The ramped community gazebo in Venice beach, Fla., symbolizes the city’s commitment to full inclusion for people with disabilities.

A Tale of Two Cities


Other cities and towns may be deserving of the titles “best” and “worst.” But according to the National Organization on Disability, Venice, Fla., is the most “disability-friendly” community in the nation. And if the consent decree resulting from a recent federal class action lawsuit brought under the Americans With Disabilities Act is any indication, Cannon Beach, Ore., could be–or at least has been–the most “disability-unfriendly” city.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” –Charles Dickens

The ramped community gazebo in Venice beach, Fla., symbolizes the city's commitment to full inclusion for people with disabilities.
The ramped community gazebo in Venice beach, Fla., symbolizes the city’s commitment to full inclusion for people with disabilities.

Both Cannon Beach, Ore., and Venice, Fla., are coastal communities with significant revenue from tourism and above-average per-capita income, but when measured against the ADA compliance yardstick, they couldn’t be farther apart: a diagonal line drawn from northwest to southeast across the face of a U.S. map serves as a metaphorical, as well as an actual, distance marker.

Besides Haystack Rock, which rises like a monstrous monolith from the surf’s edge, Cannon Beach is known for its equally immovable attitude: The city council voted to appropriate more than a quarter of a million dollars to fight a Title II ADA lawsuit–brought by seven plaintiffs representing a class of mobility-impaired citizens in Oregon and Washington–rather than budget all or even a fraction of that sum to comply with the plaintiffs’ requests for a more accessible city.

In contrast, the city council of Venice has been advised by an access advisory committee for more than a decade. When the city discovered it had constructed a community gazebo that was not ADA-compliant, it spent $25,000 to incorporate matching ramps into the structure, which since has become a symbol of the city’s commitment to inclusiveness. The dais in the council chambers was also made accessible upon request, and a recent pilot project will be expanded throughout the city–at no small cost–after it successfully raised a sidewalk to create a level entry to a local restaurant rather than construct a ramp that would protrude into the middle of the sidewalk.

The city of Cannon Beach, on the other hand, failed to provide access to its city council dais when asked and also refused to move obstructing telephone poles from the middle of intermittent stretches of sidewalks that were impassable to wheelchairs–until forced to do so by the Title II lawsuit.

Both cities advertise themselves as tourist-friendly destinations with beach access. In Venice, boardwalks invite wheelchair users to enjoy up-close beachfront views, but until recently, Cannon Beach did not have a single wheelchair-accessible viewpoint. The city of Venice provides all-terrain beach wheelchairs to disabled residents and visitors who want to enjoy the sand and surf. To date, the city of Cannon Beach has done nothing to facilitate access to the beach itself, even though Mayor Laurel Hood was supplied with names and contact information for beach wheelchair companies more than three years ago.

Both city governments have compiled similar binders a few inches thick that deal with accessibility issues. The Venice document is a record of achievement, detailing countless changes that have brought the city into ADA compliance–or have exceeded the law–in numerous categories. The Cannon Beach document is a 1995 report that identified a profusion of ADA violations and offered recommendations to eliminate them, most of which the city chose to ignore. The city council has even cited the document as evidence of good faith while simultaneously budgeting hundreds of thousands of dollars to fight implementation of those same recommendations contained in the report.

The list of contrasts goes on, but what can account for such a glaring disparity in attitudes toward the civil rights of people with disabilities?

Cannot Beach
Ann Hillestad was diagnosed with MS in 1989. She and her husband, Chuck, an attorney, moved to Cannon Beach (population 1,700) in early 1994, about the time Ann’s MS worsened and she started using a scooter. The city’s main drag, Hemlock Street, connected the Hillestads’ newly built home to the downtown area about a mile away, but on one side of Hemlock the sidewalks were old, in disrepair, with steep curb cuts. Ann drove her scooter at the side of the road to avoid the less-than-adequate sidewalk and occasionally heavy foot traffic–hundreds of thousands of tourists flock to the popular beach town each year.

