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Prima pagină / Albume / Etichete buses
+ handicapped + Atlantis Community 2
ADAPT (122)
Denver Post [This article continues on in ADAPT 123, but the entire text is included here for easier reading.] Photo by Lyn Alweis: A short haired man in a jacket and dark slacks [Mel Conrardy] is lifted in his wheelchair from the sidewalk to a bus. The lift comes out of the front door of the bus and has railings on either side of the lift almost as tall as the seated man. Just by the bus door is a sign on the side of the bus that says "RTD Welcome Aboard." Caption: An RTD bus with wheelchair lift provides mobility for Mel Conrardy Title: Leaders of handicapped rate RTD service best in country By Norm Udevitz, Denver Post Staff Writer Disabled Denverites just a few years ago had as much chance of riding a bus as they did of climbing Mount Everest. “It was brutal the way RTD treated us,” said Mike Auberger, an official in the Atlantis Community, for the disabled and a leader in the fight that has turned the Regional Transportation District’s handicapped service around. In the 1970s and early 1980s, RTD busses then rarely equipped with wheelchair lifts, often left wheelchair-bound riders stranded on streets. Drivers, lacking training in dealing with visually or language impaired people, panicked when blind or deaf riders tried to board buses. “It used to be that even in the dead of winter, when it was below zero, those of us in wheelchairs would wait 2 or 3 hours for a bus to finally stop," Auberger recalls. “And often the lift was broken and we couldn't get on the bus anyway. And usually the drivers were rude and angry. They would tell us that we were ruining their schedules." But conditions have changed, Auberger says: “Right now, Denver has the most accessible public transit system for the handicapped — and all the public - in the country." Debbie Ellis, a state social services worker who heads the agency's Handicapped Advisory Council, agrees, saying: “It took a lot of pressure, but RTD has responded and now the bus system is doing a good job of serving the handicapped." Leaders of national programs for the disabled also agree. In fact, the President's Committee on Employment of the Handicapped will bring 5,000 delegates, many of them handicapped, to its national conference in Denver in April. This will be the first time in four decades the group has held its national session outside of Washington DC. “One of the key reasons we're meeting in Denver this year is because it just might be the most comfortable city in the country for the handicapped,” says Sharon Milcrut, head of the Colorado Coalition for Persons with Disabilities, which is hosting the conference. “A very important aspect of that comfort," she notes, “is how accessible the transit system is for the handicapped.” It didn't get that way easily. In the decade between 1974 and 1984, handicapped activists had to pressure indifferent RTD administrators and directors. Each gain was hard won. “We used every tactic in the book, from lawsuits to bus blockades on the street and sit-ins at the RTD offices," says Wade Blank, an Atlantis group director. “The lawsuits didn't help much but when we took to the streets in the late 1970s, I think that's when we started getting their attention." Blank and others also say the 1984 hiring of Ed Colby as RTD general manager helped. Before he arrived, less than half of the 750 RTD buses had wheelchair lifts, which often were in disrepair. Training for drivers to learn how to deal with handicapped riders was minimal. Agency directors resisted change. RTD relied heavily on a costly special van operation called Handyride - a door-to-door pickup service for handicapped. It has cost $13[? glare makes number hard to read] million to run since it began in 1975. “Over the past couple of years the turnaround has been phenomenal," Auberger says. “All of RTD's new buses are being ordered with lifts and older buses are being retrofitted." By 1986's end, almost 80 percent of the bus fleet — 608 of 765 buses — had wheelchair lifts; 82 percent of the fleet's 6,242 daily trips are now accessible for the disabled. Plans call for the fleet to be 100 percent lift-equipped by 1987's end. “The lifts aren't breaking down all the time now, either," Auberger said, noting that agency officials found drivers had neglected to report broken lifts: “That way the lifts stayed broken and drivers had an excuse for not picking us up. A bunch of people were fired over that and others realized that Colby wasn't kidding about improving handicapped service." Driver training also has improved dramatically. “It isn't perfect yet,” Ellis of the advisory council says. "But everyone is working hard at it. What we are finding is that 20 percent of the drivers understand that they are moving people, all kinds of people, and they're really great with the handicapped. “Another 20 percent figure their job is to move buses and to heck with passengers, all kinds of passengers. That bottom 20 percent probably won't ever change. So we're working real hard on the 60 percent in between," Ellis says. Drivers, for example, learn to help blind riders. “That’s an improvement that helps the disabled, but it also helps regular passengers who are newcomers to the city,” Ellis says. All the improvements haven't come cheap. Since 1974, more than $5million has been spent on lifts and lift maintenance, most of the expense was incurred in the last three years. RTD plans to spend $9 million more in the next six years to keep the fleet up to its current standards and pay for more driver training. Another $4 million will be spent on HandyRide service. Ironically, Auberger and Ellis both say one of the biggest problems remaining is getting more handicapped people to use mass transit. “There are no reliable figures," Ellis says. “But we think there are about 20,000 handicapped people in the metro area and only about 200 or 300 are using buses on a regular basis." Auberger, confined to a wheelchair after breaking his neck in an accident ll years ago, complains: “The medical system builds a bubble around handicapped people and makes them think they have to be protected. "That's just not true in most cases. So one of the things we're doing now is educating the handicapped to overcome their fears. We've finally got a bus system that works for us and we want the disabled to use it." Photo by Lyn Alweis: A rather straight looking man [Mel Conrardy] in a white jacket, big mittens, and a motorized wheelchair, wears a slight smile as he rides the bus. Someone in a dark jacket stands beside him, and behind him, further back on the bus, other riders are sitting on the bus seats. Caption reads: A bus seat folds up to anchor Mel Conrardy's wheelchair to the floor. Conrardy commutes to work at the Atlantis Community.
