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Akceptejo / Fotaroj / Etikedoj Atlantis
+ nursing homes 4
ADAPT (40)
The Sunday Denver Post, Feb. 29 1976 The first article on this page is a continuation of the story in ADAPT 39. The entire story is included there for easier reading. Second Article Headline: Nursing Homes Depressing [Subheading] At Atlantis Quadriplegic Finds 'His Peace' by Fred Gillies He's paralyzed from the neck down, and a machine breathes for him. And generally he‘s confined to a bed or a wheelchair. Yet John Folks, 20, smiled warmly last week as he spoke of his new home at the Atlantis Community for the handicapped in southwest Denver. “Atlantis is freedom.“ John said with firm conviction as he lay in bed in his apartment at Atlantis. While John spoke, a steady clicking and sighing came from the respirator which has been his constant companion since he was shot in the back of the neck four years ago by an unknown assailant. The bullet severed the spine, resulting in paralysis of most of John's body. With evident displeasure, John recalled his more than three years in nursing homes. "At one of these homes," he said, "he was the only young person among all the elderly residents." "There was no one to talk to - I just watched TV,” John said. "It was really bad. . depressing. . ."But at Atlantis. I feel different. This is the type of people I feel good with." Atlantis, which has been in operation since last June at 2965 W. 11th Ave. came into being at the right time for John. Atlantis officials say John was turned down by 25 nursing homes before he decided to apply at Atlantis and was accepted three weeks ago. "It‘s hard to find a nursing home that will take a person with a breathing machine—it‘s too much care,“ John explained. And nursing homes, John said, don't look too kindly on a young person who wants to enjoy the normal things such as rock music, a beer when he feels like it and conversations with friends at late hours. When John is not confined to bed as he has been recently with the flu, he moves around in his specially equipped wheelchair which he steers with his chin. The wheelchair has a portable, battery-operated respirator which John must use most of the time. John shares his Atlantis apartment with another handicapped person. But he says he now has another prized freedom: he can be alone in his room from time to time. "This is your place. and no one else's." John said with a quiet fervor in his voice.
ADAPT (223)
MAinstream magazine [No date] [This story continues in ADAPT 222, but is contained here in its entirety for reading ease.] [Headline] ADAPT takes the fast lane to make transit accessible By Michael Ervin San Antonio—The first indication that something was about to happen came when an oversized, stretch-limo of a van pulled up beside the Alamo and a wheelchair lift uncurled out of the back door. The colorful banner on the side of the van read: ACCESS FOR ALL. Six more people in wheelchairs were in another van parked in a lot down the street. As they proceeded down the sidewalk to join the demonstration in front of the Alamo the pedestrians stopped and looked them over. A parade of people in wheelchairs is bound to draw stares. But the expressions accompanying these stares were unique—welcoming, supportive, somewhat star struck. Maybe they knew they were coming. Before the 50 or so members of various chapters of American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit even arrived here there were stories in the media about previous ADAPT confrontations with the American Public Transit Association (APTA.) Television news showed footage of the mass arrests that occurred last October in Washington, D.C. when ADAPT members tried to force their way into the center where APTA was holding its annual convention. That's the kind of escalating media coverage Wade Blank likes to see. He’s the main force behind ADAPT. “We're becoming famous. When we had our first ADAPT meeting in Denver in 1982, our goal was to make the officials of any city we were coming to nervous. We wanted them to say, ‘No! Not here! We don’t want ‘em!’” They were certainly nervous in San Antonio. When a horde of people in wheelchairs showed up at the offices of the local transit authority for a noisy demonstration, the employees locked themselves in a large office as if they were afraid ADAPT was going to take them out one by one and shoot them. And when the march that began at the Alamo turned into an equally raucous occupation of the lobby of the posh hotel where APTA people were staying, hotel security had no idea what to do. And the bewildered looks of the innocent tourists were amusing. They’d certainly never seen anything like that before. “Seeing a bunch of disabled crazies blocking buses and doing things like that redefines everything everybody’s been conditioned to believe about the disabled," Blank says. This radical redefinition of what the disabled are (in the eyes of both the disabled and nondisabled) is what ADAPT is all about. And having stuffy APTA conferences and conventions as a backdrop helps make that point. APTA’s primary sin, according to ADAPT, is that it spent big bucks on a lawsuit that struck down the federal mandate that all fixed-route public buses be lift-equipped. ADAPT sees equal transit access as the most basic civil right. “It's the same segregation as when blacks had to sit in the back of the bus or yield their seats to whites. Except it’s even worse,” says Blank. “The disabled can’t even get on the bus.” By using APTA as a symbol of the stifling paternalism that keeps the disabled in a position of