THE BRAILLE MONITOR

Vol. 46, No. 7July 2003

Barbara Pierce, Editor

Published in inkprint, in Braille, and on cassette by

THE NATIONAL FEDERATION OF THE BLIND

MARC MAURER, PRESIDENT

National Office

1800 Johnson Street

Baltimore, Maryland  21230

NFBnet.org: http://www.nfbnet.org

Web site address: http://www.nfb.org

Letters to the President, address changes,

subscription requests, orders for NFB literature,

articles for the Monitor, and letters to the editor

should be sent to the National Office.

Monitorsubscriptions cost the Federation about twenty-five dollars per year. Members are invited, and non-members are requested, to cover the subscription cost. Donations should be made payable to National Federation of the Blind and sent to:

National Federation of the Blind

1800 Johnson Street

Baltimore, Maryland 21230

THE NATIONAL FEDERATION OF THE BLIND IS NOT AN ORGANIZATION

SPEAKING FOR THE BLIND--IT IS THE BLIND SPEAKING FOR THEMSELVES

ISSN 0006-8829

Vol. 46, No. 7 July 2003

Contents

Remembering Dr. tenBroek

Blind Juror

by James Moynihan

For Diners in the Dark, a Taste of Mystery

by Michael Powell

Is This a Twenty?

by Mary Ellen Halverson

A Touch of Understanding

by T. Keung Hui

The SAL (Speech Assisted Learning): A Review

by Robert Jaquiss

On the High Seas

by Susan Povinelli

Restored by Touch

by Sal Perlman

Why I Am a Federationist

by Tonia Valletta Trapp

Teacher for Blind Joins 7,302 Getting Diplomas at MSU

by James McCurtis Jr.

Climbing

by Jennifer Dunnam

Nebraska Rehab Center Recognized

Arrogance or Desperation?

by Peggy Elliott

Recipes

Monitor Miniatures

Copyright © 2003 National Federation of the Blind

[PHOTO DESCRIPTION: Stretching across both pages is a picture of a theater with every seat filled.]

[LEAD PHOTO CAPTION: The evening of May 22 the IMAX theater at the Maryland Science Center was the scene of a sell-out viewing of Farther Than the Eye Can See, the documentary film telling the story of the NFB 2001 Everest Expedition, in which Erik Weihenmayer became the first blind person to summit Mt. Everest. Blind and sighted, very young and fairly old, people from across the community clearly enjoyed the film of this heart-stopping adventure.]

[PHOTO CAPTION: John Brennan, the NFB staff member with primary responsibility for this memorable evening, introduces Maurice Peret to the audience. Maurice was the Federationist who climbed to the Everest base camp with the team to assist with communications during the weeks they were on the mountain.]

[PHOTO CAPTION: Everest team leader Pasquale Scaturro presents Dr. Maurer with the actual permit issued by the Nepal authorities to the NFB 2001 Everest Expedition.]

[PHOTO/CAPTION: Jacobus tenBroek]

Remembering Dr. tenBroek

From the Editor: Jacobus tenBroek, founder and first president of the National Federation of the Blind, died March 27, 1968, bringing to an end the first generation of Federation leadership. We all recognize vaguely the debt we owe to this remarkable man, but not many of us still active in the organization actually remember Dr. tenBroek personally. It seems fitting, therefore, that in the month of the ninety-second anniversary of his birth, we should reprint one of President tenBroek's landmark speeches.

But before we do so, here is a New Yorker profile of Dr. tenBroek, published in the January 11, 1958, issue of that magazine. It provides a glimpse of the man as observed by a stranger. Here it is:

Jacobus tenBroek, a hearty, vigorous man of forty-six with aquiline features, a ruddy complexion, and a carefully groomed reddish goatee, is an authority on government and constitutional law, a field in which he has published a number of highly regarded books and monographs; the chairman of the Speech Department of the University of California at Berkeley; a member of California's Social Welfare Board; and the country's leading lobbyist and campaigner against an adage that he deems mistaken, mischievous, and far too commonly accepted--the one that goes "When the blind lead the blind, they all fall into the ditch." As president and one of the founders of the National Federation of the Blind, Professor tenBroek, who lost his sight when he was a boy, has a formidable spare-time schedule of speeches, conferences, and caucuses, through which he seeks to spread his organization's belief that the blind are much more capable than is generally realized of holding down normal jobs and running their own affairs. "I've had to make ten flying trips throughout the country on the last twelve weekends," he told us when he called on us at our office during a stopover of a few hours in New York, en route from Washington, D.C., where he had been talking with congressmen about legislation that his organization is advocating, to Springfield, Massachusetts, where he was scheduled to make a speech before one of the Federation's local chapters. "As a rule I board the plane Friday evening, right after my last class," he said. "I prepare my speeches during the trip and usually manage to pick up a return flight that gets me to Berkeley just in time for my Monday-morning eight-o'clock class." He laughed. "My children, I have three, are getting fed up with this routine. They say they're beginning to forget what I look like."

One of Professor tenBroek's chief ambitions as he flies about the country is to persuade people he meets that he is not exceptional in either talent or character but pretty much an ordinary man who has simply refused to accept the widespread assumption that a blind person must live a dependent and sheltered life. "I've got a neighbor in Berkeley--a blind man I've known since we were classmates at school--who built his house entirely with his own hands," he said. "It's quite a good-sized house, too--about twenty-seven-hundred square feet. He built the forms, poured the cement, put in the plumbing, did the wiring--everything. The place is on a fairly steep hillside, and, before he could start, he had to make himself a large power-operated boom for hauling his materials up to the site. Now there's a man that someone like me--someone who has no aptitude for that sort of thing would call an exceptional person--but he doesn't seem to think he is. He says he just happens to be handy with tools." The professor shook his head in admiration.

"As things are now," he went on, "most of the country's three hundred and twenty-five thousand blind people who work are employed in the special sheltered shops that society with the best and most charitable intentions has set up for us, where we can make baskets and such and come to no harm. Only about two or three percent of us are holding normal jobs out in the world. My organization is convinced at least twenty times that many could be doing so if they had the chance. What we seek for the blind is the right to compete on equal terms. In this the Federation--the only national organization in this field whose membership and officers are all blind--is very much at odds with most of the traditional organizations and agencies set up to help us, which are sure they know better than we do what is good for us. But we've been making considerable progress. In the last few years we've succeeded in persuading the Civil Service to let blind people try out for many categories of jobs from which they used to be excluded."

We asked Professor tenBroek what jobs he himself thinks are impossible for the blind to hold. He laughed, stroked his goatee professorially, and said, "Well, airplane pilot, I suppose, though for that matter planes fly most of the time nowadays on automatic controls, don't they, and someday may be completely automatic. Actually I can't say what the limits are. Every time I think I have hit on some job that a blind man couldn't conceivably hold, I find a blind man holding it. One of my friends in the Federation is an experimental nuclear physicist, and you wouldn't think of that as a promising field for a blind man to be in. Dr. Bradley Burson is his name, and he's at the Argonne National Laboratory, near Chicago. When he was working on problems involving the decay of radioactive matter, he invented some devices for himself that measured the decay in terms of audible and tactile signals, rather than the commonly employed visual signals. Some of the devices turned out to be more accurate than the standard ones and are now widely used at the lab. I'd always assumed that being an electrician would be impossible for a blind man, but not long ago I found a blind electrician--a fellow named Jack Polston. I went and talked to his boss, and he told me that Polston does everything any other electrician can do--wiring, soldering, and all the rest. While I was there, Polston was doing the complete wiring for a service station, which I'm told is a particularly complicated job. To be sure, he had been an electrician before he became blind, but don't ask me how he solders without setting the place on fire. I couldn't, even if I had my sight. Anyway, now that I've found him I'm pestering the Civil Service not to disqualify blind people automatically from trying out for electricians' jobs."

Professor tenBroek paused for a moment and then said, "Don't let me give you the idea that it isn't a nuisance to be blind. To bump your head on an overhanging sign as you walk down the street or to fall into a hole that anybody else can see--it's a nuisance, I can assure you, but it isn't a catastrophe." He stood up, buttoning his coat, and picked up his cane and his briefcase. "Well," he said briskly, "it's after two o'clock, and I'll have to step lively if I'm going to make it out to LaGuardia in time to catch the three-fifteen for Springfield. If you'll be so kind as to see me to the elevator, I'll carry on from there."

There you have the New Yorker profile published six months after President tenBroek delivered one of his most powerful and admired banquet addresses. The organized blind had just lost their struggle for the right to organize. Senator John Kennedy had led the legislative fight despite the opposition of most of the agencies in the blindness field, the professionals who distrusted and feared the rise of a consumer movement, and the monied interests who supported those organizations and individuals. The blind lost the battle, but it was a Pyrrhic victory for the agencies, because they gradually found that the consumer voice was increasingly being heard and heeded by the public. The eloquent words and powerful intellect of Jacobus tenBroek and the increasing contribution of his protégé, the young Kenneth Jernigan, provided the inspiration for the next generation of blind men and women, who insisted that they be heard and reckoned with.

