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Начало / Албуми / Етикети Wade Blank
+ Glenn Kopp 9
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Wade is standing in a doorway looking off into the distance, his hand to his mouth biting his fingernail. In front of him sits Glenn Kopp, looking down, hands folded in front of his chin in a prayer-like position. Glenn lived with Wade and Molly for years, and this might be the back door to their house. Both men look very thoughtful.
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THE DENVER POST Thurs., July 6, 1978 p 24 [Headline] Having ‘Made Public Aware,' Disabled End Bus Barricade By FRED GILLIES, Denver Post Staff Writer and COKE DeBRUIN More than 30 severely disabled persons, most of them in wheelchairs, ended their 24-hour barricade of two Regional Transportation District buses in downtown Denver Thursday morning. The barricade was lifted by the disabled and their leaders at 9 a.m. Thursday. The demonstrators, still in high spirits after a night in the open near the buses, left the site in five specially equipped Handy-Ride buses that RTD sent to the scene. THE BARRICADE “served its purpose" in making the public aware that the handicapped aren't being adequately served by Denver’s public transportation system, said Wade Blank, co-director of the Atlantis Community for the handicapped in Denver. All but a few of the demonstrators are from Atlantis. At a press conference just before the barricade was lifted, Blank vowed that the disabled's civil disobedience action will be continued, but on a smaller scale, at various locations in Denver. The disabled will attempt to board other RTD buses and a demonstration probably will be staged at RTD's executive offices, Blank said. The barricade of the two RTD buses Wednesday near the intersection of East Colfax Avenue and Lincoln Street created a major traffic jam and caused police to reroute traffic away from the blocklong demonstration site. Traffic was back to normal at 9:30 a.m. Thursday. ALL DURING the demonstration, some of the disabled remained close to the buses. The number of handicapped persons guarding the immobilized buses thinned Wednesday night and early Thursday as many of the disabled slept in a nearby park area. Blank said Thursday that he and the disabled were"‘concerned" about the “paternalistic” attitude of Denver police called to the scene of the bus barricade. Police “gave the disabled special treatment when we broke the law, and they didn’t arrest us," Blank said. THE DISABLED want to he treated like everyone else, and were fully prepared to be arrested for their actions, said Blank who has no disability himself. Three persons, including two Atlantis attendants and the director of a Lakewood home for disabled children, were arrested Wednesday morning after they refused to comply with a police order to move out of the street. However, police records show that only two of those persons were booked and then released on bond. NONE OF THE handicapped demonstrators was arrested during the demonstration. But a police spokesman said Thursday morning that arrests of the disabled would become a very real possibility if the demonstration had continued into the day Thursday. While the demonstration generally was successful, it failed to inform the public that the federal govemment has made a commitment to pay 80 percent of the cost of all transportation for the disabled in the City and County of Denver, Blank said. “All RTD has to do is to ask for that money," Blank maintained. In a continuing effort, Blank said, Atlantis officials will be, contacting Colorado’s congressional delegation seeking their follow-through on the issue of transportation for the disabled. The demonstration apparently was "sparked by a ruling last Friday by U.S. District Judge Richard Matsch in federal court in Denver. In that ruling, Matsch rejected charges that the Regional Transportation District's failure to provide special access for handicapped persons on its buses constituted an unconstitutional infringement on those persons’ liberty to travel. THAT SUIT WAS the culmination of nearly five years of effort in trying to work with RTD in updating and equipping its fleet to accommodate the disabled, Blank said. “We thought the best way to change the system was to go through the courts, but that failed,” Blank said Wednesday night. "Now, where do we get the power to change RTD?" John Simpson, director of the RTD, spent four hours Wednesday talking with members of the handicapped group, attempting to persuade them to end their barricade of the buses and discuss the situation through existing channels. “We volunteered to meet with them there or at any other time,” Simpson said. “We have met with them many times in the past," he added. THE COURT DECISION, Simpson said, indicates “what we are doing isn't a violation of their constitutional rights. Our Handy-Ride service is one of the best in the nation. But they say they won‘t go away until every RTD bus has a chair lift on it." In a discussion with one of the demonstrators Wednesday, Simpson said that since 1975, RTD has operated 12 buses specially equipped to serve the handicapped. Eighteen similarly equipped buses are being readied for service “in the near future," Simpson said. And 10 other buses will be provided with equipment to serve the handicapped, hopefully by September, he added. But the coalition of the handicapped maintained RTD's Handy-Ride—a system equipped with wheelchair lifts and stairs-is “foul joke" inasmuch - as it serves only “a handful" of the 1,000 disabled persons on the waiting list. SIMPSON RESPONDED by maintaining there are 700 disabled persons on that waiting list, and many of those have indicated they need only occasional Handy-Ride service. RTD‘s last order for 231 buses, Sim said, specified that the vehicles have wide doors to accommodate the handicapped “when and if it becomes financially and economically feasible." Eighteen of the 231 buses will have wheelchair tie-down devices, and those buses [will] be placed in regular service whenever we're sure they‘re safe,” Simpson said. One of the demonstrators. Kerry Sc[_?