(This is part of the Brejcha Personal and Disability Resource Site, and after reading this page you can Click here for a Menu . But for now, Welcome to my:
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Note: This was first published in the January 15, 2005 issue of New City Philadelphia, a new and excellent monthly Philadelphia newspaper distributed free. This is the article was first submitted; which is nearly identical to the published version which looked even better. Thank you.
©2004, F. Alexander Brejcha.
Philadelphia has changed - for the better.
I first discovered the city in 1975 when I started at Temple University on the early admissions program at age 17 - and when I got my first apartment: a $149/month efficiency at 10th and Clinton (about enough for a closet, now!). It was a classic "first apartment", and after a year I moved to a one bedroom in the basement ($185/month), then a third floor walk-up at 20th and Spring Garden, and finally a larger one bedroom with a back yard across the street. Each needed a lot of sweat work in cleaning and painting, and they probably doubled the rent for each after I moved. But in retrospect I think my experience is a normal teen rite of passage, and I remember each place vividly and fondly. And as I went from place to place, making new friends while "growing up in the city", I discovered the Art Museum, the Rodin Museum, the Free Library, the Franklin Institute, and so much more just walking to and from work and while "exploring". It was a wonderful life experience that shaped me and matured me. Also traditionally, I changed jobs a few times during my part-time studies, but in 1980 I found my present graveyard shift job at Graduate Hospital - perfect first for school and later for my freelancing.
In retrospect, I know that God, Fate, Fortune, Kismet, or whatever you call it was at work, because it is a job where my 1980 diagnosis of M.S. (right after I was hired by the hospital) was, and still is, irrelevant - despite several changes of ownership and administration while my disabilities progressed. And until 1984 when my disabilities progressed to the point that I became dependent on a wheelchair, I lived in center city and loved it. At first I walked to work, took the subway to school, and basically just enjoyed a life uncomplicated by commuting hassles and the expense of car insurance and maintenance. And even the latter was just a necessary nuisance later when a car became necessary because walking with a cane changed to using a cane and leg braces, then special crutches, and later, a walker, and finally a wheelchair for longer distance. But these were accepted adjustment because the perpetual vibrancy of the city motivated me, and I had additional motivation from my need to keep working.
But finally, a wheelchair became the only practical way to get around for more than a few steps. Due to accessibility problems in the city at the time (even inside my own apartment), and the increasing difficulty of hauling a wheelchair in and out of a car, I was forced to get a lift-equipped van and move out of the city to find a practical place to live and park. I was forced to become "a commuter". Luckily, working the graveyard shift, I go the opposite directions of the worst traffic jams. As I write this I shake my head when I realize that thirty years have passed since my move to "independence"!
But now twenty years have passed since I moved back out, and both the city and I have matured. My M.S. has progressed further and I am now dependent on a power wheelchair, but it locks into the driver's position of my ramp-equipped minivan and other than needing part-time attendant care for dressing and showers, I have kept independent. But I often miss the city, which thanks to the A.D.A. has curb-cuts gracing virtually every corner, handicapped parking available in almost every parking lot, and handicapped seating in theaters and concert halls.
My how things have changed! However, I am now technically a suburbanite. I have just moved into a newly built wheelchair accessible house in Phoenixville with an affordable mortgage, thanks to Habitat for Humanity of Chester County - ironically just three blocks from my old High School. But I still feel like a Philadelphian. I work forty hours a week in the city, and every other week when I have a three day weekend I often head into the city because of the incredible vitality it has.
Where else can one find such a variety of culture and entertainment? The circus or the Lipizzaner at what was the Spectrum? The incredible music at the spectacular Kimmel Center, or under the stars at the Mann? And while I have never been a sports fan, brand new stadiums make Philadelphia once again World Class. And all of these treats, and more, are now handicap accessible and there is no excuse to deny oneself the first-hand experience of going there in person. Even the best DVD on my surround sound system can not compete with a live performance at the dozens of venues around Philly.
I have a perfect situation, I realize. I have a full-time job where I have the personal satisfaction of knowing that lives depend on my work performance - and it is a job where I constantly get positive feedback from doctors and nurses - and at the same time it is one where quiet moments give me time to pursue two other, related, avocations. One is as the originator and maintainer of a web site at http://disabilityhelper.org where I can help other people with disabilities; and the other is as a freelance writer of books and short fiction and non-fiction for newspapers and magazines - much of it disABILITY related. As I said: a perfect situation; because in both my "day" job and freelance work, I am helping people - and in doing that, I am helping myself. The feedback I get verbally at work, and through mail and e-mail, all reinforce my own self-worth; and that is often the first victim of a disability. Our society today is still often intolerant of those who are "different", and this can set up an inferiority complex. I know that I went through several years of depression when progressing M.S. made it impossible to continue promising art studies. I had a South Street gallery interested in a show, but I didn't quite have enough pieces; and that was when I was suddenly hit with severe fine coordination problems and visual problems. The latter were fortunately short-lived, but the combination was a death blow to my art plans as my specialty was etching - which requires fine detail work and concentrated nitric acid. Wonderful when one's hands and eyes are impaired.
After years wasted in self-pity, I found an alternate program of study with the Honors Psychology program which helped my self-image, but the lack of creativity was stifling and drove me to try writing as I have always been a voracious reader. And with my job, a notebook computer, and a need to reach out, writing and web-weaving have become my salvation. Would it have happened elsewhere? No doubt (especially in New York), but here in the less threatening environment of Philadelphia, one can not help but be inspired. This is, and has always been, a city of creative ideas. Democracy, music, and art have always flourished here, and for people with and without disabilities, what better way of gaining or regaining confidence and self-worth is there but creating something for others? Able-bodied or not, what better manner of gaining immortality is there than by leaving a creative legacy for others to read, hear, or see which bring enjoyment?
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