Here then is "Cross of Blindness," the speech that Dr. tenBroek delivered on his birthday, July 6, 1957, to the seventeenth convention of the National Federation of the Blind in New Orleans, Louisiana. We begin with the introduction to the speech that appears in Chapter 2 of our organizational history, Walking Alone and Marching Together.

The symbolic cross he [Dr. tenBroek] saw the blind bearing was the burden of social stigmas, stereotypes, and superstitions--the dead weight of public prejudice and misunderstanding. In a masterly speech which has since become one of his most famous, tenBroek spelled out in equally vivid terms both the case for and the case against self-organization by the blind. His address, delivered before a banquet audience of 700, stands as a memorial to the high ground--the peak of unity and confidence which was attained by the National Federation of the Blind in that watershed year. That high ground was soon to be lost in the turmoil of civil war and not to be reached again for years to come. But in 1957 the national movement of the organized blind, not yet a score of years old, appeared as firm in its solidarity as it was irresistible in its force. And no one who heard the leader of the movement speak that day could doubt that these newly independent and self-assertive people would forever refuse to bear the stigmatizing cross of blindness. Here is the full text of that speech:

Cross of Blindness

An address delivered by Professor Jacobus tenBroek, President, National Federation of the Blind, at the banquet of the annual convention, held in New Orleans, July 6, 1957

In the short seventeen years since our founding of the National Federation of the Blind, we have grown from a handful of men and women scattered over seven states to a federation of forty-three state affiliates. The first convention of the NFB in 1940 was attended by twelve or fifteen persons--our convention last year had a registration of seven hundred and five from every corner of the Union.

That is rapid organizational growth by any yardstick. Who are these people of the National Federation of the Blind? What is the purpose that has led them to self-organization in such numbers and unites them now with such apparent dedication and enthusiasm?

It is not enough, I think, to answer that the members of the NFB are drawn together by their common interest in the welfare of the blind; for many of the sighted share that too. Nor is it sufficient to say that we are united only because we are blind; many who are affiliated with agencies for the blind have that characteristic also. It is fundamental to the uniqueness of our group that we are the only nationwide organization for the blind which is also of the blind. The composition of the NFB, indeed, is living testimony to the fact--unfortunately not yet accepted by society as a whole--that the blind are capable of self-organization: which is to say, of leading themselves, of directing their own destiny.

Yet this is still only half the truth, only a part of the characteristic which defines our Federation and provides its reason for being. Our real distinction from other organizations in the field of blind welfare lies in the social precept and personal conviction which are the motive source of our activity and the wellspring of our faith. The belief that we who are blind are normal human beings sets us sharply apart from other groups designed to aid the blind. We have all the typical and ordinary range of talents and techniques, attitudes and aspirations. Our underlying assumption is not--as it is with some other groups--the intrinsic helplessness and everlasting dependency of those who happen to lack sight, but rather their innate capacity to nullify and overrule this disability--to find their place in the community with the same degree of success and failure to be found among the general population.

Perhaps I can best document this thesis of the normality of the blind with a random sample of the occupations represented at our national convention a year ago in San Francisco. Among the blind delegates in attendance, there were three blind physicists engaged in experimental work for the United States government. There was one blind chemist also doing experimental work for the national government. There were two university instructors of the rank of full professor, a number of other college instructors of various ranks, and several blind teachers of sighted students in primary and secondary grades in the public schools. There were thirteen lawyers, most in private practice, two employed as attorneys by the United States government, one serving as the chairman of a state public service commission, one serving as a clerk to a state chief justice. There were three chiropractors, one osteopath, ten secretaries, seventeen factory workers, one shoemaker, one cab dispatcher, one bookmender, one appliance repairman, four telephone switchboard operators, numerous businessmen in various businesses, five musicians, thirty students, many directors and workers in programs for the blind, and sixty-one housewives.

At any other convention there would be nothing at all remarkable about this broad cross-section of achievement and ability; it is exactly what you would expect to find at a gathering of the American Legion or the Exalted Order of Elks, or at a town meeting in your community. Anywhere else, that is, but at a convention of the blind. It never ceases to surprise the public that a blind man may be able to hold his own in business, operate a farm successfully, argue a brief in a court of law, teach a class of sighted students, or conduct experiments in a chemistry lab. It comes as a shock to the average person to discover that the blind not only can but do perform as well as the next man in all the normal and varied callings of the community.

But this shock of recognition, on the part of many people, too easily gives way to a mood of satisfaction and an attitude of complacency. After all, if the blind are so capable, so successful, and so independent, what is all the fuss about? Where is the need for all this organization and militant activity? Why can't the blind let well enough alone?

These are reasonable questions, surely, and deserve a reasoned answer. I believe that the answer may best be given by reciting a list of sixteen specific events which have taken place recently in various parts of the country. The events are:

1. A blind man (incidentally a distinguished educator and citizen of his community) was denied a room in a well-known YMCA in New York City--not on the ground that his appearance betokened inability to pay, which it did not; not on the ground that he had an unsavory reputation, which he did not; not on the ground that his behavior was or was likely to be disorderly, which it was not--but on the ground that he was blind.

2. A blind man was rejected as a donor by the blood bank in his city--not on the ground that his blood was not red; not on the ground that his blood was watery, defective in corpuscles, or diseased; not on the ground that he would be physically harmed by the loss of the blood--but on the ground that he was blind.

3. A blind man (in this case a successful lawyer with an established reputation in his community) was denied the rental of a safety-deposit box by his bank--not on the ground that he was a well-known bank robber; not on the ground that he had nothing to put in it; not on the ground that he couldn't pay the rental price--but on the ground that he was blind.

4. A blind man was rejected for jury duty in a California city--not on the ground of mental incompetence; not on the ground of moral irresponsibility; not on the ground that he would not weigh the evidence impartially and come to a just verdict--but on the ground that he was blind.

5. A blind college student majoring in education was denied permission to perform practice teaching by a state university--not on the ground that her academic record was poor; not on the ground that she had not satisfied the prerequisites; not on the ground that she lacked the educational or personal qualifications--but on the ground that she was blind.

6. A blind applicant for public employment was denied consideration by a state civil service commission--not on the ground that he lacked the education or experience specifications; not on the ground that he was not of good moral character; not on the ground that he lacked the residence or citizenship requirements--but on the ground that he was blind.

7. A blind woman was refused a plane ticket by an airline--not on the ground that she couldn't pay for her ticket; not on the ground that her heart was weak and couldn't stand the excitement; not on the ground that she was a carrier of contagion--but on the ground that she was blind.

8. A blind machinist was declared ineligible for a position he had already held for five years. This declaration was the result of a routine medical examination. It came on the heels of his complete clearance and reinstatement on the job following a similar medical finding the year before. These determinations were made--not on the ground of new medical evidence showing that he was blind, for that was known all along; not on the ground that he could not do the job which he had successfully performed for five years with high ratings; not on the ground of any factor related to his employment--they were made on the ground that he was blind.

9. A blind high school student who was a duly qualified candidate for student body president was removed from the list of candidates by authority of the principal and faculty of the school--not on the ground that he was an outside infiltrator from some other school; not on the ground that he was on probation; not on the ground that he was not loyal to the principles of the United States Constitution--but on the ground that he was blind.

10. Traveler's Insurance Company, in its standard policy issued to cover trips on railroads, expressly exempts the blind from coverage--not on the ground that there is statistical or actuarial evidence that blind travelers are more prone to accident than sighted travelers are; not on the ground that suitcases or fellow passengers fall on them more often; not on the ground that trains carrying blind passengers are more likely to be wrecked unless it is the engineer who is blind--but solely on the ground of blindness. Many, if not most, other insurance companies selling other forms of insurance either will not cover the blind or increase the premium.

11. A blind man, who had been a successful justice court and police court judge in his community for eleven years, ran for the position of superior court judge in the general election of 1956. During the campaign his opponents did not argue that he was ignorant of the law and therefore incompetent; or that he had been guilty of bilking widows and orphans; or that he lacked the quality of mercy. Almost the only argument that they used against him was that he was blind. The voters, however, elected him handily. At the next session of the state legislature a bill was introduced disqualifying blind persons as judges. The organized blind of the state were able to modify this bill but not to defeat it.

12. More than sixty blind men and women--among them doctors, teachers, businessmen, and members of various professions--were recently ordered by the building and safety authority of a large city to move out of their hotel-type living quarters. This was not on the ground that they were pyromaniacs and likely to start fires; not on the ground that they were delinquent in their rent; not on the ground that they disturbed their neighbors with riotous living--but on the ground that as blind people they were subject to the code provisions regarding the "bed-ridden, ambulatory, and helpless," that anyone who is legally blind must live in an institution-type building--with all the rooms on the ground floor, with no stairs at the end of halls, with hard, fireproof furniture, with chairs and smoking-stands lined up along the wall "so they won't fall over them."

