"Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought."

-- Basho

"The world is full of willing people, some willing to work, the rest willing to let them."

-- Robert Frost

"Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will."

-- Mahatma Gandhi

"What you have to do and the way you have to do it is incredibly simple. Whether you are willing to do it, that's another matter."

-- Peter F. Drucker

"Vision without action is a dream. Action without vision is simply passing the time. Action with vision is making a positive difference."

-- Joel Barker

The year was 1967; people across Canada celebrated their country's 100th birthday. For Canadians from coast to coast it was a time of optimism, a time when anything was possible.

For the people of Winnipeg, it was a double celebration. Winnipeg was hosting a major international sporting event -- the Pan American Games -- and, for the first time in history, people with disabilities were part of the celebration. Immediately following the regular games, Winnipeg would host the first Pan American Wheelchair Games. Athletes with and without disabilities, from across North and South America, were gathered in Winnipeg to compete for gold.

It is somehow fitting that 1967, the year that many Canadians associate with our country's coming of age, was also the year that Canadians with disabilities as a group began a journey of self-actualization -- to take their place in society alongside able-bodied peers, family and friends. The 1967 Pan Am Wheelchair Games was the first time in Canadian history that so many people with disabilities came together to celebrate abilities. These games helped set the tone for what was to become a full-blown movement towards equality -- a movement that continues today, 34 years later.

The Pan American Wheelchair Games was the first event of its kind in the Americas, and it was the first time that people with disabilities took direct responsibility for all aspects of planning and organizing an event of this magnitude. While able-bodied volunteers were involved in the games, key leadership positions were held by wheelchair users. This was a bold step at a time when the majority of services for people with disabilities were delivered by people without disabilities -- able-bodied "professionals."

In retrospect, the Pan Am Wheelchair Games were as much about self-determination as they were about sport.

The philosophy of self-determination was to become a recurring theme in disability issues for the next four decades, as people with various types of disabilities began to take responsibility for managing their own lives.

It is fitting that the seeds of full participation of people with disabilities were sown in the sporting arena. Through sport, athletes develop valuable life skills: perseverance, commitment to excellence, sportsmanship, confidence, self-esteem. It is in overcoming challenges, in beating the odds, that we develop the confidence, the sense of self-worth, that everyone needs to succeed. These attributes are critical to success in our culture. And they are necessary if people with disabilities are to overcome the additional obstacles related specifically to their disability.

Pan American athletes with disabilities came from countries where they routinely confronted obstacles that their able-bodied peers did not face -- physical and attitudinal barriers. But after the Pan Am Games of '67, athletes returned home with a sense of accomplishment, worthy of their country's praise! This was a new feeling, and a new beginning!

This story is about the man behind the 1967 Pan American Wheelchair Games -- Allan Simpson. Allan was instrumental in the vision of a first Pan Am Wheelchair Games. He travelled across North and South America to drum up support, then returned to Winnipeg to direct the organization of the games. The event was a springboard to greater heights as Allan moved from being a leader in disability sports to being a leader in the disability rights movement during the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s, until his death in 1998.

Allan Simpson is a man considered by many to be one of the "Godfathers" of disability rights in Canada. A tireless worker, Allan dedicated his life to helping others.

From the early 1960s, Allan Simpson was one of the most influential persons advancing the interests of people with a disability in Canada. In terms of sheer breadth of issues, Allan did much to improve the quality of life of people with disabilities. He was a steadfast advocate, working on issues at the local, provincial, national and international levels -- wheelchair sports, housing, organizational development, social policy, and promotion of individual responsibility and individual empowerment.

Allan's work was driven by a deeply held set of personal beliefs. He felt that everyone, people with disabilities included, should have the opportunity to direct their own lives, take responsibility for themselves, make decisions and assume risks. Whether he was helping to establish an organization, organizing a conference or assisting an individual, Allan was focused in his efforts to help others help themselves. Allan's vision was a society in which every person has an opportunity to make a contribution.

Over the years, Allan was an inspiration and a mentor to many people -- with and without disabilities. A forthright, caring, generous individual, Allan's keen insight into human nature made him a much sought-after counsel across Canada.

Having been accepted into the Order of the Buffalo Hunt in 1995, one of Manitoba's highest honours, Allan was made a member of the Order of Canada in 1998 in recognition of the value of his work throughout this country. On October 22, together with former prime minister Brian Mulroney and hockey legend Maurice "Rocket" Richard, Allan Simpson was inducted into the Order of Canada at Rideau Hall in Ottawa.

Allan, while proud of this recognition, was also humbled by it. At a Winnipeg ceremony celebrating his membership into the Order of Canada, Allan publicly recognized the contributions of all those with whom he had worked, saying that he had accepted the award on behalf of many leaders in the disability movement. "This is a symbol of all the tremendous work done by many people," Allan said.

On December 26, 1998, two months after accepting the award, Allan died. He was 59. His death was unexpected, a shock to many people across the country. There was a huge sense of loss in the disability community.

People wondered openly whether anyone would ever be able to fill the void in leadership that his death seemed to have created. Fortunately for the disability movement, Allan's greatest legacy was the strong collective voice of people with disabilities that he helped to develop. The community of people with disabilities is filled with individuals mentored by Allan. He had worked constantly to develop the leadership skills and expand the knowledge base of people around him. At the time of his death, Allan left behind scores of people who, over the years, had become strong leaders in their own right.

