- LanguageAfrikaans Argentina AzÉrbaycanca
á¥áá áá£áá Äesky Ãslenska
áá¶áá¶ááááá à¤à¥à¤à¤à¤£à¥ বাà¦à¦²à¦¾
தமிழ௠à²à²¨à³à²¨à²¡ ภาษาà¹à¸à¸¢
ä¸æ (ç¹é«) ä¸æ (é¦æ¸¯) Bahasa Indonesia
Brasil Brezhoneg CatalÃ
ç®ä½ä¸æ Dansk Deutsch
Dhivehi English English
English Español Esperanto
Estonian Finnish Français
Français Gaeilge Galego
Hrvatski Italiano Îλληνικά
íêµì´ LatvieÅ¡u Lëtzebuergesch
Lietuviu Magyar Malay
Nederlands Norwegian nynorsk Norwegian
Polski Português RomânÄ
Slovenšcina Slovensky Srpski
Svenska Türkçe Tiếng Viá»t
Ù¾Ø§Ø±Ø³Û æ¥æ¬èª ÐÑлгаÑÑки
ÐакедонÑки Ðонгол Ð ÑÑÑкий
СÑпÑки УкÑаÑнÑÑка ×¢×ר×ת
اÙعربÙØ© اÙعربÙØ©
Home / Albums / Tag Vice Mayor Adams 3
- ADAPT (322)
Logo of a sun. The Arizona Republic April 13, 1987, Phoenix, Arizona [This story continues in ADAPT 314 but the entire text is included here for easier reading.] PHOTO by David Petkiewicz/Republic: A large group of people are standing, heading into the Hyatt Regency Hotel. Among those standing some people in wheelchairs are visible, and a reporter is there with a camera. Caption reads: Wheelchair-bound protesters and their supporters gather at the Hyatt Regency in downtown Phoenix. The group converged on the American Public Transit Association's convention at the hotel last week. Title: Driven by anger, disabled man has fought long, hard for access. By CHUCK HAWLEY The Arizona Republic Mike Landwehr pushes his own wheelchair, but it's really anger that drives the wheels. "Every day, my anger is brought forward again when l have to push my wheelchair 10 blocks in my own hometown,“ said Landwehr, a Chicago man who has been arrested a dozen or more times since 1978 while demonstrating for access to public transportation for the disabled. “I'm running out of patience.” Landwehr spent much of last week in Phoenix as a spokesman for American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit. The Denver-based group has a reputation of “getting in the face" of public officials by creating ruckuses at meetings of the American Public Transit Association, a group Landwehr describes as "the enemy." Surrounding hotels, restaurants and buses where transportation officials meet, ADAPT members express demands in rhythmic chants: “What do we want? "Access! “When do we want it? "Now!" It is, the group says, a civil-rights demonstration. Howard Adams is not driven by anger, although he was paralyzed from the neck down in a swimming accident 20 years ago. Adams, a Phoenix councilman, said disability is something he lives with, but he doesn't thrive on it. "I‘m not an expert on it,“ Adams said, “it's not the most important thing in my life." He disagrees with the civil-disobedience tactics used by ADAPT. "I guess I pour my anger into other things," he said. Adams, who served in the Arizona Legislature before his election to the City Council, recently was appointed by President Reagan to the 22-member Architectural and Transportation Compliance Board. The board oversees enforcement of federal regulations governing access for the disabled. It can recommend withholding federal funds from any organization or local government that fails to meet federal requirements for access, Adams said. Although Adams does not use city buses regularly, he said, he has used them and believes Phoenix "is in pretty good shape" with respect to disabled people. The demonstrators, he says, have a beef with the American Public Transportation Association, not with Phoenix. "The goal has always been equal opportunity and to participate in all aspects of life as best as they can," Adams said. "I agree with their goals, but I don't agree with their tactics. "They were not here to point a finger at Phoenix. They were here to protest to a group that provides public transportation to people around the country." Public transportation in Phoenix is inadequate for all people, not just the disabled, Adams said. "If I wanted to go to the council chambers right now, (8:30 p.m.) I couldn't get there on the bus anyway," he said. "If I were in a city with a higher population density, such as Chicago or New York, it would be a different story. I would expect to be able to." Adams said there appear to be "some people who are professionally disabled just like there are people who will always be soldiers in World War II." "We all carry burdens with us, but we have to overcome them," he said. "You can't take away all of the problems everybody has; you just can't. "But, to the extent that society has created barriers, you have to remove them, and I think we are doing it here." Because he uses a lift-equipped van, Adams does not ride Phoenix buses often, but he said he is not unfamiliar with