13. The education code of one of our states provides that deaf, dumb, and blind children may be sent at state expense to a school for the deaf, dumb, or blind, if they possess the following qualifications: (1) they are free from offensive or contagious diseases; (2) they have no parent, relative, guardian, or nearest friend able to pay for their education; (3) that by reason of deafness, dumbness, or blindness, they are disqualified from being taught by the ordinary process of instruction or education.

14. In a recent opinion the supreme court of one of the states held that a blind person who sought compensation for an injury due to an accident which he claimed arose out of and in the course of his employment by the state board of industries for the blind, was a ward of the state and therefore not entitled to compensation. The conception that blind shopworkers are wards of the state was only overcome in another state by a recent legislative enactment.

15. A blind person, duly convicted of a felony and sentenced to a state penitentiary, was denied parole when he became eligible therefore--not on the ground that he had not served the required time; not on the ground that his prison behavior had been bad; not on the ground that he had not been rehabilitated--but on the ground that he was blind.

16. A blind man who sat down at a gambling table in Reno, where such things are legal, was denied an opportunity to play--not on the ground that he didn't know the rules of the game; not on the ground that he might cheat the dealer or the other players; not on the ground that he didn't have any money to lose--but on the ground that he was blind.

These last two cases show that the blind are normal in every respect.

What emerges from this set of events is the age-old stereotype of blindness as witlessness and helplessness. By virtue of this pervasive impression, a blind man is held to be incapable of weighing the evidence presented at a trial or performing the duties of a teacher. He cannot take care of himself in a room of his own and is not to be trusted on a plane. A sightless person would not know what he has put into or removed from a safety deposit box; and he has no right to employment in the public service. He must not even be permitted to continue on a job he has performed successfully for years. Even his blood cannot be given voluntarily for the common cause.

Contrast these two lists--the one of the occupations represented at the NFB convention; the other of the discriminatory activities--the first is a list of accomplishments of what the blind have done and therefore can do; the second is a list of prohibitions of what the blind are thought incompetent to do and therefore are debarred from attempting. The first list refers to the physical disability of blindness. It demonstrates in graphic fashion how slight a disadvantage is the mere loss of sight to the mental capacity and vocational talent of the individual. The second list refers not to the disability but to the handicap which is imposed upon the blind by others. The origin of the disability is plainly inside the blind person. The origin and responsibility for the handicap are just as plainly outside him--in the attitudes and preconceptions of the community.

Let me be very clear about this. I have no wish to minimize the character and extent of blindness as a disability. It is for all of us a constant nuisance and a serious inconvenience. To overcome it requires effort and patience and initiative and guts. It is not compensated for, despite the fairy tales to the contrary, by the spontaneous emergence of a miraculous "sixth sense" or any other magical powers. It means nothing more or less than the loss of one of the five senses and a corresponding greater reliance upon the four that remain--as well as upon the brain, the heart, and the spirit.

It may be said that the discriminatory acts which I have cited, and others like them which are occurring all the time, simply do not reflect informed thought. They are occasional happenings, unpremeditated, irrational, or accidental. Surely no one would justify them; no one would say that they represent an accurate appraisal of the blind and of blindness.

Well, let us see. Let us look at some pronouncements of presumably thoughtful and informed persons writing about the blind--agency heads, educators, administrators, social workers, historians, psychologists, and public officials. What do they have to say about the potentialities of the blind in terms of intellectual capacity, vocational talent, and psychological condition? What do they report concerning the prospects for social integration on the basis of normality and economic advancement on the basis of talent?

First, an educator. Here are the words of a prominent authority on the education of the blind, himself for thirty years a superintendent of a school for the blind. "It is wrong to start with the school," this authority writes, "and to teach there a number of occupations that the blind can do, but to teach them out of relation to their practical and relative values. This is equivalent to attempting to create trades for the blind and then more or less angrily to demand that the world recognize the work and buy the product, whether useful or useless." More than this, it is necessary to recognize the unfitness of the blind "as a class" for any sort of competition and therefore to afford them not only protection but monopoly wherever possible. Declaring that "it must be unqualifiedly conceded that there is little in an industrial way that a blind person can do at all that cannot be done better and more expeditiously by people with sight," this expert considers that there are only two ways out: one being the extension of concessions and monopolies, and the other the designation of certain "preferred" occupations for the blind--"leaving the battle of wits only to those select few that may be considered, and determined to be, specially fit."

The conclusion that employment possibilities for the blind are confined, with only negligible exceptions, to the purview of sheltered workshops is contained in this set of "facts" about the blind which the same authority asserts are "generally conceded by those who have given the subject much thought: that the handcrafts in which the blind can do first-class work are very limited in number, with basketry, weaving, knitting, broom- and brush-making, and chair caning as the most promising and most thoroughly tried out . . . that in these crafts the blind cannot enter into direct competition with the seeing either in the quality of product or the amount turned out in a given time . . . that the crafts pursued by the blind may best be carried on in special workshops under the charge of government officials or trained officers of certain benevolent associations . . . that among the 'higher' callings piano-tuning and massage are, under favoring conditions such as prevail for masseurs in Japan, the fields offering the greatest chance of success, while the learned professions, including teaching, are on the whole only for those of very superior talent and, more particularly, very superior courage and determination to win at all costs."

Second, an historian. The basis for this assessment, and its justification, have been presented in blunt and explicit language by a well-known historian of blindness and the blind in the United States. He says, "[T]here exists in the community a body of men who, by reason of a physical defect, namely, the loss of sight, are disqualified from engaging in the regular pursuits of men and who are thus largely rendered incapable of providing for themselves independently." They are to be regarded as a "disabled and infirm fraction of the people" or, more specifically, as "sighted men in a dark room." "Rather than let them drift into absolute dependence and become a distinct burden, society is to lend an appropriate helping hand" through the creation of sheltered, publicly subsidized employment.

Third, administrators. That this pessimistic appraisal of the range of talent among the blind has not been limited to the schoolmen and historians may be shown by two succinct statements from wartime pamphlets produced by the Civil Service Commission in an effort to broaden employment opportunities for the physically disabled. "The blind," it was found, "are especially proficient in manual occupations requiring a delicate sense of touch. They are well suited to jobs which are repetitious in nature." Again: "The placement of persons who are blind presents various special problems. Small groups of positions in sheltered environment, involving repetitive work, were surveyed in government establishments and were found to have placement potentialities for the blind." Such findings as these were doubtless at the base of a remark of a certain public official who wrote that: "Helping the blind has its strong appeal to the sensibilities of everyone; on the other hand, we should avoid making the public service an eleemosynary institution."

Fourth, a blind agency head. The executive director of one of the largest private agencies for the blind justifies the failure of the philanthropic groups in these blunt terms: "The fact that so few workers or organizations are doing anything appreciable to [improve the condition of the blind] cannot be explained entirely on the grounds that they are not in the vanguard of social thinking. It is rather because they are realistic enough to recognize that the rank and file of blind persons have neither the exceptional urge for independence nor the personal qualifications necessary to satisfactory adjustment in the sighted world . . . . It is very difficult and exceptional for a blind person to be as productive as a sighted person."

Fifth, a psychologist. Even plainer language--as well as more impressive jargon--has been used by another authority who is widely considered the preeminent expert in the field of blind psychology. "Until recently," he writes, "the blind and those interested in them have insisted that society revise and modify its attitude toward this specific group. Obviously, for many reasons, this is an impossibility, and effort spent on such a program is as futile as spitting into the wind . . . it is extremely doubtful whether the degree of emotional maturity and social adaptability of the blind would long support and sustain any social change of attitude if it were possible to achieve it." If this is not plain enough, the writer continues: "A further confusion of attitude is found in educators and workers for the blind who try to propagandize society with the rational concept that the blind are normal individuals without vision. This desperate whistling in the dark does more damage than good. The blind perceive it as a hypocritical distortion of actual facts. . . . It is dodging the issue to place the responsibility on the unbelieving and nonreceptive popular attitudes. . . . The only true answer lies in the unfortunate circumstance that the blind share with other neurotics the nonaggressive personality and the inability to participate fully in society. . . . There are two general directions for attacking such a problem, either to adjust the individual to his environment, or to rearrange the environment so that it ceases to be a difficulty to the individual. It is quite obvious that the latter program is not only inadvisable but also impossible. However, it is the attack that nearly every frustrated, maladjusted person futilely attempts."

Sixth, a social worker. This sweeping negation of all attempts to modify the prejudicial attitudes of society toward the blind, however eccentric and extreme it may sound, finds strong support in the field of social casework. In areas where "such ideas remain steadfast," reads a typical report, "it is the function of the social caseworker to assist the blind person to work within these preconceived ideas. Since handicapped persons are a minority group in society, there is greater possibility of bringing about a change in an individual within a stated length of time than there is in reversing accepted concepts within the culture." The "well-adjusted blind person," it is argued, should be able to get along in this restrictive social setting, and the caseworker must concentrate on his personal adjustment since it is easier to reform the client than to reform society.