Access on the other side of Hemlock was worse. In addition to sections of sidewalk being blocked by telephone poles, other segments were “partially” accessible–at one end but not the other. Ann’s scooter was forced into the street on this side of the city’s main drag as well.

Chuck, concerned for Ann’s safety, wrote a letter to then-Mayor Herb Schwab, asking that the city remove the telephone poles and complete the sidewalk on the east side. He got no response.

When the Hillestads brought their complaints to the city council, they were met by a band of entrenched “rulers,” as Chuck Hillestad came to know them, who guarded their idyllic vision of Cannon Beach as a quaint village from long ago. They favored gravel over asphalt roads and confined sidewalk accessibility issues to a small area downtown, but did little more than grind flat a handful of uneven curb ramp “bump-ups.” They also enforced landscape ordinances that required prominent flower boxes on external walls of businesses even when the boxes encroached on sidewalk space needed for safe wheeling.

The Hillestads, relatively new to accessibility problems, started noticing obstacles wherever they turned. The main realty in town was inaccessible, as were all three architects’ offices, the largest bookstore, the city newspaper, countless restaurants and shops, most motels, and the town’s main draw–the beach itself–which was advertised as the best in the state of Oregon.

It became apparent to the Hillestads that the main problem was attitudinal. They persisted with their requests, and when the sidewalk improvement issue finally came before the city council, it was defeated. At this point, the Hillestads began to think of the “quaint” coastal town as “Cannot Beach.”

And the question loomed: Why would a city council with more-than-ample revenue from heavy tourist business choose to ignore obvious dangers to life and limb for wheelchair and scooter riders?

For one thing, a peculiar clique held power. In 1999 city planner Rheinmar Bartles characterized the group in control of the council as the “rural streetscape” faction, obsessed with their vision of the community as an old-fashioned New England-style fishing village. By this time Chuck Hillestad had come to the conclusion that the ruling clique was not only obsessed but mean-spirited. Hillestad characterized the original leader, Schwab, a former judge, as competent but “often hot-headed, thin-skinned, unusually pompous, loudly demanding, fiercely opinionated and vindictive.”

In Venice beach, a number of sidewalks will be raised -- like this one -- to provide level entry into businesses and restaurants.
In Venice beach, a number of sidewalks will be raised — like this one — to provide level entry into businesses and restaurants.

Mayor Schwab was succeeded by Kirk Anderson, a local bar owner who, according to Hillestad, behaved defensively. When a writer from a nearby coastal town newspaper reported on numerous accessibility problems after spending a day in a wheelchair touring Cannon Beach, Anderson is reported to have responded, “I know you guys [the press from other coastal communities] like to pick on Cannon Beach, but when you do, your envy only becomes obvious.”

Laurel Hood, who succeeded Kirk Anderson as mayor in 1998, took up the city’s defensive posture in spades, claiming the Hillestads had made unfair accusations of ADA violations. She justified her position by making known that her father spent the last years of his life in a wheelchair and she was therefore acquainted with disability issues. But as owner of a wine shop in town, she did nothing to remedy a two-step inaccessible entrance to her shop for two decades. It’s still a problem today, and a Title III lawsuit brought by the Hillestads against Hood is working its way through the court system.

Whatever accessibility problems drove a wedge between the Hillestads–as well as other disabled residents–and three Cannon Beach mayors and city councils from 1994 until the present, their underlying mutual hostility is rooted in successive city officials’ denials that ADA violations even existed.

Was Suing Worth It?
In early June 1999 the Hemlock sidewalk issue, having been defeated once, was revisited at a city council workshop a few days prior to the regular council meeting. The consensus? Remedying the problem presented a “cost concern.” The issue was dropped from the agenda.

In February 2000 the Hillestads and five other plaintiffs, frustrated by six years of unmet requests, instructed Portland attorney Dennis Steinman to file a Title II ADA lawsuit. At this point the city council suddenly found more than $250,000 to fight compliance.

