Isadore T. Sutton knows how dangerous walking around campus can be.

One fall day while walking near Ritenour Building, Sutton -- who is blind -- fell into an eight-foot deep hole made during sidewalk excavations. Months later he fell into an unbarricaded manhole. He also fell over bicycles chained to a handrail on steps.

"I was scared to walk around," says Sutton (graduate-mechanical engineering/science and technology and society), leaning back in his chair.

Since his accidents during the last several years, the University has become more aware of safety concerns for students with disabilites, but Sutton maintains improvements in both safety and accessibility are still needed.

"They should be blind for a day . . . they'd be a little more conscious," he says, sharing his office with a turntable, radio, tape player and Braille machine. The University has never provided Sutton with materials in Braille, so he records all of his classes and often puts the notes into Braille himself for easier reference.

Sutton, a quiet man who talks openly about the assault that left him blind, has written letters and has even considered suing the University because of his accidents. Despite the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990, Sutton and others with disabilities at the University are still fighting for equal rights.

Questions of inaccessibility arose long before the act -- hailed as the most sweeping civil rights act since 1964 -- arrived on President Bush's desk. Ray Winters (graduate-educational theory and policy) has tried since 1985 to increase available parking for students with disabilities.

Since then he has approached administrators -- including Vice Provost for Educational Equity James Stewart and the Director of the Office for Disability Services Brenda Hamesiter -- about everything from assisted-hearing systems to ice and snow-filled curb cuts.

Despite his doggedness, Winters says little has improved.

Administrators will admit something has to be done, but the question is: what?

Where should the University locate ADA-required handicapped parking spaces? On central campus or in every lot? And what about buildings, such as Sparks and Grange that remain only partially accessible?

Those unanswered questions have led students to meet with administrators, write letters of frustration and finally threaten to sue in the name of the ADA. Through all this, some have found their own answers to the lingering questions.

"They don't want to spend the money," Julie Eward says flatly."The University does the minimum that they have to."

Born without a bone in her right leg, making walking long distances and up inclines difficult, Eward (senior-journalism) says she doesn't understand why Penn State, which is partially state funded, hasn't done more than the minimum to increase accessibility.

"Sure you see ramps . . . they have to do something," she says.

Before she joined the potential lawsuit, Eward says she tried to talk to University President Joab Thomas and Stewart. Thomas' administrative assistant Carolyn Dolbin, who spoke to Eward, said he was unavailable when Eward called. Stewart says he received no message.

The University knew the students' needs when it accepted them, Eward says, pointing out what is obvious to her -- a ramp doesn't make a building accessible.

In an attempt to catch up to legislation, the University has formed a committee to guide a unit-by-unit self study of program and physical accessibility.

"We're really putting a lot of upfront effort to develop the procedures," says Bonnie Ortiz, director of the University's Affirmative Action office and committee member. The self-study starts in the Smeal College of Business Administration.

Norm Bedell, assistant vice president for the Office of Physical Plant, asserts that the University has made efforts to involve students in assessing and solving accessibility concerns, as well as the planning and design process for University buildings.

At a meeting last November with students and community members concerned about inaccessibility, Bedell offered to meet with students about their concerns but said he was never contacted about future meetings.

Citing the potential lawsuit, Bedell refused to comment further.

Sitting in a corner office of Boucke Building, Hameister seems to be the only one who will comment.

As she speaks she scribbles on a pad of paper, nodding and smiling. Hameister, who is not disabled, runs the office meant as an outlet for those with accessibility concerns.

She has access to building plan blueprints, and says she tries to work through different offices to solve problems.

"I can point out many things and try to ask the right questions," she says, adding that she posts a list of the projects outside of the door for interested students and faculty.

But Hameister's advocacy has fallen under question by students.

Winters says he has complained to Hameister several times about inaccessiblity on campus and then she has forgotten about the complaints.

"There's just no credit left in this woman's bank account," Winters says. He considers her office inaccessible.

Eward describes the office as simply where records are kept. "I think it's there sometimes to keep track of us," she says.

Hameister says she is sensitive to remarks about her advocacy, insisting that she is an advocate and at one time she considered herself the most "militant" on-campus advocate for students with disabilities. With 12 years experience, she says she knows a lot about needs and concerns and thinks she and the students would get farther working together.

But Hameister is clearly no longer a viable outlet to these students who say she is not, and cannot be an advocate for them. When asked about the potential lawsuit, Hameister replies that she has not been "clued in" about specific problems.

To the students who have spent years wondering when their concerns and complaints would be taken seriously, that would seem to be the problem.

For people with disabilities, accessibility transcends the snow-and-ice-filled curb cuts, forgotten by early-morning snow plowers. It goes beyond the lack of parking spaces and buildings with no elevators. It is more than just concrete -- it's the sense that the University just doesn't care about them, Winters says.

"Handicapped people are usually the silent minority . . . just sit here and everything will be okay," Eward says.

Most architects don't know much about accessibility, and many architecture classes don't teach much, says Robert Dale Lynch, an ADA-savvy architect based in Pittsburgh.

"It's basic ignorance and to some extent egotism," Lynch says.

Dave Martin (senior-architectural engineering) asks only that the University be more aware of their needs. Many times solutions are simple -- he uses a wheelchair to give him a table to sit at, Martin says, but adds that often construction is done ignoring the needs of people with disabilities.

For Sutton the issue of accessibility boils down to the simple fact that at the University, "I could have been a much better student."