Seventh, a blind philanthropist. Let me close my list of testimonials with one final citation. I think it must already be sufficiently obvious that, granting the assumptions contained in all these statements, the blind have no business organizing themselves apart from sighted supervision; that a social movement of the blind and by the blind is doomed to futility, frustration, and failure. But just in case the point is not clear enough, I offer the considered opinion of a well-known figure in the history of blind philanthropy: "It cannot, then, be through the all-blind society that the blind person finds adequate opportunity for the exercise of his leadership. The wise leader will know that the best interests of each blind person lie within the keeping of the nine hundred and ninety-nine sighted people who, with himself, make up each one thousand of any average population. He will know, further, that if he wishes to promote the interests of the blind, he must become a leader of the sighted upon whose understanding and patronage the fulfillment of these interests depends . . . . There is . . . no advantage accruing from membership in an all-blind organization which might not be acquired in greater measure through membership in a society of sighted people."

What is the substance of all these damning commentaries? What are the common assumptions which underlie the attitudes of the leaders of blind philanthropy and the authorities on blind welfare? The fundamental concepts can, I think, be simply stated. First, the blind are by virtue of their defect emotionally immature if not psychologically abnormal; they are mentally inferior and narrowly circumscribed in the range of their ability--and therefore inevitably doomed to vocational monotony, economic dependence, and social isolation. Second, even if their capabilities were different, they are necessarily bound to the fixed status and subordinate role ordained by society, whose attitudes toward them are permanent and unalterable. Third, they must place their faith and trust, not in themselves and in their own organizations, but in the sighted public and most particularly in those who have appointed themselves the protectors and custodians of the blind.

A few simple observations are in order. First, as to the immutability of social attitudes and discriminatory actions towards the blind, we know from intimate experience that the sighted public wishes well for the blind and that its misconceptions are rather the result of innocence and superstition than of deliberate cruelty and malice aforethought. There was a time, in the days of Rome, when blind infants were thrown to the wolves or sold into slavery. That time is no more. There was a time, in the Middle Ages, when blind beggars were the butts of amusement at country fairs, decked out in paper spectacles and donkeys' ears. That time is no more. There was a time, which still exists to a surprising extent, when the parents of a blind child regarded his disability as a divine judgment upon their own sins. But that time is now beginning to disappear, at least in the civilized world.

The blind are no longer greeted by society with open hostility and frantic avoidance but with compassion and sympathy. It is true that an open heart is no guarantee of an open mind. It is true that good intentions are not enough. It is true that tolerance is a far cry from brotherhood and that protection and trusteeship are not the synonyms of equality and freedom. But the remarkable progress already made in the civilizing of brute impulses and the humanizing of social attitudes towards the blind is compelling evidence that there is nothing fixed or immutable about the social status quo for the blind and that, if the blind themselves are capable of independence and interdependence within society, society is capable of welcoming them.

Our own experience as individuals and as members of the National Federation of the Blind gives support at short range to what long-range history already makes plain. We have observed and experienced the gradual breakdown of legal obstacles and prejudicial acts; we have participated in the expansion of opportunities for the blind in virtually every phase of social life and economic livelihood--in federal, state, and local civil service; in teaching and other professions; in the addition of a constructive element to public welfare. Let anyone who thinks social attitudes cannot be changed read this statement contained in a recent pamphlet of the Federal Civil Service Commission:

Sometimes a mistaken notion is held that . . . the blind can do work only where keenness of vision is not important in the job. The truth appears to be that the blind can do work demanding different degrees of keenness of vision on the part of the sighted. If there is any difference in job proficiency related to a degree of keenness of vision required for the sighted, it is this: the blind appear to work with greater proficiency at jobs where the element is present to a noticeable extent in the sighted job than where vision is only generally useful.

Second, are the blind mentally inferior, emotionally adolescent, and psychologically disturbed; or on the contrary, are they normal and capable of social and economic integration? The evidence that they are the latter can be drawn from many quarters: scientific, medical, historical, and theoretical. But the evidence which is most persuasive is that which I have already presented: it is the evidence displayed in the lives and performance of such average and ordinary blind men and women as those who attended our national convention last summer. It is the evidence of their vocational accomplishments, their personal achievements, the plain normality of their daily lives. To me their record is more than an impressive demonstration: it is a clinching rebuttal.

It would, of course, be a gross exaggeration to maintain that all blind persons have surmounted their physical disability and conquered their social handicap.

It is not the education of the sighted only which is needed to establish the right of the blind to equality and integration. Just as necessary is the education of the blind themselves. For the process of their rehabilitation is not ended with physical and vocational training; it is complete only when they have driven the last vestige of the public stereotype of the blind from their own minds. In this sense, and to this extent only, is it true that the blind person must "adjust" to his handicap and to society. His adjustment need not--indeed must not--mean his submission to all prevailing social norms and values. His goal is not conformity but autonomy: not acquiescence, but self-determination and self-control.

From all of this it should be clear that it is a long way yet from the blind alleys of dependency and segregation to the main thoroughfares of personal independence and social integration which we have set as our goal. And I believe it is equally plain that our progress toward that goal will demand the most forceful and skillful application of all the means at our command: that is, the means of education, persuasion, demonstration, and legislation.

We need the means of education to bring the public and the blind themselves to a true recognition of the nature of blindness--to tear away the fossil layers of mythology and prejudice. We need persuasion to induce employers to try us out and convince society to take us in. We need demonstration to prove our capacity and normality in every act of living and of making a living. And finally we need legislation to reform the statute books and obliterate the legal barriers which stand in the way of normal life and equal opportunity--replacing them with laws which accurately reflect the accumulated knowledge of modern science and the ethics of democratic society.

This final platform in our program of equality--the platform of adequate legislation--is in many respects the most crucial and pressing of all. For until the blind are guaranteed freedom of opportunity and endeavor within the law, there can be little demonstration of their ability and little prospect of persuasion. What is needed is nothing less than a new spirit of the laws, which will uproot the discriminatory clauses and prejudicial assumptions that presently hinder the efforts of the blind toward self-advancement and self-support. The new philosophy requires that programs for the blind be founded upon the social conception of their normality and the social purpose of their reintegration into the community, with aids and services adjusted to these conceptions.

These then are the objectives of the self-organized blind, goals freely chosen for them by themselves. And this is the true significance of an organization of the blind, by the blind, for the blind. For the blind the age of charity, like that of chivalry, is dead; but this is not to say that there is no place for either of these virtues. In order to achieve the equality that is their right, in order to gain the opportunity that is their due, and in order to attain the position of full membership in the community that is their goal, the blind have continuing need for the understanding and sympathy and liberality of their sighted neighbors and fellow citizens. But their overriding need is first of all for recognition--recognition of themselves as normal and of their purposes as legitimate. The greatest hope of the blind is that they may be seen as they are, not as they have been portrayed; and since they are neither wards nor children, their hope is to be not only seen but also heard--in their own accents and for whatever their cause may be worth.

[PHOTO/CAPTION: Jim Moynihan ]

Blind Juror

by James Moynihan

From the Editor: Jim Moynihan is a longtime member of the National Federation of the Blind. He and his wife Jana are active in the Kansas City, Missouri, chapter, where Jim is now a member of the board. The couple have two almost-grown children. In the following story Jim reports on his experience as a member of a jury. As a federal employee he was allowed to take administrative leave to perform his civic duty. That meant that he could continue to draw his salary and was therefore required to turn back his juror's pay of a princely $6.48 a day. No wonder serving on a jury is a financial hardship for many people. Here is Jim's story:

I have often wondered what it would be like to serve on a jury, and I finally got my chance on August 5 and 6, 2002. After receiving my summons to serve, I reported at the courthouse in downtown Kansas City, Missouri, at 8:00 a.m. on Monday, August 5, 2002. When I reached the desk, the clerk told me that I was excused. When I asked why, she said, "because you are blind."

I informed her that I did not wish to be excused on the grounds of blindness and would serve if selected. The incredulous clerk directed me to the room where the panelists sat waiting to be culled for jury duty. The lucky twelve would be selected for the jury, and the rest would be sent home.

I assumed that I did not have much to worry about since I would not be selected. I completed the form telling the judge and attorneys for the prosecution and defense that I was a civil rights investigator working for the U.S. Department of Education, Office for Civil Rights. Knowledgeable coworkers had told me that I would automatically be rejected for jury selection because attorneys did not want people on the jury who could separate fact from fiction. Attorneys want dummies who might be persuaded in favor of their client.

During the next few hours I tried to read Syndicated Columnists Weekly, attempting to blot out the loud television programming. Then about fifty of us were sent to the room where the jury selection process began. We were told that this case concerned the XO club. A woman had fallen and had then filed a personal injury lawsuit. This information immediately set my teeth on edge.