the difficulty of getting from one city to another. In Los Angeles recently, he said, he was told that he could board a plane in a folding wheelchair and that his battery-operated machine would have to be left behind for a later flight in a baggage compartment. "I have trouble with airlines," he said. "They don't care. They just want to get you out of there." When his motorized chair arrived in Phoenix on a later plane, he said, "there was $2,000 in damage to it." Landwehr, 43, was born with spinal bifida, a severe birth defect that now often is correctable. New surgical techniques came too late for him, however. He lost the use of his legs during surgery when he was 12 years old. Landwehr remembers that he once tried to deny his disability, shun his wheelchair and be like everyone else. "I would get myself seated in a restaurant and ask the waitress to take my chair away and fold it up in a corner," he said. "It was a way of being like everyone else. Deep down, disabled people strive to appear not disabled.” It was painful, he said, when his parents had to move from Chicago because he could not attend public high schools there with able-bodied teen-agers. The family moved 60 miles to the suburbs after rejecting the Chicago school system's offer to provide a special bus to pick him up and deliver him to a school for the handicapped, the only school he said school officials would allow him to attend. "Thank God they (his parents) knew I would only learn to live in an institution," he said. In the suburbs, Landwehr said, he struggled to lift himself into a school bus unequipped for handicapped people. Daily, he lifted himself up the school steps as other teen-agers watched. "I know what it is like to be stared at," he said. "It's painful." It also is painful, he said, that Chicago, the nation's third-most-populous city, after New York and Los Angeles, has no city buses with wheelchair lifts for the disabled. Landwehr said that the daily difficulty of overcoming obstacles just to gain access to places others take for granted has hardened his stance for total access. He is militant. Arrests and abuse do not appear to faze him. Embarrassing others and taking the risk of alienating the public also do not seem to faze him. "There is nobody more alienated than people living in little rooms in institutions," Landwehr said. "We want to expose the public to the full range of people who are disabled. "I think our presence here at least gives the public the opportunity to reflect upon their perceptions of disabilities and disabled people. "We hope that a byproduct of our presence will give us some leverage with local politicians." Landwehr, who studied journalism and psychology at the University of Illinois but didn't earn a degree, is unemployed. He once worked with the Disability Rights Defense Fund in Washington, D.C., until federal funding for the group was cut. "We fooled them, though," he said. "Twenty-two of us started collecting Social Security disability checks and just kept on working, doing what we had been doing until the money ran out." Public officials sometimes complain that the cost of total access for the disabled is too great and the need too small. Landwehr says he doesn't believe it. For example, Milwaukee once touted the purchase of lift-equipped buses but operated them randomly on unannounced routes. Photos above: head shots of Howard Adams in white shirt and tie, and Mike Landwher with flannel shirt and mustache. Caption reads: Howard Adams (left) and Mike Landwehr both are disabled, but Adams disagrees with the civil-disobedience tactics used by Landwehr's group. - ADAPT (317)
Tues., April. 7, 1987, The Phoenix Gazette Title: Vice mayor derides disabled group's tactics By Pat Flannery, The Phoenix Gazette Vice Mayor Howard Adams denounced the tactics of a group of wheelchair activists protesting in Phoenix, saying their actions cloud the “tremendous job” the city has done to make public transit accessible to the disabled. The American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit has staged several protests in the city to dramatize its demand that all public transit buses in the nation be equipped with wheelchair lifts. On Monday, about 30 wheelchair-bound protesters blocked two entrances to the Mansion Club in an effort to prevent 40 American Public Transit Association conventioneers’ spouses from attending a luncheon there. The delegation had arrived via a taxpayer-supported Phoenix Transit charter bus. In a later incident at the Hyatt Regency Hotel in downtown Phoenix, police said five protesters were arrested and charged with disorderly conduct. The were: Marilyn