


                                REFLECTING THE FLAME


                               An Address Delivered by
                                     MARC MAURER
                     President, National Federation of the Blind
                       At the Banquet of the Annual Convention
                        New Orleans, Louisiana, July 5, 1991


























                        The National Federation of the Blind
                   is not an organization speaking for the blind.
                      It is the blind speaking for themselves.






                          National Federation of the Blind
                                 1800 Johnson Street
                              Baltimore, Maryland 21230
                                   (301) 659-9314


                                REFLECTING THE FLAME


                               An Address Delivered by
                                     MARC MAURER
                     President, National Federation of the Blind
                       At the Banquet of the Annual Convention
                        New Orleans, Louisiana, July 5, 1991



     "Human history," said H. G. Wells, "is in essence a history of ideas."

     Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., declared that "men may come to believe that the best
test of truth is the power of the thought to get itself accepted in the competition
of the market."

     In 1644 John Milton wrote, "Let Truth and Falsehood
grapple; who ever knew Truth put to the worse, in a free and open encounter?"

     At the beginning of the sixteenth century Erasmus stated, "Time reveals all
things."

     Such eminent scholars have believed that a new idea--one which expresses
perceived reality more exactly than its predecessor--is, in and of itself, imbued
with sufficient power to banish error.  According to these philosophers, the
innovative thought (once formulated) will inevitably, in the course of time, replace
the old.  However, the record of events in our own century fails to substantiate this
hypothesis.  We have seen the most generous and benevolent of creeds and the most
despicable and tyrannical of practices exist in the same country at the same time
without any indication that either was unalterably fated to triumph.  The assertion
of individual freedom and the toleration of slavery have occurred side by side in
modern civilization--and racism (of both kinds, incidentally) is still with us.  

     If the objective in seeking the truth is to achieve fairness and decency--and I
believe it is--time and a new idea are not enough.  Within the framework of time
there must be at least three components that come together.  First, an idea must be
conceived which contains an element of understanding that has not previously been
reached.  Second, a proponent of that idea must arise--a leader with the capacity to
articulate the nuances in a way that will compel recognition.  And finally, there
must be a group of individuals prepared to defend what has been propounded.  Such
concert of effort is essential not only to protect the new thought but to give it
body and substance, to explore its full meaning and implications.

     In a fireplace one log by itself, regardless of how big, will almost certainly
fail to burn.  There must be at least two.  The flame from one is reflected by the
other.  The brightness and heat come from the space between the logs, the reflection
of the flame.

     As it is with flame, so it is with ideas.  A new idea has only a limited time to
take fire, to catch the imagination of the public and burn.  And if the flame is to
be reflected--the kindling point sustained--more than a single person is required. 
There must be two, five, ten--at least a handful--to build the heat and speed the
process.  Regardless of its merit, if an idea (once ignited) fails to reflect the
flame of group interaction, its time will soon pass, and it will disappear into
insignificance and be forgotten.  Of course, an idea can be revived (many times, in
fact, if the need is sufficiently urgent), but the process must always begin anew. 
And if the idea is to live and prosper--if it is to make a meaningful difference in
the lives of people--all of the elements must be present: the idea, a leader, and at
least a handful to reflect the flame.

     And what of the blind--what of us?  Time and time again throughout our history
one or another of the elements has been present: the idea of a better life for the
blind; a leader, like Zisca, the blind fifteenth-century general and statesman from
Bohemia; or a group of blind people, like the medieval guilds, prepared to take
collective action.  But in each instance, there was something lacking.  However, in
1940, all of the elements came together--a new idea; a vibrant, inspiring leader; and
a dedicated group of blind persons prepared to help each other in shaping the future. 
In that year Dr. Jacobus tenBroek and a handful of others from seven states gathered
in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, to inaugurate our movement, which has changed forever
the expectations and aspirations of the blind.

