It's Wednesday evening, and the sun is setting over Ramesses' statue on Central Avenue. As many students are heading home, Steve Collins has just made his weekly commute to Tom Shadyac's storytelling class.
A beam of light comes from a room buried on the second floor of the dimly lit theater building, where 56-year-old Collins is sitting directly in front of the classroom door in his wheelchair, greeting his fellow students as they pour in the room and pick up their name tags from the front of his desk, a regular occurrence.
A large facet of attendance is made up of those who are not currently enrolled in the class. Parents, spouses, local residents and many others drop in from time to time to soak up what Collins calls, "Shadyac's perspective."
As Collins is assigning names to faces - some familiar and some not - one student reaches in for a high five.
A Gandhi quote saying, "The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others," is written on a dry erase board to the left of his desk.
"How are you doing this week," Collins asked, reaching up from his wheelchair to hug a female student in the class.
This is not Collins' first time in the class. In fact, it's his second semester being enrolled. The first time he met Tom Shadyac, he was greeted with a thought-provoking statement. As the long-haired-Ace-Ventura-director-turned-professor made his way to the front of his class, he said, "Hi, my name is Tom Shadyac, and this class is going to change your life."
According to Collins, in the first five minutes, he was challenged to think in ways he had never experienced.
"That's a pretty bold statement," Collins said. "It takes a lot to change someone's life."
Collins is no stranger to change. In 2011, he suffered a spinal cord injury while undergoing a heart transplant that left him paralyzed from the waist down, but you wouldn't know he had gone through a traumatic experience from being in his presence. His big blue eyes light up at the sight of his fellow students. His smile stretches from ear to ear, exposing a sense of sincerity and openness that is rare on first encounters. His laughter is welcoming and calming. An avid Monty Python enthusiast, he is always cracking jokes. In fact, he may be compiled of nothing more than funny bones.
While much of Collins' life has been fueled by positive energy, after the surgery, that wasn't the case. According to him, it took four to five days to fully understand what had happened during his surgery.
"I went into a real bad pity party for a few days," he said. "But I realized that whatever is going to happen, will happen. So, I came out of it. If I walk, I walk. If I don't, I don't."
At the age of 18, Collins told himself that he would always maintain a positive mindset. Through his surgery, he stuck to that ideal. Shadyac reinforced those beliefs.
On the first day of class, as in all classes, Shadyac shared his course requirements. Students would watch movies and documentaries, and they would discuss them. No grades were given, but attendance was mandatory. The class was structured around a pass or fail system based on that attendance.
In order to teach his once-a-week class, Shadyac travels by plane from California every week. He supplies dinner, which consists of pizza, and, on occasion, Gus' Fried Chicken, so that students can get an enhanced cinematic experience.
During the first class, Shadyac announced to the students' surprise that at the end of the semester, he would be purchasing everyone in the class a bicycle.
In 2007, Shadyac suffered an injury during a bicycle accident that left him with post-concussion syndrome. After significant rehabilitation, he donated much of his fortune to organize a homeless shelter among other charities. He then moved into a trailer park where he now lives with his dog Jack, who he adopted after finding in a dumpster while filming Patch Adams.
"A bicycle changed his life," Collins said. "Now everyone is thinking, 'we're gonna get bikes.' I called my brother, daughter and mom to tell them."
According to Collins, his mother was perplexed as to what he could do with a bike.
"My mom asked what I would do with a bike," he said. "I said 'I think you're missing the point. This guy is giving of his resources. He's been blessed and he wants to bless other people. Yeah, I can't ride a bike and I probably wont get one, but that doesn't lessen what the guy is doing.'"
In the following weeks, Shadyac approached Collins at the beginning of class.
"He said, 'Steve, I had a dream about you - it was all good, everyone had their clothes on,'" Collins chuckled. "He came up and got down on his knees to my level. He said, 'You can't ride a bike, right? Have you ever thought about one of those arm bikes? Let's look into that.'"
Collins rushed home to share the news with his wife Vicki. Mirroring her husband's anticipation, she casually began attending the class with Collins here and there, experiencing Shadyac's unorthodox teaching methods. After many visits, she began raising her hand and sharing her own personal stories. At the end of the semester, Shadyac not only purchased Collins a bicycle, but one for his wife, as well.
In his garage at home, Collins' old bike hangs on the wall like a symbol from a past life. According to him, his new custom built bicycle cost more than his first new car. When he picked it up from the Peddler Bike Shop, he rode it down Central Avenue and Highland Street to his home.
"Four frat boys in a truck looked over at me and said, 'Yeah, you go,'" he said, looking up at his old bike. "That hit me right here (in the heart)."