__] 25, of Denver, said, “We're paying to support these buses. I have my rights. There's (handicapped) people tied up in homes. They can't get nowhere—shopping, to the movies or sports. In [lndia]neapolis, they have buses for the handicapped and they're running really g[ood.] I don't see why Denver doesn't have the same thing.” GLENN COPP, co director of the Atlantis Community, maintained that RTD Handy-Ride buses pick up the handicapped “only at a certain time and [bring] them only to a certain destination. Using private Ambocab service, [the] disabled must pay $17 for a round trip in the Denver area, Copp said. Blank, who is co-executive director the Atlantis Community for the handicapped, said it was the group's intention to have one of its members arrested to set a precedent. “But even if we busted, I don‘t know where we'd be Blank said. Police records show that one non-handicapped sympathizer, Lisa Wheeler, [of] Corona St., was booked then released on bond early Wednesday morning. She was arrested for failure to obey a police order to move out of the street. The demonstration took RTD office by surprise, and Jerry Richmond, “ma[nager] of communications, said the company hadn't been informed of the protest.
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Western Union Mailgram Mailgram Service Center Middletown VA, 22645 06/05/80 11:23P EST The Atlantis Community 4536 East Colfax Denver, CO 80220 THIS MAILGRAM IS A CONFIRMATION COPY OF THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE: MAYOR BILL MCNICHOLS ROOM 350 CITY AND COUNTY BLDG DENVER CO 80203 SIR THERE IS A GROWING FRUSTRATION AMONG THE DISABLED COMMUNITY CONCERNING THE LACK OF CURB CUTS THAT CAN BE DONE IN A PARTICULAR AREA ON REQUEST. WHILE WE APPLAUD THE CITIES PAST EFFORTS IN CUTTING MANY CURBS FOR WHEELCHAIRS, IN WHILE WE UNDERSTAND THE PRESENT POLICY OF CUTTING OF ALL CURBS THAT ARE REPAIRED-WE ARE PERPLEXED AND FRUSTRATED AT THE LACK OF ANY PROCEDURE BY THE CITY EOR CUTTING CURBS IN A PARTICULAR AREA SO A DISABELED PERSON CAN GET TO WORK, SCHOOL, CHURCH, OR TO A BUS STOP. WE WOULD APPRECIATE A MEETING WITH YOUR OFFICE TO DISCUSS THE PROBLEM AS SOON AS POSSIBLE; WE HOPE THAT TOGETHER WE CAN REACH AN AMICABLE RESOLUTION OF THE PROBLEM SINCERELY WADE BLANK & GLENN KOPP CO-DIRECTORS OF THE ATLANTIS COMMUNITY 4536 EAST COLFAX DENVER CO 80220
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The Denver Post - Sunday June 1, 1975 PHOTO by John Prieto: A woman (Linda Chism) sits in a wheelchair with her legs extended out in front of her and covered by a blanket. Her shoulders are covered by a jacket. She has a lap board on her chair and her purse/bag is resting on it. She is looking ahead. To her left sits a man (Glenn Kopp) in a wheelchair. He has longish hair, a goatee and is wearing glasses. He looks down slightly, as if listening. In the front bottom corner of the picture someone's arm is visible. Caption reads: Linda Chism and Glenn Kopp discuss Independent-Living Idea They are in living room of apartment at the Las Casitas complex. [Headline] Independence from Nursing Homes - Atlantis' Handicapped Move to New Life by Pat Afzal On the surface, this Sunday is just a moving day for eight Denver area young men and women. Underneath, however, the day emerges as a first, precious taste of freedom for them. They are severely handicapped and will move out of nursing homes Sunday into their own apartments and have a crack at independent living. Sunday will be, oh .... like Christmas,” says wheelchair-bound Glenn Kopp, co-executive director of the Atlantis Community, Inc. The group is leasing the apartments where the young adults will live. Linda Chism, Atlantis' treasurer-accountant, likens the moving experience to “a flower opening up. We don't know how it's going to work out for sure. Things will sort of evolve." Their excitement seems normal because they're helping others embark on a new experience. Then they begin to talk about why the independent-living idea got going. And their comments harden into strong indictments against the institutional way of life for the young handicapped. "You know about civil rights?," Kopp asks a reporter. "Well, a handicapped person in an institution has no civil rights." "That statement about race, creed and color - well, it doesn't apply to handicapped people. We're left out of it." Kopp, who was worked in a Denver area nursing home said that when residents there went against the rules, a punishment was to take their electric wheel chairs away. “That's (the chairs) your freedom, you’re movement. Without it, you can't get around." [Subheading] Rule Ridiculed He ridiculed a rule that said the handicapped had to be in bed by 9 p.m. “Why should a grown man have to go to bed at 9 o’clock?" he asks. “It's a so very dehumanizing way to live, to say the least,” Ms. Chism adds. “You’re without privacy. All your dignity is just gone. You're not recognized as a person. You're a patient and that's it.” Nursing homes "like a lot of young people around, tooling around in their wheel chairs,” Kopp says. “lt adds an air of something nicer than just a lot of people sitting around.” By the same