     When the National Federation of the Blind was founded, the prospects for the
blind of this country were utterly desolate.  There was little education, almost no
hope of a job, and virtually no chance for meaningful participation in other
activities of life.  Books for the blind were few and very difficult to get. 
Communication among blind people (at least on a nationwide basis) was almost
nonexistent.  The guarantee (or, for that matter, the recognition) of meaningful
civil rights for the blind was a matter for the distant future--if anybody thought
about it at all.  Sometimes there were dreams of a home, a family, and the duties and
privileges of citizenship; but these dreams rarely came to fruition.  From such
unpromising beginnings almost no one (no one, that is, except the founders of the
Federation) believed that a dynamic national movement could arise.  But look about
you!  We are here in our thousands--we who embraced the new idea, hoped and fought
for a brighter tomorrow, and stayed to become the most powerful force in the affairs
of the blind in the nation--the National Federation of the Blind.

     Tonight (over fifty years after our founding) as we gather from every corner of
the country, our record of accomplishment spans the years for all to read.  Indeed,
not all of our problems have been solved--but many have.  And those that remain
appear more glaring and unrelieved because of the distance we have come from the
beliefs and general climate of the 1940s.  To confirm this fact, compare the
conditions of our first decade with our situation today.  How do the general public,
the agencies for the blind, and the media view us--and, for that matter, how do we
view ourselves?  How have we fared in half a century?

     Attitudes today are so much better and more realistic than they were during the
first years of the Federation that we tend to react with outrage and resentment when
we find instances of what would have been commonplace in our first decade--especially
when the outmoded ideas come from supposedly enlightened quarters.

     Consider, for instance, one treatment of the blind by the medical
profession--generally regarded as among the most scientific of the disciplines. 
Although these statements were made only four years ago, they are reminiscent of the
attitudes which predominated when the Federation came into being.  In an article
entitled "Identifying and Treating the Client with Sensory Loss" (which appeared in
the Summer, 1987, issue of Physical & Occupational Therapy in Geriatrics) the
argument is made that decreased visual function causes decreased cognitive function. 
In other words, if you can't get information from your eyes, your capacity to think
diminishes.  Perhaps it is obvious that if there is no stimulation whatever from any
sensory organ, there will be no raw material to use in the thinking process.  If this
were all that was meant, no one could quarrel with it.  However, the article
demonstrates unmistakably that the claim being made is much broader.  As you ponder
this so-called scientific treatise, keep in mind that the grammatical construction
and usage are those of the author--not mine.  And also keep in mind that the author
is talking about you and me.  Here are quotations from the article:

     Impaired vision can result in a person behaving as though they were
     demented.  Low vision decreases an individual's social interaction due to
     the inability to perceive non-verbal cues such as smiles, frowns, gestures,
     and even recognition of faces.  Snyder, Pyrek, and Smith found a direct
     inverse relationship between vision impairment and mental acuity.

     I remind you that this is not a passage from an ancient, hoary work of
mysticism.  It is less than five years old.  And I must say that this supposedly
objective author packs a lot of prejudice (and a good deal of ignorance) into a very
few words.  In this one brief excerpt, she says that the blind may exhibit the
behavior of the demented, that we are unable to interact socially, and that the less
we can see the more we can't think.  And in case there is any doubt about the
attitude of the writer toward the blind, consider this recommendation from that
portion of the text containing so-called "strategies to help."  Remember that the
person about whom this advice is being given is blind--not emotionally traumatized,
not mentally unhinged, not psychologically deranged--just blind.

     It is important [the author says] to avoid moving personal belongings and
     furniture without the consent of the visually impaired client, especially
     in the client's home.  

     A brief quotation, not dramatic--but examine the nuances.  Do the medical
professionals you know come to your residence to rearrange the furniture?  Is it
assumed that one of their responsibilities is to decide what pattern should be
established in your home--presumably, of course, just for your own good?  Or is this
simply another variation of the ancient myth not only that we who are blind memorize
the location and arrangement of all items in our homes but also that movement of
anything will visit disorientation and danger upon the unfortunate automatons who
live there?

     Such fables and stereotypes (even when surrounded with the trappings of science)
are still only fables and stereotypes.  Their placement in the literature of the
medical profession does not change their pseudoscientific nature.  They are as
ridiculous and as devastating to the future of the blind as any of the misbegotten,
benighted theories of the Middle Ages--or the 1940s--or, for that matter, last week
or yesterday.  They are not a description of reality but a reiteration of ignorance. 
Blindness does not mean that we have lost our sanity, our ability to think, or our
interpersonal skills.  Let those who doubt our capacity come to this convention.  We
will interact socially with the best of them; we will continue to think for
ourselves; and we will make the plans and take the actions to determine the shape of
our own tomorrow.  We have the ideas; we have the leadership; and we have the people. 
Nothing can prevent us from going the rest of the way to freedom, for we will not let
it happen.  We have reached the kindling point, and we absolutely intend to reflect
the flame.

