Unheard voices
Anchorage streets from a wheelchair perspective.
By Philip Shapland
Imagine for a moment driving down a busy street in Anchorage, amid the springtime slush of snow and ice, wind and rain, and noisy, bustling traffic. Your perspective is a bit different than usual--you are several inches closer to the ground than typically, and although your vehicle has four wheels, it is battery powered; has no enclosure or covering; exposes you to the elements; and is barely wide enough for you to sit in. There is no steering wheel or protection in front of you--and only a “joy-stick” to maneuver. Your maximum speed under the best of conditions is less than ten miles an hour. There is no lane of traffic actually dedicated for your travel, and you are forced to pick your way through the puddles, potholes, and broad expanses of water collected in and beside the road, as well as the piles of snow and ice which jam the sidewalk and shoulder of the road. You are sometimes sprayed and splattered with muddy road slush by the passing and occasionally angry traffic. You try to drive exclusively on the sidewalk or shoulder of the road, but this is impossible, and you attempt to choose wisely the time for some quick detours onto open stretches of road in the traffic lane. This is because the sidewalk is non-existent or has not been plowed-either adequately or at all. You are attempting to reach a bus stop, to try to accomplish a few of life’s commonplace chores. You do not have the ability to walk, to stand, to move on your own, or to drive an ordinary motor vehicle. You cannot afford to pay for private transportation or assistance, and have no family or loved ones to help you. You are at the mercy of fate, nature, and your fellow citizens. Welcome to the everyday world of Stan Wollf.
In the estimation of most people, Stan Wollf is a “nice guy.” He is intelligent, friendly, personable, and cordial. He finds pleasure in conversation and debate, as well as participating in public affairs, community service, and other human interest causes and events. He has managed quite well to learn to live with his disability. Where once he was a professional carpenter, avid downhill skier, hiker, outdoorsman, and more, now, he cannot stand, walk, lift things, or move on his own, and has barely enough strength to hold a spoon or a pencil. Despite being mainly dependent on others for his needs, he is still able to maintain a largely positive attitude and outlook, and can laugh and smile at will. What he lacks in physical strength, he makes up for in mental tenacity. He is a determined advocate, capable of zealous adherence to a position or goal when convinced of its correctness. He is admired by most people who meet him.
The practical reality of his everyday world is incomprehensible to most. What can take only a few minutes for the average person to do may well take Stan Wollf several hours, or even days. In his own words:
I was born in Alaska fifty-five years ago, and have lived here all of my life. I started my work career in my parents’ small, family-owned business when I was eleven years old. I spent the first forty years of my life understanding and practicing the American economic ethic of working for a wage and being able to provide for yourself, based on the ability to earn money.
After breaking my neck in an accidental fall fourteen years ago, the rules of life suddenly changed. I now have little or no ability to do the physical work that I was once able to perform. Providing for life’s bare necessities is a major task. Now, I often feel like a beggar, asking government and other entities to provide minimal services. My injury is nearly impossible for them to understand, because although they may be professionals in the field, and may be sensitive to a person’s needs, they have never experienced a severe disability themselves.
This can leave me feeling helpless, where once I was very independent. The value of feeling productive and worthwhile is supposed to be a cornerstone of our nation’s economic system. Most people do not lose that feeling of value until older age. Unfortunately, the current political climate is such that a person is no longer valued as human if they cannot “pull themselves up by their own bootstraps.” One way to fill this “value gap” is to volunteer for projects that are worthwhile. Volunteering will most likely boost your self-worth considerably, and will allow a feeling of increased self-esteem. Unfortunately, the rest of the world may still label you a “welfare recipient” and feel you have little or no value as a human being.
Although it has been and still is an uphill “wheel chair” struggle, I have participated and look forward to participating in the future with The State Division of Vocational Rehabilitation, going to school and working, as I have done many times in the last fourteen years. I also look forward to days of increased understanding with my fellow citizens, and a time when others can not only “walk a mile in my shoes”, but can “roll a mile in my chair.”
Philip Shapland is a freelance writer living in Anchorage. Contact Philip at .