“The council decided it could wipe out the ADA by unleashing a platoon of expensive attorneys,” says Chuck Hillestad. “We would have happily settled at that point.” But the trial went forward, and more than a year later, seeing the writing on the wall, the city changed its tune: “The council ultimately decided it would be better off to try and bargain its way out of the case rather than risk a jury verdict,” says Hillestad. “In any event the city agreed in writing to a voluminous list of work, all having only one purpose, to cure those various violations of federal, state and local law alleged by the plaintiffs at the start of the case.”

In other words, a great deal of expense, ill feeling, and mental anguish could have been avoided had city officials simply admitted that Cannon Beach had accessibility problems in the first place.

The final consent decree signed by the judge mandated the following remedies, among others: Sidewalks on both sides of Hemlock would be made accessible and free of telephone poles and other obstructions in the downtown and midtown areas. Curb cut and ramp remodeling would take place at a multitude of locations; new beach viewpoints and access would be created; the council dais would be ramped and the city would revise its ordinances to insure that disability access be considered in all future design review issues; ADA training and disability awareness would be mandatory for certain city staff; the city would have to have an independent Title II ADA compliance review; Cannon Beach would have to pay the plaintiffs’ legal expenses.

When the dust settled, was the outcome worth the battle? Steinman is pleased with the results. “There was an excellent outcome for the class,” he says. But the Hillestads are ambivalent. “Was it worth it? Yes,” says Chuck, “but in addition to financial costs [other than legal fees paid by the city] there were significant mental and physical costs.”

He says the city’s response generated animosity, claiming he and his wife were victims of hate mail, vandalism, anonymous curses on the phone, spray-painted windows, and vicious rumors. Ill feelings still remain. Unlike neighboring Seaside, where city officials agreed to participate in a disability awareness day by riding wheelchairs throughout their community, Cannon Beach officials have refused to do so to this day. “What a difference eight miles seems to make,” says Hillestad.

“Psychologically, it wasn’t worth it,” says Ann Hillestad. “Those who had a problem with this concept [ADA compliance] still have a problem. Rather than do the right thing, they’ll deny it and find a way to blame it on the disabled.” She says the whole experience has made her more cynical, but hopes this will lessen as time passes. “But in the long run,” she says, “it will be worth it–for those who come after us, because there are so many of us who will be disabled.”

The Other Side of the Coin
Rick Tacy grew up in Lee, Mass., which he describes as “a grungy little mill town of about 6,700 people.” At age 18, while vacationing in Florida, he broke his neck. Following rehab, Tacy, now a C5 quad, returned to his hometown, where he ran up against access problems. “My career [as an activist] was launched when a building inspector told me he wasn’t going to enforce the law for just one person,” he says.

Tacy tired of the uphill battle after three years and moved to the Sunshine State, taking up residence near the University of South Florida, where he earned his bachelor’s degree. He landed a job with the Sarasota County Property Appraiser’s Office, where he worked for 12 years. Prior to passage of the ADA in 1990, Tacy, motivated by a lack of complete accessibility in the newly remodeled Venice City Hall, suggested to the city council that they form an access advisory committee. The council agreed and appointed Tacy chairman. He remained in that post for eight and a half years and served another year and a half on the committee before running for county commissioner, losing, then–in his words –“backing in” to a seat on the city council.

As chairman of the access committee, Tacy set priorities; his first major task was to bring all city facilities up to or beyond ADA specifications. Venice is unique, having been planned as a retirement community in 1925 with access and connectivity in mind. But as Tacy points out, “One generation’s definition of accessibility is not the same as what we’re talking about now.”

Tacy, 41, is a relative youngster in Venice. The city has an unusually high number of residents with disabilities–above 25 percent–and the median age is 68. Younger families, however, are now starting to discover Venice.