My detestation of lawyers is exceeded only by my revulsion at the frivolous lawsuits filed by whining plaintiffs that are clogging our court system. So much for that noise, I told myself. Then the lawyers began explaining the details of the case, so I decided that I had better listen.

The woman, in her twenties, was employed as an airline attendant. She was socializing with a group of friends at a nightclub in Westport, and the rest of the group left. She struck up an acquaintance with a young man, and they shared several cigarettes--the regular kind. They decided to go to the XO club, which specializes in dancing and serves drinks.

The couple danced for a while and then decided to have drinks, which were served upstairs. When they reached the landing, they came to a ledge, which overlooked the dance floor. The building had been inspected, but the ledge did not meet building code and should have been eighteen inches higher.

Somehow the woman fell over the edge, and, though the man tried to stop her from falling, he was not successful. As a result the young woman suffered a broken wrist, a broken shoulder, and a broken pelvis. She also incurred an indentation on her left hip, which is permanent.

I do not recall all the details, but I think she had about $6,000 in medical expenses. She was cared for at her mother's home and returned to her airline attendant's job a few months later. The plaintiff then moved to California and has a live-in boyfriend, who fathered her child, now about a year old.

The plaintiff sued the XO club and also the building's landlord. Fellow jurors informed me that the landlord slept through the trial, but he was represented by an attorney who spoke on his behalf.

The attorneys for the plaintiff and the defense questioned the panelists to make the jury selection. We were asked whether we knew any of the doctors who had treated the plaintiff for her injuries. I was surprised to find and acknowledge that I knew the orthopedist, who treated my daughter Jeanene after she jumped from a trampoline, injuring her knee.

One of the attorneys for the plaintiff referred to my occupation as a civil rights investigator and asked me if I thought too many lawsuits were being filed. I agreed that there were too many lawsuits, but I had learned that in my job my opinion did not matter. In fact, a supervisor once told me she did not give a damn about my opinion. My training required me to keep digging until I was satisfied I understood the facts of a case so thoroughly that I could explain it to team leaders and attorneys. After that response I thought to myself, you're a goner.

The questioning continued until the judge finally pounced on one unlucky soul, observing that this man was the only panelist who had remained totally quiet during the selection process. The judge commented that nature abhors a vacuum. The judge asked this man if he thought there were too many lawsuits, and he agreed that there were. He then asked the man if he could keep an open mind if he were selected, and he said that he could, to a point. I was not surprised when this man was not selected.

The judge told us to go to lunch and report back at 1:30 p.m., when we would be told whether or not we would be on the jury. This gave me the opportunity to eat lunch with my wife Jana in the federal building cafeteria. The judge admonished us not to discuss the case with each other or with outsiders.

When I returned from lunch, I was surprised to learn that I was one of the twelve jurors selected. The judge admonished us not to discuss the case until it was time for the jury to deliberate. The trial would begin that afternoon and conclude on Tuesday, he hoped. It might continue on Wednesday with the jury handing in its verdict that day.

The trial was straightforward, and the facts were not in dispute. The plaintiff and her attorneys agreed that she had been able to return to her occupation as a flight attendant but had to be careful lifting bags that might weigh up to seventy pounds.

The plaintiff said she was living a normal life but sometimes experienced pain in her shoulder when putting on her seat belt or doing other tasks. Her attorneys stressed that the indentation in her hip was a permanent disfigurement. They asked the jury to award her $125,000 for punitive damages based on her injuries and medical costs. Now here comes the kicker. They also asked the jury to award an unspecified amount based on the plaintiff's pain and suffering because she had endured pain and humiliation and has a permanent disfigurement, which for a woman is devastating.

The defense did not dispute that the plaintiff had fallen at the XO Club and had suffered injuries. The XO attorneys said that of course they were sympathetic but that the injury to the plaintiff was not their fault. She had been drinking before she arrived at the XO Club, but they did not say she was drunk. The building had been inspected and was given a certificate by Kansas City.

Thousands of patrons had observed the ledge, but it had not raised any questions about safety. The violation of the building code became a factor only after the shallowness of the ledge was discovered by engineers hired by the plaintiff's attorneys during the lawsuit. The implication was, okay jurors, give her something, but don't go crazy on us.

The trial ended late Tuesday afternoon. I wanted to get started, but a number of my companions required a smoke break. We all agreed that the plaintiff should get something; the question was how much. Being a conservative fellow, I threw out a figure of $50,000. I have often been astonished to read of smokers or people paralyzed in auto accidents being awarded settlements in the millions of dollars. I could never fathom how this happened, but I was soon to find out.

Several jurors maintained that this woman had suffered a devastating injury and that no price tag could be placed on her pain and suffering. One juror suggested a figure of two million dollars. Some of us pointed out that she had returned to work and was leading a normal life. The jurors expressed their opinions strongly but remained goodtempered throughout the deliberative process.

The jury foreman went around the table trying to reach a consensus. Pressure was building to wrap things up on Tuesday to avoid continuing to deliberate on Wednesday. I was enjoying myself and was not averse to continuing on Wednesday. The Department of Education was paying my salary, but I had to return my $6.48 per day jury stipend.

Other members of the jury were not being paid for taking off work to serve on this jury. I was impressed that these citizens were making a real sacrifice to serve.

We finally reached a consensus that the XO club and landlord were guilty. We agreed that the plaintiff should receive $120,000, which was close to the amount requested by her attorneys. I believe that most of us were reasonably satisfied. I thought the settlement was somewhat excessive but was pleased that we had avoided the astronomical sums suggested by some of the jurors.

We repaired to the courtroom, where the jury foreman handed in the verdict, which was read by the court clerk. The expressions on the faces of the attorneys for the defendants indicated that they were not happy. But I believe that one of the treasures of our democracy is the right to a jury trial. It bothered me that the clerk was willing to excuse me from serving on a jury based on blindness, and it shocked her that I wanted to serve if selected. Yet other citizens are expected to serve on juries unless they come up with a legitimate excuse. We all know that blind people are excused from working because others expect that society will take care of us.

I was impressed that the people on my jury took their task seriously. They grappled with the issues presented by the attorneys and tried to arrive at a fair and equitable solution. We came from all walks of life and had never met before. We were of different races and levels of education. We tried our best to hammer out a reasonable and fair settlement. We even accommodated the smokers; how about that?

The XO case will probably not be remembered as a monumental case in the annals of legal jurisprudence. Thousands of such cases may be heard across America every day by average people like me who serve on juries. Sure beats Communist China, Cuba, North Korea, Iraq, or Iran. I would do it again if called upon. You can turn me down for any of a number of reasons, but don't let my blindness be one of them.

For Diners in the Dark, a Taste of Mystery

by Michael Powell

From the Editor: For several years now stories have been appearing in newspapers around the country about restaurants serving meals in the pitch dark. The fad began in Europe and jumped to Canada before arriving in the United States. The first experiments provided jobs for blind people, who acted as guides and servers. All sorts of high-flown justifications circulated about how uplifting it was to experience a social encounter without the distractions of vision. Participants in the experience declared themselves helpless in the dark and newly appreciative of the skills of those who manage without vision every day.

Like most blind people I know, I thought all this just so much silly posturing and assumed that the fad would quickly disappear. The nonsense about providing uplifting experiences and jobs for blind people does seem to have vanished, but the concept of dining in the dark is apparently still alive and well. On April 18, 2003, a reporter for the Washington Post wrote a story about his experience in a New York restaurant that serves a black-out meal once a month. Gone from the event is anyone capable of placing the experience in perspective. The sighted waiters wear night-vision goggles, and the lights come on in time for dessert. The reporter maintains a refreshing degree of cynical amusement as he observes his fellow diners. I, at least, find his attitude refreshingly no-nonsense. Here is the article:

So we're sitting in a trendy little restaurant on another of those Lower East Side streets best known to smack dealers a decade ago, eating tasty dishes that could come with the Ruth Reichl‑Gourmet Magazine stamp of approval.

If only Ruthie could see them.

The lighting in this restaurant is not subdued, shaded, or hiply shadowed. It's nonexistent. We eat in can't‑see‑your‑fingers‑in‑front‑of‑your‑face inky darkness. "Oh damn!" says the female voice next to you, as a handful of croquetas de Bacalao apparently collides with her cheek. "I forgot where my mouth was."

It's known as Dining in the Dark, and it's the latest groovy thrill in a city that feels more and more like Imperial Rome circa the Caligula administration. We are among twenty-eight people‑‑most an unfortunate decade or two younger than your correspondent‑‑who have paid $89 per head for the pleasure of groping for our dinner. This restaurant, Suba, serves one such dinner each month.