token, there isn't a lot of willingness to give the young people the freedom they feel and need, Kopp says. Those who are “lucky enough to have a taste of living normally really get depressed. It can be a very sad thing." It was soon after Kopp stopped working for the nursing home in Denver that he and a friend — Wade Blank — decided that “there's gotta be a better way to live. There has to be some better options." They slowly began to attract verbal, but not much monetary, support for their idea and Atlantis Community, Inc., was born. Eventually the group wants to build a 140-unit apartment complex for the severely handicapped. Right now, however, their first project is the seven apartment units in Las Casitas complex on Denver's west side where the eight young people will be moving Sunday. The apartments are on the western edge of a larger apartment complex in the 1200 block of Federal Boulavard. Credit for helping to make Atlantis’ dream a reality goes to Dr. Henry A. Foley, state director of social services, and John Helm of the Denver Housing Authority, Kopp said. “We went in cold to Dr. Foley, and he got us $3,000 seed money to apply to a larger grant," Kopp said. The grant, from the Department of Vocational Rehabilitation, made possible almost $20,000 in renovations at the Las Casitas apartments. Helm told them about the apartment vacancies. The new tenants will live on welfare and social service payments, and visiting nurses and on-site attendants will help take care of their medical and personal needs. On July 1, six other tenants will move in. Those slated for the Sunday move are “frightened, understandably,” Ms. Chism says. “When you've lived in an nursing home much of your life, you’re naturally apprehensive about living on your own." She said police were worried about the safety of the tenants because the apartments are in a higher-crime area. “But they (police) don't realize that in an institution, you don’t own anything for very long because it’s stolen," Kopp said. [Headline] Meetings Encouraging Meetings with a tenant union at Las Casitas have been encouraging, he added, and residents already living there have welcomed the idea of their new neighbors. The problem now is for Atlantis Community to stay alive financially so other young handicapped adults also can experience the freedom of independent living. And there are immediate problems like finding things such as kitchen utensils, bed linen and furniture to make the Las Casitas like home. But optimism about the future is apparent. “When you think of how far we've come in a year," Ms. Chism says. “I'd say there's a lot more to come from Atlantis."
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Rocky Mountain News - Saturday June 7, 1975 continued from page 55 [we don't have first part of this article] 2 PHOTOS by Bill Perry: Top photo of someone sitting in a wheelchair by a window. There is a TV set and other furniture, and in the foreground, the wheel of another wheelchair. Bottom photo of what appears to be the same room, with two people in wheelchairs facing one another, talking. Caption reads: Kathy Vincent talks with Glenn Kopp, one of two executive directors of the Atlantis project, in one of remodeled apartments. [Headline] Atlantis offered for handicapped SAID GLENN KOPP, one of two executive directors of the project, and himself confined to a wheelchair: “You have to be in a wheelchair to realize the specific needs of the handicapped.” Under the direction of those who will live at Atlantis, doorways were widened, entrance and exit ramps installed, ovens and stoves made more accessible, disposal units moved down and doorsills made flush with flooring, among other things. "We want to push people out a bit on their own," said Kopp. “So far as we know, this is the first project of its type in the United States. The entire project, too, is financially feasible for its handicapped residents. Most receive state grants of $155 a month for living expenses, and can apply for and receive another $217 per month to pay for needed attendants. WHILE NOT a great deal of money, the combined dollars from two young adults sharing an apartment make the plan workable. And plans now call for many more apartments to be converted. Some $82,500 in pre-planning money already is available, and co-executive director Wade Blank estimates some $4 to $5 million will be spent ultimately for the total project. Daily medical support services already have been arranged through the combined efforts of a 24—hour-a-day staff of attendants and the Denver General Hospital staff of doctors and nurses working out of the West Side Health Clinic at 10th Avenue and Federal Boulevard. Assistance in personal care, housekeeping and food preparation also will be available on a 24-hour basis. Mobility, too, is assured both by an RTD bus stop directly across from the project and by an RTD bus stop directly across from the project and by a large utilitarian van owned by Atlantis. IN CASE OF any emergencies, a 24-hour hotline will be in operation, capable of both receiving and transmitting, with each unit connected directly to a central office on the premises. Residents, of course, are required to pay rent for their apartments, but, as Kopp notes: "We are now getting some people out of some difficult living conditions." And, when the project was first announced, Ingo Antonitsch, director of the Denver Commission of the Disabled and chairman of the seven member board created to help administer the project, said: “We want to prove that even the severely disabled, when given a little moral support, can become self-sufficient and integrate with the community at large."