Back in school to obtain a second degree, Collins is undecided about his major, but has many passions. He loves to cook, and rolls from his house to Kroger to pick up his groceries. Prior to returning to college, Collins spent much of his life in sales. Nearly 35 years ago, he graduated from Louisiana State University with a degree in journalism. It currently hangs upside down in his bedroom, a true sentiment of his ability to always spark laughter at any opportunity.
Above everything, Collins is a passionate songwriter. He has written 200 songs, but has only finished 20 of them. According to Collins, he is an "excellent songwriter, an adequate guitarist and a below average singer" - but that hasn't stopped him from creating.
"When you do that (write songs), you've got no problem in the world," Collins said. "I love that feeling. I'm not a singer, but I write songs."
While he expected to learn more about shaping stories in class, he never anticipated that Shadyac would have made an impact on his life in such a way that would bring him back for a second semester.
"I've never been in a class where you're so involved with one another," Collins said. "When you're talking, you talk from the heart. You tell your fears. You tell what is going on this week. He'll throw it right back at you. He'll say, 'You know, why do you think that happened?' and give you a different perspective on things so you can take it out and help change and confront it."
For Collins, the Wednesday night gatherings are more than just going to class. They bring together a community. Fellow students go from being strangers to becoming friends. Having a deep relationship with his classmates is possibly one of the most significant aspects of Shadyac's class - more so than receiving a bicycle.
"To take the class just for the bike, you're missing it," Collins said with a catch in his throat. "You don't know how meaningful it is to be the old guy in class and have 19 to 20 year olds come up and give me a hug. To be accepted, not for all of this, but for what I say."
Being inside of Shadyac's classroom has radically changed Collins life outside of the classroom, as well. His reinforced positivity comes from lessons he learned in class.
"I learned that everyone has a story," Collins said. "The custodians at the school, they have a story. I look at people differently now. I say hello to those people. It used to be that I'd wait for people to talk to me. Now, I ask people how they are doing. I give people a smile, because who does that?"
In Collins' mind, he is frequently brought back to his first experience meeting Shadyac.
"He makes you think," Collins said. "During the first class, he asked what we were most afraid of. It took me a week to figure out the answer. I'm not afraid of dying, but I'm afraid of getting hit by a car."
Collins goes to class, doctor's appointments and to Kroger all in his wheelchair. If it is raining, he packs an umbrella. If he has somewhere to be across town, he wakes up at 6:30 a.m. and rushes to the bus stop.
He has been hit four times. Looking to the side of his chair, he points out scraped paint where a Chevrolet Lumina swiped him while the driver was not paying attention.
"I'm in the process now of trying to get a sponsor from Go-Pro," he said. "I'd like to tell my story of my every day life when I'm rolling down Central and there is a big crack in the sidewalk and I have to go over that. There are places on Poplar that if I go on the north side of the street, I'll have to actually go in the street because I can't get around or there isn't a cut out. If I go on the south side, it is much worse because they don't have a cut out and I have to go against traffic. It drives my wife nuts."
Overall, Collins believes that while losing the ability to walk was literally life changing, he still maintains the same outlook he had prior to the incident.
"It's a life changing experience, because I'm alive," Collins said. "But I don't think it's changed me. I've still got the same personality. I still laugh at stuff. I find humor in everything."
Collins suffered an incomplete spinal injury, meaning that he could potentially walk again at some point in his life. If he were to have suffered a complete spinal cord injury, such as breaking his neck, he may not have been able to operate a wheelchair.
"If you have an incomplete injury, there is still hope," Collins said. "Blood will eventually go to the nerves and help you walk again. Physically, although I have atrophied over the past two years, I could walk."
For Collins, the most important aspect is to keep looking forward. According to him, there is no sense in keeping his head in the past. When he is running errands in his electric wheelchair, he is reminded that he is still part of the world.
"I don't feel sorry for myself, so why should anyone else feel sorry for me," he said. "Look at this machine. This is a $13,000 machine. I roll from my house to the University, about a mile. I roll across poplar. I'll die at Poplar and Highland, no question about that."
In Collins' bedroom, a hand painted sign that reads, "it takes as long as it takes" hangs high on the wall. A gift given to him by his daughter, it serves as a purpose statement of positivity that resonates through his every day experiences.
"The bad news is I had a heart transplant, I have a spinal chord injury and I'm in a wheelchair," Collins said. "The good news is I had a heart transplant, I have a spinal chord injury and I'm in a wheelchair. If it gets better, that's great. If it doesn't, I'm fine with that."It's Wednesday evening, and the sun is setting over Ramesses' statue on Central Avenue. As many students are heading home, Steve Collins has just made his weekly commute to Tom Shadyac's storytelling class.
