The students and faculty of the wheelchair building class at San Francisco State University maneuver their chairs into the elevator like puzzle pieces, rattling up and down the creaky shaft three by three. Following the class tradition, all participants, even those who do not regularly use one, ride in wheelchairs down to the mid-class meal.
As they gather around geometric tables in the Cesar Chavez Student Center to dig in to dinner, a new rider slips on his joystick, sending his chair flying forward into a three-table pileup. "I forgot to mention that I charged that one!" one student chuckles between mouthfuls of food as the unfazed diners rearrange their feast and continue to chow down.

The abundance of extra chairs for the novice, non-users comes from instructor Ralf Hotchkiss's brainchild Whirlwind Wheelchair, a separate program that operates out of the same location as the Engineering 620 class. The SF State-based nonprofit is pioneering global mobility solutions, recently receiving a nearly five million dollar grant from the United States Department of Education to conduct research on global use of assistive technology. But while this nonprofit is making global strides in providing access to mobility, the United States still has a long way to go in creating an accessible and integrative society for the estimated 1.6 million wheelchair users nationally, which leaves some taking matters into their own hands.

Mira Ingram, 42, has been on disability since a 1996 injury, and has been unsuccessful since 2002 in her Medicare applications for a motorized wheelchair. "It's like imprisoning someone," says Ingram, "you're keeping them prisoner in their own home."

After several denials, she began searching for alternative options by signing up for donation lists and scouring Craigslist for free chairs. The chairs she found, however, were often in poor condition or unable to accommodate her active lifestyle.
As she began exploring available options, Ingram became involved with the wheelchair building class at SF State in 2007. Under the instruction of Professor Ralf Hotchkiss and his colleagues, diverse groups of students learn about wheelchair design, construction, and ergonomics with hands-on lessons in wheelchair maintenance, from wheels and footrests to cushions and customization.

Keoke King, a 2009 MBA graduate of SF State and the marketing director for Whirlwind Wheelchairs, explains that the class is designed to empower students with the same type of knowledge a mechanic has about cars. "After I took the class," says Ingram, "I got inspired to help others." The southern California native joined her instructors in their efforts to give back to the community through a San Francisco group called Project Homeless Connect (PHC). Having once been homeless for two years, she was compassionate and felt empathy for the struggles and alienation facing people with disabilities, especially those who are homeless.

The philanthropic organization provides aid to the growing homeless population of San Francisco by offering medical and housing services as well as personal support, employment counseling, and even veterinary services. Whirlwind offered their knowledge and volunteer services to PHC in efforts to "think globally, and act locally," says Bob Incerti, an assistant instructor and SF State design graduate specializing in fabrication for Whirlwind.

But even when there is access to equipment and repairs, there is still a daily issue of physical accessibility to storefronts, services, and transportation. "The world is not open to you," says King, "you can't go in any door or up any step." The Americans with Disabilities Act passed in 1990 was designed to accommodate people with disabilities, and specifically wheelchair users, but costly renovations or subsequent legal liability also created animosity for those who feel inconvenienced.

People with a disability are often stereotyped into a homogeneous group of "others." Illustrating the continuing issue of ignorance and subconscious discrimination, archaic language, actions, and attitudes tend to fall into two categories. The "medical" model of disability sees a patient with a problem needing treatment rather than person, and the "pity" model assumes the person requires overt help and charity to life their live.
The preferred "independence" model sees the person first, and the disability simply being an aspect of their life. "We're independent human beings," says an exasperated Ingram, "We don't need help with everything!" She continues to offer her services to others, like neighbors in her city-subsidized apartment building and her girlfriend, Syndy Sharp. Together, the couple works to breakdown disability and gender stereotypes through community involvement and candid self-expression. "Just don't call me handicapped," says forty-nine-year-old Sharp, "because there's nothing "handy" about being disabled." [X]