Autism Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow

Autism Yesterday



Autism Today

Where can I get help today?
Let me suggest three resources:

1. On the web: AutismToday.com In 1996 Karen Simmons (author, keynote speaker, and businesswoman in autism-related endeavors) had a vision to simplify the information gathering and evaluating process for families dealing with Autism Spectrum Disorders for "help you need now." This amazing website seems limitless, featuring such diverse topics as:

• Resources
• Employment
• "Ask the Expert"
• Article Library (with over 2,500 pages of content)
• Help packages for anyone who needs help for a special needs child
• Much, much more

2. In North Carolina: For over 43 years, the Autism Society of North Carolina has worked to address areas of need and expand services for the autism community in North Carolina. ASNC is a statewide organization, supporting North Carolinians affected by autism. Every dollar that they raise stays within North Carolina, helping people who live and work in our local communities.

I have been fortunate; their headquarters are just three blocks from my home at: 505 Oberlin Rd #230, Raleigh, NC 27605. I have visited these kind, professional people many times for advice on a loved one. They have many resources, including a media library and a huge bookstore. Give them a call at (800) 442-2762. Their magazine, The Spectrum, is published in January and July.

3. In Raleigh: For pre-K children (ages 3-5) with special educational needs and their families, the Frankie Lemmon School and Developmental Center provides life-changing education and support that leads to successful participation in family and community life and achievement of the child’s full potential.

For over four years I volunteered here as "Mr. Pat" until my age caught up with me. So now I restrict my activities to those my body can handle. But with all my heart I can truthfully tell you that this school is truly blessed to have such talented and loving teachers, assistants and staff. They are all saints and I love every one of them. I'll never get these special children – my "friends" – out of my heart; nor do I want to. They'll grow up to be very special adults thanks to this very special team.

The Frankie Lemmon School: Looking Back 20 Years
by Jordan E. Harrell, video editor extraordinaire

Autism Tomorrow:

According to the website Autism Speaks, there's "A Future Full of Purpose and Dignity for Adults with Autism." I agree. My own loved one is living proof.

In other words, there's hope!

Again, according to Autism Speaks,

"Over the coming decade, 500,000 individuals with autism will leave school and enter adulthood. This is in addition to the millions of adults with autism who already live throughout the United States. Many of these individuals will need to access the adult services system, a system that already has exceedingly long waiting lists and few autism-specific supports."

Autism Speaks is among the top 10 autism websites listed in Autism.About.com.

Author Patrick Simpson and his wheelchair-restricted wife Anne uncover their experiences exploring historical and cultural experiences around the world. Visit now to learn how independent travel for disabled persons is not only possible, it can be fun!! www.booksbypatricksimpson.com

Lost in "The Village"

Saturday, 10 September 1994: We had intended to drive directly to the Llechwedd Slate Mine but Jack, owner of the Coach Househotel in the Welsh market town of Ruthin, had recommended a detour to Portmeirion. “What’s Portmeirion?” we asked.

Jack smiled. “Do you remember a British TV series from the sixties called The Prisoner? It starred Patrick McGoohan.”

“I certainly do,” I said. “It was one of my favorite shows.”

“Well, Portmeirion is "The Village", where the series was filmed. And it’s right on your way.” Portmeirion immediately shot up to the top of our list of places to see. In just seventeen episodes (1967-1968), The Prisoner, a British and American television series, had become a true cult classic. The story – a spy, the nameless Number Six, resigns for an undisclosed reason and is abducted to a mystery village for debriefing. Starring and co-created by Patrick McGoohan, its roots were in Cold War paranoia and growing concerns about the involvement of the state in the daily lives of its citizens. It was part spy fiction, part science fiction and part psychological drama.

Today, as Jack pointed out, Portmeirion is a vacation fantasy village in North Wales neatly hidden away on the coast of the Irish Sea. It was designed and built piecemeal by Welsh architect Sir Clough Williams-Ellis between 1925 and 1975 in the style of an Italian village. He was a leading conservationist of his day who, as creator of this resort village, fulfilled his dream for "a fusion of conscious art with nature". Portmeirion has served as the location for several films and television shows, most famously as the "Village".

Ninety-minutes due west from Ruthin we found Portmeirion neatly hidden away on a secluded peninsula. Anne got in free because the place was not supposed to be suitable for the disabled. The journey from the ticket booth to the end of the village was all downhill, but the ticket clerk said he would drive us back if we couldn’t make it. We did just fine.

The same could not be said for the unnamed protagonist of The Prisoner, so aptly played by Patrick McGoohan. In the plot he is a high-ranking intelligence agent who unexpectedly resigns. Upon doing so, he is drugged and taken into a mysterious and isolated community known only as “the Village.” Everyone there is cheerful, but not the type to ask questions, and the shadowy leaders keep control with closed-circuit television and brainwashing devices. The protagonist is made into a prisoner and given the title of “Number Six,” which he fervently rejects at first. In each episode, he matches wits with Number Two, who always wants to know the same thing: “Why did you resign?” It is only a question then of seeing who breaks first, the individualist Number Six or the conformist Villagers.

