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Los Angeles was my first trip. It started with Bob Kafka inviting me to go on a ADAPT action, I remember it was in September of 1985. I thought we were going on a vacation to the beach and Disneyland. Little did I know we were going to a demonstration for the rights of disabled Americans to ride public transportation. I thought to myself “What the HELL did Bob get me into!”

I remember waking up early in the morning, lining up to march down city streets, converging on different locations where the conventions were being held and demonstrating about the indifference that they felt about making buses accessible.

As many people as possible would try to enter the building before the police would lock us out and arrest those inside. So we quickly moved to the intersections and rolled around the crosswalks to disrupt the rush hour traffic around the location. That made the police force and transit officials very aggravated. Mayhem is the word to explain what was going on. We knew what we were doing, but no one else did, it was great.

Later that night we gathered at the LA County jail for a cold night of a vigil to help those that had been taken there earlier. To let those folks know that they were not alone, we were still with them. Amazement is what I saw, all of these folks coming together for something so powerful, something that we all agreed upon “CAN YOU HEAR US ON THE INSIDE?”

The next day when everyone was out of jail we went to Long Beach. We staged ourselves at different locations around the city blocks. It was about four city blocks wide. At that point I thought it would be a great time to reflect and hand out leaflets of what we were there for and what we were fighting to achieve. At a set time, someone yelled the word “GO” and everyone that was around the city blocks, that were staged and ready to mobilize, rolled off the curbs and blocked the busses that were coming around the corner. We kept them there until the police appeared and started arresting people who wouldn’t move. Power, we showed our power.

LA, wow, what an adventure! I knew then that I could say that experience was either going to make me, or break me for the actions to come. I had decided that LA was my first and last ADAPT protest… Well here we sit 23 years later.

I arrived late Saturday evening about 5:30 pm. It was already getting dark and Babs Johnson met me. It was getting cold too. Mike Auberger and Babs got me in the van and took me to the hotel where I shared a room with 3 other guys that were there for the same purpose. One of my roommates name was Shel Trapp. He was a very interesting man with a very baldhead that contained a lot of knowledge and understanding of the goal we were there to achieve.

We woke up the next morning early to freezing Cincinnati. We met in the hotel conference room to go over the agenda for the day and have breakfast. I chose to pass on breakfast because I was so excited to begin our protest. This was my first ADAPT National Action. I had flown from Utah by myself for it.

My favorite part of the action was when ADAPT ran circles around the hotel until the cops put up metal barricades. Every time I went around I hit their barricades and “oinked” like a pig. I wanted them to be aware of me. They might not have understood other things I was saying, but they sure understood “oink”.

I was asked if I was willing to get arrested blocking cars. I was! I was ready and excited to get arrested. I had made up my mind before I left Utah that I would get arrested! After my arrest, the Judge let me go; me and other people he couldn’t understand. I told the Judge to “Fuck Off” a couple of times. That he understood. I know he understood, I said it loud enough and everyone else in the courtroom understood. Looking back, I don’t know why the Judge didn’t charge me with contempt.

People were still in jail when we hung the big wooden cross with a wheelchair on it. I was right next to it and thought it was cool. I was not offended, I thought it was a good idea I knew it would get people’s attention. The chair represented people being crucified in nursing homes and dying there. People passing by didn’t understand initially and were offended. They were offended but it made them think and that was the whole point.

The last day of the action I got my picture taken and was in the newspaper. The picture showed two cops trying to stop me. They tried sticking a nightstick between my wheels, and that worked for a little bit, but then Wade came to my rescue. Being the big man that he was, he told the cops something that made them remove the nightstick. I don’t remember what he said, just that the cops listened to him. Then a lady cop got in my way and I tried to go around her. I finally said to hell with it and went forward. Before I knew it I felt her foot under my wheels. I think I made a mistake; I didn’t mean to hit her, I just wanted to get by her.

I told Wade on the last day that I wanted go on more actions with him and right then I decided someday I would move to Denver. It took me ten years to make up my mind but now I live in Denver and I am a homeowner. I live a happy life; not perfect but it’s getting there.

Ah Detroit. I loved going places where I have a history.

Detroit Tigers baseball was a first for me as a little kid from deep in the piney woods of East Texas in the ‘50s.

