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Systems
analyst David Bradford (above) gains some perspective from
the deck of his Pearl District loft. "Little people grow
up learning how to deal with physical obstacles," he says.
"The hard part is the social obstacles."
The
LPA has 17,000 members, of whom 8,251 are short-statured
(4 feet 10 inches or less). The remainder are family members.
Milwaukee
showman Steve Vento, a.k.a. the Nacho Man, takes pride in
his dramato-culinary bravura. "This is probably the best
job I've ever had," the restaurateur says.
LPA
members include teachers, nurses, welders, clergy, mechanics,
insurance adjusters, bakers, astrophysicists, florists and
professors.
Estimates
of the number of dwarves in the United States range from
75,000 to 200,000. The usual estimate is 100,000, which
suggests that dwarves account for 0.04 percent of the population,
or one out of 2,730 people.
The
LPA was founded in 1957. Its motto: Think Big. Birthplace:
Reno, Nev., "The Biggest Little City in the World."
Doernbecher
pediatric gastroenterologist Dr. Ken Lee says popular culture
prefers to portray dwarves as curiosities on some Fantasy
Island rather than as professionals.
Anthropologist
Joan Ablon of University of California-San Francisco has
written two perceptive books on the lives of dwarves: Little
People in America: The Social Dimensions of Dwarfism
and Living With Difference: Families With Dwarf Children.
The
Little People
of America can
be contacted at
(888) LPA-2001
or online at www.lpaonline.org
Other
dwarfism-related sites include www.dwarfism.org,
www.turtlethought.
com/lpa and www2.shore.net/
~dkennedy.
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Small
World: the different medical conditions of dwarfism
Unconventional
Convention: The National Conference of the Little People
of America is coming to Portland
They live in a world of giants: a world of craned necks and
heavy doors, where bank counters represent an awkward stretch
and top shelves are always just out of reach. It is a world
calibrated to someone else's measurements, filled with everyday
items, from bicycles to umbrellas, that were never intended
for their diminutive proportions.
In the words of dwarf actor Billy Barty, "You don't know
discrimination until you walk up to a 19-inch toilet with
your 13-inch inseam."
Next week, approximately 1,000 dwarves and their families
will converge on Portland for the national conference of
the Little People of America--a gathering that is, for the
profoundly short of stature, the social event of the year.
The LPA has come a long way since it was founded by Barty
in 1957. The organization now boasts doctors, lawyers, engineers
and politicians among its ranks. But as it prepares to take
center stage at the Portland Marriott, the group finds itself
in the middle of an increasingly contentious debate between
dwarves whose careers hinge on being taken seriously and
dwarves whose paychecks depend on their amusement value.
Systems analyst David Bradford stands 3 feet 8 inches--about
as tall as the average 5-year-old boy. He uses pedal extenders
to drive his truck and barbecue tongs to fish his clothes
out of the washer. Because of a condition known as brachydactylia,
his fingers are too short to grasp a spoon in the usual
manner, so he holds it between his index and middle fingers--just
as you'd hold a cigarette, except pointing the other way.
Bradford downplays the mechanical improvisation. "Little
people grow up learning how to deal with physical obstacles.
By the time you're an adult, you don't even think about
it," he says. "The hard part is the social obstacles."
The 36-year-old Oregon State University geology grad spent
11 years as a programmer, systems analyst and Webmaster
for Cascade Corporation, a Gresham firm that makes forklift
attachments. He enjoys poker, kayaking and golf and is chairman
of the McKenzie Lofts Homeowners Association.
Of course, his height does not appear on his résumé,
but in many ways it looms over his career. "There's always
the fear you're not being taken seriously in your profession
and that you're being passed over for opportunities," he
says. "You're always second-guessing the situation."
Thanks to the Americans with Disabilities Act, it is now
easier than ever for dwarves to make their way into the
mainstream of American society. But as they reach for new
heights in the professional world, they feel they are being
held back by the likes of the Nacho Man.
At 4 feet 2 inches, there's nothing Steve Vento enjoys
more than rattling cages. He has worked in circuses, carnivals
and nightclubs since he was 11 years old. He has also performed
roles in advertisements as the Hamburglar, Big Boy and Mr.
Yuk. But Vento's latest role has touched off a furor in
the LPA. Since January, Vento has been working at Nacho
Mama's, a Mexican restaurant in Milwaukee, Wisc., where
he dons a black jumpsuit and an enormous modified sombrero
with corn chips in its rim and salsa in its crest. Diners
beckon him to their table and help themselves to a snack.