George Dyck, a longtime friend and colleague, came under Allan's influence in 1967 when Allan assigned him responsibility for working out the logistics of the Pan Am Wheelchair Games. "I was thrown into this pool -- it was sink or swim. My head was barely above the water most of the time," says George, who was the director of facilities for the games and was responsible for non-sport events such as the opening ceremonies and transportation. "I learned so much that I gained confidence in myself. After that, being on boards and committees just became a way of life. I spend my days now going to board meetings."

On November 10, 1998, shortly before Allan's death, Manitobans from all walks of life participated in an evening of celebration to pay tribute to Allan. Allan only agreed to the event on the condition that all Manitobans with disabilities who had previously received the Order of Canada be recognized as well. It was clear from the beginning of the evening, however, that this was Allan's night. Hundreds of people paid respect to a truly great man, a man who used his gifts of wisdom, wit and patience to serve others.

The progression of Allan's life parallels the evolution of disability issues in Canada. Indeed, many would argue that the history of disability in Canada and the history of Allan Simpson are synonymous. Given his prominent role in so many of the events that make up the history of disability in Canada, it is valid to ask whether Allan rode the wave of history -- or generated it.

A politician at heart

As an organizer, Allan was a man not only with a clear vision, but with the abilities to make that vision a reality. His contributions remain unequaled. Will Rogers said, "The fellow that can only see a week ahead is always the popular fellow, for he is looking with the crowd. But the one that can see years ahead, he has a telescope, but he can't make anybody believe that he has it." Allan had a telescope. He approached disability issues like a game of chess, constantly thinking four or five moves ahead. Before making his first move, he would anticipate the response and develop a counter-response. On a variety of issues, Allan was usually one step ahead of the others.

Allan genuinely enjoyed and understood politicals. A believer in the democratic process, Allan knew that without active participation in the political arena -- at all levels -- people's basic human rights were not guaranteed. Disability was his political arena. In it, Allan was effective at engaging politicians of all stripes. His political philosophy was clearly inclusion, individual rights and responsibility.

A longtime friend, George Murphy, remembers a trip to Ottawa with Allan in the early 1970s. On Parliament Hill, as the pair sat waiting to enter the gallery for question period, then-Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau himself came along, stopped and shook hands and spoke with them. For question period, George and Allan were "hoisted up stairs," as the gallery was not wheelchair accessible. "Inaccessibility did not daunt Allan," George says. "He was too busy watching what was going on around him!"

George recalls how struck he was by Allan's reaction to the House of Commons and question period. "Al was totally absorbed," he says. "It was then that I realized that this guy would make a great federal or provincial representative, in terms of his abilities to communicate and to move ahead with issues. This guy had the diplomacy of a Mike Pearson; he had the tenacity of a Pierre Elliott Trudeau; he had the honesty and integrity of a Stanley Knowles. For Allan, the process was often as important as the outcome."

Even Allan's wife, Clare, acknowledged her husband's political bent early in their marriage. To celebrate their wedding in 1973, Allan gave his new bride a beautiful engraved locket, which she treasures to this day; Clare gave Allan a book on Lester B. Pearson! "A strange gift, now that I think of it," she says, "but, at the time, I guess I was acknowledging where his interests lay, and my hope that he would continue his 'political' work with my support." Clare confesses that "in private moments, Allan would talk about the possibility of entering politics. I think he felt drawn to a political life."

Allan Simpson was a strategist. Whether in the boardroom, socializing with friends, at home on the telephone with colleagues or planning new initiatives at work, Allan was always thinking, planning and networking.

According to Traci Walters, the national director of the Canadian Association of Independent Living Centres (CAILC), "Allan's real work began at the end of the day when the meeting was over." She says that "he would get together with people on a one-to-one basis or in small groups -- listen, share information, plot and plan. The next day, he would make sure that outstanding issues would be put on the table and addressed so that people always felt that their views were heard."

Allan had a 24-hour-a-day, seven-day-a-week commitment to the work that he believed needed to be done. His energy and determination seemed limitless.

Born in Ottawa on April 22, 1939, Allan was raised in rural Manitoba (Moosehorn and Starbuck). When he was twelve his family moved to Winnipeg where his father became the minister of Westworth United Church. Allan was an active child who loved the outdoors and physical sports such as football and baseball.

The polio epidemic was rampant in Winnipeg in the late summer of 1953. His parents sent Allan to his grandparents in Moosehorn to escape contact with the polio virus.

Allan was building a tree fort with several buddies when he began to feel sick. That night, a Sunday in late August, Allan's mother and father took him by car to the Winnipeg Municipal Hospital. Allan's breathing became laboured on the way to the city. When the family finally arrived at the hospital, they waited in line for an hour before being admitted.

It was a devastating time for the family. For four weeks Allan, who had indeed contracted polio, lived in an iron lung. His mother was unable to visit the hospital, as she was pregnant with a third son. Allan's father gained admittance only because he wore a clerical collar. After a lengthy ten-month hospital stay, Allan returned home. He was no longer able to walk and had limited upper-body mobility.

