Author Archives: Peter Sanford Kahrmann

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About Peter Sanford Kahrmann

Writer, disability rights advocate, civil rights advocate.

In This Room

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In this room the spirits of Gandhi, King, Mandela live and breathe.

In this room advocates from every corner of the country abound, all joined in the still-going war for independence in my country (and others) for people with disabilities.

In this room the annual national SILC (State Independent Living Council) Congress is meeting. I am part of a four member delegation representing the New York State Independent Living Council, an extraordinary group of people if there ever was one.

In this room you see what all here already know; you don’t have to stand up to stand tall; you don’t need sight to have vision in life; you don’t need hearing to know the sounds of injustice.

In this room we talk of battles fought, some won, some lost. Fellow advocates and I compare our experiences with New York Senator Chuck Schumer, all positive.

In this room I remember successfully suing the New York State Crime Victims Board a couple of years ago, reversed the CVB’s decision to deny phone counseling to crime victims. I remember the long battle so many of us across this country fought to make the Brady Bill reality. I remember uncovering the fact a high-level state contract employee was knowingly misrepresenting his credentials (at this writing he is not longer and state contract employee).

In this room I am with people who have done as much and  more. All of us are joined  in the struggle to make sure no one is denied their inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

In this room goodbyes will be said and we will return to our states and territories and the struggle for independence will continue. As a result of our time together, however, we are nourished, and, as a result, one step closer to independence.

Wilting in Vegas

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I’m walking through a Las Vegas casino with Christine and friends thinking Holy God, what the hell’s happened to the human race?  We’re surrounded by sagging wet paper bag faces so sad in countenance Sad Sack looks like a poster boy for joy.

We see a heavily made-up woman pushing 80 with bleached blond hair and fake eyelashes so long you’d be protected from the rain by walking in front of her. I think if she bats her eyes really fast everyone in her path will be blown yards away from the gust of wind, unless of course the physics of  the thing are different and  batting her eyes sends her flying backwards through the nearby plate glass window.

The phrase what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas comes to mind and I think God I hope so.

Wandering through the casinos and wilting like long ashes on cigarettes left burning in ashtrays are forlorn cocktail waitresses in short black skirts winding around their waists like small umbrellas, and black stocking and heels and low-cut tight-fitting blouses.

There’s signs saying free food and drink for some casino regulars and I think hey, if you drop my place with the sole intention of giving me all your money, hell, I’ll give you free food and drink too. Think nothing of it.

One of our friends is a delightful young woman who will celebrate her 21st birthday in a matter of hours. As we leave the casino area which, by the way is filled with cigarette and cigar smoke, always fun for us asthmatics, I look back at her and say, We just left a room filled with people who didn’t handle turning 21 very well.

Good Morning 2010

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There is something uplifting for me about the beginning of a new year. A fresh start maybe, my mind somehow believing it was quietly and discreetly refueled the last night of the prior year? Who knows. Beginnings can be nice. This one is.

There are all kinds of things to feel good about.

I am joyous at having finally begun to read Sinclair Lewis’s  books and since I am only on my third, Arrowsmith, I’ve already read Babbit and Main Street, there are many more to go. Kind of like have your cupboards filled with food after a good shopping.

I am in a breathtakingly wonderful relationship with Christine and have met and discovered that her two daughters, Anna and Emily, are, like their mother, angels.

My writing is beginning to go places I’ve never imagined. I am at a new comfort level with words and late last year even sent out a short story for publication and a writing contest. Go figure.

On top of all this, I continue to meet weekly with an extraordinary group of brain injury survivors, family members, friends, and healthcare professionals. Moreover, I am in the process of developing a statewide coalition for people living with brain injuries and to know they will be afforded a unified voice that will, when needed, level the playing field, is a wonderful piece of knowledge to have.

And while I am on disability with a sprinkling of income here and there, making me poor as an old worn sock, my life is wealthier than it has ever been.  Sobriety does that for you.

Anyway, life is good. I hope your day is going well and this morning of 2010 is the beginning of a wonderful year for you and your loved ones.

 

2010: Rethinking It All & Thanking My Readers

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By and large 2009 has been a rewarding year for me.  It’s had it’s blows but all years do, nothing new there. The readership of this blog has more than doubled from last year. At times more than 2,000 viewed these pages in a given month. While a large majority of the readers are from my country, there have been readers from around the world: Canada, Israel, Saudi Arabia, Great Britain, France, Slovenia, India, Korea, Ireland, Columbia, Romania, Brazil, Australia, Morocco, Norway, Paraguay, South Africa, Thailand, Taiwan, Luxemburg, Croatia, Spain and so on.