Golden, 33, of Oakland, Calif.; Arthur Campbell Jr., 43, of Louisville, Ky.; Kenneth Heard, 36, of Denver; Chris Hronis, 47, of Haywood, Calif.; and Robert Conrad, 38, of Dallas. ADAPT has staged protests in every city in which the APTA - an industry lobbying group — has held a major convention. The APTA is holding its Western regional conference this week at the downtown Hyatt Regency. “Arizona and Phoenix have absolutely nothin to be ashamed of,” Adams, who himself uses a wheelchair, told the editorial board of The Phoenix Gazette and The Arizona Republic Monday. “At this point, disruption doesn't serve the cause," Adams said. The Phoenix Mayor's Committee on Employment of the Handicapped has taken the same position, saying in a position paper that it endorsed the protesters’ goal but not their methods. “The type of demonstration usually conducted by ADAPT serves only to shed a very negative light on a very worthy cause," committee chairwoman Michelle Goldthwaite wrote. APTA has been ADAPT’s primary target since 1982, when APTA successfully fought a federal regulation requiring all city transit systems to equip at least half their buses with lifts to qualify for federal funds. But Adams said the local protests could unfairly malign the city's efforts to meet the needs of the Valley's disabled. "l would hate for the public to think overall that this is aimed at Phoenix," he said. City transit director Richard Thomas said Phoenix is doing “reasonably well" to accommodate the needs of the disabled through a mix of lift-equipped buses, “dial-a-ride” vehicles and an experimental program in which private transportation for the disabled is subsidized by the city. - ADAPT (307)
SMITH BY JEFF SMITH Title: ROLL MODELS Civil disobedience tends to be a cyclical form of political expression. It only comes into flower every few years, even decades, and during the intermissions of its popularity, the great masses in the political middle tend to forget what an important tool it is. Indeed, civil disobedience is the only legitimate means of effecting change on behalf of minority needs. Mull it over: • A minority with a valid and pressing need to see some public policy created or changed has the option of going to the polls along with everyone else . . . and losing. because it is, after all, a minority. Or: • Its members could arm themselves and turn their minority cause into a guerilla war, which the majority would agree is hardly a legitimate solution. Or: • They could employ the classic, nonviolent, Gandhian stratagem of civil disobedience. Bingo. Which is why I endorse the protest staged recently by American Disabled for Accessible Public Transportation (ADAPT). About 200 members of the Denver-based group, most of them in their primary means of transportation — wheelchairs— came here and raised hell a couple of weeks ago with the national convention of the American Public Transportation Association. It was a classic sit-in. Gimps are good at that. But it's been quite a while—a peaceful, soporific, almost brain-dead while—since the civil-rights movement and the Vietnam War era, when sit-ins, protest marches and similar styles of civil disobedience were at all common. And six years of Reagan, four of Carter and three of Ford have turned many of us into conservatives like Phoenix City Councilman Howard Adams, who sympathize the problems of certain minorities, but object to the only tactic they really can use to solve those problems. Adams doesn't think cripples ought to be blocking restaurant and hotel entrances, impeding the comings and goings of conventioneers and blockading buses in order to make their point that most public transit is inaccessible to people in wheelchairs and those rendered nearly immobile by the need for canes and crutches. Adams is not an unsympathetic man: He has both sympathy and empathy for the disabled. In case you didn't know it, Howard Adams is a gimp himself. He was crippled in a swimming accident twenty years ago. And in case you think my characterizations mark me as a churl, know that I'm a gimp, too, coming on six years in a wheelchair after a motorcycle crash. (I got to be churlish independent of paralysis.) So both Howard and I know something of the subject. I simply know more than he does on account of I'm smarter. So listen up: Neither Howard Adams nor Yr. Obdt. Svt. is a decent role model for anyone with ambitions of becoming disabled. I am far too pretty and talented; Howard Adams is too powerful and prosperous. It is way too easy for someone like Adams or me to say, Hey, why don't the rest of you gimps just get your own car or van, like me? Adams is a quadriplegic