Can Knoxville profit by opening all doors to people with disabilities?

by Richard Wall

Becky, strawberry blonde hair flowing around her sunglasses and cheery expression, sits on the desk of Angela Petty. Becky sits in a little wheelchair, a friend of Barbie's and a toy-maker's inclusive gesture to a world peopled by many with disabilities. Petty, an advocate with Knoxville's Disability Resource Center, isn't sure Becky can visit at Barbie's. See, when the Becky doll first came out, seems the Barbie doll's dream house wasn't accessible to her friend.

You can see the same results in Knoxville: builders and businesses not completely thinking things through when considering people with disabilities.

Petty and the staff at the Disability Resource Center (DRC) think it through all the time. DRC director Susan Stacy says the center's involvement in plans for Knoxville's Empowerment Zone was a big step for the 3-year-old nonprofit agency. Achieving its overall mission—to make as much as possible of built Knoxville accessible to people with disabilities—will take many more patient years.

The DRC and other advocacy groups, such as the Knoxville Area Community Center for the Deaf, have a couple of carrots to use in this effort and a big stick. The carrots are that accessibility is a civil rights issue, a pure moral thing, and that people with disabilities—54 million in the U.S. by some counts—represent a healthy chunk of consumers. A poster in the DRC office sums up that concept: "These Days, Profits Just Don't Walk in the Front Door."

The big stick is the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), which became the law of the land in 1990 and requires every public facility from mom & pop diners to civic centers to make themselves accessible to all citizens.

At the time ADA entered Knoxville's world, Mayor Victor Ashe complained about it being an unfunded federal mandate, a fiscal burden on the city. Many people in the disability community view that complaint as a dodge of responsibility for upholding basic rights, a task they would like to think our local government is up to.

"As far as government is concerned," says Stacy, "the infrastructure of the community is there to support citizens. And if some are people with disabilities, those people need access to the services and facilities of the community. If government or businesses ignore that need and build barriers or don't work to include those people, that is discriminatory."

Costs of bringing facilities up to the standards of ADA accessibility can be substantial. For example, Lawson McGhee Library's retrofitting is now up for public bidding at an estimated cost $500,000, says architect Ned Stacy with Design Innovations. "That includes new doors, a new ramp, parking spaces, many other features, and the contractor's profit," says Stacy. "What it costs to bring any building into compliance depends on many factors. Ballpark estimates can be $1,500 for a curb cut, $9,000 for a new single restroom, and $2,200 for a twin high and low water fountain. Or," he adds, "you could install a paper cup dispenser next to an existing water fountain for $10."

The spirit of the ADA is encapsulated in its call for "reasonable accommodation" without imposing "undue hardship" on the business or service provider. So if you run a small business and can't afford the $2,200 twin water fountain, put out the cups with a hand-lettered sign and you're in the spirit.

Local governments are held accountable for insuring that their services are available without restriction, and you'll find compliance coordinators in county and city governments. But who's supposed to call errant businesses and services providers to task? You are; the ADA was written to encourage individuals, with and without disabilities, to seek redress through the offending business first before filing an official complaint with the Department of Justice, which enforces the primary aspects of the ADA.

Dale Snapp, director of community services for the Knoxville Area Community Center for the Deaf (KACCD) says the nonprofit agency advocated 105 times in 1998 for the deaf and hard-of-hearing alone, who number around 26,000 in Knox County (nationally, there are four times as many people who are blind or deaf than there are people who have mobility disabilities). "Doctors and attorneys are a big problem for people in the deaf community, because many of them refuse to offer sign language interpreters," says Snapp.

Even though this is blatantly illegal, many doctors and lawyers have responded to complaints with a "so, sue me" attitude. "There is a very well known neurologist in town who treats a certain condition, and he absolutely refuses to provide interpreter services for deaf patients," says Snapp. "But the individual being denied this service doesn't want to force the issue, and has to find another doctor. I don't blame this person; who wants to get their doctor or attorney mad at them?"

Such obstinance against compliance is frustrating, says Snapp, because the ADA is crystal clear in establishing the rights of people with disabilities to be free from discrimination in employment, receipt of any governmental services, use of virtually any business and facility, and in telecommunications. "It's ironic that there is such unresponsiveness to this issue in Knoxville, which has been the home to practically every deaf student in the state who have attended the Tennessee School for the Deaf in south Knoxville," says Snapp.

