Christmastime 1927 was a time of very special happenings for me. After falling from a kiddie-car on which I'd been standing, and injuring my back, the next three years of my life had been spent as a patient in the Orthopedic ward of Conemaugh Valley Memorial Hospital (Johnstown, PA), and I had missed the experiences of being home with my parents and seven siblings.

In the hospital, I had to lie on my back on an angled pipe frame over which canvas had been stretched. My shoulders and feet were tied to the iron-frame bed at the head & foot, which kept my back in a hyper-extended position, preventing my back from knuckling forward and me from becoming a hunchback. Tuberculosis of the spine had been destroying several vertebrae. Back then, rest, daily spoonfuls of cod-liver oil, and frequent exposure to ultraviolet light were considered the only chance for arresting this disease.

Nine or ten other children and I were charter members of the Tiny Tim Club, sponsored by the local Kiwanis Club, which sent members each week to show us silent movies. My favorites were Rin Tin Tin and Tom Mix. At times, the Club would take those who could, bed and all, to local theatre productions & picnics.

Just before Christmas, a miracle began to unfold. A thick plaster of paris cast was applied around my body from armpits to hips, arching my back & letting me move my back forward ever so slightly. After several days of drying out, I was bundled up in my Tiny Tim cape and taken home for the holidays on Christmas Eve.

"Home" was a new place to me. I recall a beautifully decorated tree in a too-small living room, made even smaller when the ten in our family filled it. Only then did I meet my "new" brother & sister. The excitement & laughter and being with so many happy people made me think heaven must certainly be like this!

Time passed quickly that afternoon, and as it grew dark, I was again draped in my Tiny Tim cape and whisked out to the car to go to the Christmas pageant at church, where my father carried me inside to a really big room with a really, really big spruce tree covered all over with trimmings and lights, tinsel, and icicles. The children filled the big room full!

Right off, the service started. Christmas songs were sung, "pieces" recited, and proud parents beamed and gleamed their approval while everyone clapped. Soon Santa appeared, and gave everyone small boxes of candy, nuts & fruits. He even brought one to me! I thought this just might really be heaven!

The festivities were winding down when the preacher stood up and said, "We have a very special little guest with us tonight - Tiny Tim is here!" He told them how Dickie Penick had spent 3 years strapped to a frame in the hospital and that he had been known as "Mr. Sunshine" because he was always so happy. My dad then carried me up front, all wrapped in my cast, and placed me carefully in a chair on the platform, and announced, "Dick is going to sing a song he learned from the Bible Lady who visits the hospital every Sunday."

In the crystal clear voice with which God had blessed me, I sang Away In A Manger. I smiled as I finished; but I couldn't get down, so I just kept on smiling. Everyone was quiet as church mice, but I noted a lot of sniffing and big folks had hankies up to their faces. Suddenly there was a lot of cheering and clapping -- then the miracle happened!

One little boy brought his box of candy down and placed it on the floor near my feet. Several more followed and likewise presented their boxes at my chair. Then it seemed all the rest of the children in the church came and surrounded me, and piled their goodie boxes at my feet. I was very surprised and pleased. What a Christmas Eve!

Soon most of the older folks made their way onto the platform, most with tears in their eyes telling me "thank you" in broken voices. One very old man held back until last, then cried openly as he pressed a shiny silver dollar into my hand and said, "This is for you. You've made Christmas real for all of us."

On the way home, all ten of us sardined into that old Davis touring car with isinglass curtains, things got too quiet, so I said, "You can all share my candy and stuff." That broke the ice, and soon all were telling me how good it was to have me home and how good I could sing. This whole night confused me. "Why did all those kids bring their treats to me? And why were those big people crying?"

"The children wanted to show you how glad they were that you were able to come home for Christmas. And those tears you saw, Dick, were tears of joy."

After the holidays, I was taken back to the hospital for more rest on that pipe and canvas frame. In June 1928, mine was the first of three spinal fusions performed at that hospital, and the only one that proved successful. In October, I was released as "cured" - with no hump or disability... another Miracle!