Last night was supposed to become another good memory with my daughters.
We went to Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado to enjoy a concert together. I expected loud music, a big crowd, excitement, and all the things that normally come with attending a major concert.
I did not expect to leave wondering how a professional venue could allow a disabled person and his family to feel so completely unprotected.
I am a Christian YouTube creator, a father, a stroke survivor, and a disabled man.
Those facts matter because attending a concert is not quite as simple for me as buying a ticket and walking through the doors.
I have physical limitations. I have to plan ahead. I need accessible seating. I sometimes need additional space for things I must bring with me.
That is why I paid for handicap-accessible seating at Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado.
I purchased four seats: 1, 2, 3, and 4.
There were three of us, but I intentionally bought all four seats. The additional seat gave me room for personal items I needed with me.
That fourth seat was not abandoned.
It was not available.
It was not somebody else’s seat.
I paid for it.
The Evening Started Normally
For the first part of the concert, everything was reasonably fine.
We were sitting in the accessible area, enjoying the evening, and doing exactly what we had come there to do.
Then an apparently intoxicated woman approached us.
She was upset because one of our four seats did not have a person sitting in it.
She began yelling.
She cursed at us.
She treated us as though we were doing something wrong by using a seat that I had legally purchased.
There should have been nothing to argue about.
I paid for four seats.
We occupied the space represented by those four tickets.
End of story.
But instead of being able to continue enjoying the evening, I eventually had to ask my daughter to go find security.
Think about that for a moment.
I am the disabled person.
I was sitting in handicap-accessible seating.
Yet one of my daughters had to leave our area and search for someone who could help us.
Security Came — And Then Left
Eventually, a security employee came over.
He checked our tickets.
He verified that we belonged exactly where we were sitting.
That should have settled everything.
Instead, what happened next made the entire situation feel even more uncomfortable.
The security employee walked over to the people who had been confronting us, appeared friendly with them, fist-bumped them, returned to us, and basically told us that if we experienced any more problems, we should come find him.
Then he walked away.
I remember thinking:
Come find you where?
Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado is a major venue filled with thousands of people.
I am disabled.
I was sitting with my daughters.
One of them had already needed to leave our area once to locate security.
If the situation became dangerous, was the plan really for us to go wandering through a huge concert crowd looking for help again?
Why wasn’t security staying close enough to monitor what was happening?
Why wasn’t someone protecting an area specifically intended for people with disabilities?
Unfortunately, those questions became much more important as the night continued.
The Handicap Area Became a Free-for-All
As the main concert crowd became more active, people started pushing into the handicap seating area.
More and more people crowded around us.
People pushed up behind us.
People stumbled into our space.
Beer was being spilled.
Empty alcohol cans were being dropped and left around us.
Our water bottles were knocked over.
The ground became wet with spilled drinks.
The area smelled like alcohol.
People were smoking.
People were yelling.
People were cursing.
People who appeared heavily intoxicated were moving through an area where disabled guests were supposed to be able to sit safely.
My daughters were bumped.
They were touched by strangers pushing through the crowd.
One of my daughters was hit in the head twice.
And there we were.
A disabled father.
His daughters.
An increasingly unruly crowd.
And no meaningful security presence protecting the handicap seating area.
Where Was the Barrier?
One of the things that shocked me most was how little seemed to prevent the surrounding crowd from simply entering the accessible area.
There was no effective barrier protecting us.
No meaningful controlled entrance.
Nothing that made it clear that people could not simply push into that space.
And there was no security employee stationed nearby making sure the area remained usable by the disabled customers it was supposedly designed to accommodate.
That matters.
Handicap-accessible seating is not truly accessible if the surrounding crowd can simply take it over.
A disabled person may not be able to move quickly.
They may not be able to defend their space physically.
They may not be able to push through hundreds or thousands of people looking for security.
That is precisely why these areas require additional thought and protection.
Instead, we were left to fend for ourselves.
I Seriously Considered Calling 911
There was a point during the evening when I seriously thought about calling 911.
That statement should bother anyone responsible for running a professional concert venue.
I was not walking down an unfamiliar street in the middle of the night.
I was not somewhere where security could not reasonably be expected.
I was inside a major ticketed concert venue.
I had purchased handicap-accessible seating.
We had already asked venue security for help once.
And I was sitting there wondering whether calling the police was my only remaining option.
We were scared.
I did not know who we were supposed to turn to.
I did not know where the security employee who had previously helped us had gone.
I did not know what would happen if someone became even more aggressive.
That is not how a disabled customer should feel after paying to attend a professional event.
Do Not Tell Me, “That’s Just a Concert”
I understand concerts.
I understand loud music.
I understand large crowds.
I understand that people drink.
I understand people dance, yell, jump around, and get excited.
I am not complaining because the concert was loud.
I am not complaining because people were having fun.
I am talking about something entirely different.
There is a difference between a wild concert and an unsafe environment.
There is a difference between drinking and becoming so intoxicated that you begin invading other people’s space.
There is a difference between enjoying a performance and allowing a handicap-accessible area to become overwhelmed by the surrounding crowd.
There is a difference between bumping into someone accidentally and an environment where people are repeatedly pushing, touching others, knocking things over, spilling alcohol, and hitting people without meaningful intervention.