Allan received wonderful support from his family (his mother, father and two brothers, David and Donald) and his "church family." He did, however, face many challenges. At the top of the list were the barriers to going back to school -- there were no accessible schools within a reasonable distance of his home. He had to resort to learning by correspondence.

It was because of his own correspondence schooling in 1953 that George Murphy first came to know Allan. Both boys shared the same Grade 10 tutor, Mrs. McLean. "She would come to visit me and say that Allan was doing great, motivating me to go beyond where I was. I was left with the thought, 'Who is this Simpson character?'" says George. "Later on, when we finally met face to face, Allan had the same story -- Mrs. McLean was challenging him by telling him how well Murphy was doing!"

By the time he had completed Grades 9 and 10 at home, Allan was well enough to get on with his life. He announced to his parents that he wanted to return to school for Grade 11. Although Allan was now limited in his mobility, he was a healthy teenager with a strong desire to spend time with people his own age.

After contacting several schools, only to be turned down, Allan's parents approached Gordon Bell High School. The principal agreed to let Allan attend in the fall of 1955. Allan graduated with his class in 1958. He went on to attend the University of Manitoba, where he graduated in 1962 with a Bachelor of Commerce (Honours), specializing in actuarial mathematics. Because his disability was physical, it had no bearing on his academic pursuits, other than affecting how he got to classes -- which, for the most part, were not wheelchair accessible -- and how he took notes.

In fact, Allan was exposed to transportation and architectural barriers throughout high school and university. Undaunted, he organized groups of friends to carpool him to school, and to lift him up and down flights of stairs for classes. It was during this period that Allan honed his organizational skills.

Determined to be as independent as possible, Allan arranged to have a car equipped with hand controls suited to his level of strength (a very uncommon adaptation in the early '60s), and taught his family and friends how to get him in and out of the car. When he began his first job with Monarch Life Assurance Co. in 1962 as an actuarial student, he used his own car to get to and from work.

Allan never hesitated to ask people for assistance, and this enabled him to accomplish many things. Art Bilodeau, his co-worker at Monarch Life, witnessed the way Allan was able to mobilize teams of people to help him manage at the office. Allan lined up five fellows, one for each day of the week, who would meet him in the morning, get him out of the car and into the office, and then back again at the end of the day. It was a system that worked for eleven years. In 1975 Allan advanced to a power wheelchair and an accessible van to enhance his mobility.

Two individuals had a great influence on Allan's attitudes, pursuits and ideals during the 1960s and 1970s. Tony Mann, executive director of the Canadian Paraplegic Association (CPA) (Manitoba), and himself paraplegic, assisted Allan and his family with contacts for academic tutoring and access to university. As Allan was graduating from U of M, Tony recognized in him a determination and a strength of spirit. He challenged him to become involved with the CPA, and particularly the development of wheelchair sports in Manitoba. (This was what ultimately led to Allan's position as managing director of the first Pan American Wheelchair Games in 1967.) Tony Mann was an inspiration to Allan -- Tony's passion for challenging inaccessible systems, his drive, his long hours of work and dedication, all had a profound effect on Allan's life.

Leon Mitchell, a prominent lawyer in Winnipeg and also a polio survivor, worked for years with CPA and the Manitoba Wheelchair Sports and Recreation Association, lending them his brilliant mind, his commitment to disability issues and his determination to effect change. Leon Mitchell and Tony Mann were important mentors to Allan, and the death of these two men several years ago represented a big loss.

Leadership for Allan was about taking action. When the Organizing Committee of the Pan American Games refused to meet about the possibility of holding demonstration wheelchair basketball games during the regular Pan Am Games, George Dyck recalls that Allan threatened the committee with a public rally. "He was going to parade downtown if they did not talk to him," George says. "They finally gave in. That to me symbolizes the kind of pit-bull type of attitude that Allan had. When he believed in something, there was nothing going to get in his way."

Allan counselled George, "If you can't go straight ahead, go around. There is always a way. If you meet a brick wall, don't bang your head against it -- back up, and find another way."

Let the games begin

For twenty-one years (1962-1983), Allan was a man with two careers. He was an actuary and computer systems analyst with Monarch Life Assurance Co., and he was a dedicated volunteer and advocate on disability issues. He was equally committed to both; he could often be found at disability-related meetings during regular business hours, and working at Monarch Life late into the night.

April D'Aubin was a policy analyst with the Council of Canadians with Disabilities (CCD) during Allan's term as chairman of the disability rights organization. She remembers their early-morning meetings: "We would meet in Allan's office at Monarch Life, where he would give us our marching orders for the day."

During the early 1960s Allan was an active member of the Monday-Night Club, a social group for people with disabilities. Through this club, Allan had come to realize that there was a vacuum in the lives of wheelchair users in Winnipeg. Although many of them lived in the community and were employed, most continued to live socially isolated lives. Whether due to limited physical access or lack of willingness to accommodate, there simply weren't many social outlets for people with disabilities. Wheelchair sport was a rare exception. So, although he didn't play, Allan strongly supported it.

