
                    Tapping the Charcoal



                      Kenneth Jernigan 



                           Editor



                     Large Type Edition







                       A KERNEL BOOK 



                        published by 



              NATIONAL FEDERATION OF THE BLIND



   Copyright 1995 by the National Federation of the Blind



                     ISBN 1-885218-03-6



                     All Rights Reserved



           Printed in the United States of America

                      Table of Contents



Editors Introduction



Tapping the Charcoal 1



Ladders, Mud Pies, and Milk Bottles 15



Metal, Glue, and Plastic 27



A Mothers Story 35



Good Fortune, Hard Work, and the Klondike Derby 45



Bangles, Baubles, and Beads 63



Substituting for Success 69



Three-Letter Words: How or Why Not? 75

                    EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION



     We are approaching double digits, for this is the ninth

volume in the Kernel Book series. The first of the Kernel

Books, What Color is the Sun, appeared in 1991. Since that

time, we have produced two each year, this being the second

for 1995.



     The Kernel Books are a departure from what is usually

written about blindness. They attempt to take the mystery out

of it by giving firsthand accounts of how blind people live on

a daily basis. Other firsthand stories about blindness have

been written, of course, but not in such large numbers and not

in this format. What we are trying to do is to take advantage

of the cumulative effect of story after story year after year

coming in a steady stream.



     The details differ, but the theme is the same. In effect,

the people who are writing in these pages are saying:

"Blindness is not as strange as you think it is, and it need

not be as terrifying. This is how I lead my life, and not just

in generalities but in detail. Here is how I work and play,

brush my teeth and cook my meals, go to school and meet

friends, raise a family and deal with my children, and handle

all of the other activities that occur between the time I get

up and the time I go to bed. By and large, my life is just

about like yours. I am neither especially blessed nor

especially cursed. My existence is more routine than dramatic,

but it can be filled with meaning and joyand sometimes, of

course, it has pain."



     This is the substance of what the authors in this book

are saying. They are people I knowformer students, colleagues

in the National Federation of the Blind, and personal friends.

I think you will find their stories interesting, and I believe

you will recognize in them a reflection of your own

experiences, differing somewhat in detail but following the

same overall pattern.



     One thing that brings those of us who have written these

stories together is our membership in the National Federation

of the Blind (The NFB). Established in 1940, the National

Federation of the Blind is the oldest and largest organization

of blind people in the United States. We have chapters in

every state and almost every community of any size.



     We come together to discuss common problems and to

provide mutual assistance and self-help. We also carry on

programs of public education, and we seek assistance and

understanding from members of the sighted public like you. The

National Federation of the Blind is one of the biggest success

stories in twentieth-century America, for we and our sighted

friends are truly changing what it means to be blind.



     All you need do to prove the truth of this statement is

to read this book. And why is it called Tapping the Charcoal?

The first story will tell you. We hope you will find it and

all of the others interesting and worthwhile. Sometimes you

build a bridge or climb a mountain by "tapping the

charcoal"especially if you do it quickly and lightly.

 

Kenneth Jernigan 

Baltimore, Maryland 

1995

                       WHY LARGE TYPE?



     The type size used in this book is 14 point for two

important reasons: One, because typesetting of 14 point or

larger complies with federal standards for the printing of

materials for visually impaired readers, and we wanted to show

you what type size is helpful for people with limited sight.



     The second reason is that many of our friends and

supporters have asked us to print our paperback books in 14-

point type so they too can easily read them. Many people with

limited sight do not use Braille. We hope that by printing

this book in a larger type than customary, many more people

will be able to benefit from it.

                    TAPPING THE CHARCOAL

                     by Kenneth Jernigan



     When you come right down to it, most people give more

attention to food and things related to eating than to almost

anything else. At least, that's the way it is with me. My wife

Mary Ellen and I live in a big house, and the biggest room in

it is the dining room. We like to entertain, and I like to

cook on the charcoal grill.  



     My wife is sighted, and I am blind; but that hasn't

changed the fact that our roles in the food department are

what once would have been called "traditional." She generally

takes responsibility for organizing the kitchen and doing most

of the cooking, and I handle the barbecuing and related

outside chores. I also have a number of specialty dishes that

I like to preparea mean kettle of butter beans, a unique

homemade salad dressing, and an occasional stew or soup.



     As to setting the table, she probably does more of it

than I do, but either of us will take care of it as needed.

The point is that we do a lot of cooking and have a great many

guests and that blindness (except for a few specialized

techniques we have devised) makes relatively little difference

in how we function.



     But you might think otherwise if you heard some of the

conversations that occur. Not long ago, for instance, a

sighted friend of mine was at our home for dinner; and before

we went to the table, I was putting batteries into a talking

clock. I use the clock (which will tell me how many seconds

have gone by) to time the burgers on the charcoal, and its

batteries were dead. As will sometimes happen in such cases,

the plate that covers the batteries was acting as if it didn't

want to slide back into place. My friend said:



     "Here, I'll do that." Saying this, he reached for the

clock.



     "That's okay," I said. "I'll take care of it."



     Up to that point, my friend's behavior was, at the very

worst, maybe a little pushy. But his next comment was more

than that.



     "All right," he said, "I'll let you do it. I know how

independent you like to be."



     What kind of response should I have made? Certainly I

shouldn't have become upset or angry, and I didn't. In fact,

I passed off what he said with a smile and a general flow of

conversation. But I wonder how he would have felt if the

circumstances had been reversed. Suppose I had gone to his

home and behaved exactly as he did in mine.

     He was a guest in my house, a house I had demonstrated

the competence to buy and pay for. We were dealing with my

clock and my batteries, a clock and batteries I had bought and

paid for. The task was not difficult. The cover went on almost

immediately, but even if that hadn't been the case, my

friend's conduct was inappropriate.



     Even though he knows me quite well and often almost

embarrasses me with his praise of my ability when we are

talking with mutual acquaintances, he still thought that my 

blindness meant that I couldn't put a simple cover-plate on a

clock. Moreover, I am sure he felt that there was no

impropriety in his statement about my "liking to be

independent." But if I had been in his home and had reached

for his clock as he did for mine, and had then said to him,

"All rightyou do it; I know how independent you like to be,"

he would have thought I was losing not only my manners but

also my mind.



