A new generation of people with disabilities is heading for the work force

Swing for the fences
A new generation of people with disabilities is heading for the work force
By JEANNIE KEVER
Houston Chronicle

Andrew Holton slid out of the car, a sheaf of fliers in hand, and strode into the Executive Inn in Brookshire.

His curly brown hair neatly brushed, his pants and oxford-cloth shirt crisp, the 6-foot-2-inch Holton waved briefly to the preoccupied desk clerk and pulled the previous week's fliers from their plastic stand, replacing them with his updated version.

At 22, fresh out of school, he was on the job and earning a paycheck.

Jobs are the next frontier for Holton and his peers, the generation of young adults who pioneered the movement of people with disabilities into public school classrooms.

When Holton left the Katy Independent School District's vocational training program last spring, his main concern was finding a job.

"A paying job," he said.

Holton has a form of autism and Tourette's syndrome, and although he had a lot going for him -- a Katy High School diploma, a friendly personality and a savvy family who understood the challenges but also believed in the possibilities -- the obstacles were daunting.

The reality of autism, a developmental disability that affects communication and social skills, made job-hunting far more complicated than circling a few classified ads.

In the coming years, U.S. employers increasingly will find people with cognitive disabilities among those looking for work. Diagnoses of autism alone have skyrocketed in the past 15 years, up from about one in every 5,000 births to one in 166.

Holton's résumé lists his accomplishments, including a raft of volunteer positions and the rank of Eagle Scout, but it also acknowledges his differences. "On occasion he will say things out loud that others would only think to themselves, yet Andrew speaks from the heart," one section noted.

His mother, Scottie Holton, knows more about job markets for people with disabilities than most parents; as a counselor whose clients include families with special-needs kids, she has seen too many people graduate from high school onto the living-room couch.

But she also knows this: "People who have a child with a disability want the very same thing everybody wants for their grown-up children: something to do, people who care about them."

Reliable statistics are scarce, but everyone agrees that people with disabilities are less likely to be employed than those without a disability.

That's beginning to change, said Roger Webb, executive director of the Texas Council for Developmental Disabilities.

"It's less unusual now to see people with a severe disability, whether it's a person with mental retardation or a person in a wheelchair," Webb said, "so I think employers realize that's just a part of life."

Life nudged forward by the law and practical experience with kids with disabilities mainstreaming in the schools.


`I love my job'
Holton had a head start on work, landing a part-time job before he left school in May.

Every week, he and Karen Henderson made the rounds of businesses in Katy and as far west as Brookshire, delivering an advertising flier called the Coffee News.

For those few hours, Holton was working, aided by the 37-year-old Henderson, who serves as an assistant to several people with disabilities. He doesn't drive, so she acted as chauffeur, waiting in the parking lot while he ducked inside several dozen restaurants and offices.

In between stops, the two settled into an easy camaraderie. The Holtons hired Henderson after meeting her through Special Olympics, where she routinely cheers on athletes and where Andrew Holton competes in several sports. He rents a small suite in her home in Katy, dividing his time between there and his parents' home nearby.

"All right, dude," Henderson said as he climbed back in after a stop one day this summer. "What's next?"

As they headed down Interstate 10, Holton returned to his favorite subject of the day, the 31-inch amberjack he'd caught during a Gulf fishing trip a few days earlier, reeling it in as Henderson was hanging over the side of the boat, seasick.

Holton loves to fish and could have talked all day about the trophy-size specimen, something Henderson bore in good humor.

"Karen, what did you think when I yelled `Fish on'?" he asked.

"I thought you were a nut case," she said somberly.

Henderson is a native of Scotland who arrived in Houston by way of Canada and New Jersey. She had worked at a hospice in New Jersey, and she views the role she assumed after moving here as just another form of helping those who need her.

"It's not work," she said. "It's a pleasure."

Henderson has taken Holton to Schlitterbahn in New Braunfels and to a local pool hall. They listen to country music, watch fishing shows on TBS and cook for friends and family.

Her presence sets Holton apart from the other Coffee News delivery people, said Brownie Shott, who produces the double-sided publication filled with advertising, trivia and lighthearted stories. But that's not necessarily bad, she said.

Shott is active in the Katy schools on behalf of her son, who has multiple disabilities, and after hearing that the district's special-education division needed businesses as training sites and potential employers, she decided to help.

When a route became available, the school recommended Holton. "He's a great people person," Shott said.

Holton files a weekly report detailing how many fliers were left from the previous week and how many he put in their place.

"At least two or three weeks out of the month, when he faxes his report to me, he writes, 'I love my job,' " Shott said. "The fact that he needs a support person is different, but he probably takes better care than my route people without disabilities, because he's incredibly proud of his job."


The family's center
Autism is a spectrum disorder, meaning some people are more severely affected than others. In general, people with autism have trouble understanding and communicating with others.

Research is continuing into the cause, which is believed to be at least partly genetic. It affects four times as many boys as girls.

There is no cure, and fitting in with society is a lifelong challenge.