What my family experienced crossed that line.
I Wasn’t Thinking About Being a Public Figure
I have built a substantial public platform.
People know me from YouTube, my Christian writing, podcasts, social media, and the large body of work I have published online.
But none of that mattered while I was sitting there.
I wasn’t thinking about subscriber numbers.
I wasn’t thinking about articles.
I wasn’t thinking about videos.
I wasn’t thinking about being recognized.
I was a father.
A disabled father.
A stroke survivor with physical limitations trying to figure out how to protect his daughters when the environment around us had become increasingly chaotic.
That is the part of this experience that hurts the most.
A parent wants to believe that when he takes his children into a professional venue, there will be a basic level of protection.
You expect security to exist for a reason.
You expect designated accessible seating to remain accessible.
You expect that when you report a problem, someone will take it seriously.
Last night, I did not feel that protection.
Accessibility Means More Than Selling a Handicap Ticket
This is the larger issue Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado needs to address.
Accessibility cannot simply mean:
“We have some designated seats.”
That is not enough.
True accessibility means a disabled person can actually use those seats safely.
It means keeping the area accessible throughout the event.
It means preventing the general crowd from overwhelming it.
It means recognizing that someone with a disability may not be able to wander through a venue searching for security.
It means having a plan when intoxicated patrons begin creating problems.
It means responding appropriately when a disabled customer says his family feels threatened or unsafe.
It means recognizing that accessible seating exists because some customers have limitations that make them more vulnerable in a chaotic crowd.
Accessibility is not a sign.
It is not a ticket classification.
It is not a chair.
It is a responsibility.
Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado Needs to Fix This
I am not writing this merely to vent.
There are obvious things that could improve the situation.
Protect the handicap seating area.
Control who enters it.
Use meaningful barriers where appropriate.
Keep security close enough that disabled guests can actually reach someone when they need help.
When someone reports harassment, continue monitoring the situation.
Enforce venue rules.
Deal with disruptive and excessively intoxicated patrons before their behavior becomes dangerous.
Keep smoking out of areas where it is not permitted.
Do not allow accessible seating to become overflow space for the surrounding crowd.
These are not unreasonable demands.
They are basic expectations.
A Beautiful Venue Is Not Enough
Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado is physically beautiful.
That makes the experience even more disappointing.
You can have an incredible stage.
You can have great sound.
You can have beautiful grounds.
You can have major performers.
But none of those things compensate for customers feeling unsafe.
A venue is not truly great because of what it looks like when you walk inside.
It is great because of how people are treated once they are there.
Especially the people who may need additional assistance.
Would I Go Back?
Based on what my family experienced, I have no desire to return to Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado.
If there were ever some extraordinary reason that required me to attend another event there, I would seriously consider hiring personal security.
Read that again.
I am talking about bringing private security simply to attend a concert with my family.
A disabled father should never feel like that is necessary.
But after what happened, I would have a very difficult time trusting that we would be protected if something went wrong again.
Parents Should Pay Attention Too
Parents should also understand what my family experienced.
I cannot tell another parent what decision to make.
I can only tell you what happened to us.
And based on that experience, I personally would not feel comfortable sending my children alone to Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado.
We went there together.
I was physically present with them.
And I still felt powerless at moments.
That should concern people.
Faith Does Not Require Silence
I am a Christian.
I believe deeply in forgiveness.
I believe in grace.
I believe in loving people.
I believe anger can consume us if we allow it to.
But none of those beliefs require silence.
Jesus Christ demonstrated tremendous mercy.
He also confronted wrongdoing.
There are moments when speaking up matters.
Sometimes you speak not merely because of what happened to you, but because of what might happen to the next person.
That is why I am writing this.
The next disabled person sitting in that area may not have a platform.
The next person may have even greater mobility limitations.
The next parent may have younger children.
The next situation may escalate further.
I do not want that to happen.
My Daughters Deserved Better
Last night should have been remembered for music.
Instead, I remember fear.
I remember my daughter having to search for security.
I remember the people staring at us.
I remember strangers pushing into our space.
I remember spilled alcohol.
I remember the smell of beer.
I remember people smoking.
I remember our belongings being kicked over.
I remember my daughters being bumped and touched.
I remember one of my daughters being hit in the head twice.
And I remember wondering whether I needed to call 911.
That is not the memory I wanted to make with my daughters.
But it is the memory Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado gave us.
Please Do Better
Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado, I hope someone responsible for your operation reads this.
I hope you investigate how accessible seating is protected.
I hope you examine whether security is positioned appropriately.
I hope you look at how people enter those areas.
I hope you consider what happens when a disabled guest asks for help.
And I hope you make changes.
Not because I want revenge.
Not because I want anyone punished simply for the sake of punishment.
Because the next family deserves better.
Disabled customers deserve better.
My daughters deserved better.
A concert should end with people talking about the performance they just watched.
A disabled father should not leave wondering why nobody was there when his family needed protection.
Fiddler’s Green Amphitheatre in Denver, Colorado failed my family last night.
Now you have an opportunity to make sure you do not fail the next one.
Your friend,
Douglas Vandergraph
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