In its one-season run, The Prisoner created an enduring phenomenon, partly because it remains open to continual reinterpretation, partly because Number Six's symbolic battle against faceless state power is as potent today as when the show was first devised. The series was also greatly helped by its location at Portmeirion, with its bizarre jumble of architectural styles. To this day, the "Six of One" Prisoner Appreciation Society still holds its annual Prisoner convention there.

We visited The Prisoner Shop for souvenirs and a map. The shop's operator would have been a Trekkie had the show been Star Trek; he knew more about The Prisoner than anyone had a right to know. He said Prisoner fans by the hundreds still make the pilgrimage to this surreal spot to relive scenes from the series’ baffling story. But even if you had never seen the show, Portmeirion was an intriguing place to visit.

The tourist-oriented Llechwedd Slate Mine had already closed by the time we got there. Anne, nevertheless, said she'd already seen the abandoned slate mine back in her hometown of Walton, New York; she'd never, however, seen anything like Portmeirion!

Author Patrick Simpson and his wheelchair-restricted wife Anne uncover their experiences exploring historical and cultural experiences around the world. Visit now to learn how independent travel for disabled persons is not only possible, it can be fun!! www.booksbypatricksimpson.com

My Most Unforgettable Aussie

15 May 1994, Sunday: After a wild eight-mile ride on the ferry M.V. Valerie Jane, Anne and I docked at the Penneshaw ferry port on Kangaroo Island, rented a car, and headed west; our goal was the Attarak Homestead (see map), a farmstay B&B we'd booked sixty miles in on Mount Taylor Road.

About 90 miles long and 19 miles wide with only 4,000 year-round inhabitants, Kangaroo Island was cut loose from South Australia's mainland some 9,000 years ago. It is truly where the wild things are, a veritable Noah’s Ark of Australian wildlife. Australia's renowned lost world of endangered furred and flying species, including kangaroos, wallabies, koalas, emus and the elusive platypus and echidna, the world's only egg-laying mammals.

It was late afternoon by the time we arrived at the homestead, a large, sprawling ranch in the middle of the island. We had just entered the enchanted world of Rodger Borgmeyer, owner and host.

Rodger was about fifty-two and looked and acted like a thin version of movie actor Gene Hackman. He said that his wife, Val, was a schoolteacher. She was taking part in a horse show and had gone for the weekend. "When I moved here with my parents in 1955," he said, "I was fourteen years old and I could ride more than twenty miles in every direction on their farm and not see a fence. It was a great adventure, even though it was hard work picking up stumps and milking cows by hand." — (The Islander: "My Island Home - Rodger Borgmeyer - Best years of my life", by Catherine Murphy Aug. 8, 2013).

We couldn't help but notice several large photos on the walls that depicted Rodger with some of his prized thoroughbred horses. He made us comfortable in front of a large, warm fireplace in the living room and went off to the kitchen to make tea. Almost absent-mindedly I leafed through a large coffee table book entitled Three-Cornered Jack. In it were several articles and color photo spreads on notable characters of South Australia. Suddenly before me was a five-page article on Rodger with several action photographs. There he was on horseback hurdling a fence; and there he was again, jumping through a ring of fire.

Rodger came back in the room, bringing our tea on a tray.

I said, "You're quite a horseman I see."

"Yes," he smiled. "The man that did that article stayed here a week. I race thoroughbreds and keep them at stud when they retire." He pointed to a picture of himself on a magnificent horse leaping a log fence. "This one is Trumbee. He lives in the paddock out front."

When Rodger left the room again to make our Aussie "tucker" for dinner, our attention was caught by three or four volumes of bush ballads. "Bush" is the Australian equivalent of "forest" and is also applied generally to any locality away from a large city or town. Bush ballads, as we later learned, have outlived most forms of Australian poetry, for a ballad simply sets out to tell a story in easy, rhythmic language, with or without a tune. These narratives are all in simple verse and deal with bush characters or their way of life in the tradition of European folk stories.

I learned that the heroes of Australian bush ballads are known as drovers, diggers, bushrangers, rouseabouts, ringers, shearers, swaggies, sundowners and other equally colorful names. The ballads celebrate "mateship" and feats of individual bravery and endurance over loneliness, heat, floods and distance. Most verses are good-humored, mocking or self-mocking in true Australian fashion; many remain moving and unforgettable, even when they preach.