     As members of the National Federation of the Blind know, an increasing number of
our experiences with the scientific community are not negative but positive.  In
fact, many of us work as members of the scientific establishment.  There are blind
physicists, blind chemists, blind electrical engineers, and blind computer
scientists.  Then, too, there are the mathematicians.

     The cover story of the May 13, 1989, edition of Science News describes the work
of Bernard Morin at Louis Pasteur University in Strasbourg, France.  One specialty of
mathematics is topology, the study of the relationship of shapes.  A classic problem
in topology is how to reverse the surface of a sphere (turn it inside out) without
permitting it to crease.  The solution to this (and other abstruse conundrums) has
helped resolve problems in disciplines outside mathematics--such as molecular
biology, particle physics, and cosmology.  Although it has been theoretically
possible to perform this sphere reversal (known as an eversion), nobody has been
able, until recently, to describe the concept in three-dimensional terms.  However,
the problem has now been solved.  And how do you suppose the solution was reached? 
Here are excerpts from the Science News article: 

     Morin [the article tells us] starts with a cuboctahedron, which looks like
     a cube with its corners lopped off, [and] transforms the cuboctahedron into
     a curiously shaped figure, which he calls the "central model," with only
     twelve faces.  A sequence of six elementary moves carries the central model
     through the tricky stages of the eversion.  A final flurry of moves
     produces an octahedron again, now turned inside out.

Quoting the scientist George K. Francis the article continues:

     Bernard Morin is not distracted, like the rest of us, by pencil and paper
     and the business of drawing and looking at pictures.  He is blind.  With
     superb spatial imagination, he assembles complicated homotopies
     [transformations] of surfaces directly in space.  He keeps track of
     temporal changes in the double curves and the surface patches spanning
     them.  His instructions to the artist consist of a vivid description of the
     model in his mind.

     This report in Science News illustrates the fundamental proposition that
understanding is not a matter of visual acuity--but even in doing this, it shows the
power of the outmoded stereotype.  Morin, we are told, is not distracted like the
rest of us by pencil and paper and the business of drawing and looking at pictures. 
He is blind--and so, presumably, in a rarefied inner world of his own, not troubled
by the humdrum images of everyday life.  Nonsense!  If he is intelligent, he is
intelligent.  Blindness has nothing to do with it.

     Most of us do not know and could not imagine why the topological problem of the
French mathematician is important.  But we can readily understand that the blind are
as capable as others of addressing and solving complex questions.  The factor
limiting our progress is, as it has always been, the failure of society to believe in
our ability.  It is not the absence of the visual image that stifles growth, but the
failure of imagination.  Not all of us are scientists, but some of us are.  Not all
of us aspire to study mathematical relationships, but all of us insist that those
with the talent and desire to participate in this exacting discipline should be able
to do it.  With such commitment we will expand our horizons and create greater
opportunity.  With such dedication we have built the National Federation of the
Blind.  With such determination we reflect the flame.

     A recently published collection of character sketches by Amy Hempel entitled At
the Gates of the Animal Kingdom contains a one-sentence description of an encounter
with a blind man.  Apparently without giving it a thought, the author reinforces the
belief that the blind are incompetent, that we are very often lost, that we do not
have the ability to perceive our surroundings, that it is customary and decent to
give preference to the blind, that very often the primary interest of our lives is
food, and that we are pathetic.  It is all accomplished in a single sentence, done
with fewer than twenty-five words.  Here they are: "Today, when a blind man walked
into the bank, we handed him along to the front of the line, where he ordered a
B.L.T."

     Dramatic?  No, of course not.  In the story the incident is unemphasized,
routine, taken for granted.  A blind man walks into a bank, is automatically moved to
the head of the line, and then is so disoriented that he orders a sandwich instead of
money.  If we aren't careful, the significance is so astonishing as to be lost in the
shuffle of the everyday.  The author finds this occurrence so commonplace that it is
unemphasized, routine, taken for granted.  That is precisely the point.  More often
than not our road to hell has been paved with things which have been unemphasized,
routine, and taken for granted.  But no more!  We have the idea; we have the leaders;
and we have the drive to work together, to support each other, and to advance our
movement.  We have reached the kindling point, and we intend to reflect the flame.

