- 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 100% accessibility 3
- ADAPT (1789)
The Handicapped Coloradan / Page 15 & 16 [This article continues in ADAPT 1786, but has been completely included here for easier reading.] Title: "If heaven isn't accessible God had better Watch out!" Photo: Waist up picture of Wade Blank with his below shoulder length blonde hair and round tinted glasses. He is smiling and wearing a vest. Caption reads: Wade Blank ADAPT founder dies in Mexico. Wade Blank went down to Baja, California, in February and drowned there trying to save his eight year old son Lincoln. He was there vacationing with his family. The money for the trip came from Wade’s share of a legal settlement in San Francisco when bad guys violated the civil rights of ADAPT demonstrators. He couldn't afford that kind of trip on his own. He never made more than $16,000 in his life. Lincoln was in the water swimming. An undertow got him and Wade went in after him. He had to know there was very little chance either one would survive. Some fisherman from a nearby village fished Wade’ s body from the water. His wife Molly brought his body home and they covered the coffin with an American flag. Only the stars on this flag formed a wheelchair. Lincoln’s body was never recovered. A few days before he left on that vacation, I told him to skip Baja and its treacherous waters for the calmer seas off Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula. Wade said he’d think about it but we both knew he wouldn’t alter his plans. Wade Blank liked to be where the action was. Many of the 1100 people who filled the ballroom at the Radisson Hotel on Sunday, Feb. 21, to say goodbye to their fallen comrade had accompanied him into battle. “If heaven isn’t accessible,” one of them warned, “God better watch out!” Wade founded the Atlantis Community in 1975 when he helped several disabled people move out of a nursing home and into their own apartments. Then he went on to help organize protests against RTD for not having wheelchairs lifts on its buses, a move that later led to the creation of ADAPT, which then stood for American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit (“The hard part is getting the acronym right,” he told me at the time.) I asked Tom Olin who was going to replace Wade. “No one,” he said. “Wade was into empowering disabled people. It’s a tribute to him that we’ll just keep on going.” Maybe. But it won’t be the same. People like Wade Blank don't come along very often. A writer for Westward once called Wade the nearest thing to a saint he had ever met. But Wade wasn’t perfect. After all, he was a Cleveland Browns’ fan. He had it so bad that on game day he’d call home to his folks in Ohio and have them put the phone next to the radio. He was president of the Cleveland Browns Fans in Exile Club. A small part of him died when Elway found Jackson in the end zone in the 1987 AFC Championship game. He was a devoted father who had a vasectomy reversed after he married Molly. He called me soon after the operation and bitched about having to lie still to prevent the tubes from severing again. It was the only time I knew him to stay still. The time spent was worth it. He loved Lincoln and Caitlan just as he loved Heather, his adopted daughter. He instilled in them special values. A neighbor recalled a time when she came home and observed Lincoln in front of his house directing some other kids. They weren't playing cowboy and Indian or war or any of the usual childhood games. They were playing rally. “All right,” Lincoln said. “United we stand, never apart.” Wade was a Presbyterian minister whose language would make a coal miner blush. I quoted him a lot on these pages over the past ten years or so but I never quoted him accurately. He used four letter words the way other people use punctuation. Someone made a TV movie about the events at Heritage Nursing Home and Wade said it was close to the truth. But the actor who played Wade didn’t quite capture his style. Wade wore his hair long and looked a little like a construction worker who took a wrong tum back in the 1960s. He once asked me if I wore ties. “I own one,” I said. “It keeps my sleeping bag rolled up.” He liked that. He hated ties. At the memorial service, those few men who showed up wearing ties were asked to remove them—out of respect. By then I owned a real tie. You can‘t go to a funeral in my small hometown without one. I left it at home for Wade. He didn’t have the eloquence of a Martin Luther King. He didn't need it. He wasn’t interested in grabbing the spotlight for himself. He taught his friends that their wheelchairs were a weapon and if they used them right, the whole world would take notice. RTD took notice. Denver became one of the first cities in the U.S. to adopt accessible public