     On another occasion that same friend (and he is a friend)

was having dinner at my home, and when I started to pour the

coffee, he reached for it, saying: "Here, let me pour that."

  

     Suppose I had been in his home and he had started to pour

the coffee, and further suppose that I had reached for it

without so much as a by your leave. He would have felt that I

was overstepping the bounds of the relationship between guest

and host, and he would have thought it doubly inappropriate

since I am blind.



     His tone and words were those you might use in dealing

with a small child, but he was in no sense trying to put me

down. He is fond of me, and we're the best of friends.

Incidentally, if you wonder how I pour coffee, how I know when

the cup is full enough, I do it by listening and by long

experience in knowing how heavy the cup feels as the liquid

goes into it. It's a simple matter, just one more technique

that has become automatic with time and use.



     My friend's behavior (not just what he said but also the

attitude behind it) illustrates to perfection the dilemma we

as blind people face. Very often our friends and associates

treat us as if we were children, and not very competent

children at that. If we object, we appear to be proving the

point of our immaturity. And if we do nothing, we permit the

misconception to remain unchanged. But the situation is not

static.



     We are making steady progress. Day by day and step by

step we are changing what it means to be blind.



     The public misunderstandings with which we deal are often

not grim. In fact, they can be downright funny. I think of the

time when I went to a cafeteria, where you carried your tray

through the line but a waitress then took it to your table. I

was with a sighted associate, and both of us had put iced tea

on our trays. When we got to the table and the waitress had

put our trays down and was turning away, I reached out toward

my plate and turned my tea glass over. It made a mess.



     The waitress was very gracious about it and said she

would bring me another. She didbut just as she turned around

and was leaving, my sighted friend reached across my tray

(probably to get salt or pepper) and hit my tea glass and

turned it over. The waitress heard the splash and turned

around.



     In a very solicitious voice she said: "I'm sorry. I'll

get you another glass."



     Do you think I told her that I hadn't spilled that second

glass of tea, that it was my sighted friend who had done it? 

Certainly not. She wouldn't have believed me and would

probably have thought that I was just embarrassed.



     "No," I told her, "I think I'll just drink this glass of

water. I think I wasn't meant to have tea today."  Still

insisting that she would bring me more tea, the waitress

leftbut I am sure that she was puzzled by our prolonged

laughter. Explanations wouldn't have helped. The incident

brightened our day.



     I remember an evening almost twenty years ago when a

sighted professor of journalism and his six-year-old son were

my dinner guests. We were cooking on the charcoal, and I was

explaining to the professor that you can tell when your

hamburgers are done by timing them and by how hot your fire

is.



     I was showing him how the burgers are put into a wire

rack with a handle on it, which makes them easy to turn. When

they are done on one side, you simply lift the rack and turn

it over.



     He wanted to know how I could keep the rack straight on

the grill, and I explained that I do it by touch. You can even

touch a hot stove without burning yourself if you do it

quickly. I illustrated by touching the top of the hot grill,

hitting it lightly and then quickly taking my fingers away.

The professor seemed thoroughly convinced that the technique

would work. After all, he was watching me do it. But when his

six-year old son decided to try it, he wasn't so sure.



     "That grill's hot!" he said. "Be careful!  Don't do that!

You'll burn yourself!"



     The boy (such are the ways of children) was ecstatic.

"Chicken!" he cried to his dad. "Chicken!" He danced to the

other side of the grill and kept tapping the top of it with

his fingers. I was laughing and doing the same thing, and by

and by, the professor was trying it too. I then said to him,

"Now, let's tap the glowing charcoal."



     The boy was all for it and skipped out of his father's

reach. I hoped he was mature enough not to burn himself, and

he was. It wasn't long before he, his dad, and I were playing

the game of quickly and lightly tapping the glowing coals.



     There is no great virtue, of course, in tapping a hot

grill with your fingers, but it does make the point that

visual techniques are not the only ones that can be used in

the activities of daily living. There are many others that

work just as well. And, by the way, I doubt that my friends

(the professor and his son) will ever forget the experience.

Most alternative techniques are not as dramatic as tapping the

charcoal, but they can be just as effective.



     The real problem of blindness is not the blindness

itselfnot the acquisition of skills or techniques or

competence. The real problem is the lack of understanding and

the misconceptions which exist. It is no accident that the

word blind carries with it connotations of inferiority and

helplessness.



     The concept undoubtedly goes back to primitive times when

existence was at an extremely elemental level. Eyesight and 

the power to see were equated with light, and light (whether

daylight or firelight) meant security and safety.  Blindness

was equated with darkness, and darkness meant danger and evil.

The blind person could not hunt effectively or dodge a club.

In our day, society and social values have changed.



     In civilized countries there is now (except perhaps in

certain American cities) no great premium on dodging a club,

and hunting has dwindled to the status of an occasional

pastime. The blind are able to compete on terms of equality in

the full current of active life. The primitive conditions of

jungle and cave are gone, but the primitive attitudes still

linger.



     Even so, we who are blind have come farther in the last

thirty or forty years than ever before in all of recorded

history. This is so largely because of the work of the

National Federation of the Blind, which has done more than any

other single thing to help make life better for blind people.

And we are only at the threshold.

     For the blind of this country tomorrow is bright with

promise. We believe in the future; we believe in ourselves;

and we believe in the goodwill of our sighted friends and

associates. We will put the batteries in our clocks; we will

pour coffee for ourselves and others; and we will tap the

charcoalbut we will do it quickly and with a light touch.             LADDERS, MUD PIES, AND MILK BOTTLES

                       by Sharon Gold



     The things that happen to us when we are children do much

to determine what kind of adults we will become.  All too

often the blind child is permitted to engage in unacceptable

behavior in some situations, while being strictly prohibited

from doing the other perfectly normal things most children do.



     For parents, finding the right mix can be

difficultparticularly when well-meaning friends are critical.

Sharon Gold, the President of the National Federation of the

Blind of California, is grateful that her parents followed

their own common sense in deciding what to permit and what to

prohibit.  Here is what she has to say about some of her

childhood experiences:



     My parents were devastated when they learned that their

firstborn child was blind.  Neither my mother nor my father

knew a blind person, but what was even more devastating than

the blindness was the way the doctors handled the situation.