     In the spring of 1990 Newsweek magazine reported in an article entitled "Making
the Most of Sight" that, "After AIDS and cancer, the medical crisis Americans fear
most is blindness.  Not being able to see the stark outline of a winter tree," the
article tells us, "or the final scene of 'Casablanca'--the loss is almost
unimaginable."  When I read this item from Newsweek, I was struck by the contrast
contained in those first few lines.  AIDS and cancer kill.  Blindness does not.  So
what is the almost unimaginable loss?  Is it really so bad to be without the visual
impression of a tree in winter?  Is it truly of vital importance to observe visually
the final scene in a movie?  Does blindness mean that we cannot enjoy art or
appreciate the experience of nature?  Many (far too many) of the sighted would say
yes, but we who live with blindness every day emphatically say, no!  After all, we
are the ones with the data to know.  Speaking from personal experience, I can tell
you that there is (at least for this blind person) much joy to be gained from a brisk
walk in a winter wood.  Is the joy as much for me as for my sighted neighbors?  One
is tempted to ask, "Who cares?"  The experience is exhilarating, fulfilling.  That is
sufficient.  When our lives are diminished, it is not our blindness that does it but
the misconceptions and oddball notions we face.  It is not the failure to see the
stark outline of a winter tree that gives us trouble but some of the stark attitudes
we have to deal with.

     Let me be clearly understood.  I am not saying that sight is not useful.  Nor am
I arguing that it is wrong to try to improve one's ability to see--quite the
contrary.  However, I am saying that sight is not a requirement for a good life--not
the beginning and the end of existence.  We who are blind are not automatically
prevented from having joy, satisfaction, and fulfillment; and those who believe
otherwise are simply misinformed.

     An advertisement published in the Guy-Gannett newspapers in Maine about a year
ago says: "Illiteracy is a little bit like blindness.  Both are handicaps.  And both
mean you can't see everything.  A person who can't read can't really see the morning
paper or a child's report card, a street sign or a prescription.  Fortunately,
illiteracy is a handicap one can overcome."  Implied in this advertisement is the
notion that both blindness and illiteracy make a person unable to function but that
although both of them are bad, at least illiteracy can be changed.  For the blind,
apparently, there is not much hope.

     What a distortion!  To be blind is not to be ignorant, and we are not prepared
to permit such a portrayal of ourselves.  Federationists in Maine took the newspaper
to task.  Rank-and-file members communicated their indignation to the newspaper's
management--and the combination worked.  Within a few days a retraction appeared. 
The blind are capable, and we intend that the public shall recognize this fact. 
Newspapers, some of the most powerful shapers of public opinion, often reflect the
misconceptions that are a part of the public image of blindness.  But when it comes
to blindness, they are not the authorities.  They must learn from us.  In half a
century we have gained more knowledge and experience about blindness than anybody
else, and we know how to apply the lessons we have learned.  Regardless of the
source, we simply will not accept ignorance about blindness without protest.  We have
a right to expect a public image that will not stifle our hopes or limit our
opportunities, and we have formed the most powerful organization that the blind have
ever known to get the job done.  You know the name of that organization as well as I
do--the National Federation of the Blind.

     There are a number of university programs which attempt to instruct teachers of
the blind.  Some of the most obnoxious presentations about blindness may be gathered
from the literature being disseminated in these academic settings.  Consider a
description of the blind contained in course materials currently being distributed at
San Francisco State University.  An article by Mary Morrison entitled "The Other 128
Hours a Week: Teaching Personal Management to Blind Young Adults" asserts that many
blind adults do not know how to make a peanut butter sandwich, have not learned to
pour cereal into a bowl, have not been taught to purchase items from the grocery
store, are unable to handle money, cannot boil water on the stove, are unfamiliar
with the location of the refrigerators in their own homes, and are so weak that they
cannot lift a pitcher to pour water.  Unless you study some of this material for
yourself, you will have difficulty believing that the prejudice can be as pervasive
and deep-seated as it really is.  Perhaps the segment of this article which begins
with the caption "can openers" will illustrate the point. Notice the folksy manner of
speech used to help persuade the student that the statements being made are accurate. 
Here is what the author says:  

     Now, I believe, we are up to the can openers.  Each can opener seems to
     have a special trick to operating it.  And, nearly without exception, the
     blind young person is not even allowed to try to use it.  In any event we
     turn to the manual can opener that mother finds in the back of some drawer,
     and then we run into the "strength" problem.  Opening a can requires
     strength.