In 1965, when Allan learned that Winnipeg would play host to the 1967 Pan American Games, he saw an opportunity to profile the abilities of wheelchair athletes by including wheelchair basketball as a demonstration sport in the mainstream games. It was a radical idea at the time (the first international sporting event to integrate wheelchair sports was the 1994 Pan Am Games in Victoria), and although Allan finally convinced the Organizing Committee to meet about it, they rejected the idea.

Undaunted by the refusal, Allan conceived the idea of an independent event following the games, and formed a committee to prepare a proposal. Thanks largely to Allan's persuasive nature and a few key political contacts, his group was able to secure a grant of $17,000. They proceeded to implement Canada's first international wheelchair games -- the Pan American Wheelchair Games.

With the exception of table tennis, Allan was no athlete. But what he did like was to strategize, to plan and to make things happen. His involvement with the Pan Am Games had less to do with love of sports and more to do with taking advantage of an opportunity, one that challenged his skills and, at the same time, provided a venue for furthering the issues of disability.

"He had a very active brain. He played chess with champions -- actual Grand Masters. He was good at strategy," says George Dyck. "I think that there was an itch in his brain, and he had to scratch that part of his brain where he could organize things and make them happen."

The games were two years in the planning. Allan, at 26, was appointed the managing director. He created an executive committee of people with and without disabilities -- anyone with the time and willingness to help. George Dyck, George Murphy, Joe Smithson and Merv Thomson, all wheelchair users and all members of the Monday-Night Club, were key committee chairmen.

The obstacles appeared endless. First, while fledgling, local wheelchair sport groups existed across Canada, there was no local, national or international infrastructure. Allan had to find people to participate. In 1965 he travelled on his own to Mexico, visited rehab centres and sold the idea of sending a Mexican team to the games. The message gradually caught on in other South American countries which, up until then, knew little about wheelchair sports.

Second, the logistics of hosting more than a hundred wheelchair users at a time when accessible accommodations were almost non-existent, there was no accessible public transportation and accessible sporting venues were hard to find would be a nightmare.

Third, there was the question of how to ensure the participation of athletes from across the Americas when many people with disabilities didn't even have wheelchairs, let alone the funds to come to Canada for a sporting event.

These challenges, rather than thwarting the committee members, spurred them on. Through mail, ham radios and physical travel across North and South America, they spread the word. They even provided equipment and funding to some countries to ensure their athletes could participate. They were able to secure accommodation and transportation in Winnipeg through personal contacts. And since many of the Pan Am Games venues -- some only recently built -- were inaccessible, alternate venues were found.

Notwithstanding the numerous obstacles, the Pan American Wheelchair Games were held in Winnipeg from August 8 to August 13, 1967. The five-day event was a resounding success.

One hundred and thirty-five athletes from eight countries -- Argentina, Canada, Columbia, Jamaica, Mexico, Peru, Trinidad and Tobago and the United States -- competed in twelve events, including track and field, archery, rifle and pistol, volleyball, swimming and the pentathlon. In addition to the sporting events, an array of extracurricular activities -- barbecues, dances and parties -- had been organized to occupy non-sport hours.

While only some of the athletes would leave the games with medals, all of them would leave with fond memories of Winnipeg and Canada.

Two significant organizations were established as a result of these games. First, a Pan American Wheelchair Games Council was formed to arrange wheelchair games and higher standards of competition for the Pan American countries. During the initial council meetings it was agreed that Buenos Aires, Argentina, would host the next Pan Am Wheelchair Games in 1969, and it was expected that Cali, Columbia, would host the 1971 games.

Second, on November 24, 1967, only three months after the games, the Canadian Wheelchair Sports Association was created. Now there was a national and international infrastructure to promote wheelchair sports.

Allan was the first executive director of the Canadian Wheelchair Sports Association.

The media coverage of the first Pan American Wheelchair Games allowed all Manitobans -- indeed, all Canadians -- to witness firsthand the abilities of people with disabilities. Certainly Allan had been committed to the games for the sake of the athletes (they demonstrated to other wheelchair users that they, too, could achieve in a competitive environment); but, forever the strategist, Allan had also known that the games would be a catalyst for change -- change from which all Canadians with disabilities would benefit.

Allan was able to use the games to demonstrate to local businesses the benefits of access. He was able to convince the city of the need for accessible local transportation. Finally, he knew that the attitudes of the general public would be forever changed.

"We are no longer stared at or seen as an oddity," Allan said in a 1995 interview. "That's progress."

Another legacy of the games was that Allan himself had become known in Winnipeg and around the world as a man who could make things happen. While many people talk about change, Allan had put his money where his mouth was and proven to the world that he could succeed. His reputation as someone who could get the job done was secured.

Leveraging opportunities became a hallmark for Allan, one he would use over and over again throughout his lifetime. For Allan, every activity served multiple purposes. Whether it was a conference, sporting event or kite-flying festival, Allan used the occasion to encourage people with disabilities and to engage the community in general.

Giving a voice to the disability rights movement

By the 1970s, Allan began looking beyond the needs of people with physical disabilities, and began examining strategies to address the needs of people with different types of disabilities. In 1971, in addition to being the executive director of both the Canadian and Manitoba Wheelchair Sports Associations, Allan was a board member of the Canadian Paraplegic Association. The CPA dealt with a broader range of issues than wheelchair sports, and as Allan began to recognize the need for more accessible housing, schools and transportation, he also recognized that people with other types of disabilities -- blindness, deafness and others -- were facing similar issues.

