DOGS AGAINST DARKNESS
REVISED EDITION
THE STORY OF THE SEEING EYE
By Dickson Hartwell
Dodd Mead & Company - New York 1960
CHAPTER 1
     The explosion was only a small one.  It wasn't even large
enough to break the electric bulb which lighted the workshop in
the rear of his modest drug store.  But it shattered the chemical
apparatus with which he liked to conduct perplexing experiments. 
It also destroyed a few bottles on the shelves - those and the
eyes of the druggist who was interested in chemistry.
     At the hospital when they let him know that further
operations were useless - that he would not see again - he took
it quietly.  Later his wife told him that the little drug store
had to be sold to meet hospital costs and he took that quietly
also.
     When he was brought home, they discussed what they were to
do.  Never charity, they determined.  "I'll do anything but make
baskets or brooms," he said.
     His wife said she'd find something.  Soliciting magazine
subscriptions seemed all there was.  She took it.
     He learned to live "second hand." What he saw came through
the eyes of others.  He saw what they wanted him to see - except
that he learned gradually to sense beauty and ugliness.
     The radio was his library, his newspaper, his theatre, his
controlled and dependable companion.  Sitting in the deep Morris
chair he played it continuously.  The blaring instrument
heightened his wife's nervousness.  She said nothing, but she
grew to hate it.
     The friends who had come often, at first, now appeared less
frequently.  He found they no longer enjoyed taking him to the
store, to the Braille room of the library where he studied, or to
visit other acquaintances.  His wife, busy all day, often worked
after dinner, too, for their bare subsistence from subscription
soliciting.  And to hire a person to guide him would have cost at
least $50 a month, an impossible expense!
     He refused to go about tapping his way inch by inch with a
cane and depending on pedestrians for safe escort at crossings. 
So he stayed more and more in the Morris chair at the radio.
     One day word came that aroused him.  A man with a marvelous
dog was to visit the local association for the blind.  The man
was blind but traveled alone all over the country, in heavy
traffic, on trains, in strange cities, with this educated dog to
guide him. There was a school where these dogs were
scientifically educated, and where blind men and women were
taught to use them.  The dogs enabled them to go out alone -
without human help.  Perhaps he too - but no, it sounded
impossible.
     When the day of the visit came he was no longer eager.  In
his depressed mental state he had convinced himself that nothing
good would ever again happen to him.  Though others might use
such dogs, there would surely be some reason why he could not. 
Such fortune, he thought, could never be his.  But his wife
induced him to go with her.
     He listened to the story of The Seeing Eye as the man told
it - how hundreds of blind men and women in America had already
found freedom through learning to use their shepherd-dog guides,
educated at a philanthropic school called The Seeing Eye, in
Morristown, New Jersey.  He listened attentively while the man
explained how the master, with a mental picture of where he
wanted to go, directed his dog with commands of "right," "left"
or "forward," as it stopped for street crossings.  All he had to
do was to keep track of the number of blocks as they were
traversed.  The master knew how many blocks and in what direction
lay his objective.  If he didn't, he asked.
     Through his fingers he saw the dog and the simple U-shaped
harness through which changes in direction and the stops and
starts of the dog were conveyed to her master.  As he heard of
the ease of going wherever one wanted to, whenever desired, of
the faithful companionship of the dog, of the safety - his
interest returned.  He found himself asking questions with
enthusiasm.  The cost? They said he could pay what he could when
he could, and the total would be only a small fraction of what
The Seeing Eye spent to provide him with freedom.  To feed his
dog would cost about five dollars a month.  He would have to
spend four weeks in Morristown to learn to use her.  She would
have already gone to school for three months learning her part. 
She would have been taught how to stop at curbs and steps until
her master found the edge with his foot or cane, how to lead him
away from low awnings and around obstructions.
     That night he filled out an application.  A few days later
came a courteous reply saying they would let him know.  The days
passed slowly.  He knew he was being investigated to see if a dog
guide would really help him, and to find out whether he was worth
helping.  He worried - and hoped.  He began to take more care of
his appearance.  Perhaps that would help.
     When he went to The Seeing Eye he was surprised that his
bread was not buttered and his food not neatly cut for him. 
There were eight in his class.  Only three had ever shaved alone
before. He knew the idea was to make him independent, to do
things for himself.  But what did they expect of a blind man?
     Still if he didn't try, he might have to go back to a life
of blindness.  He tried.  He found it wasn't so hard.
     When he returned home with his dog he was proud.  He loved
Nancy.  She was beautiful and, so he felt, by far the best in the
class.  And the reporters who interviewed him admired Nancy
openly.  He wanted to show her off to his friends.  The first
week he visited so frequently, he forgot to play the radio once. 
When he did remember, he turned it on just to see if it still
worked.
     He insisted on helping his wife in soliciting magazine
subscriptions.  What could be better? he asked, for Nancy could
lead him to a hundred houses in a day without once letting him
stumble. She did, too, right up to the bell, so all he needed to
do was to reach out and ring it.
     People liked Nancy.  They didn't mind her bringing him to
the door to discuss magazines.  With his buoyant spirits, his new
enthusiasm for life, he found it easy to sell.
     When he wrote The Seeing Eye that he was taking over the
entire magazine business, and that his wife was again a
housewife, he was very proud.  The Seeing Eye was proud, too. 
Particularly so of the last sentence in his letter which read:
     "I don't know how many other blind men there are, but there
must be thousands, for whom some dog like Nancy could do the same
thing that she has done for me.  My appreciation is beyond words
- beyond mine, anyhow - but I, for one, can say that The Seeing
Eye makes possible the first real progress in the emancipation of
the blind since the perfection of Braille.  Braille freed us in
the mental world - you have freed us in the physical.  The
picture is now complete."

     Nancy was a conqueror of darkness.  She was not the first
dog to demonstrate a quality of ability and courage and fidelity
which a few years ago not many men would have believed possible. 
Nor was she by any means the last. Nancy is only typical, a
run-of-the-mill sample of what is happening every day in the
fascinating process of developing dog character and intelligence
into the highest possible form of friendship for mankind.
     Dogs - that is the good ones, those whose sense has not been
bred out of them for physical show points - have lived for
thousands of years with men, asking for no more than an
opportunity to help or serve.  They have found many ways, from
those who centuries ago acted as messengers carrying confidential
information to Chinese traders days in advance of the arrival of
a desert caravan, to the shaggy little sheep dogs on the plains
of central Australia, which feed, water, supervise and protect
flocks worth a fortune.  In those and countless other jobs they
have proved valuable beyond price.
     But it is only in recent years that they have scaled the
topmost heights of service.  Now they make life worth living for
hundreds and potentially for thousands of human beings who live
in perpetual blackout.  They have restored hope where it had
almost ceased to exist; they have nurtured ambition from a
tentative, hesitant maybe into a forthright and consuming desire
to get ahead.  They have lifted men - indeed, whole families -
from poverty, from existing on the bounty of their neighbors, and
made of them self-respecting, economically independent,
tax-paying citizens. Can the friend of any man do more for him?
     This job these dogs have done.  But they have not done it
alone.  Back of every dog which enters this highly specialized
career are many years of experience, years of trial, of error and
improvement.  Back of the dog also is costly toil requiring great
and exacting care; several hundred thousand dollars spent in
painstaking research to measure a dog's capacity, to develop
methods of instruction through which it could be taught quickly
and thoroughly; an exhaustive breeding program to develop
bloodlines of intelligence which would produce ever greater
teachability.  These are the things man has contributed to bring
the dog to this high estate.  These are the things provided by
The Seeing Eye.
     There have been not a few but literally thousands of persons
the sum of whose efforts is represented in The Seeing Eye.  Some
of them - Alexander Woollcott, Booth Tarkington, and Helen Hayes
- are widely known.  Some, among them a former Queen of the
Belgians, are of royal blood.  Many are like a gray-haired little
lady in Oregon and a stenographer in Philadelphia who deprive
themselves of some comfort so that they may contribute their
annual five dollars and thus have a share in its development. 
Among those who helped to build it are a scientist who
sidetracked his regular work for weeks to devote all his efforts
to special research; a woman who anonymously donated $50,000 at a
critical moment so that certain essential studies might be
carried on; a busy business executive who put aside pressing
matters to listen politely, at first, to a problem which was so
fascinating that, finally becoming involved in the intricacies,
he worked it out himself.
     But of all those who have made a minor or a valuable
contribution to the advancement of this great work there are four
on whom the bulk of all responsibility for its success must rest.

These are the people who built The Seeing Eye.  Three men and one
woman, as different from one another in temperament, taste and
background as it is possible for four people to be.  One of them
filled to overflowing with vision and determination; another a
self-taught genius; the third a hot-tempered young rebel with
real courage needled by the frustration of blindness which
angered him rather than made him docile; the last a shy, lovable,
little gentleman, dogged in his conservatism, wary of everyone
and everything which might affect The Seeing Eye until thrice
tested and proved sound.
     Mark well these four by name, Dorothy Eustis, Elliott
Humphrey, Morris Frank and Willi Ebeling.  Brought together by
chance no fiction would dare invent, their partnership has been
held firm by the one thing common to all of them, a deep and
passionate devotion to the scientific development of dogs as
guides for the blind.  They pioneered The Seeing Eye.  They
helped it survive all manner of tribulations, including growing
pains and their own mistakes, until today it is so firmly
established and smoothly functioning that it could continue to
operate without any one of them or all of them.  Far from being
chagrined by this fact it has been to them a real measure of
their success.  Only after that point was reached would they
admit even to themselves that theirs had been a job well done.
     But when the record of contemporary humanities is woven into
history, the story of these four will be a part of the cloth.
     Biographies are most readily written of people who have long
since passed on.  Though the reader is less apt to have an
immediate interest in the subject, the biographer is then
restricted in his writing only by the horizons of fact and his
own conscience.  He need not concern himself with keeping inside
the narrow limits of one person's excessive modesty or of
reaching out to the four corners of another's expanded ego.  He
need not hesitate to turn over a stone in trepidation over what
he may find underneath; rather he does so with the zest of a
schoolboy seeking a clue on a treasure hunt.
     In writing of his contemporaries, the biographer lacks the
guiding judgment of time.  A function of time is to bury, to
obliterate from man's sight and memory what is past.  And what
resists burial, whether through accident or merit, becomes
important, if sometimes dull, and children are thenceforth goaded
into learning about it.
     It is doubtful if children will ever be burdened heavily
with study of the lives of Dorothy Eustis, Elliott Humphrey,
Morris Frank or Willi Ebeling.  There is no way of foretelling
how time will deal with them.  None of them is now listed in
Who's Who in America and that traditional path to comparative
immortality may not be opened to them.  One of them is named on a
small tablet presented to The Seeing Eye by a hundred or so
people in gratitude and esteem.  All are reasonably well known to
contemporary journalists.  But none of them seems much concerned
with himself in relation to posterity.  Their discussions,
debates and all-out self-criticism have been almost entirely
concerned with the theme "How good a job are we doing, now?"
     They will live though, these four.  They will live
regardless of whether they are mentioned in the required texts on
history, biography or social science.  For they have brought the
priceless gift of freedom to hundreds, and soon it will be
thousands, of men and women who daily offer them a silent prayer
of thanks.  They will live in the hearts of men - blind men.
     Dorothy Eustis supplied the vision, and most of the funds
and energizing force that made The Seeing Eye possible.  For
nearly two decades she remained eager and confident in the face
of all obstacles, setting her faith and determination against all
who said it couldn't be done.  Her horizon was never within a
day's journey; when she approached one goal she raised her sights
and took new aim, for hers was that rare and priceless quality of
perception.
     When in 1933 the conservative University of Pennsylvania
recognized her work by conferring on her the degree Master of
Science, it was perhaps unaware of just how great her
achievements were.  Again, when the august National Institute of
Social Science, in 1936, awarded her its coveted gold medal for
"Distinguished service to humanity," the full extent of this
service was still unrealized.
     Dorothy Eustis can ask a thousand questions and, more 
important, listen to the answers and make use of them.  This is
the woman who enrolled an officer and eight men of the Swiss Army
in a training course to teach them to use shepherd dogs in their
communications work, and who faced her skeptical students early
the first morning without a tremor though she had never in her
life taught anyone how to work with such a dog.  And she did the
job so well that for two years her messenger-dog service was the
only Army communications unit operating successfully during
maneuvers.
     This, too, is the woman who calmly accepted the
responsibility for taking a blind lad five thousand miles from
Tennessee, to her dog breeding and experimental station in
Switzerland, offering to teach him to use a dog as a guide, a
work which had never been done at her station before.  It was
she, too, who blandly undertook to provide, for the Swiss
Customs, a border patrol service, a police dog service for the
local government which enabled one Swiss gendarme to do the work
of three.  And it was Dorothy Eustis who had the real courage it
took to stop abruptly twelve years of work on a biologically
important program for building dog intelligence, when she saw
that its continuance might hamper the full and rapid development
of the humanitarian work of The Seeing Eye.  Courage,
determination and vision are a mountain-moving combination.  If
Dorothy Eustis had not had them there never would have been a
Seeing Eye.
     But behind these attributes there was something else,
something perhaps, that made them possible.  It is a simple
philosophy - a tenet which is not original with Mrs. Eustis but
one she holds with an unshakable conviction.  It is simply this:
What is right will triumph; nothing wrong can harm what is good.
Living by that rule has made the complications of life easier for
Mrs. Eustis but it hasn't made them any less interesting.
     Dorothy Eustis is the product of an old Philadelphia family
which is known both for resolution and distinguished, if
intrepid, endeavor.  Her father was Charles Custis Harrison,
one-time provost of the University of Pennsylvania.  One brother
won renown as a horseman; another as a big game hunter.  A son
has built up a splendid career in mountaineering and geographical
research, having reached in the interest of science several of
the highest peaks in the world, on several occasions making a
first ascent.
     In the main hall of The Seeing Eye at Morristown there hangs
a portrait of Dorothy Eustis painted when she was six years old. 
Those who are interested in the possibilities of judging the
future of a child by reading the character of the face and eyes
would do well to study this portrait in the light of her
achievement.  For there revealed, as if by some medieval
necromancer, is the promise of what was to come.  The gay,
humorful twinkle of eye, the ever-so-slight turn-up of a button
nose, the firm mouth and determined chin, camouflaged but not
modified by an engaging dimple, may not have foretold the nature
of her future endeavor but they certainly indicated that
something was going to happen.  It is not unlikely to suppose
that when the artist, John Lambert, laid down his brush and
pallet and stepped back to survey his completed work, he may have
said to himself, "There's one who will get things done."

     Elliott S. Humphrey has a mind that absorbs information like
blotting paper, built into a body of tremendous physical stamina
and urged on by an intense curiosity about what makes things
happen.  With an almost photographic memory and an unusually
developed capacity for intelligent improvisation, Humphrey will
accept a challenge more quickly than a certified check, and never
rest until he has proved to himself that he is right.  He has won
the admiration of renowned academic scientists. When among
friends he is constantly bringing forth startling bits of
extraneous information on divers genetical topics with a
frankness which in mixed company is sometimes appalling but never
dull.  Because of his talent Humphrey was able to create a system
for the education of dogs and blind people satisfactory for the
particular requirements of America after only the most limited
opportunity of observation of the system developed for Germany -
a system considered not wholly suitable for the United States. 
Jack Humphrey is able to put two and two together and produce an
entire multiplication table.
     There are hundreds of people who know the name Jack Humphrey
who never have heard of Elliott S. Humphrey. He uses his given
name for checks and more or less official papers but his nickname
is more in keeping with his storybook background.  He was born
and reared in New York State, in the town of Saratoga Springs,
where for one month of each year there is more concentrated talk
about horses and more good-running horse flesh than in any other
place of equal size in the world.  Annual exposure to this very
horsy atmosphere served to heighten an unusual interest in
animals which became clearly evident in the first letter he ever
wrote, at the age of ten.  This letter, to his mother, has
nineteen brief sentences and animals are mentioned or referred to
in more than half of them.
     As a youngster, Jack Humphrey never startled the
somnambulant natives of Saratoga with his skill with horses, or
with any other animals, though later he was destined to be the
first and presumably the last person to perform after three
months of constant work what to animal trainers is the
unbelievable feat of teaching a camel to walk backwards.  But it
is not unlikely that Humphrey failed to find the proper
stimulation in the atmosphere of Saratoga Springs which, outside
of the turbulent August racing season, sits peacefully cloistered
in its own restraint.
     At any rate, with high school behind him, young Jack set
forth for the West with twenty-five dollars, an inquisitive mind
and eagerness for whatever might turn up.  Practically everything
did.  In the space of a few crowded years he had herded cattle
and wrangled horses on most of the major ranges from Montana to
Arizona and had served with distinction as a barker on an
excursion trolley route outside of Los Angeles.  For the
edification of tourists at Catalina Island he joined others in
diving for and retrieving from the ocean floor beautiful abalone
shells planted there the night before.
     He had worked as a livestock reporter for the Capper
Publications, the great livestock and farm papers covering the
Central States, and had trained animals, including lions. tigers
and the obstinate camel, all destined for more or less successful
exploitation.
     When the United States entered the first World War, Humphrey
found himself breaking sometimes wild and always recalcitrant
horses for the Army remount service, but when the war ended he
had his first real opportunity to breed and train animals under
conditions somewhat to his own liking.  He was selected for the
post of manager of a large stable of Arab horses in New England
and for several years devoted himself to building up its quality.
     The stamina of Arab horses had been questioned and pointed
out as not being up to the grueling task of the Mounted Service
300-mile endurance race.  To prove that it could be done Jack not
only trained Arabs for the race but rode the race three times and
won it once - on an Arab! When the cup had been won permanently
by three Arab victories another change was in the offing.
     While on this work some of his early and continuous interest
in dogs began to bear fruit.  He had once owned a registered
German shepherd bitch which was the beginning of a strain of dogs
that made up part of the pack selected by Admiral Byrd for an
Antarctic expedition.  Inquisitive to his fingertips, Jack began
tracing the characteristics of this strain and after considerable
study published his findings in a series of articles in the
authoritative Shepherd Dog Review.  It was more than a
coincidence that Dorothy Eustis in Switzerland saw these
articles.  She was then reading eagerly everything that was
written on the breeding and characteristics of the shepherd dog. 
With her husband George Eustis she had already made the first
tentative beginnings of her famed "Fortunate Fields" program. 
And for the time being she was stumped.
     It wasn't long before Humphrey received a letter from her
asking a hundred what-shall-I-do-now questions.  It wasn't long
after that, that Humphrey had joined her in Switzerland, and the
potent magnet of a job that needed doing had drawn together two
of the four who were to build up The Seeing Eye.