dependency, ADAPT makes the immorality of inaccessible public transit quite clear. *** Wade Blank is an ordained minister who never goes to church. “It’s in the true Jesus tradition. He was kicked out of the synagogue and never went back.” Blank worked in a nursing home for a few years after seminary. It frustrated him to see the disabled friends he made there stuck there simply because they had no place else to go. So in 1976 he and some others began Atlantis, an independent living center in Denver. ADAPT was born of Atlantis. Blank says Atlantis likes to “do the impossible” in terms of working with clients who have the deepest holes of dependency to dig out of. Frank, a man with cerebral palsy who was part of the ADAPT Denver caravan to San Antonio, was sprung by Atlantis in 1976 from a nursing home he had been in since 1934. Another woman began feeding herself for the first time when she became part of Atlantis. She was always physically able to. Her mother just didn't want her making a mess. Another woman had never seen a head of lettuce. Her salads had always come to her prepared. It’s rather stunning seeing people who were mired in the world of please and thank you traveling around the country, blocking buses and maybe getting arrested. It’s gotten ADAPT and Atlantis in trouble with irate relatives. The father of a woman arrested for blocking buses in Denver told Wade that since he was a reverend he must be brainwashing his daughter into joining his cult, just like Jim Jones. He said he was going to tell the newspapers so they could investigate. But Blank says, “All we’re saying to people in Atlantis and ADAPT is, ‘You are an important person.’ I just tell them (the irate relatives) that people get excited when they see that they are important and that they are expected to be somebody.” In 1978, it became clear that the mission of Atlantis could never be fully accomplished as long as Denver’s public transit system was totally inaccessible. What good was it to set someone up in an accessible apartment if they couldn’t move beyond it? They might as well have still been in the nursing home. So the Atlantis people took to the streets of Denver. They blocked buses. They held sit-ins in the transit authority offices. They got arrested. But four years later, they won and Denver is on its way to full access. [Bordered text box in center of page: “We created a drama and let it unfold . . .I guess we raised consciousness.”] The next year, APTA made the mistake of holding its convention in Denver. The target was too tempting for Atlantis to resist. Here was the personification of everything Atlantis opposed right on its step and begging to be hit. Atlantis formed a permanent transportation component call ADAPT. They organized confrontations around the convention and vowed to follow APTA everywhere until it passed ADAPT ’s resolution renouncing the lawsuit and the damage it did. These confrontations would also provide a focal point and a training ground for activists from other cities so they could form their own ADAPT chapters. Mike Auberger of Atlantis is a quadriplegic resulting from a bobsled accident during the 1972 Olympic time trials. “When we started ADAPT, we were a bunch of crazy nuts. A year later, we were a possibility. Now, we’re a reality. We started in one city and here we are about 20 cities. We must be selling something everybody needs.” The hope is that the feeling of self-importance that inspired the disabled of Denver will be as infectious in San Antonio and in cities all over America. ADAPT paved the way in San Antonio by creating a three-day headache for the police and transit authority and forcing them to take the issue very seriously. They also permanently etched the issue on the minds of the people of San Antonio with pictures on the front page of the newspaper of disabled people blocking APTA tour buses. “We created a drama and let it unfold,” Blank says. “I was talking to a reporter and I said, ‘I guess we raised consciousness.’ She said, ‘Boy did you! That’s all this town is talking about.’ ” “Now you can’t say that about too many political movements today.” But even if it doesn’t play in San Antonio, Auberger sees what happened there as another battle won. “Again we took on APTA and beat them. You’ve got this guy in a $300 suit and a designer tie with his initials and a soup stain on it. More and more people are starting to see APTA that way.” If success can be judged by police reaction, ADAPT is accomplishing a lot. Knowing ADAPT ’s penchant for blocking buses, the police routed buses away from areas with high ratios of wheelchair-users. They obviously did their homework by talking to police in other cities who had to deal with ADAPT. A television news report even told of how San Antonio police intelligence photographers were following ADAPT members around. And it’s clear that transit authorities are taking ADAPT very seriously too. The next target is Los Angeles, where APTA will hold its convention in October. ADAPT has obtained a copy of a private memo of the Southern California Rapid Transit District that speaks of the authority’s plans to spend $10,000 to $15,000 to “handle vast numbers of wheelchair bound people” who will be coming to town. “While confrontations cannot be stopped, they can be blunted.” It speaks of how the RTD is “searching for ways to diffuse or ward off demonstrations,” perhaps by pacifying everyone for a few days with a conference on accessible transit [ibid]. “Can we take control by creating a hospitality center for the handicapped?” the memo says. Who can resist such an opportunity. ADAPT is on its way.
