Month: April 2008

Road to Danger


By Mark E. Smith

I’ve been reading posts on the WheelchairJunkie message board by users asserting their rights to use their wheelchairs along the shoulders of roadways, as “pedestrians” – and it reads to me as a troubling argument, where based on pedestrian accident statistics and remaining social barriers of inaccessible sidewalks and transit systems, we should advocate getting wheelchair users off of roads, not on them.

Technically, throughout the U.S., a wheelchair user is a pedestrian, able to travel where pedestrians travel. For some, this includes traveling down the shoulders of roadways when sidewalks aren’t available. Of course, as experienced by some posters on the message board, ignorance remains toward disability and wheelchair use, where some with disabilities have expressed being stopped by the police for using their wheelchairs “in the street,” provoking the wish of some to seek legal protection so that they can continue using their wheelchairs along roadways when needed.

What’s occurred to me in reading the discussions is that while many wheelchair users are quick to tout their rights as pedestrians on roadways, none mention personal safety and responsibility, where just because one can or needs to use a wheelchair along roadways doesn’t mean that the activity is prudent.

The fact is, automobiles occupy the road, and the minute that a pedestrian ventures into the proximity of vehicular traffic, extreme awareness and caution must be taken. While a pedestrian may have every right of way, it still doesn’t discount the fact that pedestrians who use wheelchairs are regularly struck and killed by automobiles in this country, frequently reported in news stories.

According to the National Center for Statistics and Analysis, whenever pedestrians interact with roadways, there’s potential danger, to the toll of 1 pedestrian death every 108 minutes in the U.S. Additionally, the facts show that placing oneself outside of normal pedestrian patterns – such as outside of crosswalks – skyrockets the risk of an accident, with 75% of pedestrian-vehicle accidents occurring at non-intersections.

Interestingly, I’ve read wheelchair users stating that they travel on the shoulders of roadways even when there are accessible sidewalks because it’s safer, that the bumps and slopes of sidewalks can be dangerous. Statistically, nothing is farther from the truth. In 2001, while 4,461 pedestrians were killed on roadways, none were killed on sidewalks by roadway vehicles according to statistics. Sure, some who use wheelchairs say that a rough sidewalk could cause a wheelchair to tip, resulting in injury; however, such odds are so small that they’re a non-statistic, especially for a wheelchair-sidewalk related death. Put simply, pedestrians using wheelchairs on roadways are unquestionably at risk, but not so on sidewalks – that is, the safest place for a pedestrian, wheelchair or not, is on a sidewalk.  (And, it’s illegal in most states for a pedestrian to travel along a roadway when a sidewalk is available.)

Similarly to using sidewalks, pedestrians dramatically increase safety by simply obeying intersection laws, crossing in crosswalks, namely when the light gives the pedestrian the right of way (again, 75% of all pedestrian fatalities occur at non-intersections, so crossing at controlled intersections dramatically increases safety). And, traveling during daylight hours also reduces the risk of pedestrian accidents, where 66% of pedestrian fatalities occur at night, between 6 pm and 6 am.

Still, some pedestrians who use wheelchairs have no choice but to travel down the shoulder of a road or cross at non-intersections, as there are no sidewalks or crossings, a disconcerting reality. Advocates blame this dangerous fact on poor infrastructure, with not enough governmental attention to sidewalks or accessible transportation. Yet, with 4 million miles of paved roads in the U.S., we will never have coast-to-coast sidewalks or transportation, where pedestrians will always have to interact with roadways at some point. In this way, it’s vital that, no matter the right of way, pedestrians who use wheelchairs lookout for themselves to the best of their abilities when interacting with roadways.

When one finds oneself in a situation where there’s no sidewalk, one should be smart about it, taking all necessary precautions to travel as safely as possible. One should stay as far as possible outside of the flow of traffic; one should wear blaze-colored safety clothing to dramatically call drivers’ attention; one should fly an orange flag to increase the wheelchair’s visibility; and, one should avoid inherently dangerous roads and situations altogether. Yes, a pedestrian may have the right of way; however, one should still take whatever steps possible to ensure one’s own safety above all else.

I write on this topic from great personal experience, having spent 31 years as a pedestrian using a wheelchair, including using my wheelchair to get back and forth to work till this very day – and I know the pitfalls and hazards, from no sidewalks to drivers running red lights. However, I’ve dedicated myself to not becoming a statistic, where I strive to take every precaution possible to stay safe. If there’s a sidewalk, I’m on it; and, if there’s a crosswalk, I use it. I wear a blaze-orange safety coat, and I fly a safety flag. And, I never assume for a second that being on the road is in my favor, even when I have the right of way. I know that the law does not ultimately prevent pedestrian accidents, it merely assigns liability, and I have no interest in being on the winning side of the law after being hit by a car; rather, my goal is to not get struck in th first place.