     It was a magazine article that brought in the third member
of this group - an article published in The Saturday Evening Post
and written by Dorothy Eustis, fairly bubbling with excitement
over a new discovery she had made, a marvelous, breath-taking,
imagination-stimulating job which dogs were doing in Potsdam and
other German cities in serving mankind. Maybe it was just chance
that an enterprising little Post salesman, one who had studied
his product, happened to see blind, nineteen-year-old Morris
Frank, being led home from his insurance office one November
evening in 1927. But he saw the man and he knew the Post had an
article about blind people and dogs which guided them.  So he
rushed over, nose in the wind for a sale and shouted, "Hey,
Mister, buy a Post.  There's a story in it you ought to read -
about people like you."
     And Morris bought the Post - out of curiosity or self-
defense, he doesn't know which - and took it home with him. 
Later - much later - someone came to see him and Morris wearied
by conversation asked to have the article read to him.  It
sharpened him up quickly enough.  Morris could not see the
photographs illustrating the piece, but there was nothing wrong
with his imagination, spiced by the vivid verbal description read
to him.  Scores - even hundreds - of blind veterans of the World
War were at that moment going about big European cities, safely
guided by shepherd dogs so well educated that these men could
even travel on trains and buses unaided, could go from city to
city almost as well as a person who could see.
     When the reader stopped at the end of the story Morris was
on the edge of his chair, demanding, "What's the title of that,
and who wrote it?"
     "The author is somebody by the name of Dorothy Harrison
Eustis.  She calls it 'The Seeing Eye.' H'mm, I wonder what that
means?"
     And well he might.
     Among the Post's two million readers there must have been
many who read to blind friends that message of inspiration and
hope.  But Morris Frank was the only one who reacted instantly.
He sat down and dictated a letter to the author.  He said he
would like to try out such a guide dog as she described - perhaps
something could be done to provide such animals for blind people
in America.  Was it true? Morris asked, with a wondering
characteristic of the sightless.  Or just a fake? And if it was
true, where? And how? And what should he do?
     And the letter, dispatched to a person Morris really
believed was a highly imaginative journalist, was the first link
in a chain of events that was soon to land him in Switzerland,
plunging him into the Humphrey-Eustis combination which was by
then already functioning effectively.
     At nineteen Morris was not a follower of the kindly ways of
his humanitarian mother who, though also blind, was working to
help others similarly affected.  Morris was trying to offset his
handicap by cockiness. His self-assurance, given over-exaggerated
expression, had already built up for him a not unsuccessful
insurance business.  He rebelled violently against blindness
which for three years had mercilessly constricted him. He
rebelled against learning to read Braille, against the kindness
of friends and acquaintances, against continuing his studies at
Vanderbilt University, against anything routine.  For him a life
according to pattern or formula was anathema.
     Even the adventure of his moderate success in selling
insurance had begun to pall on him.  His lashing out against the
world - his world - was an integral part of the circumstances
that caused him out of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of other
equally ambitious blind people, to write to Mrs. Eustis and ask
how he could help bring dog guides to America.  More than once
progress has been initiated by a turbulent spirit.  A spirit of
rebellion helped to start The Seeing Eye.

     It was some time later that the magnet which brought
together Dorothy Eustis, Jack Humphrey and Morris Frank, began
its irresistible pull on Willi Ebeling.
     One day in 1918 Mr. Ebeling turned over his profitable
Latin-American importing business to his associates and retreated
to his beautiful Lake Openaka home in New Jersey to enjoy the
results of his life of hard work in pleasant and contemplative
semi-retirement as a farmer.  In a few years he dropped any
attempt at serious farming because of the difficulty of getting
help at harvest time.  He found himself with a private lake,
extensive woodlands, and buildings which could be converted into
spacious kennels.  He decided to pursue the engrossing avocation
of raisin and showing German shepherds.
     In the pursuit of this pleasurable interest, he attended a
lecture in Boston on certain obscure and technical aspects of the
science of shepherd dog breeding.  The speaker was a man who had
begun to command respect from students of breeding principles. 
His name was Elliott Humphrey.  Ebeling and Humphrey met, as was
inevitable, and a short time later Jack Humphrey was enjoying the
gracious hospitality at Lake Openaka.  Before he left, the two
were fast friends.
     Even so, Mr. Ebeling's life proceeded according to his
pleasant plans until he found himself one sultry day in 1929 in
Nashville, Tennessee, where Jack Humphrey was working with
several educated dogs he had brought over from Switzerland.  He
was putting the finishing touches on their course of instruction
for a group of blind persons who were coming to Nashville to
learn to use them.
     Mr. Ebeling wanted to learn something of the training
technique and for days and weeks he doggedly and often wearily
followed in Humphrey's indefatigable footsteps in the oppressive
heat, absorbing details as to methods which were being developed
to meet the requirements of American temperaments and traffic. By
the time he had learned what Humphrey could teach him he was
hooked.  The Seeing Eye, too young even to have its eyes open,
had acquired a business man who could serve as a check on untamed
ideas, and against impulsiveness - a Samaritan who would work all
day and half the night to straighten out everybody else's
problems.  That was Willi Ebeling.
     These are the persons - the four among hundreds - who have
played a vital part in the creation of this story of dogs against
darkness.  Today, through their efforts, and those of people who
have aided them, The Seeing Eye is an accepted organization
permanently woven into the fabric of the social and economic life
of America.  It is difficult to believe that only a few years
back the seeds for this amazing school had not even been sown. 
Hardly two decades ago Dorothy Eustis was just beginning to break
through the outer crust of soil hard baked through centuries of
ignorance.

     CHAPTER 2
     Before Dorothy Eustis took the first tentative step toward
what was to become the great and happily named "Fortunate Fields"
experiment, she had owned, at her Adirondack foothills home in
Hoosick Falls, New York, a shepherd dog named Hans.  Looking at
Hans through ordinary eyes, most people might have thought him a
typically handsome dog who minded his own business to an unusual
degree and who never jumped up on even the most attractive
visitors or attempted to climb into their laps.
     But the eyes of Dorothy Eustis were not ordinary. They had
watched Hans day-in and day-out for almost ten years, and to
their trained and understanding discernment Hans revealed himself
as an animal of a sagacity and fidelity most remarkable.  Dorothy
Eustis had known some of these qualities to be occasionally
present in other dogs she had seen.  Such simple dog reactions as
hunger or loneliness produce interesting, if temporary, examples
of sagacious wisdom and loyalty.  But Hans was no fair-weather
friend ready with a hand lick at meal time.  Nor was he a
weakling who dropped his tail and took offense when scolded
without good reason.  He had wit and gaiety, intelligence and
perception and the good taste to match his mood to that of his
mistress.
     Mrs. Eustis knew that Hans was one of a particular type of
German shepherds working type.  He contrasted sharply with the
imported and widely publicized trigger-nerved, police-trained
variety, and even more so with the beauteous but somewhat
dimwitted shepherds that were bred only for the show ring.
     Mrs. Eustis asked herself over and over again why Hans was
as he was.  Why should he be as quick of mind as the keenest dogs
she had ever known and yet have a disposition which though never
phlegmatic was also never immoderate? Could the qualities of
Hans, doubtless present in others of his type, be developed in
many dogs by special selective breeding? Could his amazing
ability to learn things be somewhat standardized and further
brought out in a strain of animals produced from that same stock?
Could his never-ending joy in doing a job be made equally
responsive to a formalized educational process which would fit
dogs to hold positions of real responsibility in serving mankind?
     These were questions which interested Mrs. Eustis.  In
Switzerland, at her home Fortunate Fields, she finally set her
little jaw in determination and decided to find out the answers. 
She talked with her husband, George Eustis, about it. Yes, he had
known dogs like Hans, a rare experience. Why shouldn't they try
to breed a few of that type? Certainly the world could use more
of them.  Why not have a shot at it? Together they began
rearranging the life of their mountain home to admit an unknown
number of dogs.
     Had Dorothy Eustis known what the quantity was to be, she
might have been dismayed at the extent of the job she was cutting
out for herself.  For she was not to work with merely a few score
or even a hundred dogs in the course of the study.  By the time
it was finished, more than seven hundred and fifty puppies and
dogs came under scrutiny, study and development in this effort to
breed teachable animals, an effort which was later named
"Fortunate Fields." And by the time Fortunate Fields' offshoot,
The Seeing Eye, was as old as its parent, more than one thousand
more dogs were to receive instruction.
     The first months of the experiment were fun.  It provided
the thrill of a voyage of discovery in uncharted seas.  With her
husband, Dorothy Eustis set forth on a dog-interviewing
expedition in the nearby farming areas of Switzerland and
Germany.  They talked with men whose families had owned working
shepherds for generations, who could tell a good dog the way a
cowboy picks a top horse, "by the look of him." They met a
small-town tax collector who loved and judged shepherds with the
cultivated appreciation of fine distinction found in a
connoisseur of vintage wines.  They met long and lean shepherds
and short and stubby ones and took notes on them.  Some had the
slight droop of body and head that often marked a casual
workmanlike efficiency.  Others were as ready as cocked pistols. 
They observed the lean flat ribs of the best trotting dogs.  They
invaded a remote and lonely sheep pasture where no other visitors
had been for months and watched with silent admiration as a
sheep-herding dog, with no word or instruction from its master,
folded in a flock of hundreds.  They wanted to shout "Bravo" when
the last ewe was in the enclosure and the little animal reported
with wagging tail that all was well and the rally correct.
     Every day they learned something about dogs.  They piled up
bits of miscellaneous information and misinformation
indiscriminately, absorbing, digesting, regurgitating but never
ceasing.  Over the Christmas holidays of 1923 they invited a
well-known trainer of police dogs to come to Fortunate Fields for
a visit.  They wanted to know something of his technique of
handling dogs.  How much could they learn in a fortnight? Would
he please teach them a great deal?
     They were lucky.  They learned one fundamental principle. 
It was a simple thing, but hundreds of thousands of amateur dog
owners never learn it merely from observation.  It was this:
Always make it pleasant for your dog to be with you and he will
invariably come at your call.  Their instructor - guest
illustrated and proved his point in three brief lessons.  They
went walking together along a country road with a young dog.  The
instructor carried a short length of light chain.  There were
several farms nearby and there would be chickens about.  The dog
was to be broken of chicken chasing.
     "Now," the instructor told them, "so we can understand the
dog's point of view let us translate the verb 'to golf' which is
a man's sport, into the verb 'to chicken' which is a comparable
sport for dogs.  When this dog spies a chicken at a distance he
will be entranced with the prospect of a long drive.  When one is
nearby he will think in terms of a short but exceedingly accurate
putt." 
     It made sense.
     "Watch the dog and soon you will see a chicken."
     In a moment the dog's ears went forward and its body
followed them like a streak.  Immediately the instructor tossed
the light chain into the back of the pup's rapidly moving hind
legs.  There was a yip - not of pain but of surprise - as the dog
turned quickly around to see what had happened.  At that moment
the instructor called it by name.  "Come," he said.  There was no
reproach, no excitement, just a simple affirmative command.  The
chicken momentarily forgotten, the dog trotted to its master and
received some affectionate pats and caressing words.
     "He will remember his chicken game in a moment," the
instructor said.  "Shortly he will discover another hen and the
process will be repeated.  Then he will associate the discomfort
in his legs with his game 'to chicken' and come back again to me
for a word of reassurance.  By the third time we do it he will be
convinced that something unpleasant happens when he takes off for
a chicken.  He will blame it on the chicken, not on the master.
It will no longer be fun to play that game.  It will be more fun
to be with me."
     And that is precisely what happened.  By the time their walk
was over the dog was chicken-proof.
     After the first months of adventurous exploration the wheat
began to sift out from the chaff.  The trend of things to come
began to take shape when Elliott Humphrey's authoritative writing
in the Shepherd Dog Review resulted in his being induced to come
to Switzerland to direct the Fortunate Fields' breeding work.
Interesting but unrelated activity was gradually dropped,
schedules were more used and less talked about, records were
begun and Fortunate Fields started to take on the characteristics
of the intense but nonetheless precise activity for which it
later became noted.  For it apparently was Humphrey's conviction
that every time a dog barked on Mont Pelerin somebody had to have
an idea.  Nobody kept an exact count but among the numerous
guests and visitors there were not a few people who got
temporarily mixed up in that maelstrom of activity - only to
retire worn and panting at the first opportunity - who maintain
that if the dog barks were incessant so were the ideas.  And from
the way they say it one infers that of the two the former was
sometimes to be desired. "Dog barks are very much alike and you
get used to them," they say.  "But," they add, glowering
significantly at Humphrey, every idea is different and some of
them are intolerable." Intolerable or not the procedure kept on
for ten years.
     The principal object of Fortunate Fields as it gradually
evolved was to produce by selective breeding a superior strain of
dogs especially equipped mentally and physically to profit from
instruction. These dogs were not to be sold to well-to-do
fanciers. They were not destined to join the ranks of their
millions of unemployed and therefore unhappy cousins.  They were
to go to work with men, as every dog worthy of the name wishes in
his canine heart to do.  They were to show the way to others; to
prove what could be done.  They were to learn a trade at
Fortunate Fields and thereafter work at that trade until they
reached the age of retirement.  Slowly Fortunate Fields developed
into an establishment where dogs were scientifically bred and
selected for capacity and then taught to use that ability.  The
project is the only one of its kind ever undertaken.
     But Fortunate Fields had other objectives as well.  One of
the most important of these was to improve methods of educating
dogs.  To this end, techniques were constantly tested and the
effectiveness of one measured against another. Those which proved
successful were gradually introduced into the regular teaching
program.  A secondary but not unimportant consideration of the
program was to produce animals which were structurally beautiful.