Venice’s reputation is not built solely on superior physical access. Tacy stresses the real key to accessibility is embracing the concept of all-inclusiveness. When a problematic curb ramp or access need is identified, it usually does not require action by the city council. Recently a crosswalk was relocated and curb ramps were cut into an island in the middle of a major street. “That took me picking up the phone and saying, ‘This curb cut needs to be done,'” says Tacy. The city of 17,000 is committed to remodeling at least 10 curb cuts per year out of the standard budget (more, if needed, from enhancement funds), but whenever a citizen identifies a problem, “We automatically move it to number one priority and take care of it.”

As a result of this proactive approach, Tacy estimates that 90 to 95 percent of the buildings in downtown Venice are accessible, with the remaining 5 to 10 percent targeted for sidewalk-raising projects. “It’s a matter of evolution,” he says.

Like Cannon Beach, Venice is built around an architectural theme from long ago–Northern Italian Renaissance–but the two towns are worlds apart in their internal structure. In 1995, the same year an accessibility specialist compiled a thick binder of ADA violations in Cannon Beach, the city of Venice published their ADA Transition Plan, a formal city document aimed at removing barriers for the disabled. Cannon Beach did not even appoint a transition officer to implement their 1995 study until the ADA lawsuit forced their hand in 2000. The city had no internal structure that guaranteed accessibility issues would even be addressed. On the other hand, at the time Venice’s transition plan was drafted, the city’s management director sat on the Florida Accessibility Board and was also a commissioner on the building code committee. Add in Tacy and the access advisability committee, and Venice was well prepared for achieving ADA compliance.

More Than Ramps
A quick survey of accomplishments aimed at promoting inclusiveness further supports why Venice is deserving of the title of “most disability-friendly” city–as well as the $25,000 prize–awarded by NOD.

  • Education and Independent Living. Recently a $2.5-million campus was built for Loveland School, an educational program for people with mental disabilities, mostly Down syndrome. Besides education, group homes, jobs and job training are provided. “We have another program that goes into nursing homes and pulls young disabled people out and puts them into regular neighborhoods such as the one I live in,” says Tacy.
  • Housing. Tacy lives in a condominium complex of 10 buildings, each with eight units. All ground floor units are ADA-compliant. About 25 percent of all homes in Venice have roll-in accessibility, and most homes that are not accessible are one-story structures with a single four-inch entrance step. Tacy carries two portable ramps in his van, the longest an eight-footer. “There’s not a place I can’t get into unless it’s a second story,” he says.
  • Transportation. The Sarasota County Area Transit fleet is 100 percent accessible, with 23 lift-equipped, “kneeling” buses that can be summoned to pick up disabled riders with 24-hour advance notice. Tacy says there is little waiting at this time.
  • Voting and Politics. Tacy says polling locations have always been accessible, but a new touch-screen system, complete with earphones and tapes for direction, allows all-inclusive voting. “We are the first county in the state to have elections where people who are legally blind can vote without any assistance,” says Tacy. The city council chambers, besides having an accessible dais, also provide hearing devices and large screens for viewing.
  • Community, Recreation and Arts. In addition to the accessible city hall, gazebo, downtown area and beaches, recreational opportunities abound: Special Olympics, wheelchair basketball, a little league/challenger (disabilities) division, and fishing and sailing opportunities. The city’s Art Center and the Venice Little Theater are accessible to the hearing-impaired as well as to wheelchair users. A community center will be 100 percent accessible after completion of a $2.5-million remodeling project.There’s more: churches, assisted living centers, hospital and rehab center, public library–all have programs that address the needs of people with disabilities. It’s no wonder that Rick Tacy and other wheelchair users enjoy living in Venice. “There’s no way you could drag me away from here,” says Tacy.Some will say that Venice is an exemplary community for disabled citizens because it was planned with access in mind way back in 1925, and that the high percentage of aging and disabled residents skews local politics toward inclusiveness. But that’s not a bad thing, nor will it necessarily be considered an anomaly in the future. If the census gurus are correct in telling us that the U.S. population is aging at an unprecedented rate, and that more and more people will be living with disabilities, one day Venice could be seen as the model for a sweeping trend toward all-inclusive accessibility. And communities across the nation will be the better for it–even Cannon Beach.


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