Sequim Gazette Editorial and Letters to the Editor

When I was a sophomore at Whitman College in Walla Walla, I was invited to spend Christmas break with my boyfriend's family at Steamboat Springs, Colo. Shortly after our arrival, the family decided to go to the movies downtown in the quaint old-fashioned theater.

After purchasing our tickets and entering the theater, we saw that there was no handicapped seating area provided. Unperturbed, the five family members took seats in a row while I sat in the adjacent aisle.

We were all chatting and enjoying our popcorn and the ambience while waiting for the movie to start, when suddenly, an usher grabbed the handles on the back of my wheelchair and began to pull me backwards, up the aisle, away from my party.

"Sorry, ma'am, I can't let you block the aisle," he said brusquely. "You can see fine from back here".

He pushed my chair into an alcove near the back door of the theater. As the house lights dimmed and the movie started, it quickly became clear that the seating arrangement was not going to work.



Couldn't see, couldn't hear, so she didn't stay

The acoustics in that theater were dampened by fabric so the sound could barely reach the alcove. The bare bulb that stayed lit over the exit sign during the movie cast such a glare on the screen that I couldn't see a thing. There was little point in staying and I needed to escape my mortification, so I simply left the theater and wheeled myself through the stuffy, empty lobby.

I was so embarrassed! It was a relief to be out of the building, to feel the breeze on my hot cheeks. For the next week I kept replaying that evening over and over in my mind. What should've been done differently by the theater, by me, by the usher ....

That spring following my fateful vacation, specifically March 1990, the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) became a law. Due to my recent movie theater debacle, I was convinced of the immediate need of such a movement and became an enthusiastic supporter. I dedicated myself to learning everything I could about how to make sure that scene in the movie theater was never replayed.

I designed a treasure hunt to challenge the staff at my college to experience the mobility challenges themselves. I volunteered as an ADA analyst for low-income housing. I chaired the committee to renovate the blueprint of a new dining facility to be built on our campus.



Fast-forward 20 years ...

The other day, I wanted to visit my friend Ruth at her new shop, The Botanical Touch, in the annex of the Hurricane Coffee Co. Usually, I avoid going into Hurricane Coffee - not because of their products but because of their physical layout.

In my wheelchair I must enter through The Good Book next door, go through their side room, into Hurricane Coffee, through Hurricane Coffee, up on two wheels in front of the fireplace, down the tiny, narrow hallway and into The Botanical Touch.

Phew!



No match for a latch

But on this day, I really wanted to visit Ruth and her shop. So I braced myself for the long, arduous journey and approached the door of The Good Book ... only to realize I couldn't open the door latch!

Although the sign on the door said "Open," there was no one around inside or outside the store, and I couldn't physically open the door because my hands are too weak to unlatch it.

So, what to do? I resigned myself not to see my friend and instead returned home, defeated.

I wondered about a solution to this frustration. In my 20-plus years of dealing with ambulatory impairment in varying degrees, I have found that most people are simply oblivious to the needs of others - even in situations that I would consider obvious.

When asked directly to step aside or reach something or whatever, most people return a completely dumbfounded, "Oh! Of course!" and then enthusiastically set about fulfilling your need. So I reasoned that maybe the answer is to apply a general direct appeal, covering a few of the less obvious obstacles to negotiate when tripping through Sequim on four wheels.

_ Doorways are almost never as wide as they're supposed to be - 3 feet - especially in older architecture. A couple of years ago I used to go into a thrift shop all the time. I'd squeeze through the narrow doors to curiously peruse the hordes of second-hand stuff.

One day, the manager asked me not come in anymore because I was damaging the doors if I bumped one. He even went so far as to threaten to call the police and have me arrested for vandalism! Honestly!

Also, door jambs sometimes have an elevated lip that can make wheeled passage difficult.

_ Doors, whether they swing in or out, are problematic because the proprietor must remember to allow clearance for maneuvering a wheelchair around and through the opened door. For example, the sidewalk in front of Hollywood Video allows enough such room - barely - while the opening in front of Moon Palace does not.

_ Lowered counters in banks and such places are very helpful. For the most part, this has become a generally accepted rule of commercial practice. All the banks, grocery stores and smaller retail shops I can think of have at least one desk-level counter to facilitate business done from a seated position.

The Post Office, of all places, could use some attention in this area. Ironic really, that a federally endorsed company should have problems meeting ADA standards.

_ Sidewalks should be wide, smooth and relatively unobstructed (by parking meters, power poles, mail boxes, etc.) Most of Washington Street from Sequim Avenue clear to Walmart, recently has been redone with broad, sweeping sidewalks and appropriately flush curb cuts.

_ Curb cuts should be gradual and wide, meeting both sidewalk and street smoothly. Again, the newer sidewalks on the western end of town are better than the steep, narrow ones in the older sidewalk by the VFW and Pioneer Park.

One note, though: The curb cuts in the new roundabouts have sharp turns and treacherous ledges that are not well-marked. The edges could use some paint as a precaution to the visually challenged.



Disabled have no advocacy group

Aside from the occasional church charity to renovate an individual home with accessibility equipment, or the HotWheelers group of physically challenged people who are raising funds to purchase a lift-equipped bus to improve accessible transportation off the peninsula, there isn't really any committee or organization in Sequim set up to address issues of public accessibility in town.

On the whole, the townspeople are left to their own devices and do just fine. No major accidents; no injuries.

Like I said, residents are quick to help when a need is pointed out. Once a month, I have to go into Swain's to buy a bus pass for my daughter. I usually dread this errand because it involves having to wrestle open the elevator door, clatter up to the shop level in the ringing, metal lift, and shout over the vast countertop.

Last time I went, though, there was a very nice young man - an employee, I believe - whose job, it seemed, was to help me in and out of the store. He held doors and helped me through the crowd.

So helpful! It takes so little to make a difference!

Andréa Sauve lives in Sequim.