This was never attempted at the expense of teachability or with
any modification of the physique which made them efficient
workers.  Fortunate Fields aimed to produce a super-dog of a
working type, one which would have not only the necessary
physical attributes but would also be temperamentally suited to
the various services in which it could be effective in aiding
man.
     As part of its program, Fortunate Fields also aimed to
discover new ways for dogs to serve.  This, it developed,
consisted mainly of refining the workmanship of the animal to the
point where it would not only now and then be able to fill a
special job but where, by selective breeding and standardized
instruction, it would be possible to produce an entire strain of
dogs capable of doing specialized work.  Fortunate Fields
recognized that new services for dogs would be opened up only if
there were a sufficient number of capable animals available to
fill the demand which might be created.
     It was early discovered that the dog had to be taught its
lessons and to learn them thoroughly before the man it was
eventually to serve learned how to make use of it.  Besides other
things, this meant - within the limitations of teaching
individuals - the development of a standardized instruction
technique for men as well as for the dogs themselves.  It meant
also the complete elimination of all temporizing in the rating of
dog ability because of frequently occurring ineptitudes.  This
was of much greater importance than at first realized for it
meant that from the beginning Fortunate Fields judged the ability
of its dogs according to the standards set for a theoretical but
nonetheless super-animal which it wished to develop.  When a dog
wasn't up to par no consideration was given to hopeful
anticipation that an unusual master would fortuitously come along
to make up for this deficiency present in the dog.  The dog was
brought up to standard or weeded out.
     One of the first steps taken by the methodical Jack Humphrey
when he arrived at Fortunate Fields to take over the breeding was
the definition of the theoretical super-dog which Fortunate
Fields intended to produce.  The definition involved an original
and detailed analysis of every aspect of a dog's structure.
     Altogether, thirty-two points in the build of a dog were
finally agreed upon as being important.  Some of these were
merely desirable, but most of them were set up as essential. 
There was, for example, the important consideration of
expression.  It was essential that a dog's face and head express
strength and alertness without being stern or aggressive.  The
hind feet had to be strong.  The dog's fur had to be thick and
with a double coat which would provide sure protection in rain or
snow.  The ribs had to allow for chest expansion and yet not be
so rounded that they would interfere with a gait that would be an
effortless floating trot.
     The complete tabulation of structural characteristics covers
several pages with somewhat technical language printed in small
type discouraging to human eyes not stimulated by the scientific
urge.  Every dog developed at Fortunate Fields was measured by
this unvarying standard.  When the experiment started only about
two out of five mature working type shepherds proved to be
teachable.  When Fortunate Fields' work was ended, 96 per cent of
its mature dogs were teachable according to the highest
standards.
     After the qualities of the super-dog were agreed upon the
types of work available were investigated.  Two classes of what
was called "Police service" were developed at Fortunate Fields. 
One of these was a "criminal" service, in which the dog was on
constant patrol work accompanied by a policeman-master over a
regular or varying beat.  The second of these was a "civil"
service, in which the dog was principally employed in finding
lost objects or persons. This work, trailing, probably calls for
the greatest degree of specialization ever required of a dog. 
Its value can be almost immeasurable.
     Three distinct dog-types were needed in Army service.  One
was the Red Cross dog.  Its job was to explore a battlefield and
report to its Red Cross station the location of all wounded.  The
second service was that of the communication dog whose function
would be to carry messages between cooperating Army units and
thereby supplement soldier messengers.  A dog, it was believed,
would carry a message with much greater speed and safety than a
human bearer and with no less accuracy.  This contention was
later proved correct when, after two successive years of
intensive field maneuvers by the Swiss Army, the Fortunate Fields
unit was the only communications division which did not break
down.
     The function of the military patrol dog, the third type, was
to supplement soldiers on guard or sentry duty.  This service is
an adaptation of police patrol. Because a dog can hear sounds
which the human ear cannot - and because of its sense of smell -
the patrol dogs greatly increased the effectiveness of their
guard masters on duty near "enemy territory." By keeping his left
hand under the throat of the dog the guard learned the moment its
suspicions were aroused.  The dog growled noiselessly, creating a
vibration in its throat which instantly communicated to its
master as effective a message as that which would be contained in
a loud warning bark.
     There were variations of some of these services.  The
techniques developed for the criminal patrol service were adopted
for special patrol dogs for penitentiaries, and the methods
worked out for military patrol were easily revised to train dogs
capable of apprehending smugglers who attempted to evade the
Swiss Customs guards.
     Fortunate Fields dogs were not, as some people have
believed, the product of a super-institutionalized upbringing. 
They did not receive expert or special handling of any kind until
the time came for them to begin serious and intensive courses of
study.  Each of the puppies born at the breeding station remained
there with its mother only until it was old enough to fend for
itself.  Then it was boarded out to a Swiss farmer who was paid a
small sum for raising it as a member of the family, until at
about fourteen months of age it was full grown.  Thus these
puppies were brought up in a normal family atmosphere and treated
as companions and pets, just as any other dog would be, until
they started to school.
     No Fortunate Fields dog was typical of all the others any
more than any person is the average of all other people.  But
there were certain underlying qualities the combination of which
distinguished dogs produced by Fortunate Fields from many other
shepherds.  It wasn't that they were necessarily more
intelligent,
though doubtless to some degree most of them were, nor was it
that they were invariably more beautiful by all the show ring
standards, though they were certainly excellent, and some of them
won first prizes; there were many other contemporary shepherds
whose show points excited greater interest.  But they combined 
beauty and intelligence to an unusual degree.
     One thing that particularly marked them was alertness.  In
every group of people some are noticeably keener than the others.
The same is true of dogs.  In a mixed group of shepherds the dogs
which stood out because they were alert and keen and interested
were sure to include most of the Fortunate Fields dogs present.
Then, too, they had a certain characteristic gaiety.  Not that
some of them weren't serious.  They were.  But even the most
imperturbable of them were capable of humor at times.  And the
most of them, when lessons were over, demonstrated a constant
buoyancy of spirit which expressed the joy of living.
     They had another quality which was remarkable not because
it was present in some of them but because it was characteristic
of them all.  It is found in many individuals but it is almost
never part of a strain.  That quality was willingness, the desire
to please, to serve, to keep trying something after all the fun
has gone out of it.  Dogs which don't have it cannot be taught to
do things voluntarily and really well.  The fact that it was
produced with such regularity at Fortunate Fields made possible
the success of the experiment.
     Add up these qualities: good looks, a remarkable
intelligence, alertness, a keen inquisitiveness, a gay
disposition and a willingness to try anything and to keep trying
it, and the mold of a Fortunate Fields dog becomes truly unusual.

Add to them the normal dog qualities of loyalty, integrity,
affectionate companionship and unshakable devotion and it is not
difficult to see how Mrs. Eustis and those who worked with her
became convinced that the only limit to a dog's ability to serve
mankind was that of man's own ability to teach the animal what it
needed to know.
     Almost the first official recognition Fortunate Fields
received was in 1926 when the head of the Swiss State Police, in
the Canton de Vaud, asked Mrs. Eustis whether she could provide
him with some dogs trained to supplement the efforts of his
policemen. The official invited Mrs. Eustis to his office and
bluntly demanded to know what she could do to improve the
service.
     "This is not a game," he warned her, "my men frequently deal
with desperate characters."
     This was the kind of language Mrs. Eustis wanted to hear.
She knew what Fortunate Fields could do in educating dogs for
police patrol.
     "You can count your force already increased," she told him.
"A policeman who knows how to use a properly educated dog is
counted as two and one half effectives."
     The official looked at Mrs. Eustis incredulously.  "And how
is that?" he asked.
     "Two of your men patrolling together only duplicate one
another.  A dog complements his master.  Merely by using its ears
and nose, it can warn of a danger and forestall any surprise.
Then, too, if a policeman fires his pistol to make an arrest of
an innocent man the damage can't be undone.  But if he 'shoots'
with his dog there is no damage."
     A gleam of light appeared in the official's eye.
     "If one of your men is attacked," she went on, "a dog
immediately becomes a new and unpredictable weapon.  Criminals
aren't afraid of guns - they know how to use them.  But they
don't know anything about what police dogs can do.  And," she
added tellingly, "if the criminal flees, a dog can follow where a
bullet cannot."
     "That is what I am looking for.  Tell me some more."
     Mrs. Eustis described an incident which had occurred a short
time previously in Berlin.  A powerful gang leader had been
tracked down.  The police cornered him at night in one of the
toughest sections of the city.  He had sworn that if ever he was
trapped, he wouldn't be taken even by police foolhardy enough to
go after him.  In his end of town his henchmen were known to be
ready to rally to his support, and the police were tipped off
that if they tried to arrest him, a desperate fight was certain.
They learned that his plan was to let himself be arrested, but
that his gang would force his rescue at a dimly lighted
intersection where three narrow streets converged.  It would be
impossible for the arresting party to avoid crossing this
intersection.
     Four policemen with dogs went after the criminal.  He
submitted meekly to arrest.  Placing him in the middle they
formed a square and marched off to the station house.  As they
entered the intersection over a score of men suddenly appeared
from the shadows.  One of them yelled a signal and en masse they
rushed at the party.
     The dogs steadied immediately to meet the onslaught.  Two
policemen held the prisoner to prevent his escape.  But in a
minute the affair was over.  There was no attack.  Not a shot was
fired.  Though they were not afraid of four armed policemen, the
gangsters had been afraid of the dogs.
     The official looked incredulous.  "Very interesting," he
said, "but quite possibly an isolated case."
     "Let me tell you another story which also happened in
Berlin," Mrs. Eustis persisted.
     Two policemen were patrolling with their dogs in the
tenderloin section of the city one night when they heard sounds
of an appalling row from a saloon across the street.  One of the
men turned his dog over to his companion and went inside to
investigate.  As he went through the door, someone hit him and
knocked him out.  The second policeman, after a minute, pushed
himself in with the two dogs.  The first thing he saw was his
unconscious colleague lying under a table near the door.  The
rest of the room was bedlam! Two-score men were fighting one
another in a brawl which appeared certain to destroy at least
half of them.
     Without a moment's hesitation, the policeman gave his dogs
the attack command and left to turn in a riot call and, as an
afterthought, a request for an ambulance.  To the dogs his
command was an order to bring every man in the room under guarded
control.  They went at it with calm efficiency.  By the time the
policeman got back to the saloon, order was practically restored.

When the riot squad arrived, he was busy reviving his colleague. 
The dogs without any assistance whatever had lined every man in
the room against the opposite wall. All the fight had gone out of
them.
     The official was obviously impressed by Mrs. Eustis's story.

"That is enough," he said.  "Let's do something like that for the
Canton de Vaud."
     When the selected policemen arrived at Fortunate Fields for
their course with their dogs, it was obvious that they
anticipated some sort of a pleasant holiday in the invigorating
air on Mont Pelerin.  They were quickly disabused. Eight hours
work a day in addition to kennel routine went on week after week.
Their initial grumbling at the severity of the discipline soon
gave way to high appreciation of the excellence of the dogs and
their own developing proficiency in using them.
     Daily they went through the exacting routine of obedience
work.  Obedience is the keynote of police dog training.  They
learned what most people have yet to learn - a shepherd dog is
adaptable to police training, but it is not a vicious animal. 
The most difficult part of the police course is teaching the dog
to attack a human being.  It goes against every moral and
intellectual standard the dog has built up through generations of
adoration of its best friend - man.
     In this part of its lessons, the dog is literally irritated
into retaliation or attack.  A person who is a stranger to the
dog flaunts a piece of sacking in its face.  Its master standing
nearby gives the command to attack.  The dog is unimpressed.  He
doesn't know what it is all about.  It is done again and again. 
The dog realizes that something is expected of it but doesn't
know what.
     Sometimes the performance is repeated at intervals for days
before the animal finally (and not infrequently perhaps because
it is the only thing it hasn't tried) grabs hold of the sacking
with its teeth.  Instantly its master breaks out in exclamations
of rapture.  "Oh, you wonderful dog," he exclaims, in tones of
unmistakable enthusiasm and commendation.  The master by this
time can easily put his heart into praising any progress.
     From that point on, the dog understands what is wanted of
it.  The next step is for it to get hold of the sacking when it
is wrapped around the arm of a padded suit worn by someone who
acts the part of a criminal.  When the dog has learned to take
hold without tearing, it learns to break the hold instantly on
command, which may come verbally from its master, or - and this
is important - whenever the criminal has stopped resisting.
     Another important aspect of this training course is teaching
the dog to guard a criminal who has been apprehended.  The dog
must be prepared to pursue and recapture the criminal if he
attempts to escape, and to do this whether its master is present
or a mile or two away.  A properly educated dog will guard a
criminal for hours without ever once permitting him to take a
step.
     The dog must also learn how to guard several individuals at
one time and, in the event of an attempted break, to attack and
throw one man before going after the others.  To policemen who
throughout their professional careers have been accustomed to the
often fruitless pursuit of fleet criminals attempting to evade
arrest, this single ability of the dog is complete justification
for the intensive effort spent in weeks of learning the rules. 
Certainly this was the consensus of opinion of the members of the
first police training course at Fortunate Fields.  At final
inspection on the last day before they were to return to their
regular jobs on the Canton de Vaud police force they put their
dogs through the complete practice routine.  As Dorothy Eustis
watched them she knew that here was a unit that justified her
faith; one that would never let Fortunate Fields down.
     CHAPTER 3
     The work of Fortunate Fields dogs in penitentiary patrol
service in the United States is an excellent example of the
variety of usefulness which can be developed through adaptation
of police training technique.  The work of these dogs is
sometimes highly dramatic.
     It was mealtime in a large state penitentiary.  Several
hundred convicts filed silently into a huge, barren dining hall
and took their places at row after row of long, bench-like
tables. From machine-gun nests in the wall, guards watched the
prisoners and checked them in.  Everything seemed to be in order.

At a signal trusties began to serve the food.  The men ate.  The
guards at their stations looked on.  It was routine.
     Then, somewhere in the vast room a metal plate crashed to
the floor.  In an instant a hundred more plates crashed and the
room became a bedlam of screaming men protesting an injustice,
real or imagined, with exciting, crazing noise.  Food and dishes
were thrown.  The guards knew that in another minute every
movable fixture in the dining room would be torn from its place. 
Threats of bullets and tear gas were shouted and every prisoner
in the room realized that he might be shot, or temporarily
blinded by the dreaded vapor.  Not one of them cared.  They
screamed their defiance.  They were headed toward that most
dreaded of penitentiary dangers - the riot.
     Suddenly from a huge loudspeaker attached to the wall a
voice boomed out above the pandemonium.
     "Attention, men!" It was the voice of the warden.
     The prisoners glanced up, actuated by months and years of
discipline.  There was a split-second lull, but that split-second
was enough.
     "Quiet," the voice said, "or I call out the dogs."
     That was all.  Within five minutes the convicts filed
silently out of the debris strewn hall to their cells, their
defiance quelled.  The threat of the riot had passed.
     The dogs from Fortunate Fields penitentiary patrol service
were not raging beasts kept securely chained in kennels to
prevent them from tearing innocent people apart.  They were the
usual mild-mannered self-respecting German shepherds.  But their
presence was not conducive to rioting.
     Over a score of them have worked in various penitentiaries
throughout the United States, doing patrol duty and protecting
their guards against some of the most dangerous and most
notorious criminals, racketeers and kidnappers.
     Fortunate Fields shepherds have patrolled at McNeil Island
in the State of Washington; at Lewisburg, Pennsylvania; at the
great gloomy state prison at Graterford, Pennsylvania.  These
intelligent canine guards have demonstrated their value in
reducing the element of risk which is assumed by every man
professionally engaged in the war against crime.
     Dogs for civic protection were in use in Europe as early as
the fifteenth century, when Louis XI provided each of those two
famous French fortresses, Mt. St. Michel and St. Malo with a dog
corps.  Ghent, Belgium, was probably the first city to establish
a school where dogs were trained and used for the protection of
the community, but modern methods of police dog instruction first
attracted wide attention on the Continent as a result of some
experiments conducted in Germany in the '90s.  By 1910 more than
four hundred police stations in Germany were equipped with
specially trained police dogs, and in 1935 groups such as the
railway police had developed schools where specialized education
in apprehending freight thieves and vagrants was given to dogs
selected for this work.  As many as seven hundred dogs were at
one time attached to the German police force.
     The value of Fortunate Fields dogs in police work in America
has been spectacularly demonstrated many times.  Once five
hundred prisoners noted in Pennsylvania's Eastern Penitentiary at
Graterford, where several dogs were stationed.  Within a few
minutes thousands of dollars worth of kitchen equipment and
scores of valuable machines in a new weaving mill were
demolished.  The rioting prisoners were completely out of
control.  They smashed everything.  Only the cement walls and the
steel bars were undamaged as they swept like a swarm of demons
across the prison yard. Their objective was the power house.  By
destroying it they could cripple the entire prison.
     Their advance lay across a small but rough field which
terminated in a slight rise in front of the buildings which
housed the prison power plant.  When the leaders of the mob
reached the crest of the uneven ground they saw the warden's line
of defense. It consisted of a patrol of six guards and their
dogs.  This patrol covered a "front" of two hundred yards - a gap
of a hundred feet between each guard and his dog.  Behind those
six guards lay the power house.  Except for their dogs, the
guards were unarmed. But not one prisoner in that madly excited
five hundred had the courage or the foolhardiness to lead a rush.

The mob milled there, at bay, until a detachment of state police
arrived.
     Suppose they had rushed the guards.  What would have
happened? It is probable that some would have been severely
bitten.  But the dogs could quickly have been beaten into
insensibility, for most of the prisoners carried heavy sticks,
clubs or stones.
     It was another demonstration of the fact that even desperate
criminals will not risk an encounter with a police-educated dog.
Had the guards attempted to halt the prisoners with guns as in
other riots, the mob would have overpowered them in a matter of
seconds.  But their fear of a dog is increased a thousand-fold
because they cannot foretell what the dog will do.
     Keenness of scent varies in dogs just as keenness of
eyesight varies in human beings.  Dogs used in police work learn
as much through their noses as men do through their eyes.
     Checking over a piece of territory to pick up a scent or
find a lost object is very similar to a game of hide and seek to
a dog. It is a thoroughly enjoyable test of wits in which the
well educated and disciplined animal would literally give
anything to participate.
     To search a given area, a dog quarters the ground, working
systematically on a fixed pattern in order to make sure that the
entire area is covered.  The dog will report the presence of any
human being as well as any unusual object above or below the
surface.  This capacity to find things buried underground is
highly important, particularly where thieves or smugglers are
involved.  Many times these men will bury stolen goods or
contraband at places where it is to be picked up later by
confederates.  Thus they get rid of goods which, if discovered on
their persons, would mean certain arrest and conviction.  The
searching dog, coming upon a combination of the scent of human
footprints and recently broken ground, is invariably suspicious. 
In its training course, it has learned such a combination usually
produces a good haul.
     It is equally important for the dog to report persons whom
it discovers. On one occasion a policeman investigating through
farm country passed near to at least a dozen farmers without his
dog taking as much as a glance in their direction.  In a field
near a large haystack, however, his dog suddenly bristled and
growled a note of suspicion and warning.  The dog was obviously
interested in the haystack and the policeman, on investigation,
found that a notorious criminal wanted by the police of a nearby
city was hidden there.
     Why the dog passed members of the local community, who,
after all, were also complete strangers to the animal, without so
much as noticing them, and yet was able to announce the presence
of the criminal it could not see, has been an interesting point
for speculation among those to whom a dog's nose is a subject for
study and conversation.  The most likely explanation, and one
which seems to have some scientific support, is that a criminal,
being afraid - and this would apply also to a person who is lost
- gives off some particularly strong scent through excess
perspiration, and that possibly because of the stimulation of the
adrenal glands, caused by fear, some peculiar and identifiable
odor accompanies this condition.
     If the theory were based merely on the excess perspiration,
with the resulting increase in normal body odor, then the dog
most surely would have been interested in the farmer who had
worked at hard physical labor all day in the fields and were
doubtless reeking.  All the evidence points to the special scent.