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Heritage House Herald, Vol.1, No.4 January 1974 [Access symbols on either side of the masthead] PHOTO: Three men sit together. In the left foreground Glenn Kopp sits slightly in front of the other two, smiling almost laughing. Beside him in the middle is Wade Blank with his long blonde hair and a slight smile. On Wade's other side, Lee is leaning in happily laughing a toothless laugh. All three men are wearing glasses. Caption reads: Glenn, Wade, Lee [Headline] YOU'VE GOT A FRIEND by Judy Serfoss You may not be aware how unique a facility our youth wing is. It is the only one in the state with a special program designed for young people. If it were not for youth wing, we would all be in geriatric nursing homes with no concessions made for our age and needs. We would no longer be able to go to ball games, or concerts, or movies, or the Spaghetti Factory. We are extremely fortunate to have a home like this, and the one person most responsible for the creation and continuation of youth wing is Wade Blank. Wade was born in Pennsylvania in 1940, and after graduating from high school he attended Muskingum College in Massillon, Ohio, where he received a bachelor's degree in English with a minor in psychology. After he graduated from college, he worked for a while in a car wash before enrolling at MacCormac Theological Seminary in Chicago, Illinois, where he received his master’s degree in Theology, Study of Counter Culture, Drug Abuse Counseling, and Community Organization. His studies at MacCormac were financed by an anonymous grant of $5,000 from Canton, Ohio. Wade was ordained as a Presbyterian minister and had churches in Columbus and Akron, Ohio from 1966-1969. He became disenchanted with organized religion and its organized hypocrisy, so in 1969 he took a job as the Director of Poverty Progress for the Office of Economic Opportunity in Twinsburg, Ohio, from 1969-1970. Soon after the completion of that job, Wade moved to Denver. He got a job as a chaplin-orderly at Alpine Manor nursing home where he became friends with one of the directors, Tom O'Halloran. When Tom quit to become the director of Heritage House, he offered Wade the job of Youth Wing Coordinator. Wade accepted and began the Don Quiotean tank of battling the bastions of bungling bureaucracy. Being an administrator is not an easy job for an idealist, but Wade was determined to change the kind of care nursing homes offered young people. He stubbornly persisted with his innovative ideas and slowly began to change the whole spirit of youth wing. In the words of Mrs. Barkley, head nurse on the wing, “I think We are very lucky to have Wade. He has made youth wing what it is. We are all very appreciative, even though we don't always show our appreciation.“ The kind of man Wade is can be best illustrated by the comments of those who live and work with him: Geneva Sanchez: "Wade cares, he really cares, and he works so hard. Sometimes I feel sorry for him. He gets all the blame when things go wrong, and none of the credit when they are right." Neal Shaffer: "Wade works hard." John Torrez: "Wade - tough and strong." Don Clubb: “Wade's OK!" Brenda Cooke: "Swell guy, especially when you are feeling down. He always makes time to listen. Funny, and a bit conceited, but I guess all of us have a little conceit in us." Barry Rosenberg: “I have learned more from Wade than from anyone, like his belief in people and his love of life and people. Wade celebrates life, and he's always willing to lay his neck on the line for a friend." In my own case, l was utterly lost when l came to Heritage House and very withdrawn. Wade made a special effort to talk to me and hear my problems. Then he took the initiative in getting me enrolled in school and back into life. Wade is one of the most unselfish men I have ever known. He is totally dedicated and is personally involved in the lives of each and every resident in youth wing. It is an overwhelming commitment, and one which Wade makes unhesitatingly. We all owe Wade more than any of us probably realize. l think we should all make a point in the next few days of saying thanks to Wade and letting him know how much we appreciate what he has done for us. Remember: When you're down and troubled, and you need some loving care just call his name and he'll be there. You've got a friend, you've got Wade. [Headline] Mountain Peak by Mike Smith The snow came swirling down from the mountain peaks, blinding our way up the path. The mountain peaks looked cold and uninviting, in a way, a threat. . . My hands and feet were cold, but my soul was warm, and so was yours. . . And so in that cold and distant place two souls came together to form one. . . So this was love that which man is always searching for.