From these perspectives, fighting to allow pedestrians who use wheelchairs increased access to roadways truly defeats safety and accessibility. I agree that it’s unrealistic to assume that no one with a disability ever has to travel down the shoulder of a road out of necessity – the reality is that some have to, where there are no sidewalks, and they shouldn’t be hassled by the police if traveling with prudence. However, one’s recognizing necessity is a lot different than literally advocating wheelchair use on roadways for the sake of “personal liberty,” as suggested by some. As a result, what we really need to do is fight to keep wheelchair users off of roadways by advocating increased access to sidewalks and transportation, encouraging our peers to stay safe through logical channels, to not become the latest tragic news story.

Indeed, when there’s no sidewalk or accessible transportation on our local routes, let us not pursue the right to use our wheelchairs on dangerous roadways; but, instead, let us assert ourselves with City Hall that there needs to be more sidewalks and transit services to keep us safe and independent in our local communities. That is, as pedestrians who use wheelchairs, let us fight for safety through accessible sidewalks and transportation, not seek the skewed right to become roadway fatality statistics in the name of personal liberty.

It Gets You There


By Mark E. Smith

We’re heading toward the end of another school year, and college graduates across this great country are asking themselves the same question: I have my degree – now what do I do?

For some graduates, it’s a question of not knowing where to start on their career path, while others may know precisely what they want to achieve, needing to merely choose from several terrific opportunities. All graduates, however, share a common position at the moment of graduation: They possess the tools and promise needed to achieve a remarkable future if they pursue it.

Wheelchairs, likewise, serve as empowered tools of promise in our lives. A wheelchair acts as a key that can unlock one’s future, a vehicle that gives one access to opportunity, a rolling degree of sorts that affords one the ability to achieve a remarkable future if one wishes to pursue it.

And, yet, it forever amazes me that more people don’t realize the promise that their wheelchairs offer, that some choose to view their wheelchairs as reasons why they can’t pursue many aspects of life:

“I’m not even bothering to look for a job because I know that no one will hire someone who uses a wheelchair like me.”

“I could never join the church choir – my wheelchair would make me stick out too much.”

“I couldn’t imagine being a parent – I could never handle a baby from my wheelchair.”

These are the thoughts that some have. And, here’s a reality check: Such negative outlooks toward using a wheelchair are not only self-serving – after all, if one follows such thinking, one never has to make any effort in life – but, they’re also entirely self-defeating, preventing any opportunities for success.

What some don’t realize is that a wheelchair actually removes many of our limitations – and, ultimately, excuses – making us increasingly accountable for our successes and failures. And, that’s an empowering realization, in that a wheelchair fosters an undeniable sense of self-determination in our lives, that if we can dream it – and are willing to apply ourselves – our wheelchairs are prepared to take us as far as we seek.

Truly, a wheelchair remarkably removes the foremost obstacle in our life – the lack of mobility – granting us an incredible level of opportunity for our taking in education, employment, community involvement, and relationships. But, like a graduate with a degree, it’s up to us to make the most of our wheelchairs, to answer the question, what will I do with it?

Sure, despite the opportunity that our wheelchairs create, there are still other obstacles in our lives. For example, social stigmas remain, where some will put up road blocks for us based on their own skewed, negative perceptions about wheelchairs and disability. Yet, a wheelchair even goes as far as freeing us from many of those seeming limitations, as well, by allowing us to continually seek new opportunities when others don’t workout.

And, that’s the astounding nature of a wheelchair: It allows us to consistently seek new opportunities, to literally roll up to doors and knock. And, if someone closes the door on us – and some will, no matter our qualifications or tact – that same wheelchair will take us to fifty more doors, finding those that open. In this way, a wheelchair is an amazing tool of promise and opportunity, one that should inspire us to rid our excuses, push our boundaries, and grow our lives, propelling us full-speed toward education, employment, community involvement, and relationships.

I’m reminded of a conversation that I had after I spoke at a conference recently, where a young woman came up to me and explained that, in using her wheelchair, she’d never have such courage to roll onto stage, that she was inspired not only by the messages of my talk, but by my confidence to simply get up in front of 300 people and perform.

With a mischievous smile, I teased her that I had no intention of giving the keynote address that day, but that I was simply in the habit of following wheelchair ramps – and when I followed the ramp located on the left of the banquet room, I unwittingly landed on stage, with no choice but to just start talking!

In actuality, there’s a lot of truth to that tale, where I do believe in simply pursuing the ramps – read that, opportunities – placed before me. If my wheelchair will get me there, I believe that I have an obligation to myself, my family, and my community to live up to the promise that it presents, following my opportunities as far as I can – that is, my wheelchair removes many reasons and excuses why I shouldn’t pursue making a difference in the world to my fullest potential.