It is for this reason, a good many dog men hold, that an animal
with a tendency to bite will rarely attack a person who shows no
fear and yet will almost invariably nip someone who is afraid. 
If a youngster or an adult enters a yard in which there is a dog
and immediately becomes frightened, the dog, having a tendency to
bite, could be incited to do so by such an odor which might
overpower its normally good impulses.  The same dog might have no
noticeable reaction to a person who was fearless or indifferent
to it.
     But while scent is valuable, the policeman must also rely
for protection on his dog's ears.  A dog's range of hearing is
far greater than man's.  This, combined with his sense of smell
provides an almost impregnable defense for his policeman-master.
Several times in the night at one large penitentiary a complete
inspection tour is made around the inside of the great wall.  The
distance is a mile and an eighth, and there are a hundred places
on this route where a prisoner might hide in ambush and attack an
unprotected guard as he passed.  But not one of the guards on
this patrol has the slightest fear that this will happen.  No
one, friend or enemy, they say, could approach within fifty yards
of their dog without being detected.
     The German shepherd is good for police work for several
reasons.  It is probable that this breed can be taught to attack
with restraint because they have learned, through generations of
practice, the art of subduing large sheep by holding them with
the mouth without biting or tearing the flesh.
     The ability to learn is fundamental.  But to be successful
in police work a dog must also have a combination of size,
strength and agility.  There is size in the Newfoundland, and
strength in a Great Dane, but neither has the required speed.  A
police dog must also be aggressive - but aggressive does not mean
vicious.  A vicious dog would be eliminated from police service
as quickly as would a vicious patrolman.
     Another important qualification is concerned with what dog
men call body sensitivity.  A police dog must have physical
toughness.  In line of duty it must be able to withstand heavy
blows from a club without flinching.  More than this it must have
what football men call "heart." It must go ahead when it is hurt
- when the armor of its natural toughness is pierced.  This
happens sometimes when a dog faces revolver bullets and is
wounded.  It is then that the indomitable courage of the breed
asserts itself, for this is a real test.
     In a little town near the Dutch border, a policeman
patrolling with a dog stopped for questioning a man whom he
correctly believed to be a notorious smuggler.  When asked for
papers the smuggler reached into his coat and shot at the
policeman through his pocket.  The dog jumped immediately to
attack with the revolver firing point blank in its face.  Three
bullets entered its body but it subdued the smuggler and held him
until other police arrived.
     A dog working in the service of the Pennsylvania State
Police gave an equally convincing demonstration of the necessity
for physical toughness and courage.  A criminal cornered in the
attic of a house defied the pursuing policeman to come and get
him.  The policeman unloosed his dog which leapt into the house
and charged up the stairs.  The criminal saw the dog and started
shooting.  At the first landing the animal was hit.  But it
only shuddered and kept on going.  The man went on firing and
near the head of the steps the dog was hit again.  This time the
impact of the bullet stopped it and set it back on its haunches. 
But only for a second.  Summoning all the courage its great heart
contained it leapt again to the attack.  A minute later the
criminal was subdued.  The man went to the penitentiary and two
months afterwards the dog was back on the job.
     The police dog, although its initiative is curbed by
rigorous training, must be able to attack and yet cease its
attack at the right time and without spoken command.
     Schooling for police work starts when the dogs are fully
grown - from twelve to sixteen months old.  In the early training
periods the selected dog is taught to do simple setting-up
exercises such as to stand, sit, or rest, and lie down.  At
first, these lessons are given with a leash attached to the dog's
collar.  Later, however, the dog learns that it must obey
commands even though there is no leash and even when its master
is out of sight.  This is often important.  Frequently a
policeman, after apprehending one criminal, finds that he must
investigate the activities of another before the first one is
safely locked up.  The dog may be left on guard indefinitely with
perfect assurance that the prisoner will not escape.  Indeed,
even when standing, most prisoners have not had the temerity to
move more than the few inches necessary to relieve cramped
muscles.
     The preliminary education for this work is given in the
early stages of training when the dog is taught to remain
sitting, standing or lying down while the instructor goes a few
feet away. This distance gradually is increased until the
instructor can go completely out of sight without the dog moving
until commanded to do so.  It is rarely necessary in practice,
but dogs have been known to keep a position on command for hours.

Skeptics who may doubt that this is a real feat should try it
sometime with an ordinarily well-behaved youngster.  Or, even
better, try it themselves.
     This tedium of obedience work is relieved for the animal
with exercises in jumping.  A competent police dog must be able
to scale a wall at least seven feet high and to clear ditches or
obstructions over twelve feet in width.
     Teaching a dog to fetch is an important part of its
instruction.  On the simple act of retrieving a stick is based
the entire method of teaching a dog to use its nose to search for
people, to find clues and missing objects.  Anyone who owns a dog
knows how simple it is to teach it to run after a stick thrown in
the air, to pick it up and bring it back to the master.  Almost
any dog will do it because it's like a game.  But try it with a
bottle. This is a real test of a dog's willingness.  For some
reason no dog likes to pick up or carry a glass object and few of
them, unless specially trained, will do it.
     But the police dog must be willing to fetch without
hesitation anything it can carry.  It learns quickly to retrieve
an object which it can see thrown.  Next it must be taught to
find and bring back something thrown in its absence.  For these
lessons the instructor gives the same verbal command and makes
the same motion as usual, and the dog starts off automatically. 
When it has run a little way it realizes it has seen no object
thrown and stops, puzzled.  At this moment the instructor repeats
the command "Fetch" with emphasis and the dog starts to use its
nose to find the object.
     The first lessons are simple and the animal discovers the
object quite easily.  Later, however, the distance to the object
is greatly increased until an extended search is required before
it can be found.  The amount of scent on the object also is
diminished, to the point where every faculty of patience and
intelligence must be used in its recovery.
     Despite the technical equipment given it for offensive work
in its intensive course of education, the greatest value of the
police dog is a preventive one.  In many penitentiaries dogs have
served for years without doing anything spectacular or even very
interesting.  In one large institution where several dogs
patrolled for several years no occasion arose which made it
necessary for a dog to attack an inmate.  But the fact that these
same dogs were able to stop a riot is excellent evidence of their
preventive effect.
     If it were not for the fact that every aspect of prison life
is aimed to reduce opportunities for "spectacular work" to an
absolute minimum, the value of prison patrol dogs would
undoubtedly be more widely known.  Their possibilities sometimes
are not recognized fully, even by the wardens of prisons in which
they work.  Once when a convict escaped from a large
penitentiary, a great number of guards scoured the countryside,
but without success.  The guard in charge of the kennels pleaded
with the warden for an opportunity to search with one of the
dogs.  He was refused.  But six months later, while on a tune-up
practice search, the dog recovered the clothes hidden by the
escaped prisoner half a year before.
     The psychological effect on a criminal of the appearance of
a dog is amazing, as was shown when two convicts escaped from the
United States Southwest Reformatory at El Reno, Oklahoma. One of
the dogs at that institution was put to searching as soon as the
alarm was given.  It followed the scent straight to a heavy
undergrowth.  At the approach of the dog, the two men hidden
there surrendered immediately.
     Under our enlightened prison system, it is the duty of the
guards at all times to protect the person of any convict.  In a
riot, shooting is not resorted to except in desperation, and
guards have been known to risk their own lives to prevent a
convict from inviting death either from guards or other
prisoners.  Once a desperate inmate of a state prison was found
to be missing.  At the same time a large butcher knife also
disappeared.  A search was begun at once.  The convict was
finally found in the basement, securely lodged on a shelf of
water pipes suspended from a low ceiling.  Every guard who
approached was menaced with the butcher knife, and neither
threats of severe punishment nor even of shooting would budge him
from his position.  Though it did not seem possible that a dog
would be effective, since it could not jump and reach the
prisoner without being severely cut, one was finally brought in.
At the sight of the dog the prisoner crawled down meekly and
surrendered himself and his knife to the guard.
     The loyalty which the shepherd shows for its master gives
credence to the popular and mistaken belief that these animals
are "one-man dogs." While the attachment between an individual
dog and its master might be unusually great, in general the
shepherd will transfer its affection from one person to another
without serious emotional distress.  Its affection will naturally
center on the man or woman who feeds and cares for it, but this
does not prevent it from being friendly with other people whom it
knows.
     Patrol dogs in the European police service, however, are
usually taught to work only with one man.  This policeman feeds
and cares for his animal and the dog is as much a part of his
equipment as his uniform or his revolver.  Insofar as their
working life is concerned, these animals are the closest approach
to the proverbial "one-man dog." With members of their master's
family, however, they are just the same as any other pet would
be, except, perhaps that they are more dignified and better
behaved.
     In the penitentiary service the dogs are taught to work with
two guards and obey implicitly each of these men and no others. 
But the number of masters from whom the dog can be taught to
accept commands, without endangering its effectiveness, can be
increased almost indefinitely.  Dogs in police service have been
known to work with as many as fifteen different men.  Here,
however, the dog is taught to obey the man in a particular
uniform, and authority emanates not from the man but from the
clothes he wears.  A convict dressed as a guard could command a
dog so educated and his commands would be obeyed instantly.
     Outside of a few areas in central Europe the possibilities
of dogs trained for police work as effective upholders of the law
have never been generally recognized.  Some day when the safety
and efficiency of American policemen becomes a matter of public
pride something may be done about it here.  In fact a few police
departments in the United States have already trained patrol dogs
but because of a lack of understanding of the techniques, they
were not usually successful.  For example, in one police
department where five dogs were taught patrol work it took
eighteen months for the dogs to learn their jobs.  The police had
selected for the course several dogs which were gun-shy and it
took fourteen of those months to break them of that
characteristic.  Had the police known of a thirty-seconds test to
determine gun-shyness they could have saved more than a year of
effort.
     It is quite possible war may provide America with the
stimulus it needs to use dogs in police service.  Early in 1942,
shortly after the United States entered the conflict, a movement
began to use sentry or patrol dogs to guard munitions plants,
army and concentration camps and war industries.  The Army began
a survey of the dog population and training facilities, and a
national voluntary organization, sponsored by the American Kennel
Club, was formed to train dogs for this work.  The preliminary
results were encouraging and if the effort succeeds the patrol
dog, discovered by war needs, may become an integral part of
civilian peacetime protection in America.

     CHAPTER 4
     In 1928 the more alert Swiss were well aware that something
extraordinary was happening in their little village of Vevey. 
Word of the success of police and other patrol dogs had reached
the Army High Command, and one day Mrs. Eustis was confronted
with a request from the military authorities. Could she, would
she, build up a corps of messenger dogs for a communications unit
of the Swiss Army?
     Dorothy Eustis didn't know the first thing about Army
communications as such, but she knew something about messenger
dogs.  It was she who had done the investigating into this branch
of dog service for Fortunate Fields.  She was well aware of the
fact that the German Army had used more than twenty-five thousand
dogs during World War I.
     "What do communications mean in an Army?" she asked with
charming naivete.
     "Without communications," she was told, "no Army can move,
no troops can march, no barrage can be laid down, no orders can
be changed.  An Army can't even make mistakes without a message
about it first! It is," the Army men added seriously, "the most
difficult problem of Army organization.  When it functions
perfectly, the Army can accomplish the impossible; when it fails
to function the result is chaos, perhaps annihilation."
     Inquisitive Dorothy Eustis wanted to know why it was so
difficult.  There were the telegraph, the telephone and the
radio.
     Telephone and telegraph lines were often easily cut,
sometimes were knocked out by a shell at a crucial moment, she
was told.  The radio was a help, but a message broadcast was
available to the enemy and even coded messages could be
deciphered.
     "How about pigeons?" she asked.
     Carrier pigeons were excellent - very valuable.  But a
pigeon could fly in only one direction, was useless in fog and
could not fly at night.  Furthermore, its cote had to be in one
place at least three days before the pigeon would recognize it as
a home base.  Three days is sometimes too long for an Army unit
to remain in one place, the officials pointed out dourly.
     "Then it's a question of mobility," Mrs. Eustis summed it
up.
     "An Army which is immobile is likely to be an Army which is
trapped.  Could your dogs provide mobility?"
     "Could they?" Dorothy Eustis was almost indignant. "Of
course they could."
     The Fortunate Fields communications course developed for the
Swiss Army was conducted during the hottest summer Switzerland
had seen in forty-four years.  Wells dried up, turbulent brooks
became pathways of stones and the stubble of the mown hay fields
through which the messenger dogs must run was as sharp as spikes.