This was my introduction to that story-world. Suddenly I was swept into life in the bush by the likes of Australian poets such as Adam Lindsay Gordon, W.H. Ogilvie, H.B. Boake, H.H. Morant, Henry Lawson, C.H. Souter and Victor J Daley (A Ballad of Eureka). One book was entitled The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses, by A.B. (Banjo) Patterson. It turns out Patterson is the same man who wrote Waltzing Matilda, Australia's unofficial national anthem.

Rodger rejoined us as I put down the book.

"I'm fascinated," I said.

"We get together now and then, my mates and me," he said. "We have a few drinks and sing a few songs and swap stories. I know a lot of 'em by memory, much like the 'cowboy poets' in your country. Some of them were passed along by word of mouth from generation to generation, just like in the Old World. Others sound Irish or Scottish and that's because they are. All of them tell a story and maybe that's why they're so popular."

By now I was captivated. It seemed as if all of Australia – its history, its character, its people – had been boiled down into one essence, one life force. And that life force had a name – Rodger. I suddenly realized that the elusive "real" Australia I'd been looking for was right here, right across the coffee table. Rodger was the sum total of his people – of all that went before him. Eons ago, our ancestors could have been neighbors, but one sailed to America and the other sailed to Australia, evolving into people that were, according to Rodger, "the same, but different." I studied the flames in the fireplace for a long time as dusk settled outside.

Our "tucker" was garden-fresh wonderful and so was the nighttime "ute" (pickup truck) tour of his 1,400 acres. His strong hand-held "torch" (flashlight) lit up the eyes of literally dozens of opossums, wallabies and other critters of the night. His property was alive with them!

We awoke next morning to a Rodger-prepared breakfast of eggs, tomatoes, toast and tea. Afterwards he went out to take care of his animals and I went with him. The cacophony of sound that greeted us was indescribable. Intermingled with the quacking, clucking, crowing and gobbling of hundreds of farm birds, which now came running from all over the place for their breakfast, was the warbling, trilling, cooing and singing of hundreds of wild birds greeting the dawn from the trees overhead. I told Rodger it sounded like an orchestra. He threw another handful of corn to waiting beaks and said, "It's more like a little symphony – and I'm the pied piper!"

He let me take a final picture of him with Trumbee and then it was time to go. Rodger packed us a lunch and we reluctantly said our goodbyes. This was Rodger's private world and we were sad to leave it, but our memories of it will live forever.

It's the bush that exerts its tenacious hold on the Australian character and it was in the bush where English attitudes and language slipped their shackles and escaped, evolving into something brand new and wonderfully personified by Rodger Borgmeyer, my most unforgettable character in all of Australia.

Author Patrick Simpson and his wheelchair-restricted wife Anne uncover their experiences exploring historical and cultural experiences around the world. Visit now to learn how independent travel for disabled persons is not only possible, it can be fun!! www.booksbypatricksimpson.com

LINKS:
Kangaroo Island
Rodger Borgmeyer
Waltzing Matilda

The Birdmen of Singapore

"I knew that bird singing contests were common in South East Asia, but nothing had prepared me for the scale of the spectacle in the Bird Arena Café: a roof of railings with hooks on which dozens of identical 20-inch round bamboo cages were hanging, one bird per cage; competitors, almost exclusively male, sitting in a row of chairs parallel to the line of cages above, sipping a mug of coffee; waiters bringing drinks, collecting dishes and taking orders; judges walking around making notes; and spectators sitting at tables..."
       — from Singapore Swing, by John Malathronas

24 July 1994, Sunday: Travel writer Paul Money once remarked that "China is probably the only place where people walk their birds and eat their dogs." But we weren't in China; we were in the former British settlement of Singapore. Chinese Singaporeans make up 75% of the city-state's 3.5 million population and, as in China, keeping song birds is an old tradition. Emperors used to keep song birds; the more beautiful the song, the more colorful the bird, the more it valuable it was.

Today, on our second full day in downtown Singapore, we saw no one "wokking the dog", but we did have the opportunity to hear and see the song birds for ourselves.

We'd read that one of the nicest things to do in Singapore was to go to a Sunday morning “Bird Singing.” So, before church, we decided to do just that. After breakfast in our new digs at the graceful Miramar Hotel, we took to the wheelchair and hastened over to the nearby "bird corner" at Tiong Bahru and Seng Poh Road. Here we found, in a veranda under a translucent roof, a traditional outdoor kopitiam (coffee shop), the center of life for many Singapore neighborhoods. We sat at the one remaining table, a fretful little man materialized, and I said "coffee". He grunted, sped off and soon returned with two cups of kopi, served very sweet, very thick, and with more than a hint of butter. We nursed them and watched while the locals dined on saucers of watery soft-boiled eggs and crisp slices of toast slathered with thick yellow butter and kaya (coconut egg jam) — Singapore's answer to a Devonshire Tea.