          I can immediately think [the author continues] of five young people on
     our caseload who are not considered to be handicapped other than by their
     blindness, who cannot lift a full two-quart pitcher to pour from it.  I
     first learned this when I naively asked a 21-year-old college student to
     pour a cup of coffee from a fresh pot on his stove.  Not only did the heat
     terrify him, he actually could not lift the coffee pot off the stove!  Why? 
     He and the others never lift anything!  They do not exercise.  They do
     nothing but go to school (which exempts them from physical education), go
     to church, and watch television.  Their arms are limp.  So we have to go
     back to the beginning with pitcher, partly full, with cool water, and learn
     how to pour.

     That is what the author says, and one is tempted to pass off such drivel with
the remark that no serious-minded human being could be taken in by the idiocy.  Of
course, there are occasional blind people who cannot find the stove or tie their
shoes.  However, to generalize from these isolated cases that the blind are incapable
of a wide array of the simplest daily chores is, to put it mildly, utter nonsense. 
But those who would dismiss these course materials have not reckoned with the
pedestrian nature of certain professional educators who teach the teachers of the
blind.  Along with the article I have quoted are included separate evaluation sheets
constructed so that the person teaching the blind client can record the progress of
the student.  One of the categories to be registered in these evaluations is--if you
can believe it--pouring.  The evaluation sheet for Level I contains the category
"Pouring--Cold liquids."  In Level III the student has progressed to "Pours hot
liquids."  In Level IV the entry is "Pours (advanced)."  What, one wonders, is
included in the arcane science of "advanced pouring"?

     The insufferable arrogance inherent in these writings is epitomized in the
explanation of the title, "The Other 128 Hours a Week: Teaching Personal Management
to Blind Young Adults."  The underlying premise of this outline of teaching
techniques for instructors of the blind is that almost all of the schooling for blind
recipients of rehabilitation has been directed toward the skills needed for sedentary
employment and that it is the job of the rehabilitation counselors to teach them how
to manage their leisure and personal activities.  In each week there are seven 24-
hour days.  Forty hours are used for work.  So what do the blind do with the other
128 hours a week?  The bombastic conclusion is that without the ministrations of the
so-called "professionals" of rehabilitation, we might be faced with the prospect of
sitting around doing nothing.  As the author says, we just mostly go to school, go to
church, and watch television.  Don't you believe it!  Those who have been to this
convention could tell her otherwise.  

     I have been reading documents from the "professional literature" about blindness
for more than twenty years, and I cannot remember ever running across one which
contained so little discernment.  Where do such people get these ideas?  Think about
it.  Do you have the strength to operate a can opener?  Can you make a sandwich or
pour a cup of coffee?  They are writing about you and me.  They tell us--and anybody
else who will listen--that they have come to help.  But we don't want such
assistance--and we don't need it.  Of course, like anybody else, we need education;
and we also need training in the skills of blindness--but in matters such as those
described, we can and we will do for ourselves.  The description of the blind by this
author as little more than basket cases is among the principal obstacles preventing
us from becoming successful, competent people.  But we are changing the image.  We
have reached the kindling point, and we intend to reflect the flame.

     One Friday evening a few months ago, I reached into my mail basket and found a
letter from a man from New Jersey.  If his story were unique, it would be poignant
enough--but it is not unique.  It is an everyday occurrence in the lives of tens of
thousands of the blind of this country, underlining with grim insistence the need
(yes, the necessity) for the National Federation of the Blind.  The details, reported
in an article published in an Atlantic City newspaper, show once more why we have
organized and what we must do.  Here, as told by the reporter, is the saga of Bill,
whose real name, for obvious reasons, I have not used:

          What happens to a man who suddenly loses the tools he used to measure
     his worth in the world?

          What happens to a man when he turns to those whose very job it is to
     help him, and he is ignored?

          This is what happened to one man.