     They were kind men who didn't wish to upset my parents by

telling them their baby couldn't see.  You may be thinking

that perhaps the doctors did not know that I was blind; and,

of course, you may be right.  However, my eyes were cloudy

because I had congenital cataracts.



     My mother noticed the cloudiness immediately and inquired

about it.  The doctors said that they would put drops in my

eyes and the cloudiness would go away. In those days mother

and child stayed in the hospital for several days, and each

day the doctors put drops in my eyes and tried to avoid

discussing my eye condition with my mother.



     As I have already said, these doctors were kind and

loving men.  They meant only good for my parents, and they

certainly meant no harm to this newborn baby.  But however

shocking and cruel it may have seemed to the doctors, it would

have been more loving and kind to have openly discussed the

actual condition of my eyes and my blindness with my parents.



     This event took place fifty years ago, and I wish it were

different today.  Sometimes it is.  However, there is still

real reluctance to discuss blindness when it strikes a family.

 The tendency is still to by-pass the subject or to minimize

the situation.



     My mother concluded that it would do little good to cry

over the fact that I was blind.  She decided the sooner she

and Daddy began to deal with the situation, the better it

would be for all of us.  Therefore, my parents made a

conscious decision to raise me as they would have any other

child.  Children need to be encouraged, have their behavior

molded, and be disciplined.  I was no different.



     One evening, when I was very young, my parents had dinner

guests.  It was their custom with me (and later with my

sister) to include me at the dinner table rather than feeding

me beforehand and excluding me from eating with the family and

the guests.  Mother always set a beautiful table, and this

evening was no exception.  I had my place setting,  complete

with a glass of milk.  However, I wanted something in the

middle of the table.  Instead of asking for what I wanted, I

took the child's shortcut.



     Standing up on my chair, I leaned over the table to reach

what I wished to have.  In the process I knocked over my milk,

spilling it all over the table and the floor.  My mother

picked me up with one hand (as only a mother can do) and swat-

ted me on the behind with the other while firmly sitting me

back down on the chair.



     As she began cleaning up the mess, she noticed that the

guests were very quiet.  It became evident that they were

upset when they voiced their intent to leave because my mother

had punished me for spilling my milk.  They reasoned that,

because I could not see the milk, I should not have been pun-

ished for spilling it.



     Mother explained that I had not spilled the milk because

I had not seen it but because I had been doing something I

should not have donestanding on a chair and leaning over the

table to get what I should have asked to have passed.  Mother

told her guests that, if I had been sitting properly at the

table and had knocked over the milk because I did not see it,

nothing would have been said.  The milk would simply have been

cleaned up.



     Good parents demonstrate their love by teaching their

children selfdiscipline and by expecting and praising good

behavior.  Withstanding the criticism of well-meaning friends

and relatives can be very hard for parents, especially parents

of blind children.  Yet like sighted children blind youngsters

need standards for self-discipline and good conduct, and bad

behavior should not be excused away by blindness.



     All children have dreams.  Some are realistic and some

are pure fantasy.  Almost every child has dreamed of being a

fireman or nurse or doctor.  Scurrying about the floor, racing

to an imaginary fire, gathering up the hooks and ladders, and

putting out a raging fire are all part of a child's play, and

that play translates into growth and development.



     Similarly, children play nurse or doctor and cure the

worst ailments with the magic contained in the doctor or

nurse's kit.  This type of play is expected of sighted

children, but as soon as the blind child starts down the

hallway with a toy fire truck, some adult is likely to squash

the fantasy by the not very subtle reminder that, since he or

she is blind, putting out fires would be an impossibility.



     My mother thought that choosing a toy was an important

part of every child's education and development.  When I was

still too small to reach the counter, mother would put each

toy in my hand for me to see so that I could choose the one

for us to buy.  When I grew large enough to reach the counter,

I independently walked up and down the aisles in the dime

store and carefully inspected each toy so that I could make my

choice.



     Many times children find their own toys.  One day, when

I was about eighteen months old, I found a ladder that a

painter had left leaning against the side of the duplex in

which we lived.  Being a curious child, I climbed straight up

it.  When my mother discovered where I was, she was fearful

that, if she called, she would startle me.  Ultimately she

decided to take off her shoes and socks so that she could

quietly climb the ladder and carry me down to safety without

frightening me.



     Another day I found an open gate and rode my tricycle out

of the yard and into the big world.  I was found blocks from

home, having a wonderful time exploring on my own.



     Mud is always a fine and inexpensive toy.  How many mud

pies do we all recall making as children and eating, too, for

that matter?  When I was a child, all milk bottles were glass,

and the empty bottles lined the back steps waiting for the

milkman.  I added to the fun of making mud pies by taking the

bottles from the step and carrying them to my outdoor kitchen.

I thought it great fun to fill one bottle with water and pour

it from one bottle to the next.



     However, when a neighbor happened to observe this

activity while visiting my mother one day, she admonished

mother for allowing me to play with the glass milk bottles.

Mother's response to her criticism was that, if I were to drop

one of the bottles and cut myself, I would heal.  In the

meantime I was learning valuable lessons, including how to

pour water from one bottle to another without spilling it.



     In the early 1940's children were more likely to go out

and find their own toys.  When we didn't have anything to do,

we climbed trees or walked along walls.  There were no

televisions or electronic games.  Today toy manufacturers look

for ways to build what they call educational toys that will

take the place of the coordination we developed from wall

walking, tree climbing, and the countless other things we

found to do when we were children.



     Visual toys are also an important part of a blind child's

growing up.  We live in a world in which most people see, and

it is important for blind children to learn that fact at an

early age.  One time someone sent me a machine that showed

pictures which were in a roll inside the machine.  There was

a crank on the top which, when turned, changed the picture.



     Since I could not see the pictures, an adult described

them to me.  I made up a story about each one and set about

presenting picture shows to the smaller neighborhood children.

This was excellent stimulation to my imagination, which needed

little encouragement, and it also taught me much about pic-

tures.  However, it also taught the neighborhood children that

blindness made no difference to the quality of the picture

show and the stories that went with it.



     As you can see, my childhood was not much different from

that of other curious children.  Mother and Daddy never

believed in "can't." Mother was fond of saying that "I can't"

never did anything, but "I'll try" can do many things.

