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Authors: Michael Hingson
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who is a passenger on any common carrier, airplane, motor vehicle, railway train, motorbus, streetcar, boat, or any other public conveyance or mode of transportation operating within this state, shall be entitled to have with him or her a specially trained guide dog, signal dog, or service dog.” 4
The question my dad was researching was, is the school bus operated by the public school district considered a “public conveyance”? Dad reasoned that Palmdale High School was a public high school and all children in the district boundaries were allowed to attend. The school bus was a vehicle utilized by the school district to transport children to this public facility, so in his mind it qualified as a common carrier. My dad’s library research bore out his assumption.
Mom, Dad, and I attended the meeting at the school district office in the public meeting room. It smelled like chalk dust, Old Spice, and Brylcreem. There were six or eight rows of chairs, and we sat in the front row. The school board members sat across the front of the room with the chairman in the middle. Squire rested quietly at my feet. I was nervous and excited.
The school board took several hours to work through its agenda while we waited for our item to come up. Mom left to have a smoke a couple of times, and Dad’s foot tapped quickly, shaking the bench. Finally it was our turn.
The superintendent began with a pronouncement: “The Board of Education has set a rule that no live animal will be allowed on the school bus. As a board, we are tasked with enforcing the rules. We will not make an exception to the rule.”
My dad stood up, facing the board, was recognized, and asked, “Did anybody complain?”
The superintendent answered no.
“Did my son or his guide dog misbehave?”
No, again.
“The fact is, under California law it is a felony to deny access to public transportation to a blind person with a guide dog.”
Go, Dad . I was proud.
“You can have all the rules you want, but you are violating the law.” He was getting heated now. “If you guys keep this up, somebody’s going to spend time in the penitentiary.”
The superintendent was quiet. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension. My dad’s challenge lingered in the air. Then the superintendent turned to the chairman of the board who worked as a lawyer and asked, “Is that true?” His voice was laced with arrogance. The lawyer said yes, it was true.
Pause again. Then an answer. His voice was loud and clear. “Well, we have our rules, and we have to go by our rules. Our local rules supersede the law because it’s a school situation.” My dad pointed out that since the school district had hired a car and driver to ferry me to school, that made that car a school bus under the law. The board chose to ignore his arguments and voted 2 to 3 in favor of supporting the school board rule. We had lost. Squire and I had been officially kicked off the school bus. My parents fumed all the way home.
My dad was not yet done. His next step was a direct appeal to Edmund “Pat” Brown, the governor of California. Governor Brown was an advocate for progressive and populist causes, including education and fair housing, and his tenure was marked by social change. Dad wrote a letter to the governor explaining what had happened and requesting my reinstatement on the school bus. His plea was supported by a careful, detailed argument, the fruits of his library research. He ended the letter with “This is wrong. The school board is discriminating against my son.”
Dad mailed his letter off to Sacramento.
Next thing we heard, the superintendent of the Antelope Valley School District was summoned to a meeting at the state capitol. He went. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall in that room.
A few days later I got called into the assistant principal’s office once again. This time, the news was better. “Well, you’re back on the school bus,” the principal said. “Your dad
The question my dad was researching was, is the school bus operated by the public school district considered a “public conveyance”? Dad reasoned that Palmdale High School was a public high school and all children in the district boundaries were allowed to attend. The school bus was a vehicle utilized by the school district to transport children to this public facility, so in his mind it qualified as a common carrier. My dad’s library research bore out his assumption.
Mom, Dad, and I attended the meeting at the school district office in the public meeting room. It smelled like chalk dust, Old Spice, and Brylcreem. There were six or eight rows of chairs, and we sat in the front row. The school board members sat across the front of the room with the chairman in the middle. Squire rested quietly at my feet. I was nervous and excited.
The school board took several hours to work through its agenda while we waited for our item to come up. Mom left to have a smoke a couple of times, and Dad’s foot tapped quickly, shaking the bench. Finally it was our turn.
The superintendent began with a pronouncement: “The Board of Education has set a rule that no live animal will be allowed on the school bus. As a board, we are tasked with enforcing the rules. We will not make an exception to the rule.”
My dad stood up, facing the board, was recognized, and asked, “Did anybody complain?”
The superintendent answered no.
“Did my son or his guide dog misbehave?”
No, again.
“The fact is, under California law it is a felony to deny access to public transportation to a blind person with a guide dog.”
Go, Dad . I was proud.
“You can have all the rules you want, but you are violating the law.” He was getting heated now. “If you guys keep this up, somebody’s going to spend time in the penitentiary.”
The superintendent was quiet. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension. My dad’s challenge lingered in the air. Then the superintendent turned to the chairman of the board who worked as a lawyer and asked, “Is that true?” His voice was laced with arrogance. The lawyer said yes, it was true.
Pause again. Then an answer. His voice was loud and clear. “Well, we have our rules, and we have to go by our rules. Our local rules supersede the law because it’s a school situation.” My dad pointed out that since the school district had hired a car and driver to ferry me to school, that made that car a school bus under the law. The board chose to ignore his arguments and voted 2 to 3 in favor of supporting the school board rule. We had lost. Squire and I had been officially kicked off the school bus. My parents fumed all the way home.
My dad was not yet done. His next step was a direct appeal to Edmund “Pat” Brown, the governor of California. Governor Brown was an advocate for progressive and populist causes, including education and fair housing, and his tenure was marked by social change. Dad wrote a letter to the governor explaining what had happened and requesting my reinstatement on the school bus. His plea was supported by a careful, detailed argument, the fruits of his library research. He ended the letter with “This is wrong. The school board is discriminating against my son.”
Dad mailed his letter off to Sacramento.
Next thing we heard, the superintendent of the Antelope Valley School District was summoned to a meeting at the state capitol. He went. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall in that room.
A few days later I got called into the assistant principal’s office once again. This time, the news was better. “Well, you’re back on the school bus,” the principal said. “Your dad
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