A beam of light comes from a room buried on the second floor of the dimly lit theater building, where 56-year-old Collins is sitting directly in front of the classroom door in his wheelchair, greeting his fellow students as they pour in the room and pick up their name tags from the front of his desk, a regular occurrence.
A large facet of attendance is made up of those who are not currently enrolled in the class. Parents, spouses, local residents and many others drop in from time to time to soak up what Collins calls, "Shadyac's perspective."
As Collins is assigning names to faces - some familiar and some not - one student reaches in for a high five.
A Gandhi quote saying, "The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others," is written on a dry erase board to the left of his desk.
"How are you doing this week," Collins asked, reaching up from his wheelchair to hug a female student in the class.
This is not Collins' first time in the class. In fact, it's his second semester being enrolled. The first time he met Tom Shadyac, he was greeted with a thought-provoking statement. As the long-haired-Ace-Ventura-director-turned-professor made his way to the front of his class, he said, "Hi, my name is Tom Shadyac, and this class is going to change your life."
According to Collins, in the first five minutes, he was challenged to think in ways he had never experienced.
"That's a pretty bold statement," Collins said. "It takes a lot to change someone's life."
Collins is no stranger to change. In 2011, he suffered a spinal cord injury while undergoing a heart transplant that left him paralyzed from the waist down, but you wouldn't know he had gone through a traumatic experience from being in his presence. His big blue eyes light up at the sight of his fellow students. His smile stretches from ear to ear, exposing a sense of sincerity and openness that is rare on first encounters. His laughter is welcoming and calming. An avid Monty Python enthusiast, he is always cracking jokes. In fact, he may be compiled of nothing more than funny bones.
While much of Collins' life has been fueled by positive energy, after the surgery, that wasn't the case. According to him, it took four to five days to fully understand what had happened during his surgery.
"I went into a real bad pity party for a few days," he said. "But I realized that whatever is going to happen, will happen. So, I came out of it. If I walk, I walk. If I don't, I don't."
At the age of 18, Collins told himself that he would always maintain a positive mindset. Through his surgery, he stuck to that ideal. Shadyac reinforced those beliefs.
On the first day of class, as in all classes, Shadyac shared his course requirements. Students would watch movies and documentaries, and they would discuss them. No grades were given, but attendance was mandatory. The class was structured around a pass or fail system based on that attendance.
In order to teach his once-a-week class, Shadyac travels by plane from California every week. He supplies dinner, which consists of pizza, and, on occasion, Gus' Fried Chicken, so that students can get an enhanced cinematic experience.
During the first class, Shadyac announced to the students' surprise that at the end of the semester, he would be purchasing everyone in the class a bicycle.
In 2007, Shadyac suffered an injury during a bicycle accident that left him with post-concussion syndrome. After significant rehabilitation, he donated much of his fortune to organize a homeless shelter among other charities. He then moved into a trailer park where he now lives with his dog Jack, who he adopted after finding in a dumpster while filming Patch Adams.
"A bicycle changed his life," Collins said. "Now everyone is thinking, 'we're gonna get bikes.' I called my brother, daughter and mom to tell them."
According to Collins, his mother was perplexed as to what he could do with a bike.
"My mom asked what I would do with a bike," he said. "I said 'I think you're missing the point. This guy is giving of his resources. He's been blessed and he wants to bless other people. Yeah, I can't ride a bike and I probably wont get one, but that doesn't lessen what the guy is doing.'"
In the following weeks, Shadyac approached Collins at the beginning of class.
"He said, 'Steve, I had a dream about you - it was all good, everyone had their clothes on,'" Collins chuckled. "He came up and got down on his knees to my level. He said, 'You can't ride a bike, right? Have you ever thought about one of those arm bikes? Let's look into that.'"
Collins rushed home to share the news with his wife Vicki. Mirroring her husband's anticipation, she casually began attending the class with Collins here and there, experiencing Shadyac's unorthodox teaching methods. After many visits, she began raising her hand and sharing her own personal stories. At the end of the semester, Shadyac not only purchased Collins a bicycle, but one for his wife, as well.
In his garage at home, Collins' old bike hangs on the wall like a symbol from a past life. According to him, his new custom built bicycle cost more than his first new car. When he picked it up from the Peddler Bike Shop, he rode it down Central Avenue and Highland Street to his home.
"Four frat boys in a truck looked over at me and said, 'Yeah, you go,'" he said, looking up at his old bike. "That hit me right here (in the heart)."