                  METAL, GLUE, AND PLASTIC

                     by Susan Povinelli



     Susan Povinelli is one of the leaders of the National

Federation of the Blind of Virginia.  She is also an aerospace

materials engineer working for the U.S. Navy.  Recently a

group of Federationists, many of them engineers and all fans

of the television program "Star Trek," organized themselves

into a fan club.



     The group chose as its name Geordi's Engineers, in

admiration of the blind engineer in "Star Trek: the Next

Generation." Susan serves as chief engineer of the club and

works, among other things, to encourage blind people

interested in careers in science and engineering to pursue

their ambitions.  Here is Susan's account of her own career as

an engineer:



     I imagine the reason most people enjoy "Star Trek" and

"Star Trek: the Next Generation" is the series' theme of

exploring strange new frontiers.  Since I am a blind aerospace

materials engineer, you might say that I am a pioneer in my

own right.



     Twenty years ago no blind person, and very few women,

ventured into the field of materials engineering.  This is the

field which studies the physical properties of various

materialssuch as metals, adhesives (glue), and plasticsand

uses them in engineering applications.  Like the first

pioneers who migrated to the New World, I also do not consider

myself to be achieving anything amazing or out of the

ordinary.  It was just a dream that I wanted to fulfill for my

own satisfaction.



     At the age of seventeen I learned that I had retinitis

pigmentosa (RP), a degenerative hereditary condition that

affects the retinas. The doctors told my parents, but not me,

that in ten years I would become blind.  In their wisdom or

their inability to accept my fate, my parents allowed me to

continue to dream of a career in engineering.  I enrolled in

college and did all the usual things engineering students do,

but my tunnel vision and night blindness continued to worsen.



     It wasn't until I was about to graduate from college that

I realized how difficult it was going to be to obtain a job in

materials engineering as a blind person.  Private industry did

not want to take the risk of hiring a blind engineer.  I

weathered a period of self-doubt and gloom.



     I wish I had known then about the National Federation of

the Blind. In my moments of optimism, however, I kept dreaming

of a career in engineering.  Finally I was offered a position

as a materials engineer with the Department of the Navy.



     I do my job by using ideas I've come up with and by

borrowing ideas from other blind engineers I've met through

the National Federation of the Blind.  Four years ago the Navy

purchased a speech program to enable me to continue using my

computer.  Instead of reading the screen with my eyes, I can

read it by listening to a synthetic voice.  Such technology

was unavailable when I entered college in 1978except on "Star

Trek" or in science fiction movies.



     In my job I spend many hours preparing written

correspondence, and this technology has improved the quality

and quantity of my productive work.  But with all its ad-

vantages it has not taken the place of my many years of

learning how to read and write.



     This leads me to another obstacle that I had to

circumvent.  As the years went by, my eyesight continued to

deteriorate.  I was afraid of losing the ability to read and

write.  Without a method to make notes to myself, read

recipes, write to friends, and read stories to my children, I

knew I would have a very meager existence.



     Engineers are practical people.  There is an obvious

alternative to being illiterate when you cannot see print.  I

began to learn Braille when I was in college.  I had several

classes, and the rest was just practice.



     Today I find Braille very useful for taking notes during

meetings, giving a technical brief, and living a very full

life.  Somehow I find time for my professional career, my fam-

ily of an attorney-husband and two children, my responsibility

as the secretary of the Potomac Chapter of the National

Federation of the Blind, and my work as chief of Geordi's

Engineers.



     My job has provided me with many wonderful opportunities

to be resourceful and to reach for new horizons.  I have had

the opportunity to visit the flight line and get my hands on

real hardware.  I have traveled through many manufacturing and

repair facilities.  I imagine I receive strange looks from

workers on the floor while the engineer shows me through the

plant and explains the operations.



     Like the U.S.S. Enterprise in "Star Trek," which boldly

explored strange new galaxies to discover new worlds, blind

persons of this and the next generation can explore job

opportunities in the physical sciences and discover careers in

engineering and mechanics.

                      A MOTHER'S STORY

                      by Loretta White



     Coming to terms with the fact that your child is blind

and is going to stay that way is perhaps one of the most

difficult challenges a parent can face.  There are at first

the terrifying questions: Does she live in a world of

darkness?  Can she go to school?  Can she be happy?  What will

happen to her when I die?   These are the questions Loretta

White, now a leader in the National Federation of the Blind's

parents organization, had to deal with when she learned her

daughter Niki was blind.  Here is what she says:



     My name is Loretta White, and I live in Maryland with my

husband and four children.  Their ages are sixteen, six,

almost five, and almost three.  I am also a licensed day care

provider, so most of my time is spent with and around

children.



     My daughter Niki will be five in November.  Niki has been

totally blind since birth.  It's most likely due to

retinopathy of prematurity, but since she was adopted from

India, we don't know for sure.  Niki came home from India when

she was five months old.



     We took her to a pediatrician for a check-up a couple of

days after we got her.  He told us that her eyes didn't look

quite right, so he wanted us to have her checked by an eye

doctor.  The doctor he sent us to didn't do children, so all

he did was take a quick look and tell us that, yes, she has

cataracts; he then referred us to a pediatric ophthalmologist.



     I took Niki to the appointment by myself while my husband

watched the other children.  I was expecting to have her seen

and then scheduled for cataract surgery.  I spent the entire

day there.



     The doctor had a wonderful reputation, but I quickly

found out in the waiting room that he had the bedside manner

of Attila the Hun. I was pretty nervous to begin with.  Once

the technicians had examined her eyes, done their tests with

the drops, and completed the sonograms and what not, the

doctor came in and quickly looked at her eyes.



     Then, with the same demeanor one might use to comment on

the weather, he told me that my daughter's blindness was total

and permanent.  I'm sure he must have read the look on my face

and realized that I had not known.



     Then he added, "Well, it's not that bad.  It's like a

Hershey bar. If you've never eaten chocolate before, you

wouldn't miss it because you can't miss what you never had."

Then, after a couple of minutes of very uncomfortable silence,

he gave me the name of a doctor who might try some heroic

surgery, wished me luck, and left the room.  I never saw that

doctor again.