I know, contrary to my view, it’s a lot easier to look at our wheelchairs as reasons why we can’t succeed. In fact, it takes no effort at all. What’s more, we can even find support for such a self-defeating position, where if we tell people that we are disabled, that we use a wheelchair, many will buy into outdated cultural stereotypes about those with disabilities, allowing us to use our wheelchairs as 1,001 reasons why we can’t do this or that, why we can’t succeed. Indeed, doing little with our wheelchairs – with our lives – is so easy to justify.

But, the minute that we solve the equation properly, understanding that a wheelchair isn’t a variable, but a solution, we begin succeeding in the course of life. Like a college degree, our wheelchairs then become tools of empowerment and promises, allowing us to approach doors of opportunity, where it’s solely up to us to decide whether we’re willing to apply the desire, courage, and tenacity to knock on them. And, it’s when we make the choice – the commitment – to go as far as our wheelchairs will take us, even when we have to stretch our comfort zones and capabilities, that we find remarkable successes in life.

In this way, every morning, when I awake, I glance to my right, consciously noting that my power wheelchair is sitting beside my bed. And, that glance at my power wheelchair is my affirmation that, with the new day, I have the ability to follow my opportunities without excuses, where success isn’t limited by my disability, but pursued by my will.

No, my life with disability isn’t easy, and neither is yours – there are factors everyday that knock us down and slow us down. However, if we’re to be successful, we must understand that using wheelchair isn’t one of those limiting factors, that a wheelchair simply, faithfully moves us forward.

When you awake tomorrow morning, glance over at your wheelchair, realizing that it removes many reasons and excuses from your life as to why you can’t achieve greater success, and make the commitment to live up to its promise and opportunity by getting out in the world, pushing your boundaries, growing your life, propelling forward to make more of a difference in the lives of those around you. After all, your wheelchair will allow you to take your life as far as you wish, turning excuses into determination, and dreams into achievements – that is, your wheelchair proves your truest partner for success.

Our White Suits


By Mark E. Smith

Tom Wolfe, author of Bonfire of the Vanities and The Right Stuff, is a true American original, only wearing identical white suits. From a personal branding perspective as a writer, it’s brilliant – he’s trademarked his image as entirely distinctive, where no matter if you see him on television or in the grocery store, you immediately know it’s him simply by seeing his tall, lanky silhouette decked in that wild white suit.

I wonder, though, does Wolfe ever take off his white suit in favor of ordinary clothes? Does he ever throw on jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap, and stroll into public? And, if he does forgo the white suit, do people treat him differently, viewing him not as the American icon of Tom Wolfe, but just as a guy named Tom?

If you think about it, disability is a lot like wearing a white suit wherever we go. After all, disability is distinctive, it brands us, it tells others who we are on some level – and, yes, for some, it dictates how they treat us. Of course, there is a difference between you and me, and Tom Wolf: He can take off his white suite, but we can’t shed our disabilities.

Yet, do we really want to take off our white suits, to shed our disabilities? I suppose that it’s human nature that all of us want to simply blend into a crowd at times, escaping our identities. In fact, I was at a disability conference several weeks ago, and while I just wanted to anonymously blend into the hotel bar one evening and relax, I couldn’t escape many folks recognizing me from my public roles – I can’t shake any of my white suits.

However, again, beyond naturally wishing momentary escapism, do we really want to shake off the white suits that we call disability?

Some might; but, those who are truly mindful don’t wish to shed any constructive parts of their lives, including disability. What I know is that every experience that we have contributes to our character, shaping how we see ourselves, how we see others, and how we view the world around us. And, if I were to shed my white suit – my disability – I would be shedding a bit of myself in the process. Truly, if I somehow discarded my disability, removing its daily experience from my life – the highs and the lows – I wouldn’t be myself, not the same father, husband, friend, or colleague. That is, shedding my disability would be giving up some of my unique perspectives, wisdoms that I wouldn’t want to lose.

Sure, I realize that some constantly tug at the sleeves of their white suit, their disability, viewing it as a restrictive device, a painfully conspicuous item that separates them from others, one that they’d rip off and run down the street naked – screaming, hallelujah! – if they could, glad to rid it from their life altogether.

However, I’m of the flair that, like Tom Wolfe’s white suit, our disabilities are an empowered tool when viewed with optimism and positivism, a testament to the strength of our character. I’ve met many whose white suits state compassion, exhibit perseverance, and demonstrate wisdom – those who understand that wearing a white suit can be an inspired component in their lives, where having experienced the uniqueness of disability makes them even more capable as parents, spouses, friends, and colleagues.

I say that if we can’t shed our white suites – and, ultimately we can’t – then we shall wear them with pride, with our heads up, shoulders back, strutting our stuff, individually saying to the world that I am someone of perseverance, understanding, and compassion, where I not only embrace my uniqueness, but that of all others.

On second thought, I bet that Tom Wolfe never takes off his white suite – because, man, wearing a white suit sure feels good.