There was a growing trend across North America toward social activism for civil rights. Allan, along with a few others, decided that a provincial organization was needed to lobby for the rights of all Manitobans with disabilities. They created the Manitoba League of People with Disabilities (MLPD).

Allan's wife, Clare, points out that one of the frustrations among people with disabilities in Winnipeg had been in dealing with service agencies staffed by non-disabled social workers and psychologists. "Allan came to a realization that there was little voice for people with disabilities. People were directed where to go, whether they had the potential for university [for example], or not."

The Manitoba League of People with Disabilities was unique in two ways. While existing organizations for people with disabilities were either service oriented (e.g. recreational services) or disability specific, the MLPD would lobby on behalf of all people with disabilities. Second, its bylaws required a majority of board members to be people with disabilities, thus ensuring that consumers would maintain control of their issues.

Leaving the sporting movement in capable hands, Allan immersed himself in disability rights. He invited disability representatives from other provinces to the inaugural meeting of the MLPD, leading to the formation of other provincial bodies and, two years later in 1974, of Canada's national cross-disability rights organization -- the Council of Canadians with Disabilities (originally called the Coalition of Provincial Organizations of the Handicapped, or COPOH). Allan sat on the boards of both the MLPD and COPOH, chairing COPOH from 1979 to 1982.

Allan shepherded COPOH through an extremely tumultuous period of Canadian history. The rights of people with disabilities competed for public and media attention with issues such as Quebec sovereignty, minority rights, Aboriginal rights, the National Energy Program, high inflation and, most importantly, the patriation of the constitution.

It was his work with this last issue and a supporting charter of rights that was perhaps Allan's most significant contribution to equality rights of people with disabilities in Canada.

Citizens and their representative organizations from across Canada were consulted. Disability organizations, particularly COPOH, were involved throughout the process. Allan, working closely with COPOH's executive director, Jim Derksen, and a small group of people across the country, lobbied heavily for the protection of the rights of people with disabilities within the charter.

Prime Minister Jean Chrétien was at that time the Minister of Justice, the department responsible for the charter. "We put a process in place to consult with Canadians. Disability groups were part of that process," says Mr. Chrétien. "Their presentations to the committee were the reason why disabled persons were included in the charter."

He confirms that then-Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau also gave full support to including the rights of people with disabilities in Section 15 of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms: "If Mr. Trudeau had not supported it," Mr. Chrétien acknowledges, "it would not have happened."

Today, Section 15 of the charter stands as one of the most significant milestones in the history of disability in Canada. It contends that Canadians with disabilities cannot be legally or systemically excluded from active participation in their community. Individuals and groups of people with disabilities have used the charter in several precedent-setting Supreme Court cases, including the Latimer case.

With COPOH, as with wheelchair sports, Allan saw his role as twofold: to work with his colleagues to address issues, and to encourage the development of healthy leadership in the disability community. He ensured the latter by constantly providing opportunities for new people with disabilities to participate in his organizations' activities. Whenever he attended a public meeting or a national board meeting Allan made sure that new recruits were constantly brought into the decision-making circles.

"He helped individuals identify their gifts, and helped them overcome their fears by focusing on the task at hand," says April D'Aubin.

Indeed, Laurie Beachell, on his first day of work as the national director of the CCD, was invited by Allan to a meeting with politicians to discuss disability issues. "Allan had given me a briefing the night before," he says. The next day at the meeting, Allan introduced Laurie to the politicians and then, turning to him, asked him to explain the issues at hand. "It wasn't that he was trying to set me up or make me look foolish; he simply wanted to give me an opportunity to take charge. Fortunately, he was there to help me out when it came to questions I couldn't answer!"

"Housing defines us"

During the 1970s, Allan studied other issues that affected the participation of people with disabilities in their communities -- particularly housing and transportation. Allan believed that if more people with disabilities lived alongside able-bodied neighbours, they would be less socially isolated and would develop networks and friendships, which would lead to a higher degree of integration.

While many people with disabilities could and did live independently, those with disabilities significant enough to require assistance with routine activities of daily living -- getting up in the morning, or going to bed at night -- had only two options. They could live with family members who provided support, or they could live in long-term care institutions. Both options were often less than ideal. Allan worked with a group of people with significant disabilities in Winnipeg to come up with a solution.

That solution was Ten Ten Sinclair. Built in 1975, Ten Ten Sinclair was to be a transitional living environment in which adults with disabilities would develop the skills necessary to live independently in the community. It was an integrated housing complex for tenants with and without disabilities. Of its 75 units, almost two-thirds were wheelchair accessible. People in the accessible units would have access to personal attendants to help them with routine tasks.

Ten Ten Sinclair proved a success on many levels. It reintroduced people with disabilities to the community. Among the able-bodied tenants of the complex, awareness was raised of the abilities of the tenants with disabilities. In addition, the cost of supporting people with disabilities in the community was less than half the cost of keeping them in institutions.

