Leap called godsend for nonreaders

Contra Costa Times

Rebecca Rosen Lum
TIMES STAFF WRITER


RICHMOND -- John Tate's cell phone rings with a Bach fugue. A slim, well-spoken man with wire-framed glasses and a neatly clipped goatee, Tate could easily pass for a writer.

But Tate, 54, never learned to read. Born in New Orleans, he grew up picking cotton, then migrated to Richmond in 1983 to work construction. He had "mother wit," black Southern parlance for the moral sensibility learned from one's mother, but no education.

That's a gift Richmond's Literacy for Every Adult Program, or LEAP, gave him.

"All my life I've been pretending I could read," Tate said. "LEAP is like a family for people like me who come in scared to let the public know I can't."

After an on-the-job injury ended his work life, he sat down with a tutor and learned to sound out long vowels and short vowels. How to break down words. How to sound out the letters of the alphabet. How to form sentences.

"Oh, lord!" he said. "I'm 54. It's hard to absorb all the fundamentals at my age."

LEAP program staff have patiently prodded, inspired and cajoled hundreds of people like Tate to learn to read long after most others have given up or mistakenly assumed they could read.

But those days could end soon. The program is slated to shrink drastically in January.

Although LEAP pays its own way by landing state and private grants, another city department has tapped those funds, leaving little to run a program that serves more than 100 clients a year.

"If they close this program, they close down hope," Tate said. "Of all the things in the world. Man! Something so small, yet something so large."

According to a national survey, nearly one in four Richmond residents struggles with literacy.

Literacy specialist Mark Trotter said program clients create ways to navigate a literate society. "It's, 'I lost my glasses,' or 'I have arthritis in my hands, could you write this for me?'" Trotter said.

"I'd always watch people reading the newspaper," said Fred White, 43. "Now, I can do that. It felt so good to read a newspaper in front of other people. When I came in here three years ago, I couldn't read a children's book."

Education has been a disappointment for many adult literacy students, said Trotter, 30, now in his sixth year at LEAP and his fourth as a staff member. "In order not to dash their hopes, you've got to have a lot of patience. A lot of it is frightening. (But) one's life can change, even though it might seem like it's unchangeable."

A smile playing over his face, he added, "Since I've been working with Fred, he's penned two plays."

Clients include an executive chef at a four-star hotel whose wife read menus aloud to him so he could memorize them.

One woman successfully kept her functional illiteracy a secret from her husband.

"Some, at one point, could read to some degree when they were younger, but over time their skills diminished," Trotter said. "For some, where they lived, education wasn't valued. A woman from Fiji told me in her culture, women really weren't expected to learn to read. They were just expected to cook, clean, care for the children. It didn't matter if they didn't learn."

It mattered in Tunami Eaton's family; many had attended college, and she hoped to follow.

But Eaton, 26, and the mother of four young children, had reading disabilities. Like other adult learners, she bluffed well.

When her 9-year-old daughter showed signs of reading problems, she got help.

"She would say, 'My stomach hurts,' or 'I'm tired,'" Eaton said. "Then at a certain point, she didn't want to go to school anymore. I realized I was no help to her unless I could assess my own disabilities."

At LEAP, "The hardest thing was letting my guard down," she said. "I was in a private room so I didn't have other eyes looking at me or judging me. It made it easier for me to say, 'I can't read.' This was the only place I could go to find some assistance.

"It really opened my eyes that I didn't have to stop with a GED; I could go to college and reach my dreams."