          On a Saturday morning in the summer of 1988, he woke up blind.

          At once, he denied what was obvious.

          He washed and dressed and picked up the morning paper--a habit as
     fixed as pulling on his pants.  He couldn't read it.  He put it down, said
     nothing, and left the house.

          He drove to the office, slowly, deliberately, guessing at the traffic
     lights he could not see.

          When he arrived at the office, he was alone.  He sat down at his
     computer terminal, and there confronted the cold fact that he could not see
     the copy he was supposed to type.

          Bill started to come undone.

          He had no idea what would happen next.  He had worked as a typesetter
     and computer operator all of his adult life.  What could he do now?

          Bill saw the publisher of the paper.  When he explained to her what
     had happened, she offered him a handshake and two words:  "Good luck."

          The next day, Bill registered for state disability payments.  He would
     receive less than half of his old salary.

          He doesn't sit still well.  Retirement was never part of his life's
     plan.  Work was all.  He needed to regain his workday world.  He needed a
     start.

          It was October when he called and spoke with a receptionist [at the
     New Jersey Commission for the Blind].  She said a representative of the
     commission would get in touch.  Soon afterward a caseworker called to make
     an appointment.

          He arrived full of assurances.

          Bill told him what had happened.  He spoke of his work as a computer
     operator and supplied the caseworker with his medical history.  He also
     spoke of the long and lonely days he had been living through.

          "I told him I was going nuts.  He asked me what I liked to do, and I
     said, 'read--but I can't even do that.'  I told him, 'I need to find a
     job.' 

          "He said, 'You have been paying into the system all of your life, now
     it is time to reap the benefits.'"

          The caseworker was sympathetic.  He said he would provide a cassette
     player for Bill and arrange for him to receive books on tape from the
     library.

          Bill was led to believe that the commission would help him return to
     work.  He was told he would need a medical examination.  He was told the
     commission would pay the doctor's bill and instructed to wait until the
     appropriate forms were assembled.  The caseworker said he would call when
     everything was in place to make the appointment.

          The commission appeared to be a godsend.  Here, Bill thought, was more
     than a promise to help; here was the way back into the world.

          During the weeks that followed that first meeting with the caseworker,
     Bill grew anxious.  He made several calls to the commission's offices. 
     None was returned.

          November turned into December.  Bill had been out of work for more
     than three months, a fact made all the more harsh when he realized that his
     [medical insurance] coverage had been cut off on September 1.

          It was early in December when the caseworker called again with the
     go-ahead to schedule a medical exam.  Bill was told to call back with the
     date arranged so the forms for payment could be forwarded to the doctor. 
     He did, and on December 7, Bill saw his doctor.

          Bill left the doctor and stepped up to the receptionist's desk.  He
     asked her about the forms.  She said they had received no forms.  He paid
     for his visit.  A few days later, the caseworker called to arrange another
     meeting.

          "He was here for maybe ten minutes.  I told him I went to the doctor,
     but they didn't have any forms from the commission so I had to pay for the
     visit.  I showed him the receipt and he said okay.  I expected him to say
     that I would be reimbursed, but he didn't.  He said the commission's doctor
     would review the results of my exam.  I told him I never received the
     cassette player.  He said he would check on that when he got back to the
     office and call me."

          A few weeks later, Christmas arrived looking like just another day. 
     No word from the caseworker.

          In January, 1989, the state disability payments stopped and Bill
     became eligible for Social Security.  His income dropped again.

          He made more phone calls to his caseworker.  None was returned.

          The cold bound him to the house, and it was easy to ride out the day
     on the endless stream of daytime TV.  One day turned into the next, each
     the same, as empty as the slate-gray winter sky.  January eventually became
     February.

          By March, 1989, Bill had been unemployed for more than six months. 
     More than three months had passed since he had heard from his caseworker.

          Phone calls to his caseworker at the commission's office in April were
     never returned.

     [This is a tiny part of what the extensive newspaper article tells us about
Bill's story.  It goes on to say that a friendly newspaper reporter called the
Department of Human Services on Bill's behalf to complain.]

     The next day [the paper continues] Bill got a call from his caseworker.

          When [the commission staff member] arrived at the house, there was no
     mention of his nearly five-month absence, not a word about all of the phone
     calls that were never returned.  Instead, he announced that the commission
     had reviewed the medical exam performed in December, [remember that we are
     now in April] and was now prepared to address the problem.