The Army detachment selected for instruction consisted of eight
men under the leadership of a captain.  The course must be
completed with efficiency and promptness, the captain declared,
because the unit was to participate in the war games later that
summer.
     A communications unit consists of two men and two dogs. Each
dog is taught to divide its affection between the two men and
will, therefore, carry a message from one to the other without
hesitation.  The men serve as the points between which
communications are to be established.
     Suppose, for example, it is necessary for headquarters to
maintain contact with an advance battery from which it is
separated by two or three miles of rough ground.  Because of
heavy fire, telephone lines are constantly cut and human
messengers are too slow and too frequently killed.  Messenger
dogs are the answer.  When a position is taken up, the men and
their dogs are together at headquarters.  One man remains there
while his associate sets out for the advance battery with the two
dogs.  When he arrives there, whether there is a message to send
or not, he immediately dispatches one dog back to headquarters. 
From then on the communications unit is set up and ready to
function.  Both dogs know the route and will cover it in a matter
of a few minutes under heaviest fire.  That, at least, was the
way it was supposed to function.  The job confronting Fortunate
Fields was to make it happen in practice.
     The collar of a messenger dog holds a water-tight aluminum
capsule in which the dispatch is placed.  The collar is never
adjusted until immediately before the dog is dispatched.  When
it goes around its neck the animal knows that work is to begin. 
A dog selected for this work must be fast of foot, sure of nose
and completely unaffected by noise or shell fire.  It must also
be mistrustful.  It must instinctively avoid people rather than
respond to friendly overtures.  Otherwise it might readily
succumb to enticements of the enemy.  When another soldier-friend
or foe attempts to catch it, the Army messenger dog must evade
those efforts at all cost.
     The early stages of training demanded almost unlimited
patience.  As the Fortunate Fields detachment was on official
Army service, it was privileged to maneuver over any part of the
country-side.  At first, the distances over which the messengers
were run were very short.  Gradually, these were increased until
it became necessary to press guests of Fortunate Fields into
service as watchers who patrolled either side of the direct line
between the two masters.  Even then, an apprentice dog was apt to
encounter an interesting smell en route and take off rapturously
at right angles in order to discover what was at the other end of
it.
     When an apprentice dog left the beam in this manner, it was
the job of watchers along the route to start a search, and
eventually discover the laggard and drive it back in the
direction in which it was supposed to be headed.  One blistering
day one of the best dogs in the corps, which had become bored
with the heat while running a message over ground far from the
base, made the happy discovery of a watering trough filled to the
brim.  It immediately jumped in and was still there enjoying the
cooling refreshment when finally found by a watcher a half hour
later.
     On such occasions, the soldiers were disinclined to follow
Mrs. Eustis's firm instructions that the dog was to be greeted on
arrival, no matter how tardy, with overwhelmingly affectionate
pats and small pieces of meat as a reward.  After sometimes
waiting for hours, the soldiers, if left to their own desires,
would have been much more likely to greet the erring dog with a
good swift boot.
     In order to accustom the dogs to gun fire, small bombs were
detonated at frequent intervals along the routes of
communications.  These were highly effective in producing the
necessary noise, flare and smoke.  They also produced an
innumerable number of complaints and bills from thrifty Swiss
farmers anxious to turn a franc, who stubbornly insisted that the
continuous explosions so distracted their hens that they ceased
laying.
     As the work progressed, night practice was introduced into
the program.  It was then that the efficiency of the service was
most clearly demonstrated.  Once a messenger dog was launched on
its mission, it was impossible to see it again until it turned up
minutes later at the objective.  Fortunate Fields was more than
pleased with the results.
     But several other units in the Army were unconvinced that
the dogs were as effective as they were evincing themselves to
be. One machine gun unit, noted for its alertness on outpost
duty, declared that no dog could pass any point it was guarding
at midnight, dawn, dusk or any other time.  It was a challenge
that Fortunate Fields was pleased to accept.  Messenger dogs
against one of the crack machine gun units of the efficient
little Swiss Army, with an umpire to decide the winner.  The test
was to take place at night.
     It is difficult for most Americans to realize what night can
be in the Swiss mountain country.  The air is still but not
inert.  It is motionless but as if poised waiting for something
which is imminent.  In Switzerland the ears of night are
perpetually cocked.  The atmosphere is dustless and unladen;
sharp and clear and with a dry tang that fairly crackles at
the slightest stirring.  Through that light free air ordinary
conversation can be heard a mile away, a shout or a bark perhaps
two or three miles and a whispered secret may carry a block. 
Through this silence and within a few feet of some of the most
alert machine gunners in the country a messenger dog was to run
and remain undiscovered.
     The route was set.  That night in the dark stillness the
machine gunners set up their equipment.  The dog was to wear the
usual aluminum capsule but in it a few pebbles were placed to
provide a slight but identifying rattle.  The gun operator must
train his weapon on the animal for a split second, long enough
through continuous firing to bring down the dog.
     The observers from the Army and from Fortunate Fields were
literally on tiptoe when the moment came for the release of the
dog at the starting point half a mile away - how far the gun crew
did not know.  There was no moon but the stars were brilliant. 
The gunner and his crew who knew the Swiss night as a man knows
the palm of his hand peered ahead, scarcely daring to breathe
lest they miss the tell-tale click of the pebble.  Seconds passed
into a minute.  There was nothing in the night air but silence. 
Taut nerves stretched tighter.  More seconds, then more, until
another silent minute was gone.  They were leaning now,
unconsciously, intent on the direction from which the sound was
expected.  Then the gun operator stiffened and moved his weapon. 
He had caught the first faint click.  The others heard it
immediately.  But from what direction had it come? Then suddenly
there was another, clearer, and as if off to the left.  The
operator swung his gun, but before he finished there was a click
dead ahead; the gun came around, but before it stopped there was
another click to the right, and then the night was still again. 
It had all happened in three seconds.  The dog had slipped in and
out of their hearing and vanished without even being seen.
     Fortunate Fields had triumphed over the Swiss Army.
     One dog in the messenger unit was educated in the art of
laying telephone wire, a highly important part of Army
communications.  The wire was handled in two ways.  In open
country, a reel of wire was attached to a special harness at the
dog's back, which unwound as it ran across the field.  In rough
or brushy country, the end of the wire was attached to the dog
with the reel being paid out by the master.  Khedive of Fortunate
Fields became so expert in this job that he would lay a kilometer
of telephone wire in five minutes and ten seconds.  That, in any
man's Army, is going some!
     Because of the shortness of time before scheduled summer
field maneuvers were to be held by the Swiss Army, it was
impossible to develop messenger dog units for all branches of
Army communication.  One refinement, which could not be explored
by the group, was the development of inter-unit communication by
means of chemical trails.  By using chemicals with special
identifying odors, great mobility can be produced in a
communications dog service. Through this method, communications
can be set up between two new units merely by dropping the liquid
chemical along the route.  It is not necessary to take the dogs
over the trail in advance so that they may know between what two
points they are to run.  When there is a message to carry the dog
is merely given the scent of the chemical laid along the route.
This the dog follows to the end.  When it becomes necessary to
change position of an advanced post it is done by means of laying
a chemical trail to the new station without danger of breaking
communications with the base post.  This system has been
developed with such perfection in the German Army that there are
specific scents for infantry communication and others for
artillery; separate dog units running in each service across the
same area without confusion.
     Mrs. Eustis had been reaching her soldier pupils for only
two months when the Swiss Army summer maneuvers got under way. 
The dogs were given their first test with an artillery unit.
Headquarters were temporarily set up in a farmhouse, but
something went wrong with the field telephone equipment.  The
colonel was unable to get in touch with his field pieces, and was
raging as only an Army colonel can.  Suddenly observers saw a
brown-gray shepherd run into the farmyard and up to a kneeling
infantryman, a member of the dog detachment.  The man opened the
capsule attached to the dog's collar, took out a rolled piece of
thin paper and reported it in to the colonel.
     The colonel stopped thumping his fist and exploded with
relief and amazement.
     "How in the hell did this get here?" he roared at the
orderly.
     "By messenger dog, sir."
     The messenger service was in!
     For two weeks of unceasing and intensive war games, the
dog communications service functioned first with one unit then
another. It was tested under practically every condition of
actual warfare that it was possible to simulate.  Never once did
the service break down.  The day after the end of the maneuvers,
all the units engaged marched in review.  The honor of leading
the march was regularly given to the unit which contributed most
to the game of war.  That year - and the next - it was the
Fortunate Fields communications unit which proudly led all
others.
     At 3:00 A.M. on the last night of two weeks of the
continuous maneuvers, Dorothy Eustis had stood at attention in a
drenching rain to have pinned on her soaked leather Army jacket
the insignia of the Seventh Regiment in the First Division of the
Swiss Army.  She is proud of that award and proud, too, of the
citation which accompanies it:

     Army Messenger Dogs.  Observations made on the night of
August 29/30 serve only to emphasize those of a former report. 
Used as messengers between the 7th Infantry Regiment and Front
line batteries these dogs rendered invaluable service.  In the
complete breakdown of communications in the 7th Regiment they
constituted the only means of communication which functioned
without interruption.  There is nothing to add to such a
brilliant demonstration. Always useful, this branch of the
service is rapidly becoming indispensable. General Headquarters
8/30/28 0845

     One of the most interesting dogs to be developed by
Fortunate Fields was a black, agile, fast-thinking little male
named Wigger.  Wigger was brought to Fortunate Fields because one
more dog was needed for a police course of the Gendarmerie of the
Canton de Vaud.  Wigger had a nose.  Hercules had strength,
Aphrodite had beauty, Zeus had power and Hermes had speed. Wigger
had a nose. Old-timers in the police force of the Canton de Vaud
still describe his exploits with a veneration which usually marks
the telling of legendary tales.
     Wigger was a trailing dog.  Trailing dogs, if they are
expert, are perhaps the most highly specialized of dogs that aid
man.  In contrast with the general procedure of starting a
shepherd to school at fourteen months of age for most courses of
training, the education of trailing dogs begins when they are
only six months old.  Instead of the usual three to four months
of lessons, the instruction of a trailing dog requires from two
to three times that long.  The selection of a puppy for trailing
work is not a job for amateurs.  All dogs have active noses and
use them for observing as continuously as human beings use their
eyes. A fairly large proportion of dogs have noses that are keen
and sensitive, but only a rare individual is born with the
capacity to become a really great trailer.
     When it comes to any generalizations as to why a dog trails,
or what makes a dog particularly good at this work, even Jack
Humphrey, despite his years of close study and observation, is
reluctant to make any but the most guarded statements.  He will
go so far as to say a good trailer has a good nose, and not much
further.
     One fact is evident - most shepherd dogs have a sufficiently
developed sense of smell to enable them to follow a trail well,
but only the exceptional dog like Wigger can sufficiently
discipline his nose to follow a trail slowly regardless of other
and often infinitely more exciting odors which cross its path. 
Very seldom can a shepherd dog be developed to obey a command to
follow the wholly uninteresting trail made by a strange smell
over difficult terrain, such as streets with auto traffic or
ground covered with fresh snow, and to pass by such tantalizing
diversions as a rabbit hole or a dog kennel.  A high quality of
willingness to do a job, however dull, is of fundamental
importance.
     Within a week after Wigger went into service, after long and
rigorous training at Fortunate Fields, the sergeant of his new
master's district received a frantic call from a mother asking
for help in finding her missing son.  The sergeant called for
Wigger and his gendarme master.
     "Go to the farm of the Widow Murisir near the Souverny
Chavannes.  A boy of fourteen has been missing for twenty-four
hours.  Yesterday his mother gave him a beating because he was
laggard in his studies."
     A short time later the policeman and Wigger reported at the
farm.  The widow was incoherent with grief and fear.
     "What have you," the gendarme asked her, "which belongs
to your son, and which hasn't been handled by anyone else?"
     Mutely she pointed to a boy's cap on the farmyard bench
beside her.  The gendarme adjusted the trailing harness, attached
the trailing leash - some thirty feet of light webbing - and
indicated the cap to the dog.
     Wigger sniffed at it, savored of it and made mental notes.
Then he dropped his pointed, searching nose to the ground and
commenced sniffing. Slowly across the farmyard he investigated,
tested and many times discarded the scent from the cap which he
recognized nearly everywhere from trails made by the boy for a
week or so before.  The lad had passed here many times every day.
Wigger must find the warmest trail - one made perhaps a matter of
hours later than some of the others.  That was a job for an
expert.
     No one will ever know by what subtle mental and olfactory
process Wigger was finally able to pick up the freshest of these
trails, decide that it was the right one and follow it with
quickened pace.  But pick it out he did.
     The trail led out beyond a pasture near a woods.  The
gendarme paid out the leash and followed his dog noiselessly.
Every few minutes Wigger would stop and run in small exploratory
circles to one side or another of the direction in which the
trail lay.  It was as if the boy had stopped and paced around in
some confusion and then decided to go on.
     Beside a log it was obvious that the boy had sat or stood
for a considerable time.  But from there the trail led straight
back to the farmyard as though he had reached his decision and
then suddenly determined on a course of action.  The trail went
directly into the barn and as directly out again.  From there,
still in a direct line, it led across another piece of field and
deep into the adjoining woods, rarely penetrated by anyone. There
the search came to its tragic end.  Hurt by the punishment meted
out to him, the boy had wandered aimlessly through the pasture,
returned to the barn for a rope, worked his way into woods where
he might not be found for months and committed suicide by
hanging.  Wigger had found him in an hour.
     One of Wigger's most difficult trailing feats was important
because it unravelled a mystery and settled a village conflict
which threatened to take on the proportions of a Kentucky
mountaineers' feud.  In this small Swiss farming settlement most
of the families raised considerable numbers of Chinchilla
rabbits. These were of great economic importance for their fur,
and of high gustatory value because they could be made into
delicious soup. They were being mysteriously massacred.  No farm
seemed immune from the raids and no one knew how they happened. 
Every man was suspicious of his neighbor.  Then, one record
night, forty-four rabbits were killed.  The distraught villagers
sent for Wigger.
     Wigger set to work in this welter of fascinating smells with
the same dispassionate interest he might have shown in practice
in his own back yard.  He explored the vicinity of the hutches
where the rabbits had been killed.  What he smelled no one knew,
but shortly he headed out cross-country straight-away, obviously
following a trail.  He bypassed one or two farms where rabbits
were also raised and finally, three miles from where the search
started, he stopped in front of another rabbit hutch where a
farmer was bemoaning the loss of sixteen of his valuable animals,
killed the night before. Here Wigger did some further exploring,
then led off in a new direction.  After several miles of
uninterrupted sniffing he ended up in another farmyard where he
went straight up to the kennel where a huge dog was chained.
Wigger shook himself slightly and sat down.  It was obvious that
as far as he was concerned the job was over.
     Later, with routine Swiss thoroughness and not because he
doubted Wigger, the gendarme made casts of the dog's paws in
plaster of Paris and compared them with paw prints found at the
scenes of the crimes.  They were identical.  There was no doubt
of the culprit.  The owner of the dog finally confessed that he
had let the animal loose at night because he wanted it to be a
watch dog.
     How could a dog get sufficient education to combine with its
own sagacity and intelligence and enable it unerringly to pick up
a trail as obscure as this one of Wigger's? How would Wigger have
known who the criminal was? Even if he had known, what could have
induced him to have deserted the thrilling atmosphere of a rabbit
farm for such an uninteresting prospect as following some other
male dog's odor? When those questions are answered, perhaps
something will really be known about trailing dogs.
     At Fortunate Fields, they didn't know the answers to those
questions.  But Wigger's solution of the rabbit-hutch murders
taught them a very important lesson.  It was this.  The dog
should be permitted to pick out the trail itself and not be
handed something ready made which would give a clue as to the
scent.  It was obvious that in many cases it would be necessary
to trail criminals or missing persons where there would be no
evidence as to who had committed the crime, no convenient
scent-carrying piece of wearing apparel to give to the dog in
order to start it off.  So the old-fashioned method of teaching
dogs to follow trails by rubbing the trailee's feet into the
ground in order to provide a strong scented imprint at the start
was abandoned.  The odor to start a search must be given the
moment the trailing harness was attached.  Thereafter it would be
up to the dog.
     It is the job of the policeman who utilizes a trailing dog
accurately to read the message which the animal provides. 
Sometimes a life may depend on it.  This was so on one occasion
when Wigger worked out an accurate solution which unfortunately
was interpreted too late.
     A woman had disappeared from a town in the Rhone valley. 
After twenty-four hours Wigger was called in.  He was taken to
the house where the woman had lived and from there he started to
trail.  He started inside the house on the second floor, in the
woman's bedroom.  The trail led down the staircase to the front
door and then went to the back of the house, out the back door
and through a garden path.
     Once out on the main street by this devious route it led to
the center of town.  This developed nothing.The trail turned back
toward the woman's house and then off in a new direction to
another part of town, ending up finally at a little house with
three steps.  Here Wigger stopped, carefully investigated each of
the steps and the door sill, as if he were studying it through
the lens of a microscope.  Bystanders testified that the woman
had not been seen at that house.  Wigger sniffed at the door for
some time and finally moved down and followed his nose out of
town and across fields until he came to the shores of the Rhone
River.  The tumbling glacial waters were high from the melting
Alpine snow.  It was immediately concluded - not by Wigger - that
the woman had committed suicide by plunging into the river.  So
the policeman took the dog back to the station and notified his
superiors.
     When an attempt to drag the river proved fruitless, Wigger
was brought back to work the trail again.  Again he followed it
as he had before, once more ending up at the little house with
the three steps.  Again neighbors were interrogated.  Again they
stoutly maintained that no woman had been there.  The master of
the house was away.
     It was two days afterwards that escaping gas caused someone
to call police who broke down the door and found the woman
asphyxiated.  It was later shown that the house belonged to her
cousin who was away, and that she had walked to the Rhone and
come back to the house again, a trail Wigger had not been allowed
to work out.  But twice the incomparable Wigger had pointed out
the evidence of the house and twice it had been stupidly ignored.
     While plowing a field a Swiss farmer was carrying some
valuable papers and a large sum of money in his wallet.  He
expected to put it in a place for safekeeping after work that
day. When he had finished, he reached in his pocket for the
wallet and found it missing.  Frantically, he dashed back to the
plowed field, running down furrow after furrow in search of the
wallet. An hour later, exhausted and distraught, he had covered
the entire field and had come to the shocking realization that
the wallet was doubtless plowed underground.  He might plow and
replow the field a dozen times without finding it. Out of
desperate anxiety, he called the police for help.
     Wigger was taken to the field and commanded to search.  Back
and forth his nose worked over the freshly turned earth.  Wigger
did not know what he was looking for.  He only knew that he was
to report anything unusual.  It was twenty minutes before Wigger
stopped, sniffed the ground heavily to confirm his suspicions,
and then commenced to dig.  Six inches under a huge clod he found
the missing pocketbook.
     Wigger performed an equally amazing feat on one occasion
when practically everyone in the community was certain that he
was wrong.  A burglary had taken place and the villagers were
generally agreed that the burglar must have passed down a certain
road when he left the shop which had been robbed.  It seemed
obvious that to have gone in any other direction would have been
unreasonable.
     When Wigger took up the trail in the shop and then started
across open country, the kibitzers began shouting at Wigger's
master that the dog was obviously off the trail, and exhorted him
to call the animal back.  But after his experience at the house
with the three steps, the policeman knew that Wigger's nose was
to be trusted beyond reason.  After about a mile, Wigger ran off
the trail into tall grass a few feet to one side and retrieved a
crumpled envelope.  Then coming back to the main trail, he
continued along it until he reached a main highway and there at
the base of a tree he stopped.  The trail was ended.  Tire
markings showed that a bicycle had been parked there on which the
thief had obviously escaped.  Wigger could do no more.  But
Wigger had solved the crime, for the address on the crumpled
envelope contained evidence which led to the final arrest and
conviction of the criminal.
     As part of the research work at Fortunate Fields, George
Eustis continued the organization's search of Central Europe to
discover and study training methods.  At Potsdam he came upon a
new service which changed the whole course of Fortunate Fields
history, one which in a few years was to bring the experiment to
an early but not untimely end.  At Potsdam he discovered the
virtually unpublicized though highly important work of the
pre-Hitler German government school for training dogs to guide
blind war veterans.  Here was the second of two great dog
training establishments he was to find.  The other was the great
Prussian police training school at Gruenheide.  There, acting as
a Fortunate Fields scout and observer, he had spent four months
on a police training course, one of the few civilians ever to be
allowed to enroll in the school, which Mr. Humphrey and Mr.
Ebeling later attended.
     George Eustis had been greatly impressed by the police dog
training at Gruenheide.  Here the dog and man relationship was
placed on the most efficient basis he had ever known.  Dogs were
trained on a clockwork schedule and their policemen-masters were
educated with the same military precision.  But what he saw at
Potsdam revealed an opportunity for service so broad that it
seemed fantastic.  For here was a school for teaching dogs to
guide the blind.  He sent a message posthaste for his wife to
join him.
     Those who are acquainted with the careful and efficient
guiding work now done by hundreds of Seeing Eye dogs under all
conditions of traffic throughout America, will find it difficult
to imagine what their reactions might have been if they had
suddenly, with virtually no advance knowledge of its existence,
come upon a school which was training scores of dogs and blind
people in this service.  Today the capable Seeing Eye dog is
accepted as a commonplace along with the airplane and the radio. 
But in 1927, to an American with humanitarian interests devoting
her life to the development of dogs which would aid men, the
school at Potsdam was nothing less than a revelation.
     First she saw dogs.  Not that they were unusual, but these
dogs were making decisions for their masters, decisions their
masters could not make.  That was a real job!
     Then Mrs. Eustis saw men.  She saw men described as blind
striding rapidly along pavements, up and down steps and across
streets, as easily and as naturally as if they were merely out
for a good brisk walk to air their dogs.  She followed behind
them and, even for a woman of her agility, had to step rapidly in
order to keep up with them.  Mrs. Eustis watched particularly one
man standing a little apart from a group whose dogs were running
free in the exercise yard.  The man moved about from time to
time, but as blind persons often do, shuffling, hesitant, groping
with his feet, his hands, his whole being.  Then, at a signal
from the instructor, he and the other blind men called their dogs
to them and fastened on their harnesses.
     Mrs. Eustis declares she will never forget the change that
came over this man as, guided by his dog, he turned away from the
yard.  Her own words describe her reactions most vividly.
     "It was as though a complete transformation had taken place
before my eyes.  One moment there was an uncertain shuffling
blind man, tapping with a cane, the next there was in assured
person, his dog firmly in hand, his head up, who walked toward us
quickly and easily, giving his orders in a low, confident voice.
     "That one quick glimpse of the crying need for guidance and
companionship in the lonely, all-enveloping darkness stood out
clearly before my swimming eyes.  To think that one small dog
could stand for so much in the life of a human being, not only in
his usual role of companion but as his eyes, sword, shield and
buckler! How many human beings could fill those roles with the
same uncomplaining devotion and untiring fidelity?
     "I quickly asked permission to follow the man on his
walk, first getting a few details about him.  He had never before
owned a dog, and since becoming blind had been led everywhere by
a member of his family.  On arriving at the school he had been
particularly nervous, helpless and lacking in confidence. He was
a man of about forty-five, thick-set and husky, who had evidently
been accustomed to lots of exercise and had become overfat
through lack of it.  He passed us whistling through his teeth and
feeling for a cigarette, his dog looking us over with an
appraising eye.  I turned quietly and followed. Walking at a good
pace, the pair went down the street to the first crossing, where
the dog pulled back to indicate the curb.  The man's cigarette
was apparently his last, as he gave orders to be led to the
tobacco shop, went in, made his purchase and then continued his
walk.
     "As I followed him it seemed impossible to believe that the
man wasn't taking the dog for a walk and stopping for traffic of
his own accord, so quietly and evenly did they work together.  I
had to pull myself up pretty sharply once or twice to realize
that the man was blind and that the only thing that kept him from
pitching off the curb into the street was the intelligence and
faithfulness of his dog.  For not once through the whole hour
that I followed them did that dog's attention wander.
     "The walk lay through the crowded shopping street with all
the traffic of a big city, its noises and distractions, its
scents and stray dogs on mischief or business bent. 
Understanding responsibility and never-failing protection
radiated from that blind leader as he went about his work.  His
attitude was 'You mind your business and I'll mind mine,' as he
threaded his way along the street, and the pair went much more
quickly without interference than I, who continually bumped into
people in my efforts to keep up.  I was amazed at the pace; I had
started by walking briskly, but found the distance ever widening
between us and the need to make it up every so often on a jog
trot.
     "The streets in German cities are wide and in many places
lined with two or three rows of trees and paths.  To keep
cyclists from riding along these paths barriers have been put up
at intervals with narrow openings for pedestrians.  The barriers
are of one bar each and about the height of a man's waist.  I had
been told at the school that one of the hardest things to teach a
dog was to pass between these barriers and not under them, the
way being clear for the dog but not for the man, who would
receive the full force of the bar across his middle without
warning.  So I was interested in following the pair into one of
these wide, shady lanes on the homeward leg.
     A couple strolling ahead had dropped a coat directly in the
path, but man and dog skirted it and the dog immediately came
back to a line that would lead him between the barriers, although
for him it would have been simpler and shorter to go under. 
There was a big lump in my throat as I saw them turn into the
school grounds together with other pairs coming from different
directions, and I knew that I was converted. It had not been a
particular exhibition staged for my special benefit, but just one
of the many dogs turned out every month with his blind master. 
There were no fireworks, no display, no excuses, no muddling, but
honest work done by honest dogs, and my hat was off to those who
had worked out and perfected such a method of sympathetic
training."
     Dorothy Eustis came away from Potsdam with a sense of
exhilaration she had never known before.  At last she had found
an occupation worthy of the qualities of her own great Hans.
     Surely there was no greater service a dog could render than
this.  She wanted immediately to tell the whole world about it. 
In the best way she knew how, she did.  In the quiet of her
study, after the day's work at Fortunate Fields was finished, the
enthusiasm still burning bright within her, she set down what she
had seen - a three thousand word tribute to her beloved shepherd
dog.  This was sent off immediately to The Saturday Evening Post.
It bore the title "The Seeing Eye," later to become nationally
famous.  Mrs. Eustis says it came to her suddenly, even before
she had started to write the article.  It was taken,
appropriately enough, from Proverbs, Chapter XX, Verse 12, "The
hearing ear, and the seeing eye, the Lord hath made even both of
them."
     On November 5, 1927, Dorothy Eustis's account appeared in
the magazine, creating the link with the blind young man in
Nashville - Morris Frank - the next unit in the chain of
circumstances from which The Seeing Eye was finally evolved.  The
first reply that Mrs. Eustis had to the article was her letter
from him.
     It thrilled her to discover that the spirit of service had
so soon inspired a response.  Morris's phrase, "How can I help to
establish a similar service for America?" kept repeating itself
in her mind.  There was a lad who had the right ideals.  How
could he, indeed! She sat down and wrote to him - yes, it was all
true, truer even than he could believe - it might be possible, as
he had asked, to do something for America.  Perhaps Fortunate
Fields could develop a dog for him - at any rate she was
returning shortly to the United States and would telephone him. 
She put the letter in the post and then went off to talk about it
with Jack and George.
     It was several weeks later that Morris Frank received a
telegram from Dorothy Eustis.  She was back in the United States,
it informed him, and would telephone him that night.
     Morris took up his position beside the telephone the moment
he got home, late that afternoon.  It was after seven when it
finally rang as if in response to the drumming of his nervously
anticipating fingers and the fidgeting excitement of his body.
     The voice of Mrs. Eustis came to him over the wire.  She
wanted him to come to Switzerland - to Switzerland to learn to
use a guide dog, a dog which would set him free.  Would he do it?
     "To Switzerland - to get a dog?" Morris was blunt.  "Mrs.
Eustis, I'd go to hell for that."


