Helping Veterans--And Everyone--With Disabilites

Today is Veterans' Day here in the US.  I don't know what I could say to, or about, veterans that isn't a platitude at best.  What I can say, though, is that I am pro-veteran precisely because I am anti-war. It's a disgrace to see a former service member living under an overpass and, honestly, the kind of health care, physical and mental, that too many veterans get--or don't get.

What I say is especially true of disabled veterans.  Even those whose immediate needs are being met by the Veterans' Administration and other organizations often face other challenges, especially in terms of mobility.  That difficulty in getting around is not just an inconvenience or a destroyer of pleasure; it also deters too many veterans (and other disabled people) from employment, education and the means of obtaining and maintaining health.  

Although Chesterfield, Virginia resident James Howard's paralysis wasn't a result of his service in the 82nd Airborne Division, the retired US Army Ranger understands just how important mobility is. He was given a recumbent bicycle adapted to his needs after his diving accident.  That inspired him to "give back," he says, by advocating for fellow veterans and people with disabilities.  

He has also helped in a more concrete way by launching REACHcycles.  To date, it has provided over 600 adaptable three-wheeled bikes to disabled veterans, children and other folks. Recipients have included a triple amputee as well as a blind child.  Those bikes allow their riders to go to jobs and schools to which they might not otherwise have access. (I am thinking now of a man I knew, now gone, who couldn't get a drivers' license because of his lack of peripheral vision.  He could, however, ride his bike to work.)  They also help, especially the kids, to prevent other health problems:  Disabled people often become obese and develop diabetes and other degenerative conditions as a result of their physical inactivity.  

So, being the pro-veteran person I am, I want to say that the Veterans' Administration and other relevant government entities (and insurance companies) should pay folks like James Howard--and the folks who build and adapt the bikes he provides--for their services.  And, of course, provide them with anything else they need for their physical and mental health.      

What We Can See Because of Ken Bukowski

During a conversation with an acquaintance of mine, I mentioned that I served as a "captain" on tandem rides for the blind and visually impaired.

This acquaintance, who makes workplaces ADA-compliant, wasn't surprised.  "Really, the only thing a visually-impaired, or even a blind, person can do that you or I can't is to drive a car," she declared.

Still, I must admit that of the ways one can become disabled, losing my sight is the one I fear most.  Even after hearing my acquaintance's words, and similar claims from others who are, or who work with people who are, visually impaired, I have a difficult time imagining how I would do almost anything I do now without my sight.

Certainly, I don't know how I'd ride (except, of course, on the back of a tandem) or how I might have worked as a bike mechanic. There are, however, people who have assembled and fixed bikes without the ability to see.

From The Buffalo News

One of them was Ken Bukowski.  Until September, he'd worked at Shickluna Bikes and Darts in Buffalo, New York.  For more than three decades, he assembled and repaired bikes, and gave customers lessons on how to shift gears and ride safely.  He was so good at all of these things that some customers were unaware, at first, that he was blind.  According to shop owner Tom Pallas, "many times he steered us to a missing tool because he heard where we had set it down."

Left sightless from a gunshot wound to the head at age 24, Bukowski went to the Blind Association of Western New York (now the Olmsted Center for Sight) to learn how to type.  Soon, he was enrolled in the Association's pilot program for bike repair.  When he completed that training, the Association convinced Pallas to hire him.

They worked--and-- rode together.  In fact, they pedaled the Five Borough Bike Tour on a tandem in 1987.  The thing that made him a good rider is probably the same thing that made him a good mechanic:  "concentration", according to Pallas. 

In addition to fixing bikes, riding and organizing rides, Bukowski did other things people don't normally associate with the blind:  bowling, skydiving and cooking. About the latter, his wife, Elaine Filer, said that because he didn't work much during the winter, by the time she got home from work "he'd have almost the whole dinner prepared."  

She was not the only one to benefit from his culinary skills:  For many years, he also volunteered as a cook at the Little Portion Friary, a homeless shelter in Buffalo.

He finally stopped working at the shop because of his bout with cancer, which claimed his life on 11 November.  He was 65.  Whether or not you think he lived a long life, you can't deny this:  He left an example. That, certainly, is something any of us, regardless of our abilities or disabilities, can do. 

Adapting By Bicycle

I have never ridden a recumbent bicycle.  Perhaps I will one day.  My major concern with them is visibility, especially as I do much of my riding in heavily-trafficked urban areas.

I do, however, see the value of them.  Some claim they are more efficient and comfortable.  Certainly, I can see the value of them for some people with physical ailments and disabilities.

That point became clearer to me after an article I read about a ride to raise funds for disabled veterans.  

On Sunday, normally-abled cyclists joined their disabled peers on the Two Top Adaptive Sports Foundation's inaugural Bike for Disabled Vets fundraiser.  Among them were Igor and Olga Titovets of North Potomac, Maryland.  They pedaled along the Western Maryland Rail Trail--she with her legs, he with her arms.

His legs are in braces.  This means that, while he can use a foot-powered recumbent bicycle, it is difficult for him to climb hills with it.  Instead, he rides a model powered by his arms.

