not entirely sure why. Her disgust toward that broken, debilitated Superman sitting under a spotlight leaves her hardly any room to give any consideration to the content of his speech. She sees a Òventriloquist dummyÓ propped up and used by his political party, and worse yet she sees its pity-inspiring effect on a nationwide audience. Reading that, I wished I had her manifesto to use as a reference, because the memoir is precisely that, a memoir, and does not expound on all her ideas, although they seem to boil down to a fervent desire for equal rights, not pity.

The major strength of her memoir is the storytelling. And while every chapter revolves around one of her many political battles, the real meat of her book is the unique and unconsidered point of view of someone who not only uses a wheelchair and requires assistance in all aspects of living, but someone who is brazen and tough, who fearlessly goes out and participates in the world, and who engages fully in her societyÕs political and legal systems. Because of her circumstances (both her disability and her role as a political activist) she faces a constant flood of logistical difficulties that accompany going places in a wheelchair, as well as difficulties which are implicit in practicing law, raising money, planning protests, running for office, and traveling. Throw in her atheism and Southern lady charm, and all of it adds up to a point of view that is absolutely singular and new.

She opens with her childhood, a time spent getting comfortable with the idea of dying, which she is convinced will happen sooner than later. But she grows old enough to study law at The University of South Carolina where she engages in one of her first legal fights. This particular fight is with President ReganÕs secret service staff over whether they can search her dorm room as a security measure for the presidentÕs campus speech. Whether she is truly concerned about her rights or she enjoys being the thorn in the side of a Republican president, it is a useful exercise in hardheadedness. Later in her life, she has to work with a New York Times Magazine photographer, who tries to get Johnson to pose in ways she deems inappropriate. At the climax of their two-day struggle, the photographer exclaims to Johnson, ÒYou are the most difficult subject IÕve ever had to work with! ÉYou have to make absolutely everything into a big battle.Ó ItÕs a statement that resonates with Johnson and sets her off balance, but in fact her memoir would give anyone the impression that she spends a lot of time stubbornly defending her positions. ItÕs the price she pays for being a highly principled activist.

The most compelling chapter comes toward the end when Johnson goes head to head with philosopher Peter Singer, who is known for his hyper-rational, atheistic ideas for the world. Singer gives little or no value to the lives of infants, because he believes they are not yet fully formed people, not in the way adults are fully formed. He sees little difference between infanticide and abortion, and advocates that it would be better if society did away with severely disabled newborns. It is, for Johnson and most disabled, a disturbing proposition. Many of her activist friends admonish her for engaging with Singer in any discourse, believing that it legitimizes him too much, but Johnson justifies participating in a public debate at Princeton. The actual debate between the two is not nearly as enthralling as their personal interactions: the academic correspondence, the making of travel arrangements as she prepares to visit Princeton, the meals they share. In SingerÕs ideal world, Johnson would probably have been killed at birth, and so she is essentially meeting a man who, according to his ethical principles, would have preferred she not exist. Electric tension underscores every moment they are together. Granted, Singer is very gracious and a perfect gentleman, and he goes out of his way to make her time at Princeton comfortable, but on the elevated plane of ideas, Johnson and Singer sit at separate ends of the spectrum and it is a rare thing when two smart, open-minded people spend time together and actually hash out some of these complex differences. Of course, nothing is resolved, but her goal was never to convince Singer so much as to affect his students. Her memoir is not a lesson of compassion or pity, but by demonstrating that she is as capable as anyone to do what she wants with her life.