The evening begins with a $10 drink in the lighted ground‑floor sitting room. Then you clomp down steel steps into the basement of this former tenement. There's a thick black curtain and waiters outfitted like très downtown cyborgs, with their black‑on‑black clothes and night‑vision goggles. One takes your hand and leads you into the darkness.

"The short highball glass is the wine," whispers the now‑disembodied voice. "The long and slender one is for the water." You don't say.

The trend toward inky eating began in Berlin and jumped the Atlantic in the person of Jerome A. Chasques, whose event‑planning company is known as Cosmo Party. He's small, red‑haired, and cherubic, an unflappable man with an accent more Paris than Manhattan. He embraced the idea last year, as he and friends hopped aimlessly from one hip East Village restaurant to another. The free‑range New Zealand quail, the saffron‑soaked Ukrainian artichoke hearts: so predictable. Darkness, he decided, might improve everything and prove profitable.

"It really started like a little game," he explains. "Something out of the ordinary." The search for food edge is relentless in this age of global cuisine. In Europe the First Vienna Vegetable Orchestra has taken to blowing carved‑out carrots, tapping turnips, and clapping eggplant cymbals before serving their instruments à la carte to packed concert halls. And for several years now a few of New York's hipper sushi restaurants have been serving up blowfish, a tasty delicacy whose internal organs‑‑not least their ovaries‑‑harbor a potent neurotoxin that's 1,250 times as powerful as cyanide. Bon appétit.

At Suba we sit at two long communal tables (night‑vision goggles are not flawless, and management endeavors not to have the waiters tripping over themselves). Our neighbors across the table announce themselves by grasping for‑‑I hesitate to use the word "fondling"‑‑our hands. Their voices are high and squeaky and dissolve into gales of giggles. Their dining experience will prove to be . . . nocturnal.

"There's your first course coming over your left shoulder," says the disembodied voice. The waiters don't tell you what's on the plate. Dining in the Dark is all about the sensuality of the texture and palate. The quiver of the unknown makes senses jump like live electrodes. Whatever. Right now that young couple across from us are squealing.

It's just as well they don't give us forks. The first course is‑‑como se dice-‑definitely aquatic, with a piquant hint of something (croquetas de Bacalao with chipotle aioli). In the Stygian dark a glass breaks. Everyone applauds. There are no oils, no soups, and nothing terribly solid served. Knives are out. "For a brief moment," Chasques says, "I thought of serving steak for an April Fool's dinner." Liability issues and an inability to master the Heimlich maneuver dissuaded him.

The wineglass mysteriously refills once, twice, three times during the evening. "Am I drunk?" a male voice asks.

"Aren't you always?" answers a female voice.

Cosmo Party caters to singles, although in fact more than half the diners this night are couples. Chasques says his couples get along better after they've been in the dark together‑‑something about the art of tactile listening. Perhaps. Right now the male voice and the female voice continue to hiss about his drinking.

The second dish comes over the right shoulder. It's phyllo dough and something delicate and‑‑to this diner's view‑‑cheesy (queso de cabra). I identify the third dish as unequivocally fishlike, accompanied by unidentified fungi (salmon à la Plancha with sautéed shiitake). To know whether you're done, one must wave the hand in inelegant circles over one's plate. Should your fingers hit something that moves, eat it.

The finale slides in. A waiter's disembodied hand guides yours to the fork. There's munching and more guessing. "Meat." "Steak!"

"No, lamb!" It's charades at the Helen Keller cafeteria. This is Buñuelos de Cordero, a roasted baby lamb in a phyllo dough beggar's purse. Across the table our giggling young couple has gone entirely silent. The lights go on for dessert, a host of small candles and champagne traipsed in by the waiters. An Israeli film crew has filmed the dinner with an infrared camera. A grinning cameraman walks over and congratulates our young couple. "You looked," he says, "like you were in the back seat of a Chevy on Saturday night."

They smile back beatifically. The undercurrent among the younger diners is unmistakable at Dining in the Dark, if generally PG in content.

Two young men chat about their dinner as they step out onto Ludlow Street. "Dining in the dark was great," says the one.

"Yes," replies the other. "Though normally I know what I'm eating."

[PHOTO/CAPTION: Mary Ellen Halverson]

Is This a Twenty?

by Mary Ellen Halverson

From the Editor: Mary Ellen Halverson is a longtime leader of the NFB of Idaho. She is a mother and grandmother, and she is also a thoughtful and competent blind woman. Here is her story:

We have all heard the saying that a picture is worth a thousand words. In the event I am about to describe, a brief question revealed a whole history and painted a clear picture of what individuals and society believe about blindness.

One summer several years ago I was working in the Summer Youth Program at the Idaho Commission for the Blind. We had ten lively students between the ages of fourteen and sixteen who were attending a four-week program to learn or brush up on the skills of blindness and to receive a healthy dose of positive philosophy about blindness. The teens took orientation classes from 8:00 in the morning until midafternoon, when they left to take part in other activities. We soon discovered that most of the kids had poor Braille reading and writing skills, very poor spelling, and inadequate cane-travel skills. Despite all this, they were typical active and fun-loving teenagers. As the days went by, we learned many things about their real beliefs about blindness and about themselves as blind people. The following is an example of what I mean. What appeared to be a simple question revealed much about one young woman's perception of blindness.

As the Summer Youth kids arrived on the first morning of training, we all gathered in the rec room for an introductory meeting and to hand out class schedules. I was the Braille instructor and had been assigned to run this first meeting and distribute schedules. Of course I had them all written out in Braille so that I could tell each student his schedule. We also discussed housekeeping items, our expectations of the students, and the way the day would unfold.

All the students and teachers introduced ourselves that morning before beginning our day. After addressing questions from the students, we were off to class. All staff members helped show students where their first classes were located, since most of them had never been in the building before. Each would then get a thorough introduction to all classrooms in his or her first cane-travel class.

Two or three days later one of the girls, Amanda, came into Braille class and asked, "Is this a twenty?" At first I wasn't sure what she meant, then it dawned on me. She thought I could see. She was holding up a bill across the room. I am totally blind and had been using my cane and Braille notes all week. I said to her, "Amanda, I can't see it either."

She responded, "Oh, I thought you could see." At first I wondered how she could have missed the fact that I was using a cane and reading the class schedules in Braille. She and I had also discussed some personal grooming questions, and I had given her some new ideas and suggestions.

As I pondered why she had thought I could see, a clear picture began to take shape in my mind. There were several reasons why Amanda thought I was sighted. First of all, and I think most important, I had been in charge of the meeting the first morning. These young people were definitely used to sighted people being in charge. I had read them their class schedules fluently and easily from my Braille notes. They had never had the opportunity or experience of observing blind people reading Braille quickly and efficiently. Also I had been moving around the room easily, without stumbling over furniture or kids. I had shown several of them where their first class was or shown them to the travel classroom to pick up their new canes.

I think the truth is that Amanda just didn't expect a blind person to be in charge or to operate efficiently and responsibly. Her personal experience had taught her otherwise. She had accepted the ideas and beliefs of her family, friends, teachers, and society in general that blind people will never quite meet the standards of those who can see. This kind of thinking is subtle and sneaks into our minds as we go through life. It clouds our perception of the truth about blindness. This is exactly why we who are blind need intensive training programs based on the philosophy of the National Federation of the Blind. We need to be awakened and jolted out of old beliefs and stereotypes about blindness.

Who would have thought that the simple question, "Is this a twenty?" could be so revealing and significant? I am deeply thankful for the founders, leaders, and members of the National Federation of the Blind who continue to teach the truth about blindness.

*****

Pooled Income Gifts

In this plan money donated to the National Federation of the Blind by a number of individuals is invested by the NFB. Each donor and the NFB sign an agreement that income from the funds will be paid to the donor quarterly or annually. Each donor receives a tax deduction for the gift; the NFB receives a useful donation; and the donor receives income of a specified amount for the rest of his or her life. For more information about the NFB pooled income fund, contact the National Federation of the Blind, Special Gifts, 1800 Johnson Street, Baltimore, Maryland 21230-4998, phone (410) 659-9314, fax (410) 685-5653.

*****

A Touch of Understanding

by T. Keung Hui

From the Editor: The following story appeared on May 23, 2003, in the Raleigh, North Carolina, News and Observer. It reports on the positive things that can happen when creative teachers make use of the NFB's Braille Is Beautiful curriculum. Here it is:

Preston Davis can shuffle and split a deck of UNO cards like a cardsharp. It wouldn't be hard to overlook that Preston, eight, is visually impaired and relies on Braille dots on the cards to see them. He was among a group visiting Davis Drive Middle School on Thursday as part of an effort to help sixth-graders learn more about the world of the visually impaired.

"Preston is cool," said Kimmy Lockhart, eleven, who acted as one of Preston's guides. "It's fun seeing things that are different from us."

The visit by Preston and sixteen other students from the Governor Morehead School for the Blind in Raleigh culminated two months of study by 130 students at Davis Drive. Through the Braille Is Beautiful curriculum of the National Federation of the Blind the sixth-graders have learned to read and write simple Braille letters and numbers. Braille uses patterns of raised dots to represent characters; the dots are felt with the fingers.