"People eat off my head," Vento says. "I'm a walking buffet."
Vento, who owns a part interest in the restaurant, also
does balloons and magic tricks. He describes the gig as
"probably the best job I've ever had."
"I'm a people person," says the 39-year-old former car
salesman. "What I have is not a disability or a handicap.
It's a gift God gave me. I make people happy with my job.
What's wrong with making people happy?"
The idea has proved so successful, Vento says, that he
is considering opening a string of franchises.
This is the sort of talk that makes many dwarves shudder.
Anthony Soares, the LPA's vice-president for public relations,
excoriated Vento's act as "barbaric" and "humiliating."
For dwarves whose living depends on their credibility as
professionals, the antics of the Nacho Man are particularly
nettlesome because they reinforce the idea that dwarves
are, well, something to laugh about.
"This is a difficult issue," says Portlander Ken Lee, a
35-year-old dwarf who stands 4 feet 5 inches. "When dwarves
are seen like that, it hurts our image, especially since
there is not a corresponding portrayal of dwarves in a more
positive light.
"Think about popular culture--plays, movies, TV series.
It's hard to think of a dwarf that's been portrayed as a
normal, everyday person," Lee says. "You don't see the dwarf
mechanic, which some are, or a social worker, which some
are, and you certainly never see a dwarf physician."
Lee should know. He's a pediatric gastroenterologist at
Doernbecher Children's Hospital. Sitting in an office cluttered
with medical textbooks, Lee leans back in his chair, legs
dangling above the floor, and dissects questions with clinical
precision.
"Most of the barriers I'm encountering are not...obvious,"
he says. "It's the subtle ways in which some people treat
you. They don't give you the same respect."
An avid basketball fan and aviation-history enthusiast,
Lee has become more aware of social prejudice against dwarves
since completing his residency. "When you're a resident,
you are being picked on because you're a resident," he says.
"But now that I'm an attending physician, I'm realizing
that society views dwarfism as something different."
"We've had a hard time getting people to look at us as
real people," agrees Matt Roloff, a high-tech executive
from Hillsboro who stands 4 feet 2 inches. "We're always
looked down on."
About a month ago, I sat around a conference table at the
paper's weekly staff meeting and outlined a proposal to
write about the LPA conference (see "Unconventional Convention,"
page 26).
The room exploded with laughter. Then came the wisecracks.
"Big story."
"Tall order."
"Don't sell 'em short!"
Here we are, a group of educated, reasonably liberal people,
but we just can't resist the dwarf jokes. I mean, the idea
of 1,000 little people taking over the Marriott Hotel--it's
just so weird.
A few days later, however, I find myself blushing as I
recount this incident to David Bradford while we sit in
his fourth-floor Pearl District loft, which looks much like
any other loft, apart from a stepladder in the kitchen and
a desk with sawed-off legs.
Bradford doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.
Dwarves are acutely aware of the way they are perceived
by the mainstream--schoolyard taunts have seen to that.
"It was pretty brutal," says 21-year-old Irene Yuan, a Washington
County art student who stands 3 feet 11 inches. "Everywhere
we go, we feel like people are watching us."
And if they need confirmation of their public image, they
can grab the remote control.
In truth, the Nacho Man is really just the tip of the iceberg.
From the WWF's midget wrestlers to Hank the Angry Drunk
Dwarf on The Howard Stern Show, from the barroom
"sport" of dwarf-tossing (which recently resurfaced in Springfield,
Mo.), to Mini-Me, the pint-sized villain of the latest Austin
Powers film, dwarf entertainers are all over popular culture--and
generally not in very lofty roles.
All of which puts the LPA in an awkward spot. Until recently,
one of the few career avenues for dwarves lay in show business,
and the LPA itself was founded by actor Billy Barty.
Although dwarves who work in the entertainment field now
make up just 9 percent of the LPA membership, they represent
a highly visible and vocal faction within the organization--and
they haven't been shy about voicing their support for the
Nacho Man.
Indeed, when Anthony Soares' withering responses to Vento's
Nacho Man act showed up in press reports (sample headline:
"Organization for Short People Blasts Restaurant Featuring
Dwarf Server"), entertainers in the LPA hit the roof. "A
lot of people were upset with Anthony," says Daniel Margulies,
who edits the LPA newsletter. "They said, 'You're representing
your views, but you're not representing the organization.'"