     CHAPTER 5
     It was decided that Morris should go to Switzerland early in
April.
     Early in April was only four months away.  In only four
months his whole life would be changed.  Day after day the
thought of New York, the Atlantic, Paris intoxicated him with
excitement.
     Willing and well-meaning friends and neighbors hardly helped
to induce sobriety.  This one said Morris's parents were crazy to
let him go.  The courts should look into it - letting a blind
boy, especially a rapscallion like Morris, travel to the ends of
the earth to get a trained dog! He'd never come back.  Others,
more intemperate and adventurous, said of course he ought to do
it. Anyone could see that the boy would tear himself to pieces
struggling at the bonds of his blindness, if something was not
done to release him.  It was a heaven-sent opportunity - even a
Yankee'd see that.
     The preparations went ahead.  His mother's instinctive and
protective objections were gradually overcome.  One by one the
objectors joined those who favored the plan.  Soon everybody was
busy rolling up a snowball of helpful advice and suggestions. 
Someone dropped in with a little booklet which gave
conversational French in eighteen easy lessons.  Morris should
study them carefully and maybe he could get to talk with some of
those Frenchmen.  Maybe even - and this with a nudge of the elbow
- maybe even he might get himself a date with one of those
demimondes from the Folies-Bergeres.
     Letters of introduction poured in.  One came from the
Secretary of State in Washington asking American consuls abroad
to provide Morris with any needed help.  Another came from the
Governor of Tennessee who vouchsafed to whomever it might concern
for Morris's good character.  Acquainted with the impending event
Tennessee's Senator, Cordell Hull, dictated an official note of
commendation and blessing.
     By the twenty-third of March, when he became twenty years of
age, the snowball of help had become an avalanche which
completely engulfed Morris.  On his birthday, handkerchiefs,
traveling cases, wallets, belts, bags - enough stuff, as Morris
himself described it, for a trip around the world - were
presented to him by relatives, friends, acquaintances and even
strangers.  From that day until the eighth of April, when he
boarded the train for New York, time, people, and things were
only a blur to him.  The adventure had begun.
     In New York Morris was met by Gretchen Green who was then to
Dorothy Eustis what a switchboard is to a telephone system. 
Tall, angular, hardly held to earth by irresistible pull of
gravity, Gretchen Green was born to be an arranger.  Whenever
there were loose ends about, loose ends of things that needed to
be done, Gretchen could pick them up and tie them together. 
Whenever there was a problem which seemed unsurmountable because
of overwhelming detail, Gretchen would stride in and magically
and without effort cause the detail to vanish and produce in its
stead the solution. Getting a blind boy to Switzerland presented
no difficulties for her.  She waved aside Morris's questions as
to what might happen to him in the days immediately ahead. 
Arrangements were all taken care of, she announced, blandly.
     "But how-?"
     "You are going by American Express."
     On shipboard Morris threatened to be a matter of some
concern to the Ansonia's officers, but they quickly reduced his
routine to one of utter simplicity.  In the morning a steward
called for him, took him to breakfast and returned him to his
room.  After awhile a steward took him on deck and exercised him
with typically British complacency, as one might exercise an
especially valuable, prize-winning chow.  Then he was eased into
a deck chair with the obvious inference that like a well-trained
dog he was expected to stay put. If he got up and began to move
about it would only be a matter of moments before a steward would
spot him and come rushing up with a slightly breathless, "Ah,
there you are." The steward would then hover about solicitously
until Morris again settled down somewhere for what the worried
caretaker doubtless hoped would be the rest of the voyage.  When
Morris retired at night the vigil was relaxed somewhat but only
after someone had taken the final precaution of locking him in
his cabin.
     But it was not until he was on the quay at Le Havre
that Morris experienced his first sickening sense of utter
desperation.  He had been led off the boat by a succession of
stewards and left standing for the customs inspection among
interminable piles of baggage.  After inspection he stood
patiently.  It seemed forever. No one spoke to him or even seemed
to notice him.  He was aware that the bustle on the dock
gradually was quieting; he knew too that the Paris train was
shortly due to leave.  The only voices he could hear within
shouting distance were French voices.  He had the same kind of
panic then that he had had several years before when the man who
was guiding him deserted him in the midst of busy traffic
crossing a Nashville street.
     Morris waited.  Once or twice he called at people hurrying
past.  They didn't stop or reply.  More minutes passed.  Then he
became angry - angry with that peculiar kind of frustrated
violence which is so hopeless.  He couldn't move; he couldn't
explain his predicament; all he could do was to stand there,
minutes, hours, even days, until someone came along and took his
arm and led him away.  Morris had not learned the lesson of
discipline which is taught by constant periods of interminable
waiting.  It is a peculiar patience which completely subjugates
strong emotion. Cripples know it, so do the chronically sick. 
But neither knows it so well as do the blind.
     But even the anger had gone out of him by the time he heard
a voice asking him in English where he was going.  "Paris," he
said, and was led off to the train.
     By the time he got to Paris his enthusiasm was again rising.
Now at last he was coming to the most civilized city in the world
- a city of Napoleonic greatness, but of gaiety too, where people
laughed and chatted and danced and knew the joy of living. Morris
wanted to go where he might be a part of it, perhaps to sit for a
few moments at the Cafe de la Paix, to go past the Opera and the
Louvre, to hear the throaty, bulbous horns of Paris taxicabs, to
feel the sparkle of the city.
     But it didn't happen that way.  He was met at the station
and taken directly to a small hotel and put in a room.  On the
table, he was told, was a bottle of wine if he cared to refresh
himself. Then the door was closed and he was again alone.  This
time he was hungry.  With groping fingers he felt over the room,
over the bed, the wash basin, the small desk table, and finally
located an instrument which seemed to meet the descriptions he
had been given of the peculiar French telephone.  It was a phone
all right, but he couldn't get an operator who spoke anything but
French.  Next he felt along the walls for the door.  When his
hands, moist with apprehension, at last found the knob it was
locked.
     He drank the wine, drank it fast in huge gulps, as if by
drinking it that way it would somehow moderate the frustration
within him.  It seemed to.  It was hours later when he was
awakened and told that he must hurry quickly to catch the Orient
Express for Switzerland.
     At the Swiss frontier the customs inspectors passed over
Morris's bags without opening them.  A kindly clergyman in the
same compartment translated their charter.  "Why should we
inspect him?" they said.  "He is blind."
     As they neared the station at Vevey, Morris turned to his
companion.  "Tell me what it looks like."
     The man leaned down and looked out of the window.  "There is
a lake of blue water," he said.  "High up on one side are
mountains snow-covered and white.  On the other side are low
hills green from the spring.  Right above us is Mont
Pelerin, where you are to go.  Do you know what it means, Mont
Pelerin? It means the mountain of pilgrims.  Pilgrims go ahead on
faith, and so must you."
     And for a moment Morris glowed with that inner satisfaction
which comes from absolute confidence in one's faith.  He knew the
joy and freedom of having placed himself in the hands of God -
but only for a moment.  Then his impulsiveness overcame him and
he picked up his bags and slowed only imperceptibly by his
blindness rushed down the corridor hoping to hurry the train's
arrival by standing impatiently by the door.  For Morris was an
American!
     There was something of a delegation to meet Morris when he
was helped off the train.  Mr. and Mrs. Eustis, Mrs. Humphrey,
her very young son and two dogs called Nugget and Nancy.  The
people of Fortunate Fields were obviously as curious about Morris
as he was about them.  But a blind boy who would travel five
thousand miles and entrust his life to a dog because of a
magazine article can be expected to excite a mild interest.  At
least he could in 1928.
     With bags stowed away, George Eustis drove the large car
over the winding road up Mont Pelerin to Fortunate Fields. 
Morris sat between warm, soft-spoken Nettie Humphrey and
energetic, animated Dorothy Eustis.  They chatted, filled with
exhilaration.  Morris could sense that it was a wonderful day;
everyone's spirits were gay and he could smell the blossoms of
spring.  He tingled.  At the gates of the entrance to Fortunate
Fields the car stopped and they read the sign to him.
     "Prenez garde aux chiens.  Demandez a la ferme vis-a-vis."
"That means," Mrs. Eustis translated, "beware of the dogs.  Ask
at the farm opposite." They told him a story, obviously one which
was told to everyone who came through the gates.  An Englishwoman
had come to visit and she had a feeling for languages without
much knowledge of them.  This lady had translated the sign, "Take
care of the dogs.  Look them firmly in the eye."
     At this there was a burst of laughter.  But Mrs. Eustis
whose wise eyes miss nothing noticed that Morris had not laughed
at their little joke.  His lips had moved in a faint smile and
that was all.  This blind boy who had come these thousands of
miles - who was filled to the brim with excitement, hadn't burst
out with the rest of them at the story which ordinarily was sure
fire. As the car pulled up to the main house part of her mind was
still working on that thought.  At a time when almost anyone in
the world would have let go, this young man, this blind young man
had only smiled.  What, she wondered, had darkness done to him?
     At lunch time George Eustis led Morris to the huge dining
room on the second floor.  From large windows looking straight
down the mountain it provides one of the most beautiful views in
Switzerland.  On a clear day, they told him, one can see from
Switzerland into France and Italy. Later, to try to help, little
George Humphrey drew Morris a picture of what he would see from
those windows - if he could see.
     At luncheon Morris was introduced to Jack who merely said
"Hello" as if Morris had been a neighboring farmer who had
dropped in to sell a few eggs. But Jack's actions belied the
indifference of his voice.  He didn't take his eyes off Morris
once during the meal.  Every movement, every mannerism of the boy
was checked, double-checked and filed away well catalogued in his
mind.  He noted the difficulties Morris had in eating; how he
couldn't find things on his plate without first feeling for them
with his fingers.  He saw that buttering bread was accomplished
the same way, and that many small disasters accompanied the use
of a knife on his meat.  At that first meal Jack learned that one
of the most important handicaps of sensitive blind people is that
many of them eat crudely and that they know it.  He made a mental
note to do something about it.
     Morris asked when he would meet his dog.
     "Tomorrow," George Eustis told him.
     Two dogs had been trained for Morris.  Months before when
his coming had been definitely decided upon, Mrs. Eustis had
interrupted the intensive breakfast routine of mental activity on
the part of her husband and Jack to ask, "If we teach dogs for
blind-guiding work when will we find time to do it?"
     Jack and George, already working twelve hours a day, looked
at one another and asked for more coffee.  "Let's have a
conference," they said.
     It would be necessary, they agreed, to prepare two or
perhaps even three dogs and have them fully educated.  To train
only one would be risky because it might not suit the boy's
character and temperament.  Female dogs were used exclusively in
Germany for guide work and Fortunate Fields had plenty of
females, as the males were used in police and other services
requiring, on occasion, especially aggressive attitudes.  A
minimum of two hours training a day would be necessary, they
decided, as they plotted out the course of instruction over their
third cup of coffee.  First simple obedience work, then guiding
on back sidewalks.  Curbs - they would be important! The dog must
stop at every one of them.  "What'll be our system on that?" one
of them asked. And they were off, working out the theory in their
minds.
     Mrs. Eustis interrupted.  "What I asked was, when will we
find time to do it?"
     Well, of course, Jack and George could stop shaving and
that would save about twenty minutes a day which was now utterly
wasted.  If they slept in their clothes it would save the time of
dressing and undressing.  One or two other and faintly indelicate
possibilities were advanced before they came to the serious
conclusion that the only time available was between five and
seven in the morning.
     "That's no good," Jack said.  "There is no traffic in town
at that hour."
     You can't teach a dog about traffic unless you have some. So
the schedule was revised to do other work at Fortunate Fields
from five to seven in the morning and plans made to get to town
at an hour suitable for traffic training!
     "Now, what dogs will we pick?"
     They ran over the litters, each of which was identified
according to a letter in the alphabet.  Every pup in the litter
had a name beginning with its identifying letter.  The J. litter
was sixteen months old.
     "What about Jasmine?"
     "We need her for breeding."
     "Well, the M. litter then."
     "Moria? She's fourteen months."
     "Too soft.  Couldn't stand the gaff."
     "Gala? She's older."
     "Now - that's a dog," Jack said.  "I'd like to work her
myself. She thinks so fast she meets herself coming back."
     "All right," said George.  "And I'll take Kiss.  She had
seven husky brothers and if she can take the beating they handed
out to her, then she can do this job."
     And so for three months George Eustis and Jack Humphrey
added to their regular work the education of Kiss and Gala in a
brand new service, guides for the blind.  Neither George nor Jack
knew very much about the actual technique of teaching dogs this
work.  Their opportunities to observe the German system had been
limited, and even so, a system which worked well for a German
accustomed to Prussian military methods would not necessarily be
satisfactory for free-thinking, independent Americans.
     But between them George and Jack probably knew all that was
at that time known about practical dog psychology.  They knew how
to get dogs to do things and do them well.  It did not take them
very long to figure out just how the dog should serve a blind
person.  Fortunately neither of them thought of a person as
mentally helpless just because he was blind.  So, comparing notes
daily, they worked closely together to do the job.  Now, with
Morris at Fortunate Fields, both dogs were ready.  They had only
to select the one better fitted by character and personality to
suit his needs.
     Throughout lunch and afterwards they observed Morris
closely. They noticed his rebellious nature and measured it. 
They weighed this against his tendencies toward easy-going
carelessness.  They added to this his obvious fearlessness, and
his readily recognizable capacity for getting himself into the
thick of trouble.  When they came together to compare notes it
didn't take much discussion to determine which was the right dog.