Above us were the singing birds, not in lofty tree branches, but hung in cages. The beautifully-crafted ornate wood and bamboo bird cages were hung on wires strung overhead while their owners lined the walls or congregated around tables sipping kopi. We joined this charming scene for over an hour, watching the men take care of their lovely pets and listening to a truly musical bird chorus. Most bird-fanciers are middle-aged or elderly men who want a companion for their daily walks.Dozens of them had brought their beloved well-fed caged thrushes, merboks, shamas, and mata putehs – all treasured for their singing ability – all for the bird-singing session.

Listen to the White-rumped Shama, "that most beautiful and melodious of songbirds."
    — David De Sousa

I later learned that bird singing contests are often held on Sunday mornings, with the winners being the birds that can sing the highest number of different songs in 15 minutes. Bird-singing competitions are serious business in Singapore as champions are worth up to $3,300 (U.S.). Hours are spent training them.

Sadly, in the name of "progress" the cafe was torn down in 2007, along with entire city blocks to make room for the new Link Hotel. The bird corner was preserved and renovated (see photo).

Currently, the bird corner boasts more than 320 hooks with number tags, but no bird cages are to be found, not to mention the song birds. Despite spending $200,000 by the hotel in the renovation, the corner failed to regain its former glory. Gone were the enthusiastic owners with their songbirds.

Today, the corner is quiet and deserted, unnoticed even by the passers-by. Perhaps it no longer has the feeling of "home."

Author Patrick Simpson and his wheelchair-restricted wife Anne uncover their experiences exploring historical and cultural experiences around the world. Visit now to learn how independent travel for disabled persons is not only possible, it can be fun!! www.booksbypatricksimpson.com

LINKS:
White-rumped Shama

Brigadoon Again

10 August 2001, Friday: A funny thing happened today as my daughter Diana and I made our way to the small Irish village of Cong …we discovered Brigadoon! Remember the story? Brigadoon was the legendary Scottish village that went to sleep 300 years ago but was set to reappear for one day every century. But Cong, seemingly asleep for only 50 years in Western Ireland's beautiful Lake District, was due to reappear as Innisfree. Unknown to us, today was the very day!

But first things first …

We planned to visit Ireland's beautiful Connemara National Park today, but I'd been to Cong before and wanted to show it to Diana. It's where many scenes were filmed for one of my favorite movies The Quiet Man (1952), nominated for seven Oscars and winning two.

We first visited the replica Quiet Man cottage at Maam Cross and then drove east nearly an hour through a "soft" rain. And there, hidden in the misty hills, rose Cong.

We tarried at Cong Abbey and the Quiet Man Heritage Cottage and then stopped for a breather in the Quiet Man Coffee Shop. (Notice a common theme here?)

The waitress said, "Will you be staying over?"

I said, "No, just passing through."

She said, "Too bad. This very weekend we are holding the Quiet Man 50th anniversary celebration. The full dress rehearsal is tonight and the public is invited."

My jaw dropped. We had arrived on the very day all this was supposed to happen! Cong would reappear as the movie town of Innisfree this very night!

But we had places to go; we couldn't stay tonight – or could we?

The tourist office said we could! There was but one room available – just out of town at the Ashfield House B&B. Diana agreed to stay, even though the movie was "before her time". The Connemara would have to wait until tomorrow.

The re-enactment rehearsals began at 7:30 in front of Cong Abbey, a former Augustinian abbey whose ancient ruins date to the 13th century and earlier. The persistent rain let up just before the events began.

It was street theater re-enactment of scenes from the movie. Townspeople played the parts of John Ford, the makeup man, the cameraman and others, who pretended they were filming stand-ins for John Wayne, Maureen O'Hara, and the rest. The first was a courting scene on pony and trap by the abbey; then there was the fishing scene in the nearby creek; next, John Wayne pushing and dragging Maureen O'Hara to a wagon; then a fight scene by the wagon; next two ladies from a second story window across the street from Pat Conroy's bar. By now, two or three hundred people had gathered in the street for the grand finale: a reenactment of the big fight scene where Sean and his nemesis Will Danaher (aka Victor Mclachlan) burst out of the bar through a closed door into the cheering crowds.

Fight over, everyone – cast, crew and many of the original cast of extras – headed over to Lydon's Lodge, where the "Launch of the Quiet Man 2001, Cong Celebration" was being held. Free wine, food, lots of laughing and singing. The place was packed and so are our memories.

Innisfree, a fictional village in Ireland; you will always be real to me.

Author Patrick Simpson and his wheelchair-restricted wife Anne uncover their experiences exploring historical and cultural experiences around the world. Visit now to learn how independent travel for disabled persons is not only possible, it can be fun!! www.booksbypatricksimpson.com

LINKS:
Cong
Brigadoon
The Quiet Man
Cong Abbey
The Quiet Man (full film)