The ADA might be the stick, but somebody has to pick it up for it to be useful. Stephanie Brewer, now a policy analyst focusing on disability issues with the city administration, was part of a campus group a few years ago that used the ADA leverage to ask UT officials to remedy a problem with the last record-breaking seating addition to the north end of Neyland Stadium.

"They had a section for people with disabilities up under a roof overhang that kept us dry, and that was great," says Brewer, who uses a wheelchair. "But right in front of this section was a row of fans—who stood up anytime something happened, and we couldn't see a thing." UT fixed the problem by next season, paying an unbudgeted price for re-doing it right. "Their heart was in the right place," says Brewer, "but they hadn't gotten the input of people with disabilities who could have pointed out the problem in the first place."

Those interested in disability access in Knoxville say things are slowly changing for the better—thanks in very large part to the federal act ("I don't know where we'd be without the ADA," says Brewer). But a model of accessibility, Knoxville is not.

Ricky Smith, owner of Cleveland-Smith Interiors on Kingston Pike, became involved with disability issues 10 years ago when a spinal tumor paralyzed him from the neck down. "When I was leaving the hospital I realized that this world is not set up for people like me," says Smith. He's found himself in all sorts of awkward situations trying to get back into the swing of the Knoxville community. "I fuss and complain about things to try to get people and businesses to become more aware of the needs of people like me. And slowly, things are changing."

The DRC, for instance, is working with the city to consider every aspect of disability access in planning the new convention center, as well as other facilities. The DRC's project, Access Knoxville, started because of involvement with the city in downtown development and outreach to the business community. While local government and some businesses are getting the message, many businesses aren't.

Angela Petty, who focuses on ADA enlightenment and legislation at DRC, wants to change that. "Under the law, businesses are supposed to assess and address their disability access issues on their own," says Petty. "But many wait for the complaints before they do anything."

The DRC will help any business assess its accessibility and work out a plan for compliance. "Most of the problems are due to lack of understanding. For example," says Petty, "the new Deane Hill shopping center installed lots of disability access spaces, yet the curb cuts were located far away from the reserved spaces in other areas of the parking lot. They just didn't know how to do it right. They're making a good effort to correct those problems."

Smith and others would like to see people with disabilities on a committee to advise building code authorities and businesses. He has plenty of examples where businesses could use some help. Smith says two brand new restaurants have floor plans that make customers go through a bar area crowded with tall tables to get to the restroom ("I felt like a rat in a maze," he recalls). Some bathrooms have sloping floor drains unthinkingly placed so that when he tries to wash his hands his chair rolls into the drain valley, pulling him away from the sink.

Local businesses should use a dose of common sense and compassion, says Smith. "If you're struggling to make a go of it and can't afford to outfit your business for accessibility right now, tell me that with a sign on the door or in person when I come in," he suggests.

One of Petty's pet peeves is establishments that have the bucks to make changes but haven't gotten around to them yet. She sites Copper Cellar by West Town Mall as one example. "If you're a person with a disability and want to eat there—or have to meet a group there—your entrance is through the back door and the kitchen. To me, that's demeaning."

Copper Cellar and Calhoun's chief operating officer Curt Gibson understands Petty's feelings, but adds that some of the guests with disabilities actually enjoy the kitchen access route to the Copper Cellar out West. "We try to do everything we can in all of our restaurants to accommodate people with disabilities, the elderly, and children," says Gibson. "We don't see compliance with the ADA as an undue hardship on us as a business. We go out of our way to treat those people properly."

Gibson says that sometime in the future, the Copper Cellar near West Town will add a ramp so people with disabilities can enter through the front door.

The Calhoun's On the River downtown is great for people with disabilities, says Keith Rearden. He used to work there before he had an accident in 1990 that put him in a wheelchair. "The ramps at Calhoun's are a gradual grade, something a lot of places don't do right," says Rearden. "All the doors are accessible, and you can get around the tables okay."

Such hit and miss efforts seem to be typical around the city. But even advocates for disability access understand that old habits die hard.

"There are things I never thought of myself until I started working here," says DRC's Steve Massengill. "Consider stadium seating at the movies. I love it, but think about people with wheelchairs—they can only get to the front row, and who wants to watch a movie from there?"

Massengill, who has cerebral palsy, recalls drawing the attention of a couple who recently passed him walking in the mall. "I overheard him say, 'Oh, look, isn't that sad.' What's so sad?" he asks. "I worked hard for my independence, for my degree, and to get my career going. I don't need people to feel sorry for me."