I started writing this blog weeks ago, and just finally had to stop for a while. I don’t mind feeling sad or even crying, but it was getting a little out of hand. I am not surprised at all that I miss him, but the death of Lester Pritchard has been a tough thing for me to think about, let alone articulate a series of coherent thoughts about. I can’t imagine the loss his wife Barbara is enduring. And my mind keeps drifting toward Jennifer Knapp. It’s probably selfish, but you see Jennifer reminds me of . . . me. I was always so jealous that Jennifer got to hang out with Lester and plan the revolution. I think I want to focus this blog on exactly that – the revolution. I didn’t really understand what it was all about, but Lester, he showed me the way.The first time I met Lester, I didn’t know quite what to expect from him. He was older than me, used a wheelchair and had cerebral palsy (CP). He didn’t speak clearly and you had to listen to understand what he had to say. In casual conversation he was a man of relatively few words, no doubt because he wanted to make himself understood. And I think it was because of this that Lester could pack layers of meaning and deep insight into a short, concise sentence. When he spoke, the room stopped and listened. If he had more to say than just a brief statement, enter his wife Barbara. She too has CP, although to a lesser extent than Lester, and Barb would frequently translate for her husband.
Lester’s mind was a brilliant and vast place. The average person could get lost in there, but he never made you feel stupid. I loved that about him. A wonderful article ran in the Champaign newspaper after his death and it included a few statements from Barb about how Lester was able to bring out the absolute best in everyone he encountered. Never were truer words spoken. When he would ask me to do something for the Campaign for Real Choice in Illinois I would get all excited. I couldn’t believe there was something I could do for him. And if he asked for my opinion on an issue, well that was unbelievable. Lester was the “The Man” and he wanted my opinion. Damn . . . It brings a smile to my face just thinking about it.
Over the course of the past few weeks Lester has been described as a lot of things. Disability rights advocate and friend Tyler McHaley called him a, “legend among disability rights advocates throughout the nation.” Charlotte Cronin of the Family Support Network said, “Lester Pritchard was our hero; a leader and a visionary for people with disabilities.” Many others echoed these sentiments and he was all of these things, but to me the term that best fits Lester is rock star. Every successful revolution needs a charismatic leader out front, and for me that was Lester.
For those who don’t know, Lester and the Campaign for Real Choice focused their efforts on providing real community based living options for people with disabilities. This meant advocating for the closure of Illinois’ state-run institutions and educating the public about these outdated facilities that routinely endanger the lives of their residents. He brought life to a civil rights movement that has been floundering. The passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) in 1990 lulled way too many of us into a comfortable acceptance of the way thing are. Yes, the ADA gave us our long overdue rights, but we’ve fallen asleep at the wheel. And Lester reminded us all that our most vulnerable brothers and sisters are locked away in institutions and still need us.
I have never in my life felt more powerful than I did while protesting Lincoln Development Center. He led the charge of advocates who flooded IL Department of Human Services meetings and public forums about whether LDC should remain open. And in true rock star fashion, Lester could turn out a crowd. This was the most evident when he masterminded the Freedom Ride in 2005. I didn’t know exactly what a freedom ride was, but I vaguely associated it with a bus fulla hippies. Lester brought the concept to a new generation as he and his riders traveled the state garnering media attention at each stop. He knew how to engage the public, and events like this brought the message to communities across Illinois.
And lastly, I’d like to touch on Lester the person. He was kind, gentle and fierce. I learned he was ill and had been hospitalized the day I attended a memorial service for Kathy Conour. I had no idea he was sick, but I brushed the news off. Lester was a giant to me, strong and vital. I’d say he was an oak, but that doesn’t quite cut it. He was a Sequoia. He’d pull through; I had no doubt. It was a few days later I got the terrible news. I listened to my voicemail and couldn’t quite absorb what I was hearing. I called a couple close friends and they were as shocked as me. I put my phone away and didn’t think about it for a few hours. I think my mind was trying to insulate itself. I re-listened to the message and spent the rest of the day crying at odd intervals.
I attended one of three memorial services held for Lester in his hometown of Champaign. It was there I learned the details of his passing. He knew it was time to go, and in typical Lester fashion held court at his bedside calling close friends and family in to say his goodbyes. Jennifer told me that right up until the end he was witty and sharp. The man was fearless even in death, and as time grew short, Barb never left his side.
To me, knowing Lester was like knowing Justin Dart, Jr. My friend Ann Ford summed it up best when she said Lester and Justin were “cut from the same cloth.” I was in awe of him and I have to admit I even had a bit of a geeky crush on him – shhhh, don’t tell Barb :o) I was inspired to finish this blog after receiving a link to a YouTube video called “Lester’s Song.” It was performed last week at the Speak Up, Speak Out conference by Karen Donovan – I don’t know you Karen, but you nailed it! I ask all of you out there reading this, have you ever inspired anyone to write a song about you? That’s the impact Lester had on people. He moved us to do great things, to create. I think I want to sing Lester’s Song for the rest of my life. I never want to forget what he’s meant to me and so many others. I didn’t get a chance to meet Justin Dart in person, but through his writing I learned not to fear these simple words - I love you. We are all so afraid to say them, but Justin did love us. Each and every disability rights advocates across the planet had his love, and while I can only aspire to that kind of greatness, I can say unequivocally that I love you Lester. I love you Barb. And I love you Jennifer.