          In August, Bill was given a series of oral and written examinations by
     a psychologist at the commission's office.  He was told the tests were part
     of the process that would return him to the workplace.

          In September, he received the results of the exams.  He was weak in
     mechanical skills, but sharp in computer-oriented skills.  The psychologist
     noted that he was suffering a lack of self-worth.  He was depressed.

          In October, his caseworker brought him a typewriter.  He should
     refresh his typing skills, he was told.  The caseworker said he had also
     arranged for an instructor to come out to the house to help.

          Bill thought it was an odd gesture.  Had he been waiting a year for a
     typewriter?

          "I was desperate.  I'm sure I sounded like I was begging.  I said to
     him, 'Listen, in the beginning I told you I wanted to work to get out of
     the house, to have something to do.  But now,' I said, 'there isn't any
     money left.  It's a necessity.  I need work.  Any kind of work.'"

          Before the month was out, Bill met the typing instructor, a young
     woman, who is blind, who showed him how a blind person becomes acclimated
     to a keyboard.  But Bill knows the keyboard.  Bill thought the session
     pointless.

          In November, his caseworker called him to the commission's office. 
     [By this time Bill had been blind and out of work for well over a year.]

          And that day, for the first time, there was talk of a job.

          "The caseworker said, 'I'm going to Atlantic City tomorrow to see
     about getting you an appointment at Bally's Grand.'  I said, 'great.'  I
     was ecstatic.  This was just before Thanksgiving.  After the holiday, he
     called to say we had a tentative meeting on Friday.  He would call back
     with a definite time."

          The week faded into the next.  The caseworker never called.  Bill felt
     conned.

     [This is the story of Bill as reported in the press.  Do you know Bill?  Do you
recognize him?  How many of us here in this room find ourselves painfully reflected
in the details?  

     The article goes on to describe a series of telephone calls made by the reporter
to state officials.  Then it continues.] 

          It was now December, 1989.  The client service representative, who is
     blind, and his driver arrived at midday.  He sat down with his laptop
     computer in a chair near the Christmas tree in the living room.  His driver
     sat in the kitchen.  Bill spoke.

          Why were his phone calls never returned?  Why didn't his caseworker
     ever call to say what happened to the interview?  Why didn't he get the
     cassette player?  Why were his hospital bills still not paid?  What was he
     supposed to say to the collection agencies that were now hounding him? 
     Why, after a fifteen-month relationship with the commission, was he no
     better off than the first day he found himself out of work?

          "I never asked you people for a handout," Bill said.  "I asked for
     help.  I need help.  I'm fifty-eight years old and I'm not going to just
     sit around this house waiting to die."

          The client service representative called Bill on December 20.  It was
     a short one-sided conversation.  "The deal with Bally's fell through," he
     said.  "Your caseworker will be in touch with you soon."

          Three weeks later, Bill received a letter from his caseworker dated
     January 16, 1990.  It read in part: "This is to inform you that the
     paperwork is now being generated so the [medical] bills you incurred can be
     paid.  I will be contacting you shortly to discuss your status with the
     commission and other related items."

          In February, Bill received notice that a registered letter had arrived
     for him at the post office.  It was from his caseworker.  The first
     sentence of the letter, dated February 6, read:  "On Wednesday, February
     14, 1990, I will contact you via telephone between 9:00 a.m. and 12:00
     noon."

          Bill was dumbfounded.

          "Who sends a registered letter to a blind man.  I had to get a
     neighbor to drive me down to the post office to get it.  It cost two
     dollars to send it.  For what?  To tell me he would call me?"

          On February 14, the caseworker called at 1:45 p.m. to say he would
     come out to see Bill on Wednesday the 21st.  He would have forms to fill
     out.

          On February 21, the caseworker called to say his secretary had not
     finished typing the forms.  He said he would be out to see Bill the first
     thing the next day.

          On February 22, the caseworker did not show.  He did not call. 
     Dumbfounded was no longer an adequate word to describe Bill's state of mind.

          On February 27, when the caseworker did call, a new date was set for
     the appointment.

