Remembering Augsburg College: Struggling with education and disabilities

by Vern Bloom, assistant professor, social work department

March, 2002

I'M SURE THAT, over the past 30 years, Augsburg has done more in higher education with students with disabilities than most colleges and universities, thanks in large part to the CLASS office (Center for Learning and Adaptive Student Services) on campus. Also, did you know that the Twin Cities Metro-Mobility transportation system had its humble beginnings right here on campus?

It all began back in early 70s, about the time I started teaching here. A then young, creative, adjunct professor, Cal Appleby, decided to take his Intro to Social Work class and students off-campus to meet weekly at Trevilla of Robbinsdale, a home for severely physically disabled adults. He also enrolled a dozen or more residents and staff of Trevilla, and developed a so-called "co-learning" model of education.

"It was quite an experience," said Appleby, "for everyone—including myself. We not only studied social work principles and concepts from books, we now had a rich environment in which to learn from each other. And we did! The Augsburg students, as well as the Trevilla folks, were really excited about this combination of classroom and experiential learning."

At about this same time, the college received some grant money for similar co-learning classes in our state prisons. I became director and we soon included other populations, e.g. those with disabilities, the elderly, and mentally ill folks, as part of this program. (There are some uncomfortable similarities, some of the Augsburg students observed, between our prisons and the institutions we create for these other populations—nursing homes, hospitals, etc.)

One of the successful students from the prison classes and a real talent was released from Stillwater prison in 1971. He was Wayne Moldenhauer, or just plain "Mo" to the many of us who came to know him here over the next 15 years. He was to become one of the leaders in Augsburg's education with disabled people.

Mo had a wife and three kids waiting for him and he needed a job. He showed up at my office door one day, and I offered him a job here at the College transporting students to off-campus classes (10 hours a week, minimum wage). Our conversation went something like this:

"That's great, I'll take it—but it's not enough," Mo said.

"I know, but we don't have much else. We do need someone to raise funds for the program. What did you do before going to prison?"

"Several jobs. I was kind of a con man, sort of a hustler. Worked in the carnival, drove a truck, and stuff like that. A lot of it illegal, or close to it."

"Maybe you could legally hustle some money to benefit some of our students with disabilities. You know, 'con' some corporations and foundations out of some scholarships. Maybe 'rip off' the government for some grants for classes for folks out there in our institutions, or something like that."

"I think I might be able to do that. Give me a chance?"

Well we did and it worked. During his years here, until the mid 80s, he raised over a million dollars for classes and scholarships for students with disabilities and other non-traditional populations. He also served as a teaching assistant for some classes at Trevilla of Robbinsdale, Courage Center in Golden Valley, and other community facilities.

"I think I could identify with some of these folks," Mo once said, "I knew what it was to be 'locked in' and then try to make it in worlds that I really didn't understand very well, including right here at Augsburg."

Mo left the College in the mid-1980s, and went on to become proficient with sign language. He was one of the prime leaders with the deaf community in establishing Minnesota's Message Relay Service. He became an important link between deaf people and the state legislature.

Today he's retired, but he once told me, "You know, I'm still basically a con man. But, thanks to Augsburg College, I had the opportunity to operate in a different arena, and now for the benefit—not the detriment—of others."

Wheelchairs Roll on Campus

In 1975, Augsburg received a special grant from the State Division of Vocational Rehabilitation. It paid tuition and transportation costs for a dozen or more severely disabled people to become students on the Augsburg campus. It was a good idea—but it also created some disruption and chaos.

The architectural barriers on the campus were enormous. There were buildings without ramps and elevators, no skyways or tunnels, bathroom stalls too narrow, etc. (Someone observed that one of the primary principles governing the design of Old Main must have been to be sure that no one in a wheelchair would be ever enter!)

This, of course, has all changed over the years, thanks in large part to the leadership of then-president, Oscar Anderson (more on this later).

But another kind of barrier was also evident, and it was us! We were more than a little afraid. How do we as faculty, staff, and students interact with and teach these "different" strangers wheeling around campus, needing to get into the bookstore, cafeteria, bathrooms, classrooms, and all the places other students went?

"Not to worry," they said to us, "listen and we'll teach you!"

So, they set up in-service training sessions for us and urged us as individuals to take on a "disability for a day." We did, and dozens of meetings were canceled because we couldn't get our wheelchairs out of our offices or answer the phone or read reports. It was very enlightening.

Former Augsburg president, Dr. Charles Anderson, (academic dean at the time), commented that he kept looking at his watch, hoping that five o'clock would come and it would all be over. It suddenly occurred to him that for our new student arrivals, it doesn't end.