Back in school to obtain a second degree, Collins is undecided about his major, but has many passions. He loves to cook, and rolls from his house to Kroger to pick up his groceries. Prior to returning to college, Collins spent much of his life in sales. Nearly 35 years ago, he graduated from Louisiana State University with a degree in journalism. It currently hangs upside down in his bedroom, a true sentiment of his ability to always spark laughter at any opportunity.
Above everything, Collins is a passionate songwriter. He has written 200 songs, but has only finished 20 of them. According to Collins, he is an "excellent songwriter, an adequate guitarist and a below average singer" - but that hasn't stopped him from creating.
"When you do that (write songs), you've got no problem in the world," Collins said. "I love that feeling. I'm not a singer, but I write songs."
While he expected to learn more about shaping stories in class, he never anticipated that Shadyac would have made an impact on his life in such a way that would bring him back for a second semester.
"I've never been in a class where you're so involved with one another," Collins said. "When you're talking, you talk from the heart. You tell your fears. You tell what is going on this week. He'll throw it right back at you. He'll say, 'You know, why do you think that happened?' and give you a different perspective on things so you can take it out and help change and confront it."
For Collins, the Wednesday night gatherings are more than just going to class. They bring together a community. Fellow students go from being strangers to becoming friends. Having a deep relationship with his classmates is possibly one of the most significant aspects of Shadyac's class - more so than receiving a bicycle.
"To take the class just for the bike, you're missing it," Collins said with a catch in his throat. "You don't know how meaningful it is to be the old guy in class and have 19 to 20 year olds come up and give me a hug. To be accepted, not for all of this, but for what I say."
Being inside of Shadyac's classroom has radically changed Collins life outside of the classroom, as well. His reinforced positivity comes from lessons he learned in class.
"I learned that everyone has a story," Collins said. "The custodians at the school, they have a story. I look at people differently now. I say hello to those people. It used to be that I'd wait for people to talk to me. Now, I ask people how they are doing. I give people a smile, because who does that?"
In Collins' mind, he is frequently brought back to his first experience meeting Shadyac.
"He makes you think," Collins said. "During the first class, he asked what we were most afraid of. It took me a week to figure out the answer. I'm not afraid of dying, but I'm afraid of getting hit by a car."
Collins goes to class, doctor's appointments and to Kroger all in his wheelchair. If it is raining, he packs an umbrella. If he has somewhere to be across town, he wakes up at 6:30 a.m. and rushes to the bus stop.
He has been hit four times. Looking to the side of his chair, he points out scraped paint where a Chevrolet Lumina swiped him while the driver was not paying attention.
"I'm in the process now of trying to get a sponsor from Go-Pro," he said. "I'd like to tell my story of my every day life when I'm rolling down Central and there is a big crack in the sidewalk and I have to go over that. There are places on Poplar that if I go on the north side of the street, I'll have to actually go in the street because I can't get around or there isn't a cut out. If I go on the south side, it is much worse because they don't have a cut out and I have to go against traffic. It drives my wife nuts."
Overall, Collins believes that while losing the ability to walk was literally life changing, he still maintains the same outlook he had prior to the incident.
"It's a life changing experience, because I'm alive," Collins said. "But I don't think it's changed me. I've still got the same personality. I still laugh at stuff. I find humor in everything."
Collins suffered an incomplete spinal injury, meaning that he could potentially walk again at some point in his life. If he were to have suffered a complete spinal cord injury, such as breaking his neck, he may not have been able to operate a wheelchair.
"If you have an incomplete injury, there is still hope," Collins said. "Blood will eventually go to the nerves and help you walk again. Physically, although I have atrophied over the past two years, I could walk."
For Collins, the most important aspect is to keep looking forward. According to him, there is no sense in keeping his head in the past. When he is running errands in his electric wheelchair, he is reminded that he is still part of the world.
"I don't feel sorry for myself, so why should anyone else feel sorry for me," he said. "Look at this machine. This is a $13,000 machine. I roll from my house to the University, about a mile. I roll across poplar. I'll die at Poplar and Highland, no question about that."
In Collins' bedroom, a hand painted sign that reads, "it takes as long as it takes" hangs high on the wall. A gift given to him by his daughter, it serves as a purpose statement of positivity that resonates through his every day experiences.
"The bad news is I had a heart transplant, I have a spinal chord injury and I'm in a wheelchair," Collins said. "The good news is I had a heart transplant, I have a spinal chord injury and I'm in a wheelchair. If it gets better, that's great. If it doesn't, I'm fine with that."