One of Vento's supporters is LPA member Danny Black, a
professional clown and talent agent who stands 4 feet 2
inches. He drove four hours from Michigan to catch Vento's
act. "I wanted to see what it was all about," says Black.
"He's doing a lot of what I do--taking advantage of my disadvantage.
I saw nothing I was uncomfortable with. He just leans over,
and you pick some chips out of his hat."
Black, whose stage characters include Dandy the Clown,
Ernie the Elf, Super Munchkin Man and the Low Ranger, says
that he and other entertainers use their height as a "gimmick"--nothing
more, nothing less. "Whether you're 4 foot 2 or 6 foot 3,
as an entertainer you've got to have a talent, and Steve
has that," he says. "Your size can't carry you through the
whole performance."
Soares stood by his comments in an interview with WW.
"It is absolutely Mr. Vento's right to do what he's doing,"
said Soares, a political consultant from Hoboken, N.J. "It's
a woman's right to stand on a bar and strip for guys if
she wants to. But does it help advance the cause of women
in the business world? No. This sets us back. They would
not put a sombrero on a guy who's 6 feet tall--it wouldn't
be funny. But they put it on a dwarf, and it's a joke. They
say he's got a whole comedy routine. But he could do that
without a sombrero on his head. That makes his height the
issue instead of his talent.
"I will never take back my comments on behalf of the LPA,"
Soares continues. "It's degrading and disgusting. You would
never see an Asian person in a Chinese restaurant pulling
a rickshaw. We have to represent our membership, and we
have to have a set of standards."
The story has a strange postscript. Shortly after the controversy
erupted, Soares announced his resignation as vice-president,
effective at the end of the Portland conference, fueling
speculation that his departure was triggered by the incident--a
charge Soares denies. Meanwhile, Vento told WW that
he is considering running for president of the LPA next
year.
Little people are by no means the first minority group
to grapple with the problem of stereotyping in the entertainment
industry: Just think of the blackface minstrelsy of Al Jolson
or those old Charlie Chan movies. But dwarves feel particularly
vulnerable to being maligned in the media, in part because
the average average-sized person has few opportunities to
meet a dwarf in real life. For this reason, they also worry
about coming across as sanctimonious whiners.
They aren't. Critics of the Nacho Man concede that he is
well within his rights to make a living however he sees
fit, and a recent query about Mini-Me provoked a generally
positive response from a dwarfism e-mail group ("Shagadelic!"
wrote one correspondent), despite the fact that he is silent
and sinister (but really no more absurd than the film's
average-sized characters).
The thorny issue of whether the LPA should take an official
stance on topics such as the Nacho Man is unlikely to be
resolved at the conference. Dwarves will always stand out
from the crowd. And there will always be someone willing
to strap on a helmet for barroom sport or erupt into choreographed
fistfights on Jerry Springer.
The question is whether such performers will be seen as
typical representatives of a freakish tribe or as ordinary
people, packaged in a slightly different way, subject to
the same human failings and the need to earn a living.
Unconventional
Convention
The National Conference of the Little People of America,
to be held July 2-9 at the Portland Marriott, will feature
a variety of events. There will be symposia on medical and
employment issues, parenting workshops, fashion shows, basketball
(no, they don't lower the rims), weight lifting, dinner
cruises on the Willamette and outings to the Columbia Gorge.
There will be drinking, dancing and romance, climaxing in
a formal banquet the night of July 8.
The LPA has a somewhat protective attitude toward the conference:
Most events are restricted to registered conference-goers
lest they attract a horde of long-limbed voyeurs, and journalists
are thoroughly grilled when applying for press passes.
Many average-sized people are uncertain of the proper etiquette
when interacting with dwarves. There are few hard and fast
rules. Some dwarves appreciate offers of help in an awkward
situation, while others prefer to fend for themselves.
Use common sense. Shake hands. Groan about the weather.
Beware of the tendency to infantilize, or assume dwarves
are younger than their actual ages, simply because of their
height. Avoid outright gaffes such as patting on the head,
uttering moronic comments and staring.
Some little people appreciate low-key efforts to make eye
contact on an even level by kneeling down or making appropriate
seating arrangements. And please, don't call them midgets.
--CL
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Willamette Week | originally
published June 30, 1999
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