I cannot tell you how grateful I am to those of you who visit here, whether you are stopping buy one time or, like more than I ever imagined, you stop by regularly. You can be sure this blog will keep going. In fact, this is the 228th piece I’ve written for it this year alone.

This year has had some fine realities:

  • I am still sober and without my sobriety, none of what is wonderful in life would be available to me.
  • A workshop I began in early 2008 for survivors of brain injuries and others continues to flourish and will celebrate its second anniversary in early 2010.
  • My friendship with Michael continues to show us both we are brothers, and my love for my nephews: Vincent and Philip, and now Jay, is as powerful as can be. My love for Frieda, Michael’s wife of the heart, runs so deep she is, without question, family to me too.
  • I saw Tischa Toon,  my childhood friend, who I love very much, for the first time in years, met her husband, David, a beautiful human being, and saw pictures of their sons.
  • I have a group of wonderful male and female friends and am forever grateful.
  • The survivors of brain injury, their loved ones, and all others who come to my workshops and those I have met throughout this state are people I genuinely care about and, in many cases, genuinely love. Whatever good I may bring to their lives pales in comparison to the good they bring to mine.
  • My advocacy has done some good this year, I hope, and for those who know that streak in me, you can be sure it is as alive and well and as tenacious as ever.
  • I met Christine Mansfield in Cape Cod and fell completely and utterly in love with her. And just in case that wasn’t enough, I met her daughters, Emily and Anna, extraordinary young women in their own right, and love them both.
  • I am on the New York State Council on Independent Living and I can tell you that is one spectacular group of people.
  • Although on disability, life is wealthier than ever.

This year, like any year, has had its not so fine realities as well:

  • My friend Jimmy died too soon at age 57. There is a little less light in the world with him gone.
  • I met some who offered lip-service friendships with love and loyalty firmly tied to the foundation of hot-air.
  • While there are some positive signs and things may be looking up in my state for people like me who live with brain injuries, we are not out of the woods, and I and those connected with me around the state are paying close attention.

On the horizon:

  • There are some new steps on the advocacy to be taken this year, one is already underway, the formation of a statewide coalition of brain injury survivors so that we too will have a unified voice.
  • I will devote more of this year to writing than ever before and may cut back in other areas to do this.
  • I am quietly adding things to my bucket list and will be acting on them.
  • I will begin writing a piece this year revolving around my experience of my state’s relationship with those of us who live with brain injuries
  • And more….

In the meantime, please take care of yourselves and each other. Don’t forget to say I love you to those you love. They deserve to hear it and you deserve to say it.

And, remember to live. Thank you again for reading this blog.

Warmth and respect to you all,

Peter

Meeting Sinclair Lewis

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In 1930, Harry Sinclair Lewis, better known as Sinclair Lewis, became the first American writer to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature. I finished reading Main Street (1920) yesterday and it is no wonder he won the Nobel. Not only can the man write, but his eye for social injustice was extraordinary and far ahead of its time.

Main Street is a story that in many ways speaks to the need for equality for women.

I began reading Arrowsmith (1925) this morning. Arrowsmith, the story of Martin Arrowsmith, who becomes a doctor for all the right reasons, is a book that speaks to the moral corruption of the healthcare system (then and now, by the way). The priority of the patient’s welfare is firmly placed in the rear view mirrors of financial greed and regulations too often created and kept in place by individuals who walk around with inflated views of their own importance, ‘cause by golly we are the enforcers of these regulations and so, by golly, y’all ought to sit up and take notice of us, and remember to act intimidated when we walk by or behave dictatorially towards you in a meeting or on a page.

I watched how one such official left the room recently at the end of a meeting. I had the distinct impression her day would have reached perfection had all in attendance bowed as she passed by.

Hypocrisy abounds, then and now. Lewis’s book, Elmer Gantry (1927) uses a fictional character, Gantry, to expose the wounding hypocrisy of those preachers who represent anything but Christianity. And, of course, there is his novel, It Can’t Happen Here (1935), about an American president who does his level best to be a dictator (Bush and Cheney anyone?).

Meeting Sinclair Lewis for me is meeting a friend. I plan on gobbling up a biography or two and, while my writing is not in the league of his writing, my will (and willpower) to expose the hypocrisy and harm being done in my society is.