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Rocky Mountain News March 26, 1977 News PHOTO by John Gordon: A small person (Mary Cisneros) with apparently no legs is seen from the back in wheelchair, wheeling through an empty lot. In the background is a clothes line with clothes hanging out to dry. [Headline] The beginning of a quiet war Once destined to spend her life in state institutions, Mary Cisneros, 25, is starting over. She lives in a Denver apartment and plans to become a tutor for the blind. Here, she's shown at the Atlantis Community, where she and others have found new hope. Atlantis is working on behalf of the disabled. Handicapped starting a 'quiet revolution' continued from.... ,,, the first time. For others, it means learning how to read and write. Mrs. Sue Sutherland, 23, is one of two women who tutor the Atlantis residents, using a special teaching machine developed by a University of Colorado professor. A staff of 27 persons, including some who were themselves rescued from institutional settings, provides attendant care. Their pay comes from the state and county attendant allowances of up to $217 per month to which many in Atlantis are entitled by law. A HOTLINE CONNECTS the housing units and the apartments of those no longer at Las Casitas, so residents can seek help quickly in emergencies. The job of manning the line is one of many tasks performed by the residents. Each is paid $50 a month, a figure arrived at because anything higher would oblige the recipients to involve themselves in red tape - and, in many cases, to lose the welfare payments they now receive. Most residents draw $184 a month in public assistance, most of it coming in the form of federal "SSI" payments. The rest comes from the state. From this, they pay $101 for room and board. Blank is the highest paid staff member. He gets about $8,000 a year from a combination of state and private grants. This leaves him eligible for food stamps. Administrator Mary Penland "gets paid when we can scrounge it up," and Kopp - who lives in Blank's house and has bought a third of it - hasn't been paid a dime of salary during his two years as co-director. Needless to say, Atlantis has made waves. lt has clashed with doctors who insist that the place for severely disabled persons is in an institution. And it has fought with those label people as "mentally retarded," saying the phrase is largely meaningless. "WE TOTALLY REFUSE to use that label here." says Blank. “We don't think the term is applicable to most young people. If they're retarded, it's socially retarded." Blank bubbles with excitement at the success stories of the people around him - those he proudly describes as “my circle of friends. “ And their affection for him is equally visible. There is Gary Van Lake. a 24-year-old Wyoming native who broke his neck in a 1973 car crash. Wyoming rehabilitation officials insisted he had no hope of returning to a normal life. "They told me I had reached my potential," he recalls. Coming to Denver to attend college, he wound up in a nursing home. Atlantis got him out and helped him get into Craig Hospital where he learned anew how to do things like go to the bathroom and drive a car. Now he has a specially equipped van, complete with an elevator for his electric wheelchair, and is engaged to marry in May. An outsider, viewing the rundown setting and the severity of the residents' physical problems, has to rely on their words and smiles to know how much their lives have improved. ONE TESTIMONIAL came from John Folks, 21, who has been paralyzed from the neck down since he was shot in June 1972. He breathes through a tube in his throat and uses a specially equipped telephone with a loudspeaker and a switch that he can trigger by moving his head to one side. Soon after Blank told how Folks had joined other Atlantis residents on a camping trip last summer. Folks explained how he felt about leaving the nursing home in which he lived for nine months before he came to Atlantis: “It's just like getting out of prison. lt is like starting over again. " Acknowledging that he and others at Atlantis “are somewhat egotistical" in their boasts of success, he adds: "We have to be to survive." But he also contends that the boasts are well-founded. For one thing, he notes, Atlantis has caught President Carter's fancy and could play a role in Carter's upcoming plans to revamp the welfare system. Last summer, when candidate Carter passed through Denver on the campaign trail, he met briefly with Atlantis officials. This week, two HEW aides from Washington came to Denver for a briefing on what Atlantis is doing. And a thick report, put together by Atlantis with an $82,500 federal grant, will go to Washington as Colorado's minority report at the White House Conference on Handicapped Individuals. The May event, planned when Gerald Ford was still president, is the first of its kind. lt is expected to set the stage for significant action by Congress to aid the nation's disabled citizens. The money for the Atlantis reports which was unveiled in February, came as a belated response to the original efforts of Blank and Kopp to get enough money so they could build Atlantis from the ground up. When the money came through in 1976, they knew it wouldn't be enough to get them out of Las Casitas. But they saw the value of a comprehensive report about the need of the disabled. ITS CONCLUSIONS are clear and blunt. Blunt as Wade Blanks words when he describes why Atlantis has the potential to be seen us model for the nation. “Our critics say all we have to offer is the slums," he noted a couple of days ago. "Yet 55 people are on our waiting list." "I think the nursing homes are going to have to start watching their words because the waiting list indicates, in essence, that these people would rather live in a slum than in a nursing home " NEXT: “We are demanding our rights."