The message to us was clear. Life is difficult—but don't make it any worse by ignoring or feeling sorry for us.

"Hold the same standards as you do for others," they said, "we just need some alternative techniques for coping, e.g. note-takers, tape recorders, books-on-tape, someone to carry us up the stairs, etc. And, above all, value us as students, but also as someone that can teach others."

Transportation Needed

Transportation was a big barrier. There was no Metro-Mobility and the only transportation available was provided by ambulance ("non-emergency services" it was called.) Trouble was, it cost up to $100 one way (you could fly to Chicago and back for less than that, back then).

Our fundraising friend, Mo, decided to do something. He formed an organization known as the Center for the Education of Non-traditional Students (CENTS) under the Multi-College Consortium, HECUA (Higher Education Consortium for Urban Affairs). The CENTS program was housed on the Augsburg campus. Funds were secured to purchase several accessible vans and Augsburg students were employed as drivers.

Shortly, Twin City Metro-transit and the State Legislature became interested in this system and Mo expanded it beyond just students as a pilot-project to include any disabled rider in the Minneapolis and suburban area. This would later be taken over by Metro-Mobility, with the initial training of the drivers provided by CENTS and Augsburg College.

Breakdown the Physical Barriers

In November of 1976 President Oscar Anderson formed a 15-member task force of community leaders from advocacy and disability services. Their charge was "to determine the feasibility of Augsburg including in the mission of the College, a specific purpose related to the education of persons with disabilities."

Six months later, the answer was a resounding "yes!" But to do so would require a major fundraising effort to remove many architectural barriers on campus.

In one of his speeches, President Anderson quoted from a letter a student, Kay Stoll, had written.

"I'll never forget that letter as long as I live," Anderson said.

The student had cerebral palsy and she wrote this: "Augsburg College has done for me what no other organization has ever done. You have recognized that within this twisted body is a live spirit and an intelligent, creative mind. Dr. Anderson, you must be proud to be the president of a college such as Augsburg!"

Well, yes! Right on! And thank you! But to be really proud, we all must now take it to a new level.

Anderson recruited faculty and staff to travel to dozens of Lutheran churches to explain our situation and ask them to contribute money to the cause. (For a list of churches contributing, see the plaque on the wall in the tunnel between Old Main and Christensen Center.)

We appeared before the church councils, made our "pitch."

In addition to facts, figures, and appeals to a sense of Christian responsibility, we showed a seven-minute film, titled Making a Way, produced by Professor John Mitchell of the English department. It showed the extreme difficulties students with disabilities had getting around campus, but also their determination to overcome.

It worked pretty well. Over 3/4 of a million dollars were raised and in a short time, the campus began to take on a new look. (Incidentally, the changes benefited all of us—tunnels and skyways are most welcome by everyone in Minnesota's weather.)

A few years later, the current CLASS office (Center for Learning and Adaptive Student Services) on campus was organized. Initially, it was designed for students with learning disabilities, but later added support services for physically disabled students, as well.

Public transportation was also improving, with the advent of Metro-Mobility, and the CENTS program was eventually phased out.

It would be interesting to know what the Augsburg experience has meant in the lives of the many students with disabilities that have been with us over the last 30 years. I suspect that it has been more than we realize.

The Minneapolis Star and Tribune wrote an article on Professor Emeritus Norm Holen of the art department a few years ago. Besides teaching art, Norm paid special attention to students with disabilities. He invented many adaptive devices for them to draw, paint, and sculpt.

Ray Kiel was one such student. He learned to paint with his foot (using a device that Holen invented), and has continued to do so after college.

"The big thing for me," said Kiel, "was that Norm really believed in me. He gave me confidence." Ray's mother agreed—and more. "In a way, by taking Ray under his wing," she said, "Norman Holen saved my son's life. He certainly turned it around."

Mike Ware was another such student. He majored in psychology and graduated around 1983. Unfortunately he died a few years later. On his casket, at the funeral, were several Augsburg memorabilia items—pennants, pictures, graduation invitations, tassels, etc.

I said to his mother that Augsburg must have meant a lot to Mike. She said, "Yes, it was the most important thing in his life."

The CLASS office has sponsored a Student Speaker Bureau. I have had the opportunity, many times, to have them speak to my social work classes. They are, without question, a valuable asset to the College.

As someone once remarked to me, "those who are disabled can be a reminder for the rest of us that we are all, indeed, extremely limited. Those who have been wounded can sometimes be the best teachers." Looking back, I think it's true.