ADAPT (27)
[Headline] Handicapped Pin Hope on Atlantis By Sharon Sherman Denver Post Staff Writer The word "activist' once scared a group of young Handicapped Denverites. But after almost two years of wheeling themselves onto picket lines, sitting through meetings with government agencies and speaking out about the problems of being shunted out of the mainstream of society, they agree that the term activist describes what they have become. And they are proud of it. "At least we're actively trying to do what we can instead of sitting back and wishing', is the way Carolyn Finnell, 31, sees the new role of many physically handicapped young people. [Subheading] Buses for Handicapped Carolyn, and others like her in the handicapped community, helped convince the Regional Transportation District to begin adding buses equipped for the handicapped. They have testified at various hearings about problems of the disabled. [TEXT UNREADABLE] They are among the principal planners of the Atlantis Community, a project which would offer the physically handicapped many types of residential living arrangements with services they need available nearby. Carolyn, who has cerebral play which confines her to a wheelchair and distorts her speech, said it was hard to "face speaking out" to rooms full of strangers, but that living with other young adults at Heritage House Nursing Home youth wing has "brought me out a lot." [Subheading] Stayed Inside Shell If Mike Smith, 20, had had his way, he would have stayed inside his shell of poetry writing, reading, and discussing philosophy and listening to music. "I don't like being in politics, but it seems that's the way we have to go,'' Mike explained. " I guess you have to lose a little to get a lot.'' Linda Chism, 27, believes that for the first time, there are enough young disabled people ready and willing to push themselves forward, to speak out, that there is a chance of changing the entire lifestyle of the handicapped. For Mike Smith, those changes may come too late to be enjoyed. [Subheading] Depressed, Angry Mike has muscular dystrophy, a fatal disease. He has spent the past five years in nursing homes, living in one where, at 15, he was punished for breaking rules and being sent to the locked ward for 24 hours at a time. Finally, lonely for friends his own age, depressed at watching his elderly roommate die of cancer, angry at rules which confined him to the small world of the nursing home, Mike attempted suicide. "Luckily, I had no idea how to go about it," he remembers. "I took 20 bowel softener pills and instead of dying just created an incredible mess." For Mike, as for Carolyn, the youth wing at Heritage House is infinitely better than what they had before. But, Mike points out, once the first door that closes any human being away from the rest of the world is opened, that human being will see other doors to open. So it has been for Carolyn, who counted fishhooks for five years in a sheltered workshop before someone recognized her potential. [Subheading] Wants Meaningful Job Now, with a degree in journalism from Community College behind her, Carolyn wants some other things she's not getting out of life. Things like a meaningful job, an apartment of her own where she won't have to keep half her belongings in boxes under the bed, the privacy to entertain friends. "I'm probably living a more active life than I ever have before", she said, explaining that she now edits the youth-wing newsletter and is learning braille so she can tutor blind students. Having come so far, Carolyn's not willing to stop here. Neither is Linda Chism, who has had crippling rheumatoid arthritis for 20 years. Linda has "suffered a lot of surgery and a lot of hard, hard therapy" to become fairly mobile. She has taken three years of courses in biology and psychology at the University of Colorado. She was even offered a full-time job. [Subheading] System Inflexible But the system doesn't allow even the disabled who are capable of supporting themselves to do so, Linda said. If she was paid even minimum wage, she would earn too much and would lose her Social Security benefits. But it would take much more than a minimum wage salary to pay living expenses plus the $150 a month it would cost her to get to work and back. In addition, she would no longer receive Medicaid assistance, and medical bills for someone in Linda's condition are enormous. "Who's going to pay a beginner with no experience that much money?" she asked. [Subheading] Innovative Projects For now, for these and other physically handicapped young adults, the boundaries of their world still don't go far beyond the nursing home walls. But those boundaries will expand dramatically if the young disabled can find support for two innovative projects. One is Project Normalization, a one year pilot study to find out what services young people in nursing homes need to live as normal a life as possible. The project would be conducted at the young wing of Heritage House and is estimated to cost $241,872. The state Department of Social Services has suggested that the pilot project be run by the Department of Physical Medicine of the University of Colorado Medical School. Members of the department now are investigating that possibility. [Subheading] Denied Normal Life "Disabled people are often denied any resemblance of a normal life," the project introduction says. "Because of the segregation they encounter, and the sheltered nature of their early lives, when they reach young adulthood they are incapable of functioning satisfactorily in society and so are banished to nursing homes where the repressive, nonstimulating and socially undemanding environment serves only to multiply their social inadequacies and further depersonalize them. As its creators see it, Project Normalization would begin to to prepare handicapped young adults for the kind of independent living they hope Atlantis will someday offer. [Subheading] Create a Community Atlantis is an ambitious project, planned by a group of both handicapped and able bodied persons, which would create a community of residential units surrounding a hub housing medical, rehabilitative employment, counseling, homemaker, transportation, food and social services. The goal of the community will be to "provide needed services while respecting the individual resident's freedom and privacy," according to the project booklet. For some of the prospective tenants of Atlantis, that goal can't be realized too soon. "I just sort of wish they'd hurry, " said Mike Smith. "Some of us have fatal diseases, you know, I only have two or three years to wait. "