And here we were in Motor City to do “battle” with Jack Gilstrap and the American Public Transit Association, which for our ADAPT folks was the “evil empire”!

But, Detroit was also a city with a history of struggle – unions and civil rights! And, it was the city of Coleman Young, Mayor and civil rights icon. And of that most beloved lady of the first bus fight in Montgomery, Alabama, Mrs. Rosa Parks.

I was psyched to know that Mayor Young and Mrs. Parks were in Detroit and that Mrs. Parks had indicated she would march with us for accessible public transit.

Wow, was I wrong!

Not only did Mayor Young treat us like a second-class stepchild with his authoritarian approach to protecting APTA conventioneers, he tried to shut down the transit system where it couldn’t be shown for what it was – a public financed piece of crap! There were more “jack-booted” type of cops for a hundred-plus ADAPT freedom fighters than I could have imagined, armed and ready for the “crips”.

One situation I remember particularly well was in front of APTA’s towering convention building, replete with the typical steel-barrier walls separating the abused from the abusers, with a line of Detroit’s finest – big, powerfully-built with silvered-sun glasses – between us and them. One, in particular, must have been 6’4” and 200-plus pounds of physical perfection. I tried to talk, but he was stone silent; then, about 10 minutes later I finally said, “Well, man I guess you think we’re not human.”, and he almost fell down. I’m sure as a black man he had heard that before. He said, “That ain’t it; they told us to keep quiet and keep our distance.”

As we always found out in our battles with APTA, the cops were usually on our side as all too often they had friends and/or family with disabilities.

My biggest disappointment was when CBS’s Ed Bradley “drank the Kool-Aid” and lined up with the oppressors, and probably had a direct hand, along with Mayor Young, in keeping Mrs. Parks from marching with us. It stunned me to see first hand Bradley speaking at the APTA convention and putting us down; I wondered how he put that shoe on his other foot? And Mayor Young trying the Southern tactics on ADAPT, without the dogs and water cannons, with “his” police force. Made me wonder if the “white” Youngs and Bradleys in the racist community awoke with a smile.

And, I clearly remember preparing to bring Marcos, one of my close friends from El Paso, to Detroit by spending over an hour with his mother talking about “la lucha para los derechos” – the fight for rights in my “best” border Spanish.

And, the ‘not-to-be-forgotten’ incident when the cops wouldn’t allow me to use the restroom and I was forced to go to a hideaway, using Frank and Frazier as ‘lookouts’. However, the rookie female cop didn’t see it that way and provided me with a “day at the gym” with about 15 other cops, with whom I had a good laugh and cheap seats for watching the World Series. Mike later said that the issue was just too embarrassing for the Chief of Police to charge me.

All things considered, it was another devastating realization of just how stacked the system is against the abused and how the powerful have bought their way into the system to keep the “costs” down. As per normal, ADAPT never, never gives up! And not only “We Will Ride”, but “We Do Ride!” despite the best paid efforts of government and APTA!

Lockdown at the DOT

About 200 Americans with Disabilities for Accessible Public Transportation (ADAPT) activists, took direct action for social change in Washington DC, 1987. Our demand was for the Department of Transportation (DOT) to lose their local option rule and make all future bus purchases lift equipped because separate is not equal. We put our voices together on our way to the target, chanting “We Will Ride… We Will Ride…”

Shell Trap says: “Penetrate and Hold.”

Some of us got into the DOT and some were locked out by security guards hired to keep the peace and protect the property of the state. We shut them down, chaining ourselves to the doors with kryptonite locks and lobbied the public with flyers. We kept up the chant, “We Will Ride.”

I will always remember Ken Hurd doing spontaneous theatre to dramatize the issue. From outside, he faced gawking employees blocked inside and humped the sky howling like a CP Kachina spirit dancer singing in harmony with his fate on homes row. “We Are Here! We Are Here! WE ARE ALWAYS HERE!”

Jim Parker asked me if I could spell him on lockdown while he relieved himself. I was just four years blind, with a new dog guide Frazier; I said: “Hell Yes.” It was my time in seat of power, it was a huge rush.

The Secretary of Housing wouldn’t talk. We decided to hold our positions as long as we could. Our people inside were denied access to restrooms and runners were not allowed to deliver hamburgers. While outside we feasted on McDonalds, relieving ourselves wherever we could and settling down for a long cold night. Wade Blank told me that it is very important to keep separate our intentions and our expectations.