          "In all of this time, they couldn't get me even an interview?"  [Bill
     questioned,] "Not one interview?  Is there nothing?  Is this it?  Look at
     me.  I clean the house.  I make lunch at noon.  I start dinner at five. 
     This can't be it.

          "And yet, here I sit.  I'm no better off today than I was the day I
     first called the commission."

          That was eighteen months ago.

     I got Bill's letter last year just after the occurrence of the events I've been
relating to you.  I tried to call him, but I couldn't find a number listed in his
name.  I telephoned the reporter and eventually tracked down the information.  I
spoke with Bill and invited him to join the Federation.  We talked about the work
that blind people are doing all over America.  I asked Bill to believe that there is
more for those who are blind than the papershuffling and dreariness of some of the
agencies for the blind.  There is the spirit of the National Federation of the Blind-
-a spirit that springs from a joint effort to achieve fully productive lives, the
commitment of mutual support, and the enthusiasm of the discovery that blindness need
not mean helplessness or hopelessness.  All of this is a part of the organized blind
movement, our movement, the National Federation of the Blind.  

    How long does it take to extinguish the spark of initiative--to kill the spirit
and crush the dream?  For Bill it takes more than eighteen months.  He has joined our
movement, and he is once again employed as a computer operator.  I suppose I need not
tell you that he found the job without the help of the New Jersey Commission for the
Blind.

     Yet, there are those who tell us that we are harsh and unreasonable in
criticizing some of the governmental and private agencies established to help the
blind.  Let them call us what they will and say what they please.  We have the idea
of freedom; we have the leaders; and we know how to work together and support each
other.  We have reached the kindling point--and we intend to reflect the flame.  

     There was a time when it was accepted that the blind would be on the fringe of
society--a burden to be carried--unproductive, unwanted, shunned.  There were
occasional individuals who fought this common perception, but they were generally
defeated by the force of so-called "common sense."  But then there came together the
essential elements for change.  It cannot happen in a moment, but the process is
thoroughly under way.  Much that is written and thought about blindness is as fraught
with misunderstanding as one could possibly imagine.  The experts in gerontology tell
us that visual acuity and intellectual capacity are linked.  Newspaper editors
declare that blindness, like illiteracy, indicates ignorance and incapacity.  The
weekly news magazines suggest that being blind is almost as bad as suffering from
AIDS or cancer.  The educators in the universities who are supposed to bring
enlightenment to instructors of the blind disseminate the view that we have
difficulty opening a can or pouring water.  The agencies established to provide
service to the blind direct us to wait patiently and reap the benefits of a welfare
check.

     Nevertheless, conditions for the blind in the 1990s are dramatically and
enormously different from those that prevailed fifty years ago.  Despite the litany
of problems I have recited, our prospects are better than they have ever been.  Our
present is more fulfilling.  Our future is more promising.  Blind mathematicians
astonish their colleagues with their innovative solutions to the most difficult
problems.  Despite the laziness and befuddlement of certain segments of the agency
establishment, the tide is turning the other way.  Increasingly the agencies are
working with us, and the momentum is building.  New fields are being entered, new
employment and independence achieved.  And of course, a growing number of agencies
are managed by Federationists and operated with Federation philosophy--with dramatic
results.  Although the literature often contains references which belittle the
capacity of the blind, there are also (and ever more frequently) the positive images-
-and we are not without our own capacity to write.

     A powerful new spirit now moves in the blind of the nation--and also in growing
numbers of the public.  The vital elements for an alteration in the pattern of our
experience have come together in an energetic and forceful mixture.  We in this room
tonight are the force which will propel our movement through the last decade of the
twentieth century and into the one beyond.  We are the components--the leaders from
throughout the country, the rank-and-file members, the new inspiration.  We will make
the difference, for we must.  Our record of achievement during more than half a
century will be remembered with pride, but it is only the prelude.  Each generation
must do for itself and build on the past.  We have learned that lesson well.  We have
learned it from each other and from our own experiences.  In our yearning for
freedom, others can go with us, but we must lead the way.  We have not only reached
but gone beyond the kindling point.  We are the blind who reflect the flame.  No
organization on earth that deals with blindness has the strength, the determination,
or the spirit of the National Federation of the Blind.  My brothers and my sisters,
come!  Remember those who have shown the way, and those who will come after.  We will
believe in each other--and with joy in our hearts, we will go to meet the future! 