As Ten Ten Sinclair was a transitional living model, people were expected to move in, develop their skills and move out. While this worked in some cases, it didn't in others, as people were faced with nowhere to go. Under Allan's direction, Ten Ten Sinclair expanded its mandate to look at a variety of housing options, including permanent units where people requiring high levels of support could still live in their community. Ten Ten Sinclair began to develop "clusters," where small numbers of people with disabilities lived in an integrated environment and were still able to receive the supports they required to live independently.

Today, Ten Ten Sinclair operates with a budget in excess of $4-million and offers support to hundreds of people with disabilities -- at a cost well below that of institutions.

Shortly after Allan would become executive director of Winnipeg's Independent Living Resource Centre (ILRC), he would begin to develop another community living model to complement the options available through Ten Ten Sinclair. Allan and other ILRC members would develop a self-directed attendant service option whereby people with disabilities would be given the responsibility to manage their service needs. Within this model, the government would provide each individual with funding and it would be up to them to manage their own attendants. People with disabilities would recruit, hire and train staff, pay wages and appropriate Canada Pension Plan contributions, even fire staff if necessary. As an empowerment tool, it would be without precedent! People in Winnipeg would have a range of options from which to choose.

"Allan certainly talked about the role of housing, and that housing was fundamental," says Milton Sussman, former director of Ten Ten Sinclair. "His view was that housing wasn't just the physical building, it was clearly all the supports you needed to be able to live independently. I think he saw it as the core of what makes people able to function independently." Milton adds that this philosophy reflects "a high degree of wisdom. Housing really does, in many ways, define us. It does give us that functional ability, and you see it in the choices that people make."

Whenever Allan moved from one organization to another, he left behind a legacy of work and a group of people with the skills to carry on. However, Allan never completely left the issues that he felt strongly about. He made himself available whenever solicited, and often when not.

The telephone was Allan's tool to keep things moving. He used it well. His wife Clare recalls many evenings when Allan was on the phone with a host of different groups. Both Laurie Beachell and Traci Walters refer to Allan's Sunday-night telephone calls, both of which occurred like clockwork -- at 9:00 p.m. for Traci and 10:00 p.m. for Laurie -- to discuss the upcoming week.

"When Allan passed away," says Laurie, "an important communication link between organizations was lost. Although no one really recognized it at the time, Allan's constant link with each of the groups had the effect of keeping them all moving in the same direction."

Allan had enough energy for two, and a passion for work. But he wasn't all seriousness. Milton Sussman says, "One of the things that struck me about Allan is that he was a very hearty guy and he enjoyed having a good time." He became familiar with Allan's sense of humour and points out that even in the midst of "dealing with all of these pretty heavy kinds of issues, he was enthusiastic and you got the sense that he had a good time."

Overcoming obstacles to be a family

Allan was a pioneer in many areas, his personal life included.

With Allan's full schedule -- all his advocacy work added to his already busy schedule with Monarch Life -- one would think that there wasn't much time left for a social life. But one day, while Allan was visiting the offices of the Canadian Paraplegic Association, an employee from an office down the hall caught Allan's attention. Her name was Clare McMorran. Clare also used a wheelchair as a result of polio. She had been raised in a small town outside of Winnipeg and had never really had anything to do with disability organizations or wheelchair sports.

This spunky young woman who didn't seem interested in disability issues intrigued Allan. He invited her out to a disability event he was organizing. Before long, they were dating.

"He was interesting, outgoing and very involved in many things," says Clare. "We struggled with the image of both being wheelchair users, but eventually our feelings and love for each other went beyond the concern for image." Clare and Allan married in 1973.

They broke ground together in 1979 when they adopted a child -- two wheelchair users adopting a child without a disability. The experience would be memorable for any couple, but it was especially monumental for the Simpsons.

The process began in 1976. Shortly after Allan and Clare attended a Children's Aid Society (CAS) group orientation meeting to meet staff and to pick up an adoption application package, the CAS called to schedule a meeting at their home. Clare remembers the day vividly. "We both came home from work early and we were excited to meet these two people from Children's Aid," she says. But, to her surprise, "they came that day asking us to withdraw our application... Those were pretty well the first words that they said when they came in and sat down."

Clare was shocked by the overt discrimination. Allan was a professional with sixteen years of work experience. Clare was working but wanted to be a stay-at-home mother. They were ideal candidates for adoptive parents. The only difference between them and other couples were their disabilities.

The CAS agents claimed to be concerned about the best interests of the child. "The hair just rose on the back of our necks," says Clare. "Maybe Allan had more perception that this might happen. We had never, to my knowledge, talked about this as a possibility." She had felt confident in their ability to be parents, and had not considered that there might be such a major problem. Many of their friends with disabilities had successfully adopted children, but in those families, only the men used a wheelchair. "Their main concern was that I was in a chair -- the mother."

Clare and Allan began to talk about how they would deal with various issues such as safety. After a couple of hours, Clare says, "We finally got to the point. We wanted the same home study as other prospective parents."

The CAS representatives finally agreed to the home study, but told them not to get their hopes up. The possibility of adoption now appeared remote.

"We had many, many, many interviews," says Clare. A social worker, "who turned out to be a wonderful, supportive person," was assigned to assess them. "It was a little scary. But she looked into our lifestyles very closely -- each of us individually, and together as a couple. It sure helped us really dig deep in terms of what we thought we could provide to a child."