It got quiet and colder. I don’t think any of us were prepared for the record breaking thirteen-degree spring night in DC. People from the Homeless Coalition, Justin and Yoshiko Dart responded to Wade’s pay phone calls for help with hot soup, coffee and blankets. Runners heaped the blankets over Doris Ray, Jim and I huddled at one of the entrances. Some hardcore members sat up all night. An older woman named Edith slept under a cardboard box in the flowerbed. She was a double amputee and needed to keep off her peach size bed sores.

Frazier had a box and a rug too. It was cold… cold…

When morning came we had to move. Wade said: “We need to raise people with disabilities’ expectations.” I remember rousing from semi-consciousness, disoriented and wondering if this is how paralysis feels. I was forcing my numb, frozen joints to move; unable to feel the ground beneath me on my way to block buses in the street. Since that lockdown at the DOT, I feel only respect for the endurance and determination that our brothers and sisters with disabilities demonstrate every day.

No Pity!

Gracias ADAPT

Ometeotl

Phoenix is the home to world-class hotels and resorts, fine dining, exhilarating adventure, breath-taking golf courses, trendy shopping, modern night-life and enriching culture. It’s also the home to a transit system that only has 36 accessible buses out of a fleet of over 300 and no plans to become 100% accessible.

Day 1
We organized 2 actions. First, we welcomed APTA members and their spouses to Phoenix by forming a gauntlet at Sky Harbor Airport. That night, it was off to Rustlers Rooste. Rustler’s Rooste is located 15 minutes from downtown. The legend goes that the original site, atop a butte in the foothills of South Mountain, was a hideout for cattle rustlers. Today, it is Arizona’s Legendary Cowboy Steakhouse, also serves rattle snake. It provides an unparalleled view of the city lights. That night, APTA members and their spouses couldn’t hide and they had a view of us. We blocked the roads and main entrances. All the chartered buses had to be re-routed and APTA guests had to walk. Tom Olin, his first full action, took plenty of pictures, women with high hill shoes and businessmen in suits walking up and down a dirt mountain path.

Days 2-5
The first action was at the Hyatt, headquarters to the Convention. In those days we’d roll back and forth, not enough of us to take all the entrances and exits. Several of us also started blocking buses at the major transit exchange. When the police would pull one of us off, another one would take our place. Fifteen activists and I got arrested and transported to a general prison pod. It’d been freshly painted. Once they found out some of us needed bowel programs, we were shipped to the prison infirmary and confined to individual cells.

Rigid schedule, nothing to do or nobody to talk to, I looked forward to the daily visit by the library cart. Mike Auberger killed time in his cell by counting the holes in the ceiling tiles. In the beginning I was a little freaked out by the isolation, but everyday Wade, our friendly clergy (just another hat that he wore), would visit and update us. His hardest task was explaining to my wife why I wasn’t going to get home when expected.

While we were in, folks on the outside repeatedly hit the Hyatt and disrupted a spouses lunch function in the Biltmore Estates area, 76 people were arrested.

Friday
Most folks had already gone home. Wade appears with the good news: we’re being released. The story of our efforts had gone national. The City of Phoenix was brought to its knees.

Kudos
This was the first action were the transit officials and media called us PROFESSIONAL protestors. All in all it was a great action; it exploited the rationale of local option. APTA members and their spouses experienced barriers and the public became more aware. Richard (Bob) Michael’s, ABIL (local ILC), Executive Director, wrote that there had been more public discussion in 5 days than there had been in 5 years. In addition the Mayor made a public statement supporting lifts on all new buses.

I remember in 1984, when ADAPT was made up of only 35 people. In San Francisco, we gained more members. When I arrived in San Francisco, it was hot, and hilly. We did not think we could make it up and down the big hills to get to buses and trolleys to block them. We planned on blocking them as a form of protest to push for ramps on all public transportation all around the country for all of our brothers and sisters with disabilities to be able to ride with able-bodied people. Blocking buses is what ADAPT was good at. At that time if someone had a disability they were considered second-class citizens to the bus industry.

At the time of the San Francisco protest against the American Public Transportation Association (APTA) in 1987, ADAPT consisted of approximately 500 members. APTA thought that they could hold us back. APTA was friends with the Mayor of San Francisco, who tried to make it difficult for ADAPT to get to APTA to present our agenda. The Reverend Wade Blank was an active participant in over three decades of political organizing. He thought like the Reverend Martin Luther King when it came to civil disobedience. He taught others how to create and record their own destiny.

