Lifts help man come a long way

By BILL STEVENS

© St. Petersburg Times, published May 7, 2001

John Tatro figured his school days were long gone. Never a good student, he had dropped out of Zephyrhills High School in the ninth grade to help care for his ailing grandmother.

At 17, he was working odd jobs while most of his former classmates planned their graduations. That didn't bother him. School had been a frustrating mix of academic failures and suspensions, and John was happy-go-lucky as he contributed to the family's meager income.

On a cool March day in 1990, John was riding in the back of a flatbed Ford pickup as it rumbled at 30 mph near his home. He leaned forward to holler something to his sister through the window of the cab when he lost his balance. In a flash, John bounced to the pavement and the truck rolled over his head.

Death seemed imminent as he lay in a coma at Bayfront Medical Center in St. Petersburg for eight weeks. "I really didn't expect to bring him home," said his mother, JoJo Moore. "But he was a tough kid. That hasn't changed."

This is a woman who knows toughness. Think about her this week as we observe Mother's Day, because if ever there was an example of unconditional love, patience and attention to duty to a son, this is it.

How a 5-foot-tall woman summons the strength to muscle her 6-foot, 200-pound son in and out of vehicles and other places is one of life's great mysteries. At 48, she warns that she can't keep doing this heavy lifting, but then she dips a shoulder up under her boy's barrel chest to give him the leverage he needs to demonstrate that he can still walk if he has to. His legs, wrapped with plastic braces, wobble as he leaves his motorized scooter behind, but Mom holds firm.

Witnesses to this are some of the other folks who have given John a different kind of lift: educators at Moore-Mickens Education Center in Dade City. They have never been more proud of a student. John Tatro can't talk, and he can barely walk. But through uncommon perseverance, he has finished his high school education. It took seven years -- seven years of JoJo's loading John into her beat-up 1984 Oldsmobile three days a week for the 10-mile trip from their home in Crystal Springs to Dade City. Seven years of lifting the heavy scooter into the trunk, driving several more miles to Wesley Chapel and her job as a dry cleaner and then back to the school and home again.

"I feel proud," John said.

It is not his voice, but that of a computer mounted on the scooter. John punches buttons on the DynaVox keypad to communicate, although he and JoJo have their own efficient system of hand signals as well. "It works for us," she says.

Not long ago, one of JoJo's 10 grandkids, 8-year-old Brian, watched a videotape of John before the accident. "That ain't Uncle John," he said. "He doesn't walk or talk."

His grandmother explained the accident.

"I miss his voice," JoJo said.

Allen Sweet, a veteran of 22 years teaching adult education classes in Pasco, has been with John since Day One. They enjoy an unusual and irreverent repartee, one that causes John to throw back his head and laugh. It's more of a loud moan, really, but the broad smile is unmistakable.

"He is funny," John says of Sweet. "He is not like a teacher."

More time passes as he types on the DynaVox.

"If you are having a bad day, he can make it better."

Teacher and student have attended Tampa Bay Buccaneers games together, with John joking that his disability helps them get better seats. When John answers that he moved to Florida from Michigan as a baby, Sweet is quick on the uptake: "And the state has never been the same since."

"He's a Florida Cracker," John's mother says of her son.

"You mean Florida Crack-up," the teacher replies. Clearly they enjoy each other.

"John has a wonderful sense of humor," Sweet said.

The average student gets his GED certificate in about six months to a year, Sweet said. John attacked his subjects -- math, social studies, writing, reading and science -- one at a time. Passing grades did not come easily, but each time he failed, he would try again. Finally, last week, he passed the final course, composing an essay that, among other things, suggested he was much better off than others at the school with profound disabilities.

Writing about the joy of volunteering, John recalled the days that he would talk to his grandmother, who was blind for the last 17 years of her life.

"Just sitting and talking to her," he said, "made me feel good."

Cynthia Ryalls-Clephane, a counselor who had worked the last year with John, explained that he had missed passing the essay portion in January by one point. She promised him that once he finally earned his GED certificate, she would send letters to help John achieve his dream: a trip to the Daytona Speedway for a NASCAR race.

"When I read the (passing) essay, I had to put it down and walk away," she said. "He has such a wonderful way about him. It made me so emotional."

John's bedroom is a virtual shrine to NASCAR, and more specifically Dale Earnhardt. John even wears Earnhardt's number 3 on his denim shirts, along with the famous driver's autograph. When Earnhardt was killed on the last lap at the Daytona 500 in February, "John was inconsolable," his mother said. Had John passed his essay in January, he might have been at that race as his reward.

Ryalls-Clephane, whose sister works in the racing business, hopes to get John into the Pepsi 400 in July and possibly into the pits to meet some racers, particularly Dale Earnhardt Jr. When asked to identify his favorite race driver last week, John did not hesitate to punch his keyboard.

"Junior," the computer voice spoke.

Now that he has finally completed his high school education, John says he wants to continue coming to the Moore-Mickens campus to volunteer to help other disabled students. His teachers are looking into his options for training and employment.

"I think he is very employable," Sweet said. "He's come a long way, and we don't want to see him stop now."

John nodded and poked his right index finger on the keyboard for several minutes:

"I might go to college, or get into computers.

"I have come a long way."

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