"This is an opportunity for the students to work with kids they normally wouldn't meet," said Marnie Utz, the Davis Drive sixth-grade teacher who involved the school in the program. "This is a service opportunity."

One of the Braille curriculum's main themes has been that blind people can do anything sighted people can do. "It's cool seeing that people with eye disabilities are no different than us," said Alex Morrison, twelve, as she played UNO with Brandi Hunter, eleven, a visually impaired student. The Davis Drive students visited Morehead in April and learned what it is like to walk with a cane, listen to a computerized voice, and play a game of goal ball, where participants detect the ball's presence through the ringing of a bell inside.

During the reciprocal visit by Morehead students, the Davis Drive students showed how they could spell their names in Braille and play UNO on specially modified cards. For the Morehead students the visit was just as rewarding. "It's nice meeting people who want to learn Braille," Brandi said. "It's fun because in middle school you don't get to go out on field trips often."

Preston said he enjoyed the change of pace from life at Morehead, a boarding school. "It's good being around sighted people instead of blind people all the time," Preston said.

Hazel Staley, past president of the North Carolina chapter of the National Federation of the Blind, said the activities build bonds between sighted and visually impaired people like herself. "Blind people are out in society more and more," Staley said. "If they can communicate with us in a way we can read, it's nice."

[PHOTO/CAPTION: Robert Jaquiss uses SAL.]

The SAL (Speech Assisted Learning): A Review

by Robert Jaquiss

From the Editor: Robert Jaquiss is a member of the technology department staff of the National Federation of the Blind. He is a lifelong user of and advocate for Braille. Here is his report on an exciting new piece of learning technology that will interest every parent or teacher urging a child to master Braille:

Years ago, when I learned Braille, all the materials I used were handmade, most of them by my mother and by my teacher. About the time I started third grade, I began receiving books from volunteer groups and a few that had been produced by the American Printing House for the Blind. But my mother made most of my beginning Braille books. She didn't know Braille, but she had a Perkins Brailler and a copy of the 1959 edition of the Braille rules. She figured that she could Braille my books because she only needed to know a bit more Braille than I did. My pre-Braille materials were strings, rick-rack, and other materials glued to pages in a book. Soon I could read Braille far faster than Mother could produce it. Mother would Braille for four hours, and I would come home and read all her work in less than thirty minutes. When I learned Braille, 30 percent of blind children learned Braille.

In the twenty-first century things have changed. There are fewer volunteer Braillists, and we have a shortage of Braille teachers. Only 10 percent of blind children are taught Braille. Dr. Sally Mangold, the developer of a new product, SAL (Speech Assisted Learning), hopes to improve this situation. SAL is a teaching and learning aid that will assist blind children and adults to learn Braille and good reading habits. SAL is sixteen inches long, thirteen inches wide, and one-and-a-half inches high. Most of the top surface is a touch screen that will hold an eleven-by-eleven-and-a-half-inch piece of Braille paper. In front is a keyboard like that on a Braille 'n Speak. On the right side is a floppy disk drive for loading lesson materials. SAL uses a combination of synthesized speech, standard paper embossed sheets (eleven-by-eleven-and-a-half inches), and barcode identification technology. The speech is used for tutorials, posing questions, or providing spoken feedback to the user about his or her performance.

To use SAL, a user places a bar-coded SAL worksheet on the touch screen and then closes a latch. SAL has a barcode scanner that reads the print barcode on the underside of each page. The built-in computer uses the barcode information to identify an electronic copy of the embossed Braille page under the latch. The system will then respond correctly to the user. The user listens to spoken instructions, presses a prompt button when a request has been completed, and changes pages when requested. SAL responds when a student presses points on the lesson. A student might hear requests like the following:

"Press all the letter G's in the first column."

"Press on the end of the third line."

When a student responds correctly, SAL makes encouraging comments. If a student responds incorrectly, SAL will say "wrong answer." When a lesson page has been completed, SAL gives a score so that the student knows how well he or she has done. The student can press on a word when reading a book, and SAL will voice the word. Press on the same word again, and SAL will spell the word and describe Braille contractions. The keyboard allows a teacher to perform administrative functions such as setting the language and backing up records and allows a student to enter answers for math and advanced courseware.

When a new lesson is used for the first time, the user is asked to insert the diskette that comes with the lesson. SAL reads the diskette and loads the appropriate files. A teacher can load all the needed lesson materials before a student starts using the equipment. SAL also helps teachers by recording student responses. A teacher can upload these responses to a computer for further analysis.

In the future software will become available for the creation of materials so that teachers can create customized materials as needed. The first version of this software is expected to be released by July 2003 and an enhanced version by December 2003. In order to create courseware, a teacher will need a Braille embosser and a wide-format inkjet printer or a printer that can print on sticky labels. The print printer produces the barcode information.

SAL is well designed. A lot of thought has gone into designing the hardware and courseware. The SAL firmware is stored in flash memory, so it will be possible to upgrade the SAL without returning it to the factory. The SAL hardware costs $4,500, so its purchase is more feasible for a school than for an individual. While it is too soon to know what impact SAL may have, it is a well-designed tool with a lot of potential. SAL will not replace a Braille teacher, but it certainly can help reinforce good reading practices.

References

Exceptional Teaching Aids, Inc., 20102 Woodbine Avenue, Castro Valley, California 94546; toll free (800) 549-6999; phone (510) 582-4859; fax (510) 582-5911; e-mail <ExTeaching@aol.com>; http://www.exceptionalteaching.com>

Freedom Scientific Inc., <http://www.freedomscientific.com>

[PHOTO/CAPTION: Sue Povinelli]

On the High Seas

by Susan Povinelli

Susan Povinelli is a longtime member of the Federation and the wife of NFB of Virginia treasurer Larry Povinelli. Sue is a frequent contributor to these pages. The following article first appeared in the Spring 2003 issue of the Vigilant, the publication of the NFB of Virginia. This is what she has to say about a recent cruise that she and her family took:

Lately cruise lines have gotten a bad reputation for activities from spreading food-borne viruses to acts of discrimination and humiliation against blind passengers. Luckily, during my recent trip I suffered from none of these. During last year's Christmas holiday, my family sailed on a Royal Caribbean cruise that carried us around the islands of the Western Caribbean. I would like to share my experiences and impressions of a most memorable and enjoyable cruise.

 My sister promised her children that, if any of them could maintain a 4.0 grade point average all the way through high school, she would take them on a cruise. Luckily for the Povinellis, one of her sons accomplished this great feat, and my sister invited our family to join them on their sea journey.

It was snowing big, fluffy flakes as my daughter Michelle and I landed in Pittsburgh to transfer to the plane that would take us to New Orleans. Pittsburgh seemed extremely beautiful. It might have been the weather, or perhaps it was the thought that we would be spending Christmas on a cruise ship in the Caribbean, where the temperature would be in the eighties.

A few hours later our plane landed in New Orleans, where we met the rest of my family. We were greeted by a representative from the cruise line whose job was to help us and the other passengers through the boarding process. The cruise staff tagged our luggage with our stateroom number then handed it over to the porters. We boarded the bus for the short ride to the pier. It was wonderful not to have to worry about our bags; they would be in our stateroom when we arrived on the ship.

As we approached the pier, we at once noticed our ship, Grandeur of the Sea. She was beautiful. We stopped for a few minutes to watch the porters load the luggage onboard.

The check-in process went very smoothly and efficiently, and we were aboard in no time. We were impressed by the beautiful ten-story atrium in the center of the ship. It was as magnificent as many of the beautiful land hotels we have stayed in. We proceeded to our stateroom to find our luggage waiting for us.

I had heard that ship staterooms were small, but this one was quite roomy, with lots of cupboards and drawers in which to put our clothes. My daughter slept in a wall-mounted bunk bed prepared for her every evening by our steward.

We had read on the cruise company Web site that the daily schedule would be available in Braille. I asked my steward about this. He didn't know about the service and had never seen Braille before. I pulled out a Braille magazine and showed him. Unfortunately Braille was missing on this beautiful ship, but it was the only thing. I had my husband read me the print schedule every morning. Then we would decide which events we wanted to attend that day.

The steward and other personnel were very friendly and helpful. They provided assistance when needed in a courteous, non-patronizing way. During one meal my sister started to read the menu to me. The headwaiter stopped her and said that it was his responsibility to explain the day's menu. He was excellent at describing the wonderful food selections. When I couldn't decide because everything sounded delicious, he would recommend his favorite. In the case of desserts, he brought us both of them. The food was excellent and plentiful.