Gala would be playing tricks on him before the summer was out. 
Kiss was the one.  Kiss, daughter of Bakhara who was born of a
von Blaisenburg like the great Hans, Kiss, daughter of Argus v.d.
Ravensklau. Kiss had brains as well as breeding, well tempered
with a sense of humor.  And she had that royal quality of
imperturbability which would enable her to shed difficulties and
handle situations which Morris would doubtless get into.  What a
pioneer she would make!
     The next afternoon George Eustis came to Morris and said,
"We are bringing you your dog."
     "What does she look like?"
     "She is dark gray with a creamy patch under her chin."
     "Is she beautiful?"
     "She is a Fortunate Fields dog, Morris," George said, in a
tone that settled that.  Then he explained, "In the beginning she
won't like you, but only because she doesn't know you."
     "Will she growl and bite? Is that what you mean?"
     "Heavens no.  It isn't that she will dislike you.  She will
just be indifferent.  She won't be interested in guiding you
because you don't mean a thing in her young life.  Win her
affection and then you will win her."
     It sounded like a large order to Morris.  "How long will
that take?"
     "That depends on you.  But remember this always.  She isn't
your dog.  She doesn't belong to you.  You belong to her! Put out
your hand - I'm putting a little piece of meat in it." Then he
was gone.  In a moment he came back and Morris could hear the
click of a dog's toes on the bare floor.
     "Her name is Kiss," George said, "call to her and offer her
the meat."
     In a moment Morris felt a cold nose nuzzling the meat in his
hand.  He reached out and grasped a chain collar and took hold of
the leash.  And as the dog wolfed the meat he felt over her
strong shoulders and back, her proud head.  He got down on one
knee and put his arm around her and said, half to her and half to
himself, "Kiss ... ? Kiss ... ? That's a hell of a name for a
dog.  I'm going to call you Buddy."
     Though it was late in the spring the air on the mountain was
cold that might.  And though his dog was beside his bed, Morris
was cold, too, but with loneliness.  He lay there sleepless on
the eve of his great adventure, and if there ever was a time when
he had a twinge of real uncertainty it was then.  For at that
moment Morris realized that he was now on his own.  There beside
him was his dog, but he must win that dog's affection.  If he
didn't the whole project would fail.  There was no evasion of
that responsibility, not only for himself but for the others he
had hoped to help.  He could not stand about and wait, knowing
that all he needed to do was be patient and eventually someone
would come and take care of him.  This time he had to do the job
by himself and all by himself.  He must succeed.
     Subconsciously he reached out his arm in Buddy's direction,
as if trying to establish a bond between them.  As he did so,
Buddy, aware of his movement, scrambled to her feet and put her
head on the covers near his hand.  Morris called her softly and
she jumped up on the bed and curled up close against him.  And
that was the last time, until years later when Buddy died, that
Morris Frank was cold with loneliness.
     Morris Frank didn't know what to expect when his instruction
period began the next morning.  But if he had anticipated
strolling with a languid grace about the streets of Vevey, he
would have been in for a disappointment.  There was much for him
to learn about Buddy and much for Buddy to learn about him.  He
was tested on a few commands, which he would have to give his dog
in daily practice, but his voice was flat from blindness which
had reduced his speech to a whining monotone.  He needed special
instruction in voice, so that his commands would have
authoritative snap in them.  He went courageously through the
daily routine of these lessons.  Once Edward Sothern and Julia
Marlowe were guests at Fortunate Fields and gave him hints as to
technique.  Besides other things, they told him to speak directly
to Buddy and not into the nearby air. It was easier after that.
     There was constant obedience work in which Morris commanded
Buddy to sit, lie down, and fetch dropped articles.  Over and
over again these setting-up exercises were repeated under George
Eustis's tutoring and Jack Humphrey's careful scrutiny.  Morris
was taught how to brush and curry Buddy; how to prepare her food
and provide everything she might need.  As these lessons went
forward, the bonds of affection between dog and man constantly
strengthened.  Soon they were joined inseparably together.
     Morris's first trip to Vevey after exploratory guiding
work at Fortunate Fields was something he is sure he will never
forget. After breakfast he buckled on Buddy's harness.  Grasping
the U-shaped handle with his left hand in a strong grip - which
George Eustis promptly made him loosen - he gave the command,
"Forward!"
     From the front door, Buddy headed down the path for the
half-mile walk to the little Swiss cable car which carried
passengers up and down the steep side of the mountain.  It seemed
to Morris that they fairly flew.  In town, Morris and Buddy, with
George Eustis immediately behind them, strode along the wide
walks of back streets devoid of pedestrian or motor traffic. 
Buddy's fast pace yanked Morris out of his old blind habit of
"feeling his way with his feet." He didn't have time to feel for
anything.  He just went.
     At the end of a mile of this rapid walking, Mr. Eustis
suggested a brief rest in a cafe.  Morris's legs, feet and back
were already aching from excitement and unaccustomed exercise and
he welcomed the suggestion.  After the respite, there was another
mile or so of work and the first day's job was over.  It had been
brief but, as Morris put it later, it was like flying solo.
     In the days that followed, Morris's trips were extended and
became more varied.  He was introduced to the hazards of
pedestrians and automobiles, bicycles and packing cases,
children's toys carelessly left on the sidewalk.  Around these
Buddy guided him expertly and with consideration for his lack of
adeptness.  Every day - morning and afternoon - they went over
their routes together.  Gradually, when Buddy would veer to one
side to prevent him from bumping into some protruding object or
person, Morris learned to follow her with the graceful precision
of airplanes maneuvering in echelon formation.
     Once while walking up the hill from the cable car to
Fortunate Fields, with Jack Humphrey, Morris and Buddy tasted
real adventure.  From up the road above them came a wild clatter
and a team of runaway horses broke into sight, careening madly
toward them.  The wagon swayed drunkenly from side to side, now
up on the walk, now skidding wildly across the road.  Jack knew
that in a matter of seconds they were in imminent danger of being
crushed by the horses and the wagon and, except for Buddy, Morris
was helpless because he could not see the danger.  The only way
to certain escape was to climb the six-foot embankment that
flanked the walk.  Unable to help Morris himself, Jack vaguely
realized that now he would find out how good a guide Buddy was. 
He did. Buddy also saw the onrushing horses and knew the danger
too. Lunging with all her great strength she literally pulled and
yanked the bewildered Morris up the embankment to safety.  She
had him on top before Jack scrambled up there himself.  And as
the wagon passed harmlessly over the place where they had stood
only a moment before, Jack was not conscious of having been
uncomfortably close to death.  He was only filled with genuine
satisfaction because Buddy had proved that she would do her job.
     As Morris grew more expert, his instructor allowed him to
walk over a route several blocks long entirely by himself.  When
covering the afternoon tour without close supervision became a
matter of routine, Morris and Buddy stepped up their pace
somewhat so that they could get back to the cafe in time for a
glass of beer before their cable car left for Mont Pelerin.  Then
it wasn't long before the two of them had so increased the speed
with which they made this tour that there was time for Morris to
have two beers before the scheduled departure of the car.  This,
by Morris's standards, was progress.
     Just before he finished his course of instruction, Morris
was able to achieve the great personal triumph of covering his
entire route and getting to the cafe in time for three beers
before his car left.  At this point, long since satisfied with
his work with Buddy, Mr. Humphrey and Mr. Eustis realized that
whatever doubts they may have had about him in the past, they
need no longer fear that Morris would not get on.
     The work at Fortunate Fields was continually enlivened by
unscheduled diversion.  Mrs. Eustis, a gracious hostess, had an
international acquaintanceship and people from every part of the
world, on their visits to Switzerland, would be almost certain at
one time or another to make the pilgrimage up the mountain to see
what the dogs were doing.  Morris Frank, Jack Humphrey and Mrs.
Eustis are not the sort of persons who are apt to admit dullness
into their lives.  If something doesn't happen of its own accord,
they are the kind of people who will go out and make it happen.
     Morris himself provided more than a little amusement.  There
was no effort made to give him any special consideration because
he was blind.  Before he had arrived, a policy had been
established - "There will be no smothering of the boy with pity
in this house.  If we weep over him, he will never become
independent even with his dog.  Let's treat him like a man!" And
they did.
     At the dinner table, which today at The Seeing Eye is still
frequently the scene of verbal hazing, Morris got on as best he
could in the company of three sharp-witted people who made a game
of going after his scalp.  His food was usually served by the
person who sat beside him.  If that person happened to be hungry,
he would instinctively heap Morris's plate as well as his own. If
he happened not to be hungry, Morris would get a light meal.
     For all his good intentions while at home in Nashville,
Morris hadn't gone very far in pursuing his French course "in
eighteen easy lessons." His vocabulary was bounded on one side by
"oui" and on the other side by "non" with little else in between
but "merci." Much of the conversation was in French, and Morris
could only hazard guesses as to what it was about.  At first he
thought they must be talking mainly about him.  But he quickly
learned that what was said about him in his presence in English
was such that nothing could be added to it that needed to be put
into French to spare his feelings.
     Once while the serving maid was speaking rapidly in French,
Morris caught the word "soupe." He turned to Jack Humphrey on his
side, "Is she saying something about the soup?" he said.
     "Yes.  She says it's made out of horse meat; that's all
there was left.  Do you want any?"
     And Morris, rarely knowing whether to believe or disbelieve,
would take the good natured kidding as it was handed out and come
back for more.
     There was an Englishwoman staying in Vevey when Morris and
Buddy were doing their daily tours in the town.  Not infrequently
Morris could hear her exclaim about him and Buddy as she watched
them from a distance.  From her tone he knew what she said was
uncomplimentary.  One day Morris clumsily stumbled over a curb
when she was nearby.  Swooping down upon them, she grabbed Morris
by the arm and shook him.
     "See here, my young man!" she exclaimed.  "I am head of the
Humane Society and I think it is an outrage for you to commit
that poor dog to the life of slavery.  If you can come all the
way from America to Switzerland, you can pay for a human guide. 
Aren't you enough of a Christian to allow a poor dumb beast its
freedom?" she concluded indignantly.
     Morris was taken by surprise, but only for a split second.
     "No, ma'm," he said, "I'm a Mohammedan!" and off he went.
His training in repartee at Fortunate Fields had begun to bear
fruit.
     In one way or another, Morris came in contact with a number
of English people.  Once on the cable car, while talking with
Jack Humphrey, he overheard a woman nearby say of him, in a
decided British accent, "Why, darling, that man speaks English!"
Her husband replied in honest amazement, "My dear, do you call
that language English?"
     Another Englishwoman one day approached Morris on the street
to tell him how beautiful Buddy was.  "She is a lady dog, isn't
she?" she asked in a voice that blushed.
     "Yes," said Morris.
     "She would make such a beautiful mother.  When will she have
puppies?"
     Morris explained as best he could that Seeing Eye dogs had a
career instead of having puppies.  The woman was obviously
shaken.  "Oh, that poor dear dog.  Then she'll always be an old
maid, just like I am!"
     Once a retired British Colonel and his wife dined at
Fortunate Fields and Morris sat next to the Colonel.  He listened
to the "rawthers," the "cheerios" and the "rotten shows, wot,"
for some time and then to his surprise heard the Colonel remark
that he had a "cork" leg.  Morris, encouraged by this display of
good plain American, kicked the leg referred to several times,
first tentatively, then with vigor, to find out if the
description was true.  Getting no response, he assumed that it
was so and put his opinion of the Colonel up two notches.  After
dinner, Jack Humphrey got him off into a corner to inquire why he
had kicked the Colonel.
     "He said his left leg was corked and it was next to me and I
wanted to find out," Morris said.
     "He didn't say 'corked,' he said 'calked,"' Jack said. "That
means he had a chipped piece of bone replaced."
     Morris was angry with embarrassment.  "Well, why did he say
corked? Why didn't he say calked in English?"
     "The trouble is," Jack replied drily, "he did."
     During part of the time Morris was learning to use Buddy, a
class of dogs was undergoing instruction in Red Cross work.  The
primary job of a Red Cross dog is searching for and reporting to
headquarters the location of any fully disabled, wounded
soldiers. At Fortunate Fields the wounded soldiers were usually
played by guests and, like everyone else, Morris was pressed into
service when the occasion required. He was expected to climb
about somewhere on the side of the mountain, then lie down as if
wounded until found by a dog.  This rather immoderate climbing
activity, added to some particularly strenuous work with Buddy,
on one occasion turned Morris into a mass of sore and violently
protesting muscles. When he got back to Fortunate Fields after
the day's work, he asked Jack Humphrey to put out the liniment on
his dressing table.  After a good hot bath, Morris got the bottle
and rubbed his thighs and legs with it thoroughly.  In the
evening, he came down to dinner.  Jack asked him if he felt any
better.
     "Oh, much.  That stuff really did the trick!"
     "You don't think you pulled a tendon in your calf? Better
let me have a look," Jack said considerately.
     So Morris pulled up his trouser leg to give Jack a look and
immediately the room was filled with laughter.
     "Morris," Jack asked, "did you put that liniment on all over
as I told you to?
     "Sure I did! "
     "Well, what's this black stuff on your leg?
     Again much laughter.  Morris had rubbed himself from feet to
hips with shoe blacking.  At the time he believed in his
innocence it must have been his own fault - that he had gotten
hold of the wrong bottle.  Now that he is better acquainted with
Jack's penchant for practical joking, Morris is less likely to
assume the responsibility.  As a matter of fact, he comes right
out and says flatly, "If you want my opinion, it was that
something-or-other Jack Humphrey who did it on purpose."
     Morris was nearing the end of his course of instruction when
an incident occurred which was probably responsible for the
ultimate establishing of The Seeing Eye in America.
     Feeling particularly conscientious one morning, Morris said,
"Mrs. Eustis, I think it's about time I had a haircut.  How about
somebody taking me down to the barber shop?"
     "Why should anybody take you? "
     Morris was startled.  "Why ... I don't know where it is.
Besides," he added, "somebody's always taken me to the barber
shop ever since I have been blind."
     "Well, they're not going to do it any more, Morris. 
Hereafter, Buddy will do that job." Quickly Mrs. Eustis gave him
the directions to the barber shop from the cable car station at
the bottom of the mountain.
     "Now go get your haircut," she said.
     To understand Morris Frank's reaction to this incident,
those with sight must have some appreciation of the difficulties
the average blind person encounters with little things.  If a
blind man needs to take a trip from one city to another, friends
and relatives will rally around to meet the emergency and watch
over him every moment the expedition is in progress.  It is
something important! But when it comes to going down to the
corner cigar store for a package of cigarettes, taking a short
walk, going to visit some one for a chat, or to the barber shop
for a haircut, even the kindest of friends and relatives aren't
very much interested.  Nobody wants to help with the trivial
things.  If a younger brother is finally corralled to perform the
onerous chore, he is likely to deposit the blind person and dash
off with a cheery, escaping, "I'll be back soon."
     And maybe he will and maybe he won't.  Most likely he won't,
until some time several hours later when his memory interrupts
his playing, and he shows up with a half-hearted, uncontrite,
"Sorry I'm late." The blind man has spent those intervening hours
sitting in a chair waiting for someone to come and take him home.