Holton recognizes the nonverbal cues most people rely upon -- a narrowing of the eyes, a quick frown -- but he doesn't always know how to interpret them. And while he understands the concept of joking, he tends to take things literally.

As a child, he hated storybooks in which animals wore clothes. As an adult, he likes nonfiction, especially natural history.

Mostly, he likes fishing. Also baking apple pies.

He began baking in high school, and he has given away hundreds of pies. He cooks, too, often with Henderson, although she's more freewheeling about improvising, and he likes to stick with his original plan. (He often develops his own recipes, considering it somehow dishonest to use someone else's.)

Intense interest in just a few subjects is a common trait in people with autism. Holton takes medication to help control his symptoms of Tourette's syndrome, a neurological disorder characterized by involuntary motor and vocal tics.


The whole story
But his disabilities are only part of Holton's story.

"We really love it when people appreciate Andrew, because we think he's cool," said his 21-year-old sister, Alison, a junior arts management and museum studies major at the University of Tulsa.

"Our family revolves around Andrew, and that's OK. We've done some really cool things because of Andrew."

The accommodations began early. Scottie Holton had a background in child development, and she and her husband, John, realized that their first child was different while he was still a baby.

"He was doing things, but not quite like everyone else," she said. He had low muscle tone, and problems with balance and movement.

They lived in Beaumont, where John Holton worked for Exxon Mobil. He still works there, commuting to the family's home in Katy on weekends and at midweek.

Andrew was evaluated by a orthopedist when he was 9 months old and by a neurologist when he was 2. Doctors didn't detect a problem. But by then, Andrew had a younger sister.

"When Alison was born, she was so quick to do everything, and we didn't teach her anything," Scottie Holton said. "We taught Andrew everything."

When Andrew was 3, the neurologist determined that he had pervasive developmental delay, a broad term for autism.

"We didn't know if he'd be able to walk," John Holton said. "We didn't know if he'd be able to read."

Each milestone was doubly sweet.

The family moved to Spring Branch and then to Katy in search of opportunities for Andrew.

"We knew Andrew was different," his father said. "We knew he wasn't going to be a star athlete, a star student."

But they were determined that he have a chance.

Scottie Holton attended a conference in Montreal the summer before Andrew entered first grade and returned home convinced that inclusion -- mixing special-education students, often accompanied by an aide, with the other kids in classes and extracurricular activities -- was the answer. That's common practice now, but it was a new concept then.

During middle school, a doctor suggested the disability might be described as Asperger syndrome -- a milder form of autism -- and the family has since used that term.

Mostly, they simply incorporated his interests into the family routine. Fishing trips to Colorado became their standard vacation. Weekends were often spent at Lake Conroe or the fishing lake in Katy's Peckham Park.

"I caught on real early that Andrew needed us," Alison said. "I didn't want to make his life tougher."


School to work
As the number of autism diagnoses rises, experts say the American workplace will face the same challenges that hit public schools more than a decade ago.

Debbie Wilkes, director of developmental programs for the Richardson Independent School District north of Dallas, reaches for a grander analogy.

"I think you need to think about it as a civil-rights issue," she said. "It's going to take time."

But work already is a looming issue, the place where the public investment in education could pay off.

People in their 20s grew up seeing people with disabilities in their schools. As they enter the work force, Wilkes said, they're more accepting there, too.

Cathy Pratt, director of the Indiana Resource Center for Autism and a board member of the Autism Society of America, said that employers don't always understand the social accommodations needed by someone with autism.

And people with autism may not understand "the cultural norms of work -- who you go to for supervision, what are the things you can say or not say to co-workers, those things in the work culture that are hidden but make a difference."


In search of success
Andrew Holton started the summer in search of success but unsure whether he would find it.

He had his job at the Coffee News, and he was signed up for three weeks as a volunteer counselor at Camp CAMP, for kids with disabilities.

He had a checking account and a savings account, but other questions were unsettled. He had thought about getting a driver's license and was curious about college, but both made him nervous.

Softball season ramped up at Special Olympics, and Holton assumed his place with the Katy Wolf Pack.

A new opportunity arose in July.

Lennar Homes was about to start its second round of three-month internships for athletes from Special Olympics teams. Lennar began working with the organization in 1998 to build Habitat for Humanity homes, teaching construction skills to the athletes.

Last year, the home builder began an internship program to introduce office skills.

Holton was one of three people recommended for this year's internships, and by mid-July he had a new wardrobe, a company badge, even a desk. With Henderson or a friend covering his Coffee News route, he has worked 25 hours a week at the homebuilder's central region headquarters in far west Houston, sorting and delivering mail, among other duties.

It has been a crash course in independence, but his supervisor said he is learning, including some of the intangible nuances of the workplace.

When the internship ends later this month, Holton's bio should be added to www.projectopportunity.com, a Web site reflecting the partnership among Special Olympics, Habitat for Humanity and Lennar and advertising athletes to potential employers.

Once more, Andrew Holton will be looking for a job.

jeannie.kever@chron.com
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