By Kenneth Silberman
What does blindness have to do with the Brooklyn Bridge? Let Kenneth Silberman tell you:
I grew up in Cheltenham, Pennsylvania, a suburb of Philadelphia. At the age of five, I entered kindergarten just like all the other kids, but something was different. I couldn't see as much detail or see as far as the others. No matter, I was still participating in all the activities of the class without serious - difficulty.
Grades one through six were a different ball game altogether. Reading, writing, and arithmetic are subjects that require the use of written symbols. For the sighted, this means print, written on sheets of paper, in books, or on the blackboard. In order to read print at all, I needed large print, magnification, or had to sit up close to the board. No matter which technique I employed, I couldn't read very fast or for very long. As the years rolled by, the workload increased, and I had more and more trouble keeping up. It was true that I couldn't see very well, but I was sighted (at least that was what I thought) and should have been able to keep up. But I couldn't and felt stupid because of that fact. I developed an increasing sense of inferiority with each passing year.
In September of my ninth-grade year, I lost my remaining sight. At the time, I thought a catastrophe had befallen me. (I did not yet know about the National Federation of the Blind.) I was blind, but I wasn't going to admit it. I used a cane as little as I could and never indoors.
After all, the last thing I wanted to do was to walk around with a badge of blindness in my hand. Braille was a badge too, and I wasn't going to have anything to do with it either. Besides, it was slow. And after all, there were tape recorders for reading and taking notes. Never mind that I could not keep up and that I could not follow the math, spell, or punctuate. I was blind, and I was doing the best that I could. These were my thoughts at the time. With a few delays, I continued puttering along in this way through my undergraduate years and most of my graduate years as well. I was really depressed by this time because I couldn't perform assignments in a timely manner, travel by myself, or do much of anything independently. Blindness was a pretty raw deal, or so I thought.
As I now know but didn't then, the characteristic of blindness wasn't the real problem. Rather, my attitudes about blindness were the real raw deal. I remember walking down the hall one day in high school, and a passing teacher remarked, "I can't tell you're blind." I thought this was a real compliment at the time. As I look back on those early years, I realize that I did not think of myself as blind nor did I understand what it means to be blind. As a result of this mistaken notion, I denied myself the tools that would have helped me to succeed. If I had accepted and understood my blindness, I would have decided to use Braille as my primary reading and writing medium, since a good Braille reader can read three hundred to four hundred words per minute, and would have appreciated print as a helpful aid. I also would have used a white cane since it would have kept me from tripping over and walking into things.
I discovered after a number of painful lessons that it's better to find things with a cane than with your face. By using these techniques, I would have been able to keep right in step with the crowd. Later, when I lost the remainder of my sight, I would have been able to keep right on going without missing a beat. But of course, I knew none of this, and I could not have been expected to.
I was at my lowest emotional point in 1985 when I applied for and won a scholarship from the National Federation of the Blind. I needed money, so I applied. When I arrived at the national convention in Louisville, Kentucky, I found, much to my astonishment, blind people who were happy and successful. They were traveling about with facility and were reading and writing Braille as deftly as sighted people use print, and they were using these skills to hold down responsible jobs, run households, etc. It was at this time that I started to understand that blindness was not my problem; my attitudes about blindness were the problem.
I had thought the skills of blindness were inferior because they didn't appear on the surface to be like those of the sighted. Hence, I had thought the blind were inferior; I had thought I was inferior. And so, I had denied my blindness. (You must understand. I had only known sighted people up to this point.) But the evidence was clear. The alternative techniques of blindness enable us to live full and rich lives just as the sighted do. I now realize that while the money was very helpful, I received a much more valuable gift, The National Federation of the Blind.
I had a choice. I could either deal with the situation or continue as before. I decided to get to work. I picked up some books on Braille and set about learning it. It was hard to go to school and learn Braille at the same time, but I knew that I had to either learn it or drop out. The latter was not acceptable, and I couldn't deal with things as they were any longer.
By the time I graduated, I was doing much of my school work in Braille. I continued to use taped books and readers in conjunction with Braille. All these techniques have their place. In January, 1987, I received my Master's Degree in Aerospace Engineering from Cornell University.
After graduation, I enrolled in a rehabilitation program in order to develop my Braille and cane skills. I continued to work on my outlook toward blindness by drawing strength from my new-found Federation friends.
Finally, it was time to look for a job. After a little more than a year, I secured employment with the U.S. Navy in Philadelphia. I really got the opportunity to test my newly-developed skills and my mettle in that job. I had had only one computer course in college and was now expected to learn how to write databases on the job. I did it. This is quite an accomplishment for anyone, blind or sighted.
Today, I work as an administrator/engineer for the National Aeronautics and Space administration. I manage the Publications group for the National Space Science Data Center. This means that I am responsible for making sure that the group's work gets done and that the work comes in under budget. I also serve on various committees and am currently trying to expand my computer skills. How do my alternative techniques compare with those of my sighted colleagues? Let's compare a few of them. I use a reader to help me with paperwork; my boss uses a secretary. My co-workers take notes with pens and pencils; I use a slate and stylus to write Braille. My colleagues use a computer with the help of a monitor and a printer; I use a computer with the help of a speech synthesizer and a Braille embosser. My fellow employees travel about safely with the help of sight; I travel about safely with the help of my white cane. The sighted have techniques that work for them, and the blind have techniques that work equally well. My professional objective is to become a senior administrator in America's space program. In reaching that goal, I will be helping to build upon the foundation, the record of achievement and success, built by past generations of Federationists. Those who came before us worked to give us the opportunities that we have today. It is up to us to make life better for future generations of blind people.
I still don't have all of the skills and self-confidence that I need, but I am working on it. I am able to improve myself because I now see blindness for what it is, a characteristic, a mere physical nuisance. By utilizing the alternative techniques of blindness, I can and do compete on equal terms with my sighted colleagues.
When the Brooklyn Bridge was built [1869-1883], engineers of the day said that it couldn't be done. John Augustus Roebling and his son, Colonel Washington Roebling, believed that it could, and they had the know-how to build it. The real obstacle to the project was not the techniques needed to build the Bridge. Rather, it was the entrenched, traditional ideas of the engineering community. But the Roeblings knew the truth. They had the knowledge and the leadership to go beyond the conventional wisdom of their day. Were they right? The answer spans the East River today, more than a century after its construction.
We, the blind of the nation, have the know-how to lead full and rich lives. Like the Roeblings, we have to believe in ourselves and need to have the leadership to make our dreams of equality come true. Since 1940, we have encouraged and supported each other. Since 1940, we have shared our collective know-how. And since 1940, we have had the leadership to climb within reach of equality and first-class citizenship. In other words, since 1940, we have had the National Federation of the Blind.