A brilliant strategist, Wade Blank helped shape the tide of the disability rights movement. The disability rights movement was like the black movement in the 60’s. If an individual who used a wheelchair did not have access to buses all around the cities or the country, ADAPT would follow APTA all around the country or if they met out of the country we were there to get all transportation accessible for all people in this free country.

On the first day we went to the San Francisco City Hall, 500 people stretching the six blocks through the hills of San Francisco. On arriving at City Hall, we surrounded the building, APTA members would not get in without an ADAPT welcome, and it was a welcome they would long remember. Chanting, “Access is a Civil Right” we linked arms and APTA was forced to climb over our wheelchairs.

I remember APTA members tried to exit through the back entrance but we pushed big trashcans to block the exit.

On the second day, we went on the street to do what ADAPT is best known for, stopping buses. I remember we had to watch the bus drivers in San Francisco, because if the driver saw a wheelchair they thought we would stop right in front of the bus. Protesters almost got hit in San Francisco to get the rights to ride with our brothers and sisters.

People questioned why we did not want special transportation. We are not special, we are disabled and we do not need door-to-door service. The protesters felt empowered to push for what they previously thought they could not do. ADAPT showed the disability community they had the right to ride all public transportation in all communities.

ADAPT wanted access to all types of transportation. APTA was the governing body for bus transportation, which was where our initial focus lay. Instead of providing lifts for the buses, APTA provided air conditioning. ADAPT had been working on accessible public transportation for four long years. We wanted to meet with Jack Gilstrap, the President of APTA. He thought ADAPT was a military organization and that if he met with us, we would kill him. When we did meet with him, we blocked him in from all sides. He could not go anywhere, until we let him out.

ADAPT did not lose our focus for our right to ride the buses with all people. Not all people agreed with our tactic but now we have the right to use public transportation. If we had given up, the disability population would have had nothing to show, but by persevering, we gained.

The collectible item of ADAPT apparel for this action was a red and white headband that said: ADAPT met APTA in St. Louis. It was spring 1988, one of our last actions targeting the gatherings of the American Public Transit Association.

This action sticks in my memory because of the comic overreaction of the police. A television news report announcing our coming said police were conducting bomb sweeps in the rooms of APTA’s hotel. We later learned that the police did this at APTA’s behest.

Every time an ADAPT vehicle left the hotel, even to go to the drug store, it was followed by police. As we lined up to begin our marches, police helicopters hovered above.

I remember I was one of those arrested for refusing to disperse from a corridor near where APTA types were meeting. The blind man next to me was told by police that if he was arrested his dog would be sent to the pound and he probably wouldn’t get it back. So, very reluctantly, he dispersed.

They transported all us arrestees to a police lockup and during the processing they did something I’ve never seen police do before or since. They took blood samples. When one guy refused to submit to that he was held down and blood was drawn forcibly. I was among the many others who refused after that. They told us to line up so they could force us all one-by-one later. But so many refused that the police gave up on the drawing blood idea. Our lawyers later filed a lawsuit.

They kept us overnight. We slept in a roomful of cots. They gave us Ziploc bags full of toiletries. The toothpaste tube was white with no label. The watery toothpaste dripped through the bristles of the brush. As I brushed my teeth I spit out bristles. The brush handle was practically bald when I finished. They fed us the standard issue bologna sandwiches — a single slice of bologna smashed between to slices of cottony white bread.

On Tuesday we hit the Greyhound station. Somehow we slipped through the police dragnet and blocked off the St. Louis bus station. After a standoff, an irate, liquored up, stranded passenger stormed out of the terminal. “I’m sick of this shit!’ he barked and he began yanking on wheelchairs. E.T., an African American guy from Denver, resisted by holding tight to his wheels. So the furious drunken guy wrapped his hands around E.T.’s throat and shook him. The police pounced, ripped the guy away and arrested him.

The next day, as we prepared to leave town, there was a newspaper picture of E.T. parked in front of a Greyhound bus and being strangled. And the police commander dropped by our hotel to shake our hands and wish us well. He congratulated and thanked us for conducting a well-organized, nonviolent protest.