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The Denver Post August 29, 1976 PHOTO: A woman (Carolyn Finell) sits in her wheelchair turned sideways, relaxed, facing the camera. Her arm is slung over the backrest, and she is beaming. New Key Fulfills Residents' Dreams (continued from page 36) and the other four Atlantis residents to go out on their own without state support for a proposal advanced by Atlantis. That proposal was presented in June to Henry A. Foley, director of the Colorado Social Services Department. Foley's response was enthusiastic according to Wade Blank and Glen Kopp, co-directors at Atlantis. And as a result, Foley set up a pilot project which will go until the end of 1977. Simply stated, the project involves Atlantis'creation of an expanded staff of attendants to provide necessary services to the disabled in their apartments and homes as well as at Atlantis. And the state medicaid fund will pick up the difference between government cost for attendant services and the amount of funds that actually are expended to provide the disabled with necessary care as certified by a physician. Blank explained that the government pays an average of $575 monthly for a severely disabled young adult living in a nursing home. If the disabled person moves into his own apartment he receives $186?[text is blury] monthly from various governmental sources to pay for his rent, food, telephone and personal needs. And a county social services department may provide an additional $40 to $217 monthly to the disabled person for attendant services. But quite often, Blank said, even the maximum of $217 monthly doesn't cover the attendant services needed. And qualified attendants may not always be available, he noted. The cooperative program between Atlantis and the state might remedy those shortcomings and might cut government expenditures for the disabled substantially, Blank said. If the program is successful, Blank said, it could be expanded statewide for the disabled. Eventually, he added, the program might be extended to the state's elderly persons to keep them in their own homes and apartments, rather than placing them in a facility outside the home. Equally elated over the program is Mary Joyce, who is Jeannie's mother. Mrs. Joyce and her husband, Joseph, came to Denver last week from their home in Scarborough, Maine and were with Jeannie when she first viewed her apartment. “It's a pretty wonderful step" Mrs. Joyce said as she watched her daughter move in her wheelchair through the apartment. "We can't believe the strides she'd made in the last two years with her determination to live on her own and take care of herself." To two other Atlantis residents, George Roberts and Don Clubb, the move to their own apartment is "a pretty big change." Born with cerebral palsy, George, now 28, was left as an infant at the door of an adoption agency in southern Colorado. George then was placed in a state home and training school where he remained for 21 years - a period he describes as "all my life." He also spent more than four years in a nursing home before being accepted at Atlantis in June 1975. Don, who soon will be 20, lost both legs as the result of a slide down a mountainside when he was six years old. For about 10 years, Don was in state home and training schools. And for the past five years, he has been in a nursing home. He, too, is confined to a wheelchair. Last week, as George and Don viewed the apartment they will share in north Denver, they seemed to invest the nearly empty rooms with an almost magical air. "It's wonderful," George said over and over. Carefully, he moved his wheelchair up to the electric stove and inspected the oven. In the bedroom, he was jubilent as he examined the heating and air-conditioning controls. And almost reverently, he opened and closed the sliding doors of a large bedroom closed. Don spoke quietly but with no less enthusiasm. "It's a very nice place - the first place of my own," he said. He smiled in the direction of the outdoor pool and said he swam very well and would teach George. Also preparing to move into an apartment they will share in south Denver are two other Atlantis residents, Carolyn Finnell, 33 and Nancy Anderson, 31. When she was 21, Nancy underwent surgery for removal of a brain tumor. For the next nine years, Nancy just sat in Denver area nursing homes unable to talk or walk, her body partially paralyzed. At that time, doctors said Nancy would be confined to nursing homes for the rest of her life and would never walk again. But since moving to Atlantis last summer, Nancy has been striving diligently in therapy sessions at Denver General Hospital. Working through the pain and the fatigue, she has learned to walk for up to 300 yards with the aid of a walker. And she has expanded her vocabulary to almost 10 words and is using a word machine in the new process of learning others. For Carolyn Finnell, who was born with cerebral palsy, there has been no easy or direct road to independent living. After finishing the ninth grade, Carolyn wasn't particularly encouraged to continue. But she was convinced and convinced others, that she was capable of further education. She obtained her GED, or general equivalency diploma, which is equivalent to a high school diploma. And she earned a degree in journalism at Metropolitan State College. But then there were the leaden days - four years in nursing homes "which didn't work out." Afterward, Carolyn came to Atlantis and her hope was reborn. Now, Carolyn is working in the Atlantis planning office and preparing plans for the education of the disabled. In her quarters at Atlantis last week, Carolyn said it was painful to leave so many behind when she left the nursing home. "But as we move out of Atlantis, it will make it possible for others to move in - and they never thought that was possible," she added. Looking to the future, Carolyn said she would like to return to school to obtain training so that she can tutor disabled persons who have never had an education. "There's a whole generation of disabled people who have been denied an education," she said. Carolyn stressed that she wasn't going to "wage a war against nursing homes I'm willing to live and let live." But she obviously was emotionally affected as she said, "I never realized until I got out of a nursing home that for a young person, it's a living death: You really have nothing to live for...nothing to do but just sit. Many disabled persons, Carolyn noted, attend Opportunity School and Boettcher School in Denver. "But I know for myself," she said, "I didn't have any faith in my ability to work." "But I've been involved in Atlantis planning," she said as a smile swept across her face and she threw out her arms, embracing the air. "I've gained faith in my ability and I'm started to get ambitious." Her next words came slowly, with triumphal emphasis: "I....just....feel....alive!"