The three-year adoption process took an emotional toll on Allan and Clare. Although Allan had worked for more than a decade on disability issues, this had been his first personal experience with flagrant discrimination. It was a wake-up call of sorts, emphasizing for him the need for constant vigilance -- to be prepared to continually fight for the rights of all people with disabilities. CAS had assumed, without talking to Allan and Clare first, that these two people with disabilities could not care for a child. Had they not been able to convince the agency otherwise, Allan and Clare would never have had the opportunity to adopt children, and their girls would not have had the chance to experience their love.

They adopted Julie in 1979, and Katherine (Katie) in 1984 (they did not encounter additional barriers for the second adoption). Both girls have grown into attractive, articulate young women.

"Dad was busy but he always made time to spend with us," says Julie "He would take me to soccer and other things. He made a point of spending alone time with each of us."

Katherine remembers that her father was always trying to teach her something. They played chess together. "He really liked chess. He would use it to teach me how to think strategically."

To Katherine and Julie, their parents were the same as the able-bodied parents of their friends. They just used wheelchairs to get around. But in other ways, their father was indeed special. Julie says that "after he died, we read all the articles that were published and heard stories about what an amazing man our father was. As kids we generally knew what he did, but not really. We now have a lot of memories."

Clare concedes that Allan gave his life to the community of people with disabilities. He did it because of his passion for individual rights and his love for engaging in organizational politics. "As a household, we remember the phone always ringing, the interesting personalities who stayed at our home from Sweden, Africa and Trinidad, Dad in the media again." But it is very important to know that Allan always had time for his family -- for Clare, Julie and Katherine -- and for his extended family. Clare says, "We designed and built our accessible home together, shared time cheering on our girls on the baseball and soccer fields, were proud parents at school Christmas concerts and graduations." Clare says that she and Allan shared a deep faith and were active in their church.

She also says that her husband loved to travel "and instilled in the rest of us the challenge of taking to the open road to find adventure and meet new people." They took family trips to Germany, France, Austria, Mexico and across Canada. "He climbed a mountain with the girls in Banff, and explored new trails."

Their last journey as a family was to Ottawa to watch Allan be inducted into the Order of Canada. The morning of the ceremony, Allan set about to take his daughters on a tour of the Parliament Buildings. "We travelled the halls, went to the door of the prime minister's office, sat and listened to proceedings from the gallery," says Clare. "In reflecting on this trip now, Julie, Katie and I know so well the energy and devotion Allan had towards his work and his country and his family."

Pioneering the Independent Living movement in Canada

By the early 1980s, the wheelchair sports and disability rights movements were going strong, and more people were living outside of institutions. However, Allan recognized that the vast majority of people with disabilities still were not able to participate fully in their community.

What does an individual with a disability need in order to be a full, functioning member of society? By this time, Allan had acknowledged that sports were not an option for all people with disabilities, and that elite sport was accessible to even fewer. Thus the personal benefits of empowerment and self-esteem associated with athletics weren't available to the majority of people with disabilities in Canada. The issue of personal development had not been adequately addressed for most Canadians with disabilities.

There remained other barriers as well. One of the most significant was lack of control of one's own destiny. The services and supports on which Canadians with disabilities relied in order to function in their community were still being developed and delivered primarily by non-disabled people and did not always meet their needs or expectations. Without adequate community-based supports, many people with disabilities were limited in their level of independence, access to education and opportunity to develop employment and related skills. The issue of who set the priorities still needed to be addressed.

A new social movement was emerging south of the border -- the Independent Living (IL) movement. Conceived in Berkeley, California, the IL movement was founded on the principle of consumer direction. Fundamentally, the movement is about people taking control of their own lives. Priorities were set by those most affected by an issue. Programs based on the philosophy of self-direction were developed. Independent Living Resource Centres (ILRCs) arose in the United States that provided a combination of empowerment, information-sharing and personal advocacy services to help equip people with disabilities with the tools necessary to take their rightful place in their community.

In the early '80s Allan's own environment was changing. While he contemplated a career move, the new owners of Monarch Life contemplated a move of their own -- relocating the headquarters to Ontario. It seemed as if fate had intervened. Allan was offered a job with the new head office but didn't want to leave his home city. After years of having a foot in two camps, he felt he was ready to step the rest of the way into one camp where he could do the things he enjoyed most -- strategizing, lobbying, playing politics and, most importantly, serving clients with disabilities.

This was the first time Allan had ever considered leaving his job with Monarch Life and taking a paid position in an area where he'd been a volunteer for so long. Was it a wise career move? Would he be as effective a lobbyist if decision-makers believed his motivation was self-interest rather than helping others? After much thought and discussion with friends and family, Allan decided to take the step. Allan had worked hard at Monarch Life, but his heart had long been in disability issues.

Allan Simpson became the executive director of Canada's first Independent Living Resource Centre -- established in 1983 in Winnipeg, Manitoba.

For Allan, the Independent Living Resource Centre was an opportunity to put into practice some of his long-held beliefs -- that people with even significant disabilities could manage their own lives, using professionals as resources, not being directed by them. And he knew that in order for people to manage their own affairs, they had to be empowered.

