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Column title: PEOPLE WHO MAKE A DIFFERENCE Photo: A downward shot of Wade Blank standing with his hands clasped. He has his signature long hair and tinted glasses and is wearing an anorak. Someone is partially visible behind Wade. Caption reads: Wade Blank dedicated almost 20 years of his life to fighting for civil rights for people with disabilities. The members of ADAPT - the disability rights organization Blank founded - will continue the battle in his memory. Title: A True Activist Wade Blank was raised in Canton, OH, where he learned to be a Cleveland Browns football fan. a condition that caused him great pain throughout his life. He earned the equivalent of a doctoral degree in theology from McCormick Seminary in Chicago, where he was ordained a Presbyterian minister. After seven years as a minister, he decided to take a year off for “human service" and became an orderly in a nursing home. His experiences there with young adults with disabilities led him to establish the second independent living center in the nation in 1975—the Atlantis Community. Wade Blank dedicated almost 20 years of his life to fighting for civil rights for people with disabilities. The members of ADAPT—the disability rights organization Blank founded will continue the battle in his memory. Blanks first years in his efforts to win civil rights for people who have disabilities were spent eliminating attitudinal and architectural barriers in Denver. Beginning with l2 young adults with disabilities who were placed in a nursing home for lack of any other options, Blank led them on an exodus into their own homes in the community, where he successfully persuaded the legislature to fund needed personal care assistance outside an institution for the first time. Since then, the Atlantis Community has liberated more than 900 people with severe disabilities from institutions and other sheltered settings and provides the services and support they require to maintain themselves in the community. Once the people of Atlantis entered the "free world," they found that society was completely unprepared to include them. So Blank and his friends set off to integrate Denver. The public buses they needed were inaccessible to wheelchairs. Blank led training sessions and actions that escalated from addressing the transit board to civil disobedience, blocking the buses people with disabilities couldn't ride. This seven-year campaign resulted in a 100% accessible bus system that offers affordable, self determined transportation to over 30,000 riders with disabilities in the area, and it developed an assertive group of people who vowed to fight for and win full and equal rights in their society. As the reputation of Denver as the most accessible city in the nation spread, activists from every state began to call for advice and help. ln1983, Blank founded ADAPT (American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit) as a training project. The dramatic actions of ADAPT members have generated publicity that has raised awareness of disability rights throughout the nation, trained over 1,200 activists in the “fire” of civil disobedience, and provided the political muscle behind the Americans with Disabilities Act. When the right to access to public transit was won in 1990, ADAPT’s name was changed to American Disabled for Attendant Programs Today. The new focus is on winning a federal mandate and funding for personal assistance services for every person with a disability in the nation who needs such help to live independently. Blank and his son Lincoln drowned on February 15, 1993, off the Baja Coast. The people of ADAPT will continue the struggle for this essential victory in their memories until all Americans with disabilities have the opportunity to choose to live independent lives. —By Molly Blank
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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
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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.