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The Sunday Denver Post - August 29, 1976 [This article in continued in ADAPT 37, but the entire text is included here for easier reading] [Headline] Denver and the West Denver Post Photos by Ernie Leyba, Photo 1 (top left): Two hands gently hold a key. Photo 2 (on right): A young woman (Jeannie Joyce) in a manual wheelchair sits next to a floor lamp, and beside her kneels an older woman (Mary Joyce). Jeannie is looking up and her mother is looking forward to the right. Both are absolutely beaming. Captions (in middle) read: A key, left to a new apartment is a thing of joy to Jeannie Joyce, in wheel chair being hugged, at right, by her mother, Mrs. Mary Joyce, after Miss Joyce moved into her new apartment. [Subheading] Apartment Key Fulfills Dream for Five Atlantis Residents by Fred Gillies “My key!" Jeannie Joyce cried out exultantly, cupping a door key almost prayerfully in her hands and moving in her wheelchair room to room in the small apartment in south Denver. Jeannie's eyes sparkled and at times misted as she turned the wheelchair in one direction and then another. "It‘s my house," murmured Jeannie, 25, who has been confined to a wheelchair most of her life by a form of muscular dystrophy. Jeannie and four other residents of the Atlantis Community for the handicapped in Denver are taking a major step. They are moving from Atlantis into their own apartments as part of a pilot project that may become a model for the state. The move is supported by state officials who see it as an exciting extension of the Atlantis goal - making disabled persons more independent and providing a stimulating atmosphere in which they can realize their full potential. To Jeannie and the four other Atlantis residents, this move to their own apartment is “a dream come true." Jeannie shouted with joy last week when she saw her apartment - the first she has ever had. "I love it!" she said "it fits me because it's a little place and I'm a little person." But the road to this apartment was a long one. After living at home for her first 21 years, Jeannie entered a nursing home where she remained for more than three years. At the nursing home there was no particular program for Jeannie. Her only work was at a sheltered workshop where she counted fishhooks and placed them in packages and performed other simple and undemanding tasks. Slightly more than a year ago, Jeannie was among eight disabled persons who moved from Denver area nursing homes and became charter residents at the Atlantis Community, 2965 W. 11th Ave. At Atlantis, Jeannie began working as an operator on the telephone hot line which helps Atlantis residents and other disabled persons in metropolitan Denver find the services they need. In time, Jeannie was named supervisor of the hotline. Newly established in her own apartment, Jeannie will continue to work on the hot line at Atlantis. This is the way she always wanted it - her own home, a meaningful job and a wide-open future. But Atlantis officials have stressed that it wouldn't have been possible for Jeannie and the other four Atlantis residents to go out on their own without state support for a proposal advanced by Atlantis. That proposal was presented in June to Henry A. Foley, director of the Colorado Social Services Department. Foley's response was enthusiastic according to Wade Blank and Glen Kopp, codirectors at Atlantis. And as a result, Foley set up a pilot project which will go until the end of 1977. Simply stated, the project involves Atlantis' creation of an expanded staff of attendants to provide necessary services to the disabled in their apartments and homes as well as at Atlantis. And the state Medicaid fund will pick up the difference between government cost for attendant services and the amount of funds that actually are expended to provide the disabled with necessary care as certified by a physician. Blank explained that the government pays an average of $575 monthly for a severely disabled young adult living in a nursing home. If the disabled person moves into his own apartment he receives $186?[text is blurry] monthly from various governmental sources to pay for his rent, food, telephone and personal needs. And a county social services department may provide an additional $40 to $217 monthly to the disabled person for attendant services. But quite often, Blank said, even the maximum of $217 monthly doesn't cover the attendant services needed. And qualified attendants may not always be available, he noted. The cooperative program between Atlantis and the state might remedy those shortcomings and might cut government expenditures for the disabled substantially, Blank said. If the program is successful, Blank said, it could be expanded statewide for the disabled. Eventually, he added, the program might be extended to the state's elderly persons to keep them in their own homes and apartments, rather than placing