The firstbasesports.com glossary of hockey terminology defines the term “on-the-fly” as “making player changes or substitutions while play is under way”. This definition can also be applied to Joe Tusia’s life.

Joe was a hockey player. It was how he identified himself: a 6’3”, 230-pound scrapper who only came alive on the ice. He grew up in a small town 40 miles west of Boston. Hockey was a common pastime for boys in the Northeast, but for Joe it quickly became an obsession. He joined his first league when he was just three-and-ahalf, and from then on it seemed every decision he made revolved around hockey. After high school he chose a school in Toronto. After school, he played professionally in Italy and here in the United States for the World Roller Hockey League (WRHL). He made a decent living doing what he loved and hoped for a break that would result in the call to draft him into the NHL.

During the off-season in 1994, he came out to Southern California to help a friend who had started a company. He describes the day when everything in his world changed as “a warm beautiful Sunday”. He entered the office building, which was locked and mostly vacant. Just before he got to the door of the office, two young guys approached him barking orders for his money and his keys. He felt the pressure of a gun to his head and another to his back. He quickly handed over anything of value and the men seemed to be satisfied. Without daring to turn around he listened as the distance between the two men and himself grew.

The relief that was rushing over his whole body was shattered by the explosion of both guns opening fire on him — eleven shots total — three of which ripped through his athletic frame. The final shot dropped him to the ground. He turned his head just in time to see a man with green eyes say to a man with dreadlocks, “You gotta kill him. He ain’t dead.” Dreadlocks put his gun against Joe’s head, and Joe thought, “My life ends now.”

At that very moment, like something out of a scene from a movie, a siren rang through the hallway of the office building and scared Green-eyes into running off. Dreadlocks paused for a moment before following, leaving Joe badly and permanently hurt, but alive. Joe pulled himself into the office and dialed 911. Still thinking there was no way he was going to survive, Joe told the operator as much as he could before he was gone. He repeatedly passed out and had a hard time keeping a grasp on reality, but somehow articulated a description of his assailants, his location, and that he wanted the operator to tell his parents that he loved them and he wanted to be buried in Massachusetts.

Joe survived, but the third bullet — the one that brought him to the ground — paralyzed him from the waist down. After four-and-a-half months in the hospital, he moved into an apartment that accommodated a person in a wheelchair. He gently refused his family’s pleas to move home to avoid taking the easy way out and losing his independence. He knew almost nobody in Long Beach, so taking up residence here meant he would have to do everything for himself. Slowly — and not without difficulty — he acclimated to his new life in Long Beach on wheels. He found hockey again, as well as skiing, cycling and marathons. He made friends who shared his love for sports, some of whom were also in chairs.

Eventually Joe got a job at a medical supply company. He was frustrated with his experiences with these companies, as were his friends, and decided he could help people in his position. From inside the establishment, he could make sure his clients got what they needed, and on time. He was certain his empathy would be useful in such a position. Despite having little experience in the traditional work force, Joe excelled and quickly moved up. He was put in charge of his own team of salesman, and was even able to hire some other people in chairs. Although he was doing well, he was still frustrated and embarrassed by the way his company operated. He saw people in real need of help, unable to afford it, and Joe found himself restricted by the rules of his company. Fed up with his inability to provide the level of assistance he felt was needed, Joe and two friends — also in chairs — decided to start their own medical supply company.

In 1999, Xtreme Medical was created. Joe and his two partners didn’t operate Xtreme like any other medical supply company. They weren’t just a voice on the other end of the phone. They knew each one of their clients personally, and took the time to make sure they always had what they needed. They visited people in the hospital, helping person after person recognize that there is life after paralysis. They were excited to have the ability to share their knowledge. As Joe says, “Life is the same in a chair, you’re just looking at it from a different angle.”

The idea that those first several months in a wheelchair could be made significantly easier if you had someone to tell you what to expect and what was possible drove Joe and his comrades. If someone couldn’t afford the necessary supplies, they worked with their suppliers to sponsor them. If a client needed a ramp, or doors widened, Joe and his team would make sure these things were accomplished. If someone needed a job, Xtreme would hire them. They hired clients with no sales background to be salesmen, a kind gesture that would turn out to be a genius business decision. Not only did these new employees have first-hand knowledge of many of the products they were supplying, but the new clients found comfort in dealing with a man or woman that knew what they were going through.

The company thrived, and before long, Joe had the means to open a gym catering exclusively to people in wheelchairs. Beyond Injury Fitness Center was a non-profit company separate from Xtreme Medical, but which shared many of the same faces. Access was free, and they were soon not only seeing people who wanted to work out, but people who just wanted to be with their peers. It became a gathering place for people in similar situations, and Joe felt exultant knowing that he could help provide such a place.

Today, Xtreme Medical has over 50 employees, approximately 35 of whom are in wheelchairs. Joe and his partner could not afford to keep Beyond Injury Fitness Center open, and Joe was destroyed when he had to close its doors several months ago. Not surprisingly, he was determined to find a way to reopen, so Beyond Injury Thrift Store was created. The money made from the thrift store will fund the fitness center, and Joe and his partner can avoid asking for any money from their members. (Visit beyondinjurythriftstore.com for information on donating and/or shopping.)

Joe isn’t boastful about his endeavors since his accident. He isn’t expecting any praise, nor does he think he deserves it. If you ask him why he goes to such lengths to help strangers, he’ll just start telling stories: The 14-year-old high school kid who lost the use of his legs playing football, and wouldn’t believe anyone who said that there was a life worth living in a chair until he heard it from someone thriving in a chair. Or the gangster from East L.A. who was shot and lived with his parents, two sisters and his sister’s kids in a tiny trailer behind someone’s house until Joe gave him a job and set him up in an apartment. If Joe recognizes the significance in helping a gangster — much like the ones that shot him years ago — he doesn’t let on. He does these things because he thinks they should be done.

Joe Tusia is a fighter, an inspiration, a mentor, and a hero. But if you ask him, he’ll probably just say he’s a hockey player.



5600 E. Imperial Highway
South Gate, CA 90280
562.923.3226
beyondinjurythriftstore.com