transit. Wade helped carry that message to countless other cities. He showed people how they could make a statement by going to jail and then he went out and raised the bail money. Eventually, in a parking lot in Atlanta, the feds gave in. Accessible public transit would be the law of the land. Wade wasn’t about to rest on his laurels. He turned his attention to an earlier cause. ADAPT changed the acronym to American Disabled for Attendant Programs Today and took on the nursing home industry. Wade knew that the disabled warriors who took on the federal government over accessible transit and got themselves arrested scores of times were strong enough to live in their own homes. He vowed to force the federal government to take money away from the nursing homes and make that dream a reality. That battle goes on. His friends at ADAPT are planning a memorial service in his honor in Washington, D.C. this May. At the same time, they’re going to make sure Bill Clinton honors his promises to provide funds for such attendant care. It's a fitting memorial but you can find plenty of monuments to Wade Blank in this country. There one at every street comer where there’s a curb cut and one on every bus equipped with a lift. And every time someone who is exploited because of a physical disability raises a fist in defiance and fights for his or her freedom and humanity, you’ll see Wade’s image in their eyes and his dream in their hearts. So long, Wade. If it’s really heaven, there won’t be a dress code. Written by Tom Schantz - ADAPT (306)
Disability Rag September/October 1987 RAGOUT WHAT'S COOKIN' [This article continues in ADAPT 305 but all the text has been included here for easier reading.] At the bottom of the page is a cute cartoon of a bus driving along crammed full of folks. “There's been more public discussion in 5 days than there’d been in 5 years" “Now we’re taken more seriously” —As time for ADAPT demonstrations in San Francisco draw near, this story of how one local disability group responded to the influx of ADAPT members from all over the country shows how ADAPT’s style of direct action can work with local disability groups more accustomed to working “within the system." - ed. When ADAPT members from all over the country began descending on Phoenix this spring to protest at the American Public Transit Association’s regional meeting, staff of the Arizona Bridge to Independent Living felt some anxiety over where our loyalties lay. The City of Phoenix had been receptive to the disability community. They'd purchased only accessible buses the last three years. Phoenix's Regional Public Transportation Association had spent hundreds of hours working with us. Yet we also knew from brief interaction with ADAPT that their strongly-worded opinions best expressed our frustration and anger at the system's unwillingness to commit to 100% accessibility. ABIL decided to work with both groups. Prior to their coming, we discussed with ADAPT the guidelines they’d follow in deciding what level of civil disobedience would be involved. We found ADAPT’s demand — that cities purchase only accessible buses in the normal course of replacing a fleet — a reasonable one. ADAPT wasn’t demanding bus systems retrofit their buses, or that they immediately replace all their buses with lift-equipped ones — just a long-term commitment to change. " A month before the APTA meeting, ABIL met with RPTA officials to discuss our and ADAPT's demands for accessibility. To our surprise, RPTA suggested their commitment be put in writing and adopted by their board! ADAPT was already having an effect — and they weren't even in town yet! The day before, ADAPT arrived. ABIL hosted a meeting for those disabled people from all over the community who were most likely to be contacted by media or others regarding the APTA/ADAPT confrontation. A consensus emerged that the disability community would maintain a united front; that the local community's interests were the same as ADAPT’s and that any public discussion beyond that — especially regarding ADAPT's "techniques" — would simply distract from the central issue: accessible mass transit. This single act of meeting and making these decisions was the thing most responsible for the success of our efforts. By spreading the word, we were able to keep from being forced into a public debate over the differences between persons with disabilities rather than focusing the debate on our common interest —- accessible public transit. Negative comments from a few individuals in the community were lost among the events of the next several days. ABIL found itself taking an increasingly larger role as protests and police reaction escalated, with some of us participating in the demonstrations, others calling politicians and media, putting pressure on local bureaucrats