them in a facility outside the home. Equally elated over the program is Mary Joyce, who is Jeannie's mother. Mrs. Joyce and her husband, Joseph, came to Denver last week from their home in Scarborough, Maine and were with Jeannie when she first viewed her apartment. “It's a pretty wonderful step" Mrs. Joyce said as she watched her daughter move in her wheelchair through the apartment. "We can't believe the strides she's made in the last two years with her determination to live on her own and take care of herself." To two other Atlantis residents, George Roberts and Don Clubb, the move to their own apartment is "a pretty big change." Born with cerebral palsy, George, now 28, was left as an infant at the door of an adoption agency in southern Colorado. George then was placed in a state home and training school where he remained for 21 years - a period he describes as "all my life." He also spent more than four years in a nursing home before being accepted at Atlantis in June 1975. Don, who soon will be 20, lost both legs as the result of a slide down a mountainside when he was six years old. For about 10 years, Don was in state home and training schools. And for the past five years, he has been in a nursing home. He, too, is confined to a wheelchair. Last week, as George and Don viewed the apartment they will share in north Denver, they seemed to invest the nearly empty rooms with an almost magical air. "It's wonderful," George said over and over. Carefully, he moved his wheelchair up to the electric stove and inspected the oven. In the bedroom, he was jubilant as he examined the heating and air-conditioning controls. And almost reverently, he opened and closed the sliding doors of a large bedroom closed. Don spoke quietly but with no less enthusiasm. "It's a very nice place - the first place of my own," he said. He smiled in the direction of the outdoor pool and said he swam very well and would teach George. Also preparing to move into an apartment they will share in south Denver are two other Atlantis residents, Carolyn Finnell, 33 and Nancy Anderson, 31. When she was 21, Nancy underwent surgery for removal of a brain tumor. For the next nine years, Nancy just sat in Denver area nursing homes unable to talk or walk, her body partially paralyzed. At that time, doctors said Nancy would be confined to nursing homes for the rest of her life and would never walk again. But since moving to Atlantis last summer, Nancy has been striving diligently in therapy sessions at Denver General Hospital. Working through the pain and the fatigue, she has learned to walk for up to 300 yards with the aid of a walker. And she has expanded her vocabulary to almost 10 words and is using a word machine in the new process of learning others. For Carolyn Finnell, who was born with cerebral palsy, there has been no easy or direct road to independent living. After finishing the ninth grade, Carolyn wasn't particularly encouraged to continue. But she was convinced and convinced others, that she was capable of further education. She obtained her GED, or general equivalency diploma, which is equivalent to a high school diploma. And she earned a degree in journalism at Metropolitan State College. But then there were the leaden days - four years in nursing homes "which didn't work out." Afterward, Carolyn came to Atlantis and her hope was reborn. Now, Carolyn is working in the Atlantis planning office and preparing plans for the education of the disabled. In her quarters at Atlantis last week, Carolyn said it was painful to leave so many behind when she left the nursing home. "But as we move out of Atlantis, it will make it possible for others to move in - and they never thought that was possible," she added. Looking to the future, Carolyn said she would like to return to school to obtain training so that she can tutor disabled persons who have never had an education. "There's a whole generation of disabled people who have been denied an education," she said. Carolyn stressed that she wasn't going to "wage a war against nursing homes I'm willing to live and let live." But she obviously was emotionally affected as she said, "I never realized until I got out of a nursing home that for a young person, it's a living death: You really have nothing to live for...nothing to do but just sit. Many disabled persons, Carolyn noted, attend Opportunity School and Boettcher School in Denver. "But I know for myself," she said, "I didn't have any faith in my ability to work." "But I've been involved in Atlantis planning," she said as a smile swept across her face and she threw out her arms, embracing the air. "I've gained faith in my ability and I'm started to get ambitious." Her next words came slowly, with triumphal emphasis: "I....just....feel....alive!" PHOTO: A woman (Carolyn Finnell) sits in her wheelchair. She is turned sideways, relaxed, facing the camera. Her arm is slung over the backrest, and she is beaming.