It seemed strange to have the waiter place the napkin on my lap; this is proper etiquette at a five-star restaurant. Also I was taken aback when our waiter asked to cut my meat the first time. My initial response was to say no. As usual, I thought he believed I was unable to cut my own meat because I was blind. Then I looked around and noticed that other waiters were cutting meat for their guests. So I agreed since the staff were also doing it for other, sighted passengers. He sliced the meat into lovely long, slender pieces, not into small pieces as one would for a very small child. He did it with both grace and style. After he finished, he went over to another table and cut someone else's meat.

There were many, many activities on board. Special programs were designed for small children, teens, and adults. Most days I didn't see my daughters until dinner time. They were off having fun and meeting new friends. They went to teen dances, pool parties, and scavenger hunts, to mention only a few of the activities. Larry, my sister, and I attended lectures on shopping and excursions; watched a towel-folding demonstration in which they made an elephant, a swan, and a dog from bath towels and washcloths; attended evening shows, including comedians, magicians, and Broadway-style shows; walked the deck (usually two or three miles a day); and tried our hands at bingo.

My family took several excursions or tours during our cruise. They were all excellent. The tour guide or the tour bus met us once we landed in port. In the town of Progresso, Mexico, we toured a Mayan ruin. It was only thirty minutes from the port. There we climbed to the top of one of the temples.

In Cozumel we rode a boat called Catch the Wave that anchored a few miles from shore. There the children and my sister went snorkeling and explored the beautiful coral formations and observed the tropical fish. Meanwhile Larry and I sipped drinks on the sundeck and watched family members snorkel below us. I am not much of a water lover and had no urge to try snorkeling.

My husband Larry and I rode a glass-bottom boat. This enabled us to explore the sea bottom and watch the fish as they swam underneath us. Although the guide assigned to us had a limited English vocabulary, I got a lot of helpful additional information about the color and shapes of the fish from a couple of young children who were sitting next to me. The children became excited when they saw a fish. They would shriek with glee, "There is a yellow one!" or "Look how big that blue one is!" Then the guide would tell us what type of fish it was.

Also the diver on board went down and brought up a very large starfish for me to hold. It must have been a foot in diameter. I learned that starfish have only one eye and can live out of water for only ten minutes.

The tour in Key West, Florida, was a walking tour. The guide was excellent as he described the plants and buildings in great detail. We visited the Key lime store and the rumcake store in order to bring a taste of Key West home with us to share with our friends.

In our last port of call, New Orleans, we took two tours. The first was a semi-private van tour of the city of New Orleans. Some of the highlights included the French Quarter, the Garden District, and the cemeteries. The guide was very good at explaining the sites and the history behind them. The second tour was probably the most exciting for us. We took an air-boat tour of the Louisiana swamps. The boat vroomed across the water at forty-five miles per hour until we arrived at the spot where alligators were sunning themselves on the shore. Of course a trip to New Orleans would not be complete without a walk down Bourbon Street.

But I think my favorite memory of the trip was on Christmas Eve when Larry and I were standing on the deck, leaning against the railing, staring out at the nearly round moon that shimmered across the beautiful blue water near Cozumel, Mexico. In the background I heard the words to "Let it Snow." It seemed strange and wonderful.

It did not feel much like Christmas with the balmy weather, yet it was peaceful and wonderful to listen to the waves lap against the ship as it glided across the water. My family will look back on this vacation with fond memories for years to come.

[PHOTO/CAPTION: A side view of Joe Naulty's completely restored Model A pickup truck]

[PHOTO/CAPTION: With hood up the entire engine of the rebuilt Model A is visible.]

Restored by Touch

by Sal Perlman

From the Editor: The following article first appeared in the April 2003 issue of Car and Driver magazine. Joe Naulty was president of the Deaf-Blind Division for a number of years. He is a dedicated restorer of old cars. We reprint this article about Joe and his hobby with permission:

Restoring a car is tough. Imagine doing it blind. Imagine having to work on your car blindfolded--not just changing the oil or upgrading the exhaust system, but restoring it completely. No peeking allowed.

That's what Joseph Naulty, who lost his sight in 1996, was up against in his quest to rebuild a 1928 Model A Ford pickup.

"For me, restoring old cars is what keeps me motivated," says the sixty-eight-year-old retired businessman, who lives in Wellington, Florida. "I could sit here and whine all day about my condition, but that won't help me. I have a life to live, and these cars keep me going."

Naulty's passion for automobiles is even more fascinating considering he has never actually driven one. Following an accident in 1948 near his hometown of Elizabeth, New Jersey, at the age of fourteen, he was diagnosed with so-called tunnel-vision syndrome.

By the age of eighteen he was already legally blind, although he still retained about 25 percent of his field of vision. As a result he could never obtain a driver's license. For nearly forty-five years his wife Arlene has been the family driver.

After attending a technical school, he worked for several years as a draftsman and then started JBN, an electrical parts manufacturing company in New Jersey. He got married and had three sons. During his twenty-two years as the company's owner, Naulty used to take a taxi on Saturdays to the junkyard and return in a wrecker with an old car towed behind, which he would then fix. He bought, restored, and sold nearly 100 American and British cars this way.

As time moved on, though, his peripheral field of vision narrowed gradually until finally he lost his sight completely in '98. But that hasn't deterred him. The 1928 pickup--the fourth car he has restored since turning blind--sits in the center of Naulty's narrow one-car garage. In working on it, Naulty utilizes his senses of touch, hearing, and smell to make up for vision.

He locates the truck by brushing his hand against the front bumper, then passes his fingers over the hood, inspecting the gray primer coat that he applied the day before. "I prime by feeling the edges, masking around them, then going back and forth and up and down with the primer. I let it dry and then feel it to check for missed spots. If you understand the mechanics of paint layers and how they work, it's easier to do. You see the paint; I feel it."

Along the garage wall a metal shelving unit holds what appears to be a jumbled collection of boxes of all shapes and sizes. One realizes there's a method to this apparent madness when Naulty feels around for a particular box and fishes out a rear signal light. "Once the bed comes back from the shop, I'm going to install new signal lights." He feels his way back, finds the mount, and holds the light against it to demonstrate the look.

He bends down and gropes for something under the chassis, then finds it--a white electrical wire attached to the frame, its end hanging off. "This will be the signal's juice line. I rewired all the truck's electrical myself, which was difficult but fun. I know the A's system like the back of my hand. The only thing is, whenever I'm ready to hook up something, I call my son and ask to borrow his eyeballs and tell me which wire is neutral. But I do all the rest." His son William, forty, also resides in Wellington.

Unlike some of us, Naulty can't afford the luxury (or bad habit?) of leaving tools around. "I keep all my tools and parts organized," he says, pointing to his workbench and the two sets of red toolbox drawers under it, and then pulls one of the drawers open. "Here are all my wrenches and Allens. I have to put things back where they belong if I want to find them later."

Buddy Pearce, Naulty's restoration cohort and engine consultant, says whenever they attend an auto show, Joe is always asking owners of unique vehicles if he could check out their cars. "He feels and touches every inch of the car. And when he's done, he's usually quite greasy but knows more about the vehicle than the owner."

Naulty completed the truck in time to participate in the local Christmas parade last December, and he already has an idea for his next project: a Model A woody station wagon. "Restoring old cars is in my blood and in my system. I can't help it. I will do it till the day I die."

[PHOTO/CAPTION: Tonia Trapp]

Why I Am a Federationist

by Tonia Valletta Trapp

From the Editor: Tonia Trapp is the secretary of the National Federation of the Blind of New Mexico and president of the Albuquerque Chapter. She works as an advocate for the New Mexico Protection and Advocacy System. At the 2002 convention of the NFB of New Mexico Tonia delivered the following speech telling her audience why she is a Federationist. This is what she said:

Before I talk about why I am a Federationist, I would like to tell you a little about myself. I have been totally blind since about the age of two, and I am almost twenty-nine years old now. I was fortunate to grow up in northern Virginia, where services for totally blind children were fairly good. So I attended public schools from kindergarten through high school, college, and beyond. I know that many blind children do not have that opportunity, so I consider myself blessed.

I received a B.A. degree in religious studies from the College of William and Mary in December of 1995, and I completed my master's degree in social work at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill in May of 1998.

I have been married for almost five years to Greg Trapp, the current director of the New Mexico Commission for the Blind. Greg is also blind. For the past three years I have worked as an advocate for the New Mexico Protection and Advocacy System, a private, nonprofit agency devoted to protecting and securing the rights of people with disabilities. I really enjoy the work that I do.

If I were to describe myself in one word, it would be "driven." I set goals, and I work hard until I achieve them. I take on challenges, and I strive to conquer them. One of the challenges I have had the joy of taking on is my recent election as president of the Albuquerque chapter of the NFB of New Mexico. After I was elected, I started thinking hard about these questions: Why am I a Federationist? Why should people come to our meetings? What are we trying to accomplish?

The NFB has a catch-phrase that expresses very clearly what the Federation is all about. The phrase is, "Changing what it means to be blind." Now if that isn't a challenge, I don't know what is. In fact, the cha