     Somehow I collected myself and my baby and made the hour-

and-a half drive back to my home.  It took me a long time to

forgive his brutal honesty, but I will never forget it.  On

that afternoon I would really have appreciated some

compassion.  Also I did not appreciate the belittling of my

child's condition.  Things could always be worse, but so 

what?  Right now they feel awful.



     We went through anger at the doctors and also at the

adoption agency who had placed her.  From what we were later

told, anyone who examined her should have seen the detached

retina and scar tissue mass.  And yet we had paperwork that

said she had an eye examination and that her eyes were in good

condition.  Knowing probably wouldn't have changed our minds

about her, but we certainly could have been prepared and

avoided the shock.



     We also tried the heroic surgery.  We took her to a

doctor in Tennessee who had had some success at reattaching

retinas.  We put ourselves in debt mustering up the finances

to make three trips to Tennessee (two for surgeries and one

for a check-up).



     We did all this knowing initially that her chances of

regaining any usable sight were less than ten percent.  But at

that time we were so frightened of blindness we were willing

to try almost anything.



     Before Niki came into my life, I had virtually no

experience with blindness.  The only blind person I had ever

known was Tammy, who lived across the street from my family

for a short while when I was six.



     I can still see this eight-year-old girl in my mind.  All

she ever did was sit and rock, sometimes poking at her eyes.

Her speech consisted mostly of repetitions of what she had

just heard.  She never played with the other kids or even went

to school.  She just sat and rocked.  As you can imagine, that

memory haunted me for a while after we found out Niki was

blind.



     If the only experience you've had with blindness is

seeing a man begging on a city street, you're hardly going to

feel excited about your child's future.  And if the parent

doesn't have a positive image of blindness, how can the child

hope to develop a positive self-image?



     As we began to deal with blindness, we were full of

questions.  We wondered what children with little or no sight

are really like.  Do they live in a world of darkness?  Do

they grow and develop like other children?  Where do they go

to school?  Do blind people ever get married?  How do they

earn a living?  Can they be happy?  Can they live inde-

pendently?  What will happen to my child when I die?



     When we finally decided Niki was going to stay blind, we

began to look for help.  I made a form letter requesting

information and sent it everywhere.  Then one day I got a

phone call from the National Federation of the Blind.  This

was a turning point for me and for my daughter Niki.



     Through the Federation I have met successful blind

individuals from all walks of life and from all over the

country.  By observing and interacting with these people, I

have been able to revise my perceptions of blindness.  Reading

about it in a book will teach you in your head, but by living

it, you learn it in your heart.



     Children learn what they live.  I want my child to know

in her heart that she can be successful and independent

because she has grown up watching successful and independent

blind  adults around her.

       GOOD FORTUNE, HARD WORK, AND THE KLONDIKE DERBY

                       by Marc Maurer



     A professor told me, when I was a student at the

University of Notre Dame, that a clich is a wise saying which

has been repeated so often that the good has been washed out

of it. Nevertheless, there are times when clichs should be

used. This professor, for instance, was particularly fond of

"dumb as an ox."

  

     When I was growing up, I was told that time is money and

that knowledge is power. But these thoughts were repeated so

often that they ceased to have any meaning for me. Nobody that

I could remember had ever offered to pay me for my timeor my

knowledge either, for that matter. Maybe, I thought, knowledge

and power are equivalent, but the knowledge I possessed didn't

make me feel powerful. For time to be equal to money, or for

knowledge to be equal to power, the person possessing the time

and the knowledge must be able to trade them for money and

influence. I didn't believe that I could expect to do that.



     Although I was well enough liked in school, my teachers

and my fellow students did not think that I was likely to be

successful in business or the professions, and I wondered if

they weren't right.



     Then, I met Dr. Kenneth Jernigan, who was serving as

President of the National Federation of the Blind. My hopes

and dreams mattered to him. If I wanted to build a future far

beyond my wildest imaginings, he wanted to help me. This was

true even when his opinion about what I should do was

different from mine.



     I kept thinking that I should get a job. Dr. Jernigan

wanted me to study. He urged me to spend my time getting some

high-quality book learning. But I argued against it. I thought

that the book learning could wait and that what I needed was

practical experience.



     I asked Dr. Jernigan to help me get a job, and despite

his feeling that I should use my time to improve my mind, he

helped me find employment as a small engine mechanic.



     Mechanics are expected to bring their own tools, but I

had no money to buy them. Dr. Jernigan found the means to get

me a box of wrenches, a flywheel puller, and a device called

a feeler gauge, which is used to check the distances between

the points in the ignition systems of engines, to test the gap

of spark plugs, and to measure the tolerances in the spacing

of valve lifters. With my shiny new tool box in hand, I

started working at a machine shop, repairing small engines.



     The machine shop repaired lawn mowers, garden tractors,

rototillers, and other gasoline-driven machines in the summer,

and snow-blowers and snowmobiles in the winter. My boss was a

man who believed in giving a guy a chance, but he was not

prepared to pay a laborer who didn't produce. One of his

regular mechanics had been paralyzed from the waist down, and

I was then, as I am now, totally blind.  



     Each mechanic was provided with a workbench and an air

hose and access to the parts room. When the customers brought 

work for us to do, we were offered the opportunity to do it.

If we succeeded in repairing a machine, we got paid. If the

machine remained broken, we remained unpaid.



     This system gave us the maximum incentive to do our jobs

both speedily and well. However, we were not permitted to

perform the work in a half-baked fashion. There was a set

routine. A machine which was brought to the shop for repair

must first be cleaned. After it had been scrubbed with

solvent, the machine must be drained of oil and other fluids.

Then the it was to be inspected for broken parts. If the

customer had specified the problem, this was to be the major

focus of attention.



     We knew that the customer sometimes missed the real

source of the difficulty. The inspection was to proceed with

this in mind. Unless the customer specified otherwise, the

machine was to be put into top-notch working condition. After

all of the repairs had been made and the fluids replaced, the

machine was to be cleaned once again in readiness for the

customer.



     Clean 'em; fix 'em; lubricate 'em; gas and oil 'em; test

'em; and clean 'em again. If it passed inspection, it was time

to tell the customer that the machine was ready.



     One morning my boss came to me with a portable gasoline-

driven air compressor. He said that the other work which I was

doing must be put aside. The customer was managing a

construction crew, and he needed the compressor immediately.