Igor Titovets

Titovets' participation in the event is emblematic of the ride's purpose, and Two Top's work.  The non-profit Foundation, based in Mercersburg, Pennsylvania, provides disabled veterans and their families lessons in adaptive sports like cycling, skiing and water skiing. The lessons are by reservation, and the group has a fleet of 22 bicycles.

They are, of course, recumbent, because that is pretty much the only kind of bike that can be adapted to hand power.  Plus, it can be adapted in other configurations to accommodate people with a wide variety of disabilities.

  

David and Jo Ann Bachand

The Titovets' participation--and that of another couple, David and Jo Ann Bachand--underscores another important point:  that adaptive bicycles can help disabled veterans--whose population has grown with the ongoing war in Afghanistan and the Iraq invasion--cope with their disabilities.  By extension, cycling and other adaptive sports can also help them cope with their post-military lives:  Some of them had been in uniform practically from the day they left school.

So He Can Live His Life

I was talking with the director of an organization that helps people with disabilities. She'd come to the college, where I was teaching at the time, to recruit soon-to-graduate students looking for jobs as well as volunteers.  During the course of our conversation, she mentioned that part of her organization's work involved workforce development.

She explained that, once on the job, people with disabilities--whether intellectual, emotional or physical--are no more likely to be absent or have other issues than non-disabled people in the workplace.  "In fact, they often are better"  because "their jobs mean more to them" she told me.

The hardest thing, according to her, is getting them into the workplace.  I thought she was referring to notions prospective employers might have about disabled people.  Those indeed exist, but the biggest difficulty is actually getting them to the workplace.  "They lack transportation," she explained.

Her organization is based here in New York City.  One would think that in a city like this, with all of its mass transportation, one could find his or her way to the job.  But even here, there are "transportation deserts" where the subways don't go and there are few or no bus lines.  Those areas include most of Staten Island as well as the outer parts of the other boroughs--even Manhattan. It's even difficult to get a taxi or Uber car in those areas--assuming, of course, the person needing transportation could afford either.

If transportation can be such a barrier in the Big Apple, it's worse in suburban and rural areas--in fact, most of the United States outside of the coastal metropoli and Chicago--where there is little or no public transportation and people are likely to commute greater distances.  If someone doesn't have a car, or can't drive, getting to work can be daunting, if not nearly impossible.

Having a disability makes it more likely for someone not to have a car or to be unable to drive.  (I used to know someone, in fact, who wasn't allowed to drive because he was classified as "legally blind" due to his lack of peripheral vision. He could--and did--ride a bicycle to work.)  That means either not getting a job or very long walks to work.

Jonathan Clouse with his new bike in front of his workplace.

The latter describes Jonathan Clouse's situation.  It took the 19-year-old an hour to walk to or from his job at an Applebee's restaurant in Burlington, Iowa.  He never told any of his co-workers, but one day Jerry Woodsmall, a cook at the restaurant, saw him walking in--soaked, after trudging through a thunderstorm.  

He spread word about Clouse, and he and his fellow employees pitched in to buy him a bicycle and helmet. For them, it was as much an expression of how they feel about him as anything else: "We all like Jonathan, and I think everyone deserves a chance at working," explained his boss, Lisa Gosney.

He is grateful for the opportunity--and the bike--which, he says, have opened up a new world for him.  "Why would anyone want a job?  So they can live their life," he said.

And his bike will help him with both.

Because They Are Able

The Place de la Concorde is one of the world's most impressive public squares.  The first time I saw it, however, I tried to imagine it "covered with blood," as more than one writer of the time described it, as members of the French nobility and royal family were guillotined.

I have seen other beautiful places with terrible histories.  Sometimes their histories make their beauty all the more wonderful, in much the way lilacs are (and smell even better) because they bud and bloom at the end of winter.  

(Last week, I clipped some that were growing in a lot near the RFK Memorial Bridge.  They're some of the latest I recall picking or buying, and their scent was all the more intoxicating because it seemed our winter simply would not end.)

All of this brings me to Elliot Lake, Ontario.  It's in the northern part of the Canadian province, above Lake Huron.  I've never been there, but the photos I've seen are enticing.  I hear that people go there for outdoor sports--or to retire.

Not so long ago, however, it was known as the "uranium capital of the world."  Just about any kind of mining is dangerous to the miners and the place being mined:  All you have to do is look at parts of West Virginia and Southeastern Colorado to know that.  The Elliott Lake area is no exception.  Though it doesn't seem to have suffered the environmental devastation some mining areas incurred, plenty of miners and other workers were injured, disabled or even killed while doing their jobs--not to mention those who got sick from uranium poisoning.  

Well, today some cyclists are going to set off from Elliot Lake and ride 170 kilometers to two other former mining centers in Ontario:  Massey and Sudbury.  What's interesting about this ride is that some of the cyclists were themselves injured or made ill on their jobs.  Friends and family members will ride with them, in part to support injured workers, but also to protest the cuts in benefits paid to such workers.