In his new position, Allan worked with others across the country to stimulate ILRCs in other provinces. In 1985 he helped to establish the national ILRC umbrella organization, the Canadian Association of Independent Living Centres. By the end of the decade, there were 18 Canadian ILRCs in communities from coast to coast.

By the end of the '80s, after having spent three decades developing and implementing strategies for personal empowerment and collective advocacy, Allan continued to witness the marginalization of people with disabilities. While unemployment among people with disabilities was lower, it was still more than twice the national average of that of non-disabled Canadians.

In 1990, people with disabilities represented 15.2 per cent of the Canadian population. Under-represented in the work force, people with disabilities were over-represented in the ranks of the poor, marginalized and socially isolated. They lacked reasonable access to community housing and public transportation in most cities, and were generally limited in their ability to participate in their communities. The playing field was still not level for people with disabilities. Although statistics showed that quality of life had improved, it remained well below that of other Canadians.

Allan was by now recognized in Canada and around the world as one of the country's senior statesmen on disability issues. He was a resource to decision makers everywhere. Although many did not always agree with Allan, they respected his commitment and his ability to understand issues from all sides. Among politicians and bureaucrats, Allan was valued for his intelligence and his insight, and among family and friends for his dedication, compassion and selflessness. He was recognized by everyone as a man who had the ability to get things done.

By 1990, Allan had turned his attention to the broader issue of social reform. He was particularly concerned about the devolution of social programs from the federal government to the provinces brought about by the recession and huge federal deficits of the mid-1990s. Allan interpreted the transfer of powers as a loss of national standards and consistency. In particular, he believed that the Canada Health and Social Transfer (CHST) Act represented the first step toward the potential destruction of the values and institutions that had been established to ensure that Canadians with disabilities would have the supports they needed to participate in all aspects of society. In fact, Allan believed the CHST to be detrimental to all citizens, not just those with disabilities, and remained vehemently opposed to the act and its underlying philosophy the rest of his life.

Throughout his lifetime, Allan remained an ardent federalist. He believed in Canada and what it stood for. Canada truly was the best place in the world to live -- Allan knew this long before the United Nations recognized it. However, he also recognized that individual and human rights are fragile and that, if we want to maintain these rights, we citizens have to be willing to fight for them.

In 1997, the Prime Minister held a First Ministers' meeting to discuss social issues at the Foreign Affairs Building on Sussex Drive in Ottawa. The CCD held a demonstration on the front lawn outside the meeting to protest the devolution of social programs without strong national standards from the federal government to the provinces. Usually a behind-the-scenes networker, Allan could and did take to the public stage when he believed it would serve his purpose. He was front-and-centre during the 1997 protest, carrying a placard that read, "STOP Ignoring Disabled People!"

The 1990s saw the emergence of another issue that concerned Allan greatly -- assisted suicide. Allan was a staunch opponent of assisted suicide and worked closely with the CCD to develop an organizational position. Assisted suicide has major implications for the disability community, as many people with disabilities over the years have been "helped" by others to end their lives. Personal experience had taught Allan that the perceptions of the average person working in the health care system regarding the quality of life experienced by people with disabilities was low. As such, these personnel tended to encourage people with disabilities to accept an easy and comfortable death rather than pursue aggressive measures to continue life. Allan fought this attitude. When his grandmother experienced an illness that required her to be hospitalized, Allan became her advocate, working to ensure that her options were not limited by negative perceptions of her quality of life.

Holding him in our hearts

Allan initiated a fanciful gift to his community in the early 1990s. The annual Winnipeg Kite Flying Festival was, on one level, a fundraiser for the not-for-profit Independent Living Resource Centre. But it was also much more. The event was to be organized and run by people with disabilities. Allan explained it as an opportunity for people with disabilities to do something for their community -- to give something back to the city of Winnipeg. The festival was also a forum to show the public that people with disabilities were capable, contributing citizens of Winnipeg. And it was an opportunity to become more comfortable in interactions with people with disabilities.

Allan's mind never stopped. He was constantly thinking up innovative ways to push his message of inclusion. With humour, compassion and insight, Allan epitomized what it is to be Canadian.

Throughout his life, Allan remained committed to his values -- that everyone was equal and therefore deserving of an opportunity to participate equally in society -- and to his vision -- that, by working together, we can make Canada the best place in the world for people with disabilities to live.

A natural leader, Allan used his skills to change the way Canada relates to its citizens with disabilities. As a mentor and role model, he used his skills to change the way citizens with disabilities viewed themselves -- and, in so doing, helped them develop their own skills and abilities.

Allan was a remarkable individual. His friends and family are still paying tribute to his life and his legacy.

"Al gave us a heck of a good run," says George Murphy, "and we have enjoyed every moment."

Adds George Dyck: "We went to a place we would have never gone."

And Allan's wife, Clare, has her own lasting words from her husband. "In the last couple of years before his death, Allan knew his energy levels were decreasing." Yet, "day after day, night after night, Allan advocated on behalf of countless individuals and organizations with such determination." One evening after Allan got home from intervening on behalf of a person who did not have the strength to lobby for his needs, Clare said to her husband: "How will we ever remember all the contributions that you make?

"He answered, 'Clare, when I am gone, just carry on the work...'

"I hold this conversation in my heart," says Clare. "It speaks to all of us in the disability movement."