The construction foreman could not get the engine to run.



     I began by preparing to clean the compressor and its

engine, and I was about to check the oil when the boss

interrupted. There was a whole construction crew waiting on

this machine. The oil would be fine. Just get the engine

running. So I skipped the usual routine.



     There are three things that must come together in a

gasoline engine for it to run. There must be a fuel-air

mixture in the cylinder. There must be compression of the

fuel-air mixture which will make it sufficiently unstable to

burn, and there must be a spark to ignite the fuel.



     The method I used to check the ignition systems of small

engines was to remove the sparkplug from the cylinder head.

With the sparkplug connected to the ignition wire, I turned

the engine over. If the system was in working condition, a

spark would jump across the electrodes of the sparkplug.



     When I pulled the sparkplug of the compressor engine, I

discovered that there was no spark. The problem had been

identified. The ignition system needed repair. But this engine

was unlike any that I had ever encountered. I did not know how

its ignition system worked.



     I found a little box on the side that I thought might

have something to do with the electrical system. When I took

the cover off, there were the ignition points. I had never

worked on any like them. However, there was a loose wire

inside the box, which seemed to be shorting the points. I

broke it off and put the cover back onto the box. With the 

sparkplug back in place, I pulled the starting rope. The

engine kicked right over and settled into the noisy rhythm

that small engines make. The job had taken me about five

minutes.



     My boss was pleased and wanted to know what had been

wrong with the engine. The construction foreman was pleased

and glad to be able to go back to work. And I was pleased. I

was quite well paid for five minutes effort. I had saved the

construction crew a lot of waiting time. I had known about the

theory of internal combustion engines, andwith a little bit

of luckI had been able to apply that theory to solve a

problem. Because they needed to save time, and because I had

some knowledge and a little luck, I received the money.



     I never told my boss how easy it was to fix that machine.

He thought I was a real smart mechanic, and I just let him

keep on thinking it.



     I served as a mechanic for only a short time. Then I took

Dr. Jernigan's advice and went to college. He had told me that

if I intended to be able to participate fully in the society

in which we live, I would need a good education.



     Although he was gentle about the telling, he suggested to

me that the reason I had not felt very powerful with the

knowledge that I possessed was that I did not have enough of

it to do me much good. Seven years later, I had completed

undergraduate school and obtained a law degree.



     By the time I began making applications for my first law

job, I had been a part of the National Federation of the Blind

for eight years. With the help of my friends in the

Federation, I became the principal attorney for the Senior

Legal Assistance Project in Ohio. It was an interesting job

involving many kinds of lawsuits in the civil courts.



     One lady had employed a firm to put a roof on her house.

Although the roofer said the work had been completed, it

apparently remained unfinished. My job was to file a contract

action seeking appropriate damages and demanding that the work

be finished or the money returned. During the preparation of

the case, I spent time on the client's roof with the expert

witness we were planning to call at trial. Collecting and

arranging evidence, preparing witnesses, writing jury

instructions, researching the law, and making appearances in

the courts were all part of the daily practice.



     At least one fundamental principle is the same for the

practice of law and the business of being a mechanic. Results

matter. We who are blind must be prepared to solve problems

both for ourselves and for others. If we have the chance to

get the proper learning, then we can meet this challenge.



     This is the message I got from the National Federation of

the Blind, and it is still the message we are promoting today.

If we are good at what we do, we can expect opportunities to

come, and these opportunities give us the chance for a full

and productive life.



     My wife Patricia and I were married in 1973. She (who  is

also blind) had just graduated from college with an education

degree and a teaching credential. Despite her education,

Patricia was not always able to find employment as a teacher.

Much of the time during the period that I attended law school,

she supported the two of us by working as a typist for Blue

Cross/Blue Shield.



     Today, Patricia volunteers her time to help the National

Federation of the Blind serve the thousands of blind people

who come to us for advice and support. She and I also devote

our time to raising our two children, David and Dianna. Blind

people do not always have the chance to have families, and we

feel especially blessed.



     When our son David was nine years old, he wanted to join

the Cub Scouts. There was a Cub Scout pack being formed at our

church. When we spoke to the cubmaster who was forming the

pack, he asked me if I would be able to serve as treasurer and

assistant leader. I responded that I would be pleased to try

but that I had never been a Scout. He told me not to worry

about it. So, I joined the Scouts as an adult rather than a

boy.



     Just before Christmas the first year that I was serving

as assistant leader and treasurer for the Cub Scouts, the

cubmaster indicated that we should plan to take part in the

Klondike Derby. The Klondike Derby, I was told, is an event

that takes place in the out-of-doors during the winter. For a

day, Scouts hike on trails and demonstrate their skill in

outdoor craftsespecially those needed in the cold. Fire

building, knot tying, first aid with an emphasis on

emergencies that happen in cold weather, shelter building,

tracking, and many more activities are a part of the Klondike

Derby.



     The cubmaster said that we would need a sled. I thought

that we could use the plastic one that Patricia and I had

purchased for our children. Then, the cubmaster told me that

the sled must be made of wood. I thought that if I hunted

around garage sales or thrift stores, I might be able to put

my hands on a flexible flyer. They are made of wood.



     But the cubmaster went on to tell us that not only must

the sled itself be made of wood, but the runners of the sled

must also be made of the same material. This is a real tough

one, I thought. Maybe I could find an old pair of skis that

nobody wanted, but I never found any. So we bought boards, and

David and I began building a sled.



     I had heard that if you steam wood, you can bend it. So

we took a very large pot and filled it with water. Over the

top of this pot, we balanced pieces of maple that were three

quarters of an inch thick and four inches wide. Because these

boards were eight feet long, only a small portion of them

could be immediately above the kettle. However, the curve of

a sled runner is a fairly short one. We decided that if we

could get a forty-five degree bend in a part of the board that

is a little over a foot long, this would suit our purposes

admirably.



     We boiled the water under the wood for over eight hours.

We had built a homemade bending frame to shape the runners. 

When the boards had been thoroughly boiled, we inserted the

steamed end into the frame and pulled on the other end to

create a curve. The plan worked.