with a specially equipped van. It is his own rig, but he must get someone else to drive it for him. When he's on city business, or going to and from his Phoenix City Council office, the city provides the driver. I am a paraplegic, somewhat less handicapped than Adams, so I drive myself in a station wagon with hand controls. Now you might think owning a car is virtually within the reach of anyone. Even the poorest hovel might have a Caddy parked outside. And you might say that since Smith and Adams manage so commendably, anybody can work and support a family, and get around to do [missing text here] unaffordable. Sensible people of limited means may own one old beater which one spouse takes to work, while the other rides the bus. Consider that even for Homo erectus, hoofing to the bus stop on hind feet in Hush Puppies and making the necessary connections to get from home in Phoenix to work in Tempe can be a major pain in the ass and add several hours to the workday. Now try it from a wheelchair. Listen: I am about as adapted, chipper and successful a gimp as you're likely to meet, and I don't go to Circle K's anymore. How familiar the ritual: You're driving home and you get a lech for a cold one. You hang a quick right, don't even shut off the engine, you're in and out in a flash, and buzzing nicely on your second beer before you've hit the next stoplight. When you're in a wheelchair you don't do stuff like this anymore. It is simply too much bother. Even for a gimp like me, with great strong arms, catlike grace and his own automobile. I run wheelchair marathons, lift weights three times a week, have the cardiovascular system of a twelve-year-old, but I do not visit Circle K's. It takes too long, requires too much exertion, inflicts too much pain, and maybe there's no ramp. Screw it. If I had to call two days, or as much as a week in advance to arrange to have a special van pick me up—just to make a doctor's appointment or go buy - groceries—I don't know if I could cope. If Howard Adams had to plan his daily schedule around Phoenix bus schedules, which provide wheelchair service on only six of 54 bus routes, I wonder if he would be able to discharge his duties as a councilman. I suppose he would, being the Type A he is. "I haven't showcased my activities," Adams told me, "but I am interested in this issue." Indeed, Adams has just been appointed to President Reagan's Architecture and Transportation . Compliance Board, which oversees enforcement of federal access regulation. Adams said he thinks Phoenix is doing well on handicap access, but if he lived in, say, New York, he might be frustrated and angry. Then would he resort to civil disobedience? "Probably not," he said. "I'd work the [missing text here] That might work for Howard Adams, - but not for all of Jerry's kids. I've learned a lot of stuff about gimps since becoming one — stuff that contradicts most of what I thought I knew before. No two of us are alike. Being paralyzed doesn't mean blessed forgetfulness of the concerns of your formerly functional physiology. You can experience constant pain from the paralyzed parts. You can have involuntary muscles spasms that make it impossible to sit still, and even more difficult to haul around those parts that would be tough enough to move if they just lay there like deadwood. You can run out of popcorn and have to get rest before the day is half done. You can spend two hours getting bathed and dressed to go out in public, only to get just out the door and find you've pissed your pants and have to go back and start all over. Think about these things the next time you scoff at the demands of the disabled for better access to public transportation, for ramps at street corners, for rest rooms with doors wide enough for a wheelchair, for wider aisles in airplanes, elevators in two-story buildings. Think what it means when a six-inch curb is as impassable a barrier as a prison wall. Not figuratively. In fact. Think about these things and think about one thing further: Disability is a very Eighties fashion of affliction, tres chic you could say. With speed sports like sail-boarding, off-roading and even sidewalk surfing being so trendy, lots more of you hip, yuppie dudes and dudettes will be joining me on wheels in the very near future. Think of handicapped access as an investment in your own future. Think of all this the next time you find yourself staring at the convenience market — the one with the cold can of beer— from across a lane of oncoming traffic, and you decide it's just too inconvenient to make a left-hand turn. Believe thee me: You don't have a clue as to what inconvenience is.