ADAPT (19)
The Denver Post Tues. March 4, 1975 [Big Masthead: The Denver Post Founded on October 28, 1895 by F.G. Bonfils and H.H. Tammen Helen G. Bonfils, Officer and Director, 1933-72 "Dedicated in perpetuity to the service of the people, that no good cause shall lack a champion and that evil shall not thrive unopposed" Donald R Seawell, President, Chairman of the Board Charles R Buxton, Executive Vice President, Editor and Publisher Earl R Moore, Secretary-Treasurer William Hornby, Vice President, Executive Editor Robert H Shanahan, Vice President, General Manager] [Headline] The Post's Opinion [Subheading] A New Atlantis Is Born It didn't attract much attention. but the birth of the first phase of the Atlantis project is an event for rejoicing—as well as a warning for caution. A group of disabled persons in Denver, spurred to expectations of a better life by a new-found militancy, for some months now have been working to bring to to life a planned community in which handicapped persons could live a more normal life. This type of community, they hoped, would be free of confining nursing home atmospheres which so easily could make "vegetables" out of young patients without hope for anything more. Now, it has been announced, the first step toward that new independence has been successful. Within three months 14 disabled young persons will move from nursing homes into a cooperative apartment living situation in which they can receive the medical and supportive services they need in addition to the freedom they so desperately seek. The group will move into a renovated apartment complex called Las Casitas Homes at W. 11th Ave. and Federal Blvd. They will receive services and funding from a variety of sources. It is with a project such as this — perhaps unique in the nation — that disabled persons can find their level of dignity and productivity. For too long they have suffered through stereotyping which never realized their potential. However, the note of caution comes here: The participants in the program must be carefully screened so that those who take part can experience success in their new life styles; and those who are chosen must not reject the level of assistance that they still require in the headiness of their new freedom. If the commitment of all concerned is well established, the program should work and become a guiding light for other communities across the country.
ADAPT (18)
Essay [Headline] Whaddya Know, Something Gets Done [Subheading] The Handicapped Get Some Hope On Thursday, February 27, the Colorado Department of Social Services announced the granting of $14,500 to a group of the disabled for the purpose of altering seven public housing units at the Las Casitas housing project in Denver in order to accommodate the handicapped. Aside from the official glee about cooperation between the federal, state and local governments, the exciting element in the story is the force which about such cooperation. The force which brought city, state and federal governments into the Social Services Building for the announcement of this project was a group of the physically handicapped operating under the name "Atlantis." The group has been in formation and operation for over two years. During that time it has requested, cajoled, picketed and threatened the aforementioned governments. The governments met these repeated approaches with concern and disclaimers. The change which brought about the new project is traceable to continued pressure by the Atlantis group and changes in elected officials within the last five months. The key which unlocked the final door was the approval of Henry Foley as director of Social Services for the state. Within one week, the position of the State Social Services Department went from obfuscation to cooperation. The change was brought about by the approval of Foley. The purpose of Atlantis was not suited to the outlook of the state bureaucracy. Atlantis is not merely building housing. The housing is viewed as a tool to achieve self-sufficiency and dignity in the lives of the disabled. By establishing the housing which will achieve a physical presence for the community, Atlantis is hopeful of bringing enough abilities and skills together to achieve a completely independent life style to their members. The history of the treatment of handicapped young adults has been one of miserable failure. Generally, a young adult with a disabling physical handicap has been sent to a nursing home. These institutions are conceived as warehouses for the infirm. This approach has served profitably in the care of the terminally ill and the elderly. But young adults with active minds do not respond favorably to being treated as sides of beef. It must be understood that young adults are basically as alive as a worker, black, chicano or woman. As these deprived members of society have fought to be considered as human beings. so now the disabled are asking for complete membership in the human race. So, when a young paraplegic in a nursing home gets fed up with his life, he feels it is his right to go out and hoist a few to fuzz over his dissatisfaction. Imagine the reactions of a nursing home which is used to treating its patients as inmates when one of its tenants comes wheeling into the lobby at 2:00 a.m. singing nautical chants at the top of his lungs. The nursing home tends to view such a patient as a troublemaker instead of a young adult who has had an experiment blow up in his face. The response is generally to clamp down on opportunities rather than delight in the humanity of the patient. Atlantis is on the road to assembling a program which will allow its members to expand to their capacity. ln order to accomplish this goal. they require extensive aid from the rest of us. The program at the Las Casitas project involves health care as furnished by the West Side Neighborhood Health Center, the buildings as furnished by the Denver Housing Authority, transportation as will hopefully be furnished by the Regional Transportation District (although this program has been an unqualified joke), remodeling as furnished through State Social Services and welfare moneys as provided by the feds and state government. The state and federal governments presently spend about $500 per month for housing each handicapped person in nursing homes. Preliminary estimates show that this new and experimental program at Las Casitas will cost in the neighborhood of $350 per month. Even if costs were the same, the value of giving hope and dignity to the disabled would certainly justify the expenditure. Anonymous The writer has long been a critic of care for the handicapped, but wishes to remain anonymous in this instance for business reasons.