     Most of the construction of the sled occurred in the

living room of our house because that is where we had the

space to do the building. Despite some domestic disruption,

the sled was completed on time for the Klondike. But this is

not all. Our Klondike Derby sled won first prize!



     We in the National Federation of the Blind want very much

to help make our country the best that it can be. We want to

learn, and we want to pass our knowledge on to others who need

it. Our dreams for the future are big onesboth for ourselves

and for our friends and neighbors. And we are willing to work

hard to make our plans come true. 



     The clichs about blindness have often portrayed us as

helpless, or worse. We believe that we have something to

contribute, and we are putting our energy into making that

something worthwhile. When we become lawyers, homemakers,

scout leaders, mechanics, or teachers, the old clichs about

the incapacity of the blind lose their force. They become as

meaningless as inscriptions on sand.



     This is the meaning of the National Federation of the

Blind, which has made such a dramatic difference in my life

and in the lives of many thousands of others. If we are to

live by a clich, perhaps it should be "The Lord helps those

who help themselves" or perhaps "There ain't no such thing as

a free lunch."

                 BANGLES, BAUBLES, AND BEADS

                      by Tamara Kerrill



     Creating custom-made jewelry is not a common occupation.

It requires a particular artistic talent.  It does not,

however, as we of the National Federation of the Blind and as

the following story (reprinted from the Miami Herald) show,

require eyesight.



     In 1985, Janet Caron walked cautiously toward the Trevi

Fountain through the streets of Rome.  Her failing sight made

the trip difficult, but she was determined to toss three coins

into the cascading water.



     According to Roman tradition, if a visitor tosses coins

into the famed fountain, she is assured of returning.



     "I stumbled to get there.  I was heartbroken," she said.

"I was in tears as I threw those coins over my shoulder and

people were looking at me. I was losing my sight, and I truly

thought that I would never get back to my beloved Rome."



     She also never thought she would lead a productive life

again.  She was wrong.



     Today, Caron, who lives in Pompano Beach, makes exquisite

jewelry from scratch.



     "When I first lost my sight, I couldn't believe it was

happening to me," Caron said.



     She said doctors are at a loss to determine the cause of

her blindness.  "But once something like this happens, you

really realize how capable blind people are," Caron said.



     Caron began creating jewelry two years ago to satisfy an

artistic craving.



     Her tiny apartment is filled with colorful bags of beads

from Italy, Africa, China, and other distant places.  Caron

also makes her own beads from raw clay, which she glazes and

fires in a kiln at a Pompano Beach ceramics shop.



     The colorful chokers and matinee lengths are combinations

of ivory, hand-blown glass, painted porcelain, jade, and other

special materials.  She finds the beads at various thrift

shops.  Caron tests the authenticity of the beads' material by

rubbing them together and running her fingers over them.



     She takes her cache of colorful creations to some local

art fairs, like the annual Christmas show at Coral Ridge Mall.



     Caron's biggest triumph as a blind woman, however, took

place two years ago when she hesitantly boarded a plane bound

for Romethe city she had visited regularly before she became

blind.



     "I fell in love with Rome," she said.  "I love the

European way of life.  I thought I would never get back there

again.  In 1990, I went back, and I did very well.  I got off

the plane, and I just broke into Italian.  I stayed for a

month."



     Caron has been back to Rome three times and plans to keep

on going every spring.  Her necklaces have even gone on sale

at the American embassy.



     "My life is very full now," she said. "Blind people may

have lost their sight, but they haven't lost their intellect."

                  SUBSTITUTING FOR SUCCESS

                       by David Ticchi



     David Ticchi, who is totally blind, has had a varied

career.  He has taught seventh-grade English, has produced

films, has worked for major corporations, and has been a

member of the National Federation of the Blind for many years.

In this story he describes his most recent employment venture.

Here is what he has to say:



     One day recently, as I was contemplating the next step in

my career, the phone rang.  A good friend, who is now a high

school principal, was calling to ask if I would consider

working in a new program called the Instructional Support

Services (ISS).  I would be a substitute teacher.  Laughingly

I reminded him that he was supposed to be a friend.

Substituting is hard work!  He assured me that the assignment

would be a permanent faculty position, stationed at one high

school for the entire school year and creating continuity in

classroom instruction in the event of another faculty member's

absence.  It was not to be a babysitting chore.



     After much hemming and hawing I decided this might be a

good way to return to teaching at the high school level, and

I accepted the offer.  It turned out to be a wonderful

experience for me.



     Once I signed the contract, I visited the school to

acquaint myself with the surroundings.  The school of about

2,000 students includes four levels and a technical/vocational

institute.  This is one of the newly designed schools with no

straight hallways.



     Since public transportation was not an option for the

twenty-five minute ride to school, I car-pooled with three

other teachers from the area where I live.



     On a usual day, I reported to the office at 8:00 A.M. and

was given a daily assignment at that time.  I taught

everything from ancient Greek history to zoology.  Classes

began at 8:15 A.M., and I went to the first-period class,

where attendance was taken and where I could find the lesson

plans, if the regular teacher had written them.



     In this school teachers are not stationed in one

classroom permanently but might go to several different rooms

during the day. Therefore, as a substitute I might well teach

a different subject each period in a different place, with or

without a lesson plan available.



     I can tell you from experience that students do not treat

a blind teacher and a sighted instructor any differently.

Their antics have not changed much over the years.

Misbehaving, cheating, and tardiness are all still alive and

well in America.  I walked into the classroom that first day,

introduced myself, explained how blind teachers achieve the

same results as sighted teachers, and announced that I was an

ISS substitute teacher.  When asked what ISS meant, I told

them it means, "I SAID SO!"



     From then on the students and I got along just fine.

Together we made it through the class with each student making

a contribution to its smooth operation, accomplishing  tasks

and assignments, and gaining a feeling of responsibility.  The

students felt a very important part of that class.



     This entire teaching experience was wonderful because, as

the year went on, I had the opportunity to meet and interact

with most of the students in the school.  At first I was a

stranger, but that feeling was soon gone.  The more classes I

taught (including auto mechanics, biology, sewing, and all

kinds of history, mathematics, and technical/vocational

courses), the more students I became acquainted with.  But

more important, the more I taught, the more the students got

to know me.



