Everyone saw the photos. That yellowed, 800-pound metal cylinder, the rhythmic whoosh-hiss of the bellows, and a man’s head poking out from the end. Paul Alexander, the world’s most famous polio survivor, lived in that machine for over 70 years. But here’s the thing: most people assume he was trapped in that "iron horse" 24/7 like a prisoner in a steel coffin.
That's actually wrong.
Honestly, Paul Alexander spent a massive chunk of his life outside that machine. He wasn't just surviving; he was literally arguing cases in front of judges and attending university mixers. He figured out a way to cheat death using a technique that sounds like something out of a science fiction novel.
The Puppy That Changed Everything
When Paul was six, polio wrecked his body. It was 1952, Dallas, Texas. Within days, he couldn't move, couldn't swallow, and—most terrifyingly—couldn't breathe. Doctors shoved him into an iron lung, essentially a negative-pressure ventilator. If the power went out, he died. If the seals leaked, he died.
For ten years, he stayed inside that tank. Total confinement.
Then came Mrs. Sullivan. She was a physical therapist who saw something in Paul that the doctors had missed. She made him a deal: if he could breathe on his own for just three minutes, she would buy him a puppy.
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It took him a year of agonizing practice.
He had to learn a technique called glossopharyngeal breathing. Most people call it "frog breathing." You basically use your throat muscles to gulp down air, forcing it into your lungs because your diaphragm is paralyzed. It’s exhausting. It’s manual labor for your soul. But he did it. He got the puppy, a golden retriever named Ginger, and he got something even better: his freedom.
Living the "Normal" Life
Once Paul mastered frog breathing, he could stay paul alexander outside iron lung for hours at a time. This wasn't just a party trick. It was a lifeline. He eventually built up enough stamina to stay out for up to eight hours during the day.
Think about that. For eight hours, every single breath was a conscious, manual choice.
He didn't waste that time. He used it to go to school. He graduated from W.W. Samuell High School without ever stepping foot in a classroom (he was one of the first home-schooled students in Dallas history). Then, he pushed even harder. He went to Southern Methodist University. Later, he transferred to the University of Texas at Austin.
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He didn't just show up; he lived in the dorms.
Imagine being his roommate. You’re trying to study, and there’s an 800-pound iron lung in the corner. But Paul was the life of the party. He’d spend his days in a specialized wheelchair that held his body upright, attending law school classes and taking notes with a pen held in his mouth. At night, he’d return to the machine to let his body rest and breathe automatically while he slept.
The Lawyer in the Three-Piece Suit
By 1986, Paul was a licensed attorney. He practiced law for decades in Dallas and Fort Worth. He wasn't some legal clerk hidden in a back office, either. He was a trial lawyer. He would roll into court in his wheelchair, wearing a sharp three-piece suit, and represent clients in bankruptcy and family law cases.
He used a "mouth stick"—a plastic wand with a pen attached—to type on keyboards and turn pages. He was a master of adaptation.
People would stare. Of course they would. But Paul didn't care. He once said, "I didn't live in the lung; I lived outside it, in my mind and my heart."
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The Technical Reality of the Lung
The iron lung itself is a relic. By the time Paul reached his 70s, the machines were no longer being manufactured. Parts were non-existent. When his machine started leaking air in 2015, it was a literal death sentence.
He couldn't use a modern ventilator. Modern ones use "positive pressure," pushing air into the lungs through a tube in the throat (a tracheostomy). Paul’s throat muscles were so damaged by the initial polio infection and his years of frog breathing that his body rejected modern tech. He needed that old-school "negative pressure" to survive.
A local engineer named Brady Richards eventually saved him by refurbishing a second-hand machine he found in a garage. It was a high-stakes mechanical rescue for a man who refused to quit.
Why He Went Back In
As Paul aged, the "outside" world became harder to reach. Frog breathing is a young man’s game. It requires immense muscular effort and concentration. By his 70s, Paul found it too exhausting to stay out for long stretches. He spent his final years mostly confined to the lung again, but he stayed connected through TikTok, where he gained hundreds of thousands of followers as "Polio Paul."
He died in March 2024 at the age of 78. He had recently battled COVID-19, which is a nightmare for someone with 10% lung capacity.
Key Insights for the Future
Paul’s life offers more than just an "inspirational" story. It highlights some very real medical and social realities:
- Vaccine Importance: Paul’s greatest fear was the return of polio. His life was a living testament to why the Salk and Sabin vaccines changed the world.
- Medical Obsolescence: His struggle to find parts for his iron lung shows the danger of "orphan technology"—life-saving tech that companies no longer support.
- Human Resilience: The glossopharyngeal breathing technique is still taught to some patients today, proving that the human body can often find "workarounds" for catastrophic failures.
If you want to support the legacy of people like Paul, look into organizations like Rotary International, which has been working for decades to eradicate polio globally. You can also read his memoir, Three Minutes for a Dog: My Life in an Iron Lung, which he typed entirely with a stick in his mouth. It took him eight years to finish. That’s the kind of persistence we could all use a little more of.