and helping to keep lines of communication open. The mayor of Phoenix, in the midst of the media barrage, made a public statement supporting the purchase of accessible buses. After APTA and ADAPT had left Phoenix, ABIL set up a meeting between the Mayor and local ADAPT members. It was the first time the Mayor had sat down with members of the disability community to discuss transportation. Although he and some transit system officials were still angry about the demonstrations, they were taking us more seriously. That's a tradeoff we’re willing to make. The ADAPT experience was a positive one for ABIL and the disability community in Phoenix. The events caused more public discussion about accessible public transit in those five days than there had been in Phoenix in the past five years. The longer the topic stayed in the news, the greater appreciation the public had for the need for accessible public transit. — Robert E. Michaels Executive Director Arizona Bridge to Independent Living, ABIL. - ADAPT (368)
San Francisco Chronicle 10/1/87 PHOTO by Steve Ringman, the Chronicle: A line of wheelchair protesters file down a hallway lined by other wheelchair protesters and supporters. There is one man directing and a policeman looks on. The line of protesters is lead by Greg Buchannan, then Mike Auberger, then Stephanie Thomas, another woman, then Joe Carle. Media, supporters and onlookers line the hallway. Caption reads: Supporters cheered more than 100 wheelchair protesters as they rolled into court in San Francisco yesterday for arraignment. Boxed Text: 'They're our heroes. They're standing up for us and everybody.' Title: Wheelchair Protesters' Day in Court By Jack Viets and L. A. Chung The San Francisco protests by wheelchair demonstrators seeking better access to public transportation finally rolled to an end yesterday in a Hall of Justice courtroom. Since Sunday, a total of 134 of the demonstrators have been arrested during a series of protests that ranged from a rally at San Francisco's City Hall to a 2 1/2 hour shutdown of the city's historic Powell Street cable car line by a wheelchair army Tuesday. The protests were staged to oppose the policies of the American Public Transit Association, which ends four days of meetings today in San Francisco. Groups representing disabled persons contend that all transit vehicles, even the historic cable cars, should be accessible to wheelchairs. Although there were more demonstrations yesterday, there were no new arrests.' The 43 protesters who were held Tuesday night in a Hall of Justice gym on misdemeanor charges stemming from their arrests were all released yesterday. They had pleaded no contest to a charge of obstruction. Municipal Court Judge Phil Moscone waived $50 fines in light of the time they had spent in custody. Some 90 other protesters who had been cited but not booked also pleaded no contest and their fines also were waived. Outside the courtroom, the hallway echoed with cheers and applause from nearly 100 other persons in wheelchairs as the first group of 14 wheelchair defendants to appear before the judge were released. "They're our heroes," said Connie Arnold of San Rafael. "They're standing up for us and everybody." Inside the jammed courtroom, 6-year-old Jennifer Keelan — the youngest person to participate in the demonstrations — sat in her wheelchair and watched the proceedings with her mother, Cynthia. "I am her parent," her mother said. "But this is her disabled family and these are her brothers and sisters." Earlier in the day, during a bizarre demonstration of just how tough the access problems of the disabled really are, a band of people in wheelchairs were denied access to the federal Department of Transportation offices at 211 Main Street. The entire building is leased by the General Services Administration. When they rolled into the building's elevators to visit the 11th floor offices of the Urban Mass Transportation Administration and the secretary of transportation's regional representative, electrical power to the elevators was abruptly shut off. The visitors were informed by a man in a blue blazer that they were in a private building and not a public building, and that police would be asked to remove them if they did not leave. He identified himself as the building manager, but refused to give his name. Amid cries that they were experiencing George Orwell's "1984," the protesters began chanting: "We will ride. We will ride." However, the elevators did not move. Shortly after noon, San Francisco police warned the demonstrators that they were "on private property, and we ask you to disperse." If they failed to leave, the demonstrators would be arrested, officers said. Police did promise the wheelchair visitors that they would be given ample time to make their way out of the building.