     One sewing class was particularly memorable.  Not knowing

much about sewing or sewing machines, I reversed the roles of

student and teacher.  As it happened, I had two loose buttons

on my shirt, and I asked a couple of the students if they

would use me as an example and teach me how to sew these but-

tons back on securely.



     I stripped off my coat, tie, and shirt, and we fixed

those buttons together.  We all learned from this experience,

and they had the opportunity to see me as just a regular per-

son.



     In this one school year of substitute teaching I

discovered that I really do want to go back into the education

profession.  I have applied for a permanent teaching assign-

ment for the next school year, but if none is available, I

will substitute again in the same program.

           THREE-LETTER WORDS: "HOW" OR "WHY NOT?"

                   by Peggy Pinder Elliott



     Peggy Pinder Elliott, a long-time member of the National

Federation of the Blind, is familiar to readers of previous

Kernel Books. In this story she reflects on the importance of

using the right three-letter words in dealing with blindness.

Here she shares with us her journey from "How" to "Why Not?"



     One of the hardest things for me to understand about

blindness was the little three-letter word how.



     When I first lost my sight, I was a teen-ager. My

brothers and sisters and I were all planning to attend college

and find good jobs after graduation.  Without ever expressing

this to anyone, I thought that my sudden blindness meant that

this was no longer possible for me.  It wasn't anything

specific.  It was just that I didn't know how a blind person

would go to college, how a blind person would find a job, how

a blind person could perform work that anyone would want to

pay for.  Although I didn't know it at the time, it was that

little three-letter word that was causing all the trouble.

     

     Several years after I lost my sight, I met people from

the National Federation of the Blind.  Instantly, the three-

letter word changed. How was no longer important, but two

other three-letter words were. They were why and not.  And I

needed them both. The question was not "how" but "why not".



     The change happened because I had finally met other blind

people. Some sighted people, particularly my family, had

insisted that blindness did not make any difference, that I

could still study, still excel, still attend college, still

get around and do the things that other people do.  I mostly

stayed in my room and told people that I loved to read.  But

inside myself I hotly resented this cheery and cruel advice.

These sighted people were not blind. How could they understand

how hard it was?



     Meeting other blind people made all the difference.  I

could no longer say, "Blind people can't do this or that." I

now knew blind people who were doing the things I wanted to

do.



     This change in me came from the National Federation of

the Blind and the insistence of its members that blind people

could figure out how to do things.  It took a while for me to

come to understand this, and my Federation friends patiently

kept working with me, encouraging me, insisting that I stop

feeling sorry for myself. The Federation ideas took root, and

I began to do all those things I thought I couldn't, ending up

with a law degree from Yale.



     Then I started to deal with the three-letter word how, in

the job market.  My first job interview was memorable.  When

I arrived for the interview, I found that there were eight

people in the room to do the interviewing.  Apparently, the

potential employer had decided that everyone in authority in

the office needed to be in the room to get a look at the blind

person.  That was a bad sign.



     The interview began with the office chief asking the 

administrator to describe the position to me.  It was an

assistant prosecutor's job, a commonly understood entry-level

position in which one handles all the less grave offenses from

filing a charge to disposition of a case.



     The administrator said, "When you come to the office in

the morning, you will read police reports, and, when you read

the reports, based on the reading of the reports, after

thoroughly reading them, you will upon reading . . ." He got

stuck.  He just stayed in the same sentence, never finishing

it, continually uttering the word "read."



     After a bit of this, I interrupted him, saying that I

thought I understood that reviewing police reports was part of

the job as well as other tasks he hadn't mentioned.  If he

wanted to describe the other tasks, I would be interested.  If

he preferred to discuss how I would do the reading, I would be

glad to discuss that as well.  He never spoke again during the

forty-minute interview.



     It was obvious that he didn't know how I would do the

reading.  I explained that blind lawyers hire readers and

train them in confidentiality just like lawyers have always

hired secretaries and trained them in confidentiality.  I

explained that I was accustomed to working that way and to

meeting time deadlines.  None of it mattered.  The whole of-

fice, present by way of its supervisors, had decided that a

blind person couldn't do the job they do, and that was that.



     My next interview was the exact opposite.  I knew it was

going to be.  A friend of mine in the National Federation of

the Blind who worked in the same city in which I was in-

terviewing called me.  The friend said that he knew the

potential employer; the potential employer had called him and

asked how a blind person could do the job, and that my friend

had explained to him that he should just ask.  My friend also

gave some examples to the potential employer of how he does

his job.



     When I arrived for the interview, the potential employer

came in alone.  He sort of sauntered in, obviously

comfortable, and said casually that he would like to know how

I was going to do the reading.  That made all the difference

in the world.



     Both interviews were for the same type of job and started

on the same topic, but one began with an assumption that I

couldn't do the job while the other began with an open mind,

opened by a successfully employed blind person.  I was offered

this job and took it.



     For me, the National Federation of the Blind provided

that first vital understanding that there are answers to the

question "how?"



     For most jobs, the answers are as simple and inexpensive

as they were in my case.  For many jobs, there is already a

blind person doing the work whose ideas and practical know-how

can be drawn upon for the employer or the blind person who

wants to work in the same area.



             You can help us spread the word...



...about our Braille Readers Are Leaders contest for blind

schoolchildren, a project which encourages blind children to

achieve literacy through Braille.



...about our scholarships for deserving blind college

students.



...about Job Opportunities for the Blind, a program that

matches capable blind people with employers who need their

skills.



...about where to turn for accurate information about

blindness and the abilities of the blind.



Most importantly, you can help us by sharing what you've

learned about blindness in these pages with your family and

friends. If you know anyone who needs assistance with the

problems of blindness, please write:



Marc Maurer, President 

National Federation of the Blind 

1800 Johnson Street, Suite 300 

Baltimore, Maryland 21230-4998

Other Ways You Can Help the National Federation of the Blind 



     Write to us for tax saving information on bequests and

planned giving programs.



                             or



     Include the following language in your will:



     "I give, devise, and bequeath unto National Federation of

the Blind, 1800 Johnson Street, Suite 300, Baltimore, Maryland

21230, a District of Columbia nonprofit corporation, the sum

of  $___ (or "     percent of my net estate") to be used for

its worthy purposes on behalf of blind persons."



Your contributions are tax-deductible