It is a little thing, but like continuous dripping it wears away
even a will of stone.  For Morris to go off to the barber shop on
his own was a major achievement.
     Late that afternoon Morris was sprawled for an hour of
relaxation in a comfortable chair in the huge music room.  His
head was back, his eyes closed; he looked as if he were asleep. 
At one of the pianos Mrs. Eustis was playing for her own
enjoyment, hardly aware of his presence.  Suddenly in the midst
of her music Morris burst out laughing.  She stopped playing but
Morris went right on, laughing as she had never heard him before.

His heart was in it.
     When he finally subsided there was a long silence.  Then
Mrs. Eustis asked, "Why did you laugh, Morris?"
     Morris thought a moment.  "Mrs. Eustis," he said finally,
"for years I have put a smile on my face because I had to keep up
some sort of front.  But today, Buddy and I did by ourselves
something I needed to do, a little, simple everyday thing, and I
knew for the first time since I got here that I'm going to be
really free.  That's why I laughed, because I'm free! By God, I'm
free!" His voice was that of a condemned and innocent man who had
been pardoned.
     It was then that Mrs. Eustis fully realized just how
important the building of a service of guide dogs for the blind
could become. It was then that she determined to build such a
service for America.
     After five weeks Morris and Buddy fully satisfied the expert
critical judgment of both George Eustis and Jack Humphrey. 
Morris had learned thoroughly the principles of working with
Buddy.  If he applied them correctly, they were confident that
the hazards of American traffic could be successfully met.  But
everyone at Fortunate Fields, including Morris himself, knew that
his first weeks in America would be a real test.
     "You will have two things to overcome," they emphasized to
him.  "First of all, the American public won't believe it's
possible for you to negotiate Times Square in New York or the
Loop in Chicago with complete safety. It is up to you to convince
them not only that you can tackle any kind of traffic but that
you can go anywhere just about as easily as a person who has
eyes.
     "The second job you have to do may be more difficult.  The
American public's concept of dogs and blind people together is
that of a little animal leading a beggar on a string.  The
combination inevitably means a tin cup.  You and Buddy must show
America by your actions that your relationship is dignified.  You
must prove that it merits confidence and respect. You must make
the idea of a blind man and a dog acceptable.  Succeed in these
two jobs and then we will see what can be done to establish a
school for America."
     The goodbyes were simple.  Whatever they may have felt, the
people of Fortunate Fields were not demonstrative.  Morris and
his baggage were stowed away on the Paris train as casually as if
he were going for a weekend.  Buddy was reduced to the indignity
of traveling in the baggage car.  As the train pulled out, those
standing on the platform did not wave goodbyes to Morris. But
what they felt in their hearts was the warmest of farewells to
this youth on whom their hopes were staked.  They wished him
Godspeed.
     Morris's return to Paris was different from his visit five
weeks before. Immediately after freeing Buddy from the baggage
car, he set forth with her to explore the city.  With a cabby who
spoke English, he headed straight for Napolean's tomb - that,
above all else, he wanted to visit.  As the taxi pulled up to the
majestic building, the driver told Morris the direction to the
great marble steps and Morris and Buddy strode up them.  The
officer at the entrance was aghast at the idea of the dog
entering into the sanctified interior, and perplexed at the
thought of a blind man wanting to go in.
     "But why? But why?" he asked Morris again and again. Finally
convinced of Morris's sincerity he noted that it was near closing
time and his good French heart overcame his professional
objections.  With a furtive look around to make sure the breach
wasn't observed, he led the way in.
     Morris and Buddy followed him inside and down the steps to
the sarcophagus itself.  Morris could feel in every nerve in his
body the tremendous impressiveness of the tomb.  While Buddy
watched, curious, with his fingers Morris reverently touched and
traced the surface of the things he could not see.  He seemed to
gain a subtle inspiration from them as though something told him
that he and Buddy might also lead - not to destruction as
Napoleon did - but to freedom - freedom for the blind!

     The June crossing from Le Havre to New York is probably
recorded in the 1928 log of the Cunard liner Tuscania as
uneventful.  To most of the passengers it undoubtedly was, even
to those in tourist class who found an item of unusual interest
in a blind young man and his dog Buddy.  Cautioned by Mrs. Eustis
about making extravagant claims of what dog guides were about to
do for American blind people, Morris restrained admirably his
inclination to buttonhole everyone who would listen to his
descriptions of Buddy's prowess.  He curbed his exuberance;
enjoyed the exhilarating sea air, the walks about the decks
unharried by solicitous stewards, and the certainty that he would
no longer be locked in his cabin.
     Once during the trip, Buddy demonstrated a practical
application of her education.  Morris had been to the purser's
office to settle an account.  Then, after a stroll about the
boat, he went down to his cabin for a nap.  He lay down on his
bed tired and disinclined to be playful when Buddy put her paw on
his chest to attract his attention.  He pushed her away.  She
persisted. He pushed her away again.  After he had rebuffed her
for the third time he felt something drop on his chest.  It was
his pocketbook containing his passport and every cent he
possessed.  He had dropped it while at the purser's office. 
Buddy had picked it up and carried it over the ship until he was
in a place where she could safely give it to him.
     Morris made friends with the purser and, feeling that he
could confide in a British official, told him something of his
hopes for establishing a school in America.  When, on the last
day, he presented himself at the office and asked how much he
owed for Buddy's passage the purser said, "Not a shilling: His
Majesty's government and the Cunard Line are very glad to aid
your work." That, Morris said to himself, was a spirit that held
out encouragement.
     The boat docked the following day.  Morris had expected the
Cunard Line publicity man might tip off the reporters that he was
a good story.  He was prepared for this contingency, he thought. 
It had been agreed in Switzerland that nothing of the proposals
for the opening of a school would be made public until Morris had
conclusively demonstrated Buddy's ability.  He had with him
several copies of a typed statement which was appropriately
ambiguous and which committed nobody to anything.  Morris
expected to hand the statement to any inquiring newshawk, murmur
a few innocuous words about how good it was to be back and let it
go at that.
     He failed to reckon on the ingenuity of the American
reporter.  After the routine photographs had been taken, a
feature writer cornered him in his cabin and began probing his
secrets with disarmingly innocent questions.  The first thing
Morris knew he was telling everything.  By the time Morris left
the boat, all the other ship-newsmen were aware that here was a
real story. 
     After customs inspection, one of them approached him.  "We
don't believe your dog is as good as you say she is," he
challenged.  "How about letting us see you go across West
Street?"
     With that sort of a challenge Morris would have attempted to
cross the River Styx on water wings.  But even his instinct
to accept any dare might have been restrained had he realized
what New York's West Street was like.  Running for several miles
along the Hudson River water-front, it is about as wide as Fifth
Avenue, and carries more rough and tumble traffic than any other
street in the city.
     In 1928, it was uncontrolled by any system of traffic
lights, and trucks, drays, taxicabs and an occasional automobile,
driven by a dare-devil, crashed over its rough pavement in an
obvious attempt to provide a continuing and convincing
demonstration of Darwin's theory of the survival of the fittest.
     But at that time Morris didn't know about this.  "Just tell
me where it is, brother," he said to the reporter, "and Buddy and
I'll do it."
     It was right in front of them.  He took a deep breath and
gave the command, "Buddy, forward."
     Later, Morris vowed that the next two or three minutes
were the longest in his life.  He hadn't taken five steps before
he was almost deafened by the confusing jumble of rumbling
trucks, screeching brakes and blaring horns.  His sense of
direction vanished and he knew that everything was up to Buddy. 
When she stopped to let trucks crash by, he could feel them flash
past, inches away from his face.  Several times Buddy pulled him
back quickly when one came too close.
     Two or three people yelled at him, "Watch out, you damn
fool, you'll get hit!" Morris faintly hoped that those people
were more irritated than prophetic.  It seemed hours later when
Buddy slowed up in her familiar way to indicate a step up at a
curb.  They had reached the other side.
     A moment later he heard a car pull up behind him and a voice
shouted, "Nice going, fellow.  Thanks." It was the reporter.  He
had crossed West Street in a cab.
     Morris knew then that he had the problem licked, but he
realized he would need to collect more evidence.  He stayed at an
uptown hotel and in the afternoon crossed several tricky
intersections.  At night he set out to check himself and Buddy in
the theatre crowds along Broadway's White Way, from Forty-second
to Fiftieth streets.  At every block or two he crossed from one
side of the street to the other.  There was never a hitch.  After
West Street even the perplexing triangle formed by the
intersection of Seventh Avenue with Broadway was like child's
play.
     After a week in New York, Morris set out for Philadelphia.
The conductor refused to permit Buddy to ride in the coach so the
two of them rode together in the baggage car.  From Philadelphia,
he went on to Washington and from there to Cincinnati, visiting
friends and relatives en route and always searching out
intersections with difficult and congested traffic to cross and
recross with Buddy.
     By the time he got home to Nashville, Morris knew that
further testing was needless.  One day late in June, he went to
the telephone and called Western Union.  "I want to send a cable
to Eustis, Mont Pelerin, Switzerland," he told the operator. 
"Yes," came the operator's voice.  "What is the message?"
"Success," said Morris.  "Signed Morris and Buddy."
     "Is that all, just that one word?" the operator asked.
     Just that one word, Morris thought, as he hung up the
receiver.  As if you could say more if you wrote a book.
     After the round of family receptions arranged in his honor -
at which Buddy invariably became the center of attention - a new
life opened up for Morris.  He went back to his insurance
business and, thanks in part at least to Buddy's indefatigable
charm, found himself more successful than ever before. 
Everywhere he went, whether for business or pleasure, he was
accepted as an individual with an identity instead of being, as
he had been for four years, "that blind man." People called him
by name.  He was a personage. That was important to Morris,
because it built up his self-respect.  But though often given
reason for expanding egotism, he tried always to remember that
this prominence would soon wear off, as the effect of all
novelties must.  What was more important to him was the
realization that even after he and Buddy were no longer lionized
he could still be a person.
     Buddy had difficulty at first in gaining admittance to some
public places.  A few restaurants and one or two office buildings
as well as the Nashville street-car lines were recalcitrant for a
time.  But Morris welcomed an argument and once he found that
public opinion was solidly behind him and Buddy, enjoyed
mustering it on his side, sometimes to the chagrin and
embarrassment of those who opposed him.
     On one occasion, the public was so outspoken in its protest
against a restaurant which closed its doors to Buddy, that the
local manager was removed after being stigmatized as a "damn
Yankee." Encouraged by this and other manifestations of his
guide's popularity, Morris would have doubtless dared the United
States Army to prevent his entry with Buddy into any public place
they wished to visit as long as the home town was behind him! But
soon he learned that more friends are won by persuasion than by
belligerence.  And many a time in the years that followed, Morris
was to turn away meekly when refused entrance to a restaurant or
an office building, though he knew that all he needed to do was
to raise his voice slightly and thereby make his predicament
known to others around him and then stand back and let them fight
his cause.
     But this readiness for a fight was not Morris's only early
mistake.  He made the tactical error of allowing himself to be
persuaded by some of Buddy's adoring friends to have her entered
in a dog show.  Despite the strict regulations as to Buddy's
diet, laid down at Fortunate Fields, Morris was overindulgent of
her appetite.  And everywhere they went, their host and hostess
seemed to regard it as a personal affront if they weren't allowed
to set before Buddy a platter of delicacies.  Buddy had grown
just plain fat.
     But Morris entered her in the show anyhow.  The judges,
being competent, and no sentimentalists, never gave her as much
as a second glance, and she was disqualified as a contender on
first showing.  When she was led out of the ring, a loser, the
spectators began booing.
     Buddy was brought back to Morris who was seated in the
audience.  The booing continued.  The judges, naturally
discomfited, finally became aware that the crowd was displeased
because their favorite - their Buddy - was not to get a prize. 
Immediately they went into a huddle to see what could be done
about it.  Finally, the happy thought occurred to one of them
that Buddy was the only imported bitch of her breed entered in
the show.  That being so, she couldn't be outclassed and so it
was announced that Buddy would receive a special prize for being
the best imported animal in the show of her type.  The
announcement was greeted with cheers.
     Several weeks after Morris had returned to Nashville, he
received letters from a blind Pennsylvania minister and a blind
doctor who lived in Illinois, asking how they could get dogs like
Buddy.  The publicity which had been given to Morris on his
journeys had begun to bring results.  These first letters were
followed by others and soon Morris found himself in
correspondence with several blind persons who wanted the
independence he was demonstrating. When he had convinced himself
that their interest was genuine, Morris wrote a long letter to
Mrs. Eustis.  The time had come, he told her, to start the work
in America.
     It was late summer when he received her reply.  Fortunate
Fields was ready to go ahead.  Two dogs would be prepared for
blind students by the following February and five more in March. 
Would that many blind people be ready by then?
     Would they? Morris would tell the world they would.

     CHAPTER 6
     Morris Frank's success in testing himself with Buddy, and
the interest shown by the blind in dog guides prompted Dorothy
Eustis to revise her work in Switzerland in order to devote time
to establishing The Seeing Eye.  While past experience indicated
some of the difficulties which might arise, none of the people at
Fortunate Fields was prepared for the succession of failures and
obstacles which were to be met and surmounted in the course of
the next few years.
     There were innumerable threads to tie up, constant new
opportunities for developing the service, each of which needed
study and exploration, and two major problems which needed
solving.  One of these was the necessity for meeting the highly
individual problems presented with each blind person.  The other
was the essential but seemingly insoluble task of finding men
capable of being instructors of dogs and blind people.  A montage
of the next few months would have consisted of almost endless
flashes of unrelated scenes.  But later, as The Seeing Eye
evolved, practically all of these scenes found a place in the
pattern.  Those days were not easy.
     It was decided that initial classes would be held in
Nashville.  Jack would go there for the first class with dogs
educated at Fortunate Fields.  For although at first it would be
necessary to send an instructor from Fortunate Fields to do the
work in America, it was expected that within a short time a
suitable instructor could be found or developed there.
     Early in 1929 Mrs. Eustis returned to the United States with
the intention of creating an organization which would foster the
development of The Seeing Eye.  Two things were needed: sound
sponsorship and funds.  Sponsorship was necessary because any new
organization is known by the company it keeps.  A few prominent
people as patrons would be of assistance in convincing the public
that the school wasn't a clever racket.  Funds were needed
because the school would be non-profit.  Blind people of small
incomes or of no income at all were to be served.  The cost of
supplying them would have to be met by donations.
     With customary directness, Mrs. Eustis determined to try to
procure both of these at one time.  She had been invited to speak
before New York's elite women's group, the Colony Club, and she
appeared there to deliver the first public address on the subject
given anywhere.  In addition to her own powers of persuasion, she
had with her some motion pictures which had been taken in Vevey
while Morris Frank was learning to use Buddy.  Thus equipped she
outlined her plans before several hundred women who had among
them sufficient means at their disposal to endow The Seeing Eye
for a generation, if they wanted to.
     But they didn't want to.  Mrs. Eustis was cordially
received, her plans politely applauded, and everyone thought it
was one of the most interesting talks given at the Colony Club in
years.  All this was gratifying but unproductive.  Following the
talk they didn't come forward in any great numbers to pledge
financial assistance.
     Lack of the hoped-for response did not deter Mrs. Eustis.
She called on three friends, explained her plans to them, and
asked each of them to subscribe $2,500 a year for three years to
help her get the school started.  They all agreed and with this
backing she went to Nashville.  There, after two meetings with
representative people in the community, The Seeing Eye was
incorporated by the State of Tennessee.  Morris opened a small
office in the name of the new organization in a room adjoining
his insurance office.  Already two applicants, one from Illinois
and one from Georgia, had been approved and selected to receive
dogs brought over by Jack Humphrey.  Their dogs were receiving
final tune-up instruction in Nashville.  At Jack's invitation and
insistence, Willi Ebeling had gone down from his New Jersey home
to study techniques and assist, and a well-known American trainer
of dogs for police work had been engaged in the hope that he
might be developed into a satisfactory instructor.
     But the work of a man versed in training dogs for police
service soon proved to Jack Humphrey such a background was the
antithesis of what was required for teaching dogs to guide the
blind.  It quickly became evident that The Seeing Eye was likely
to have more success with those who were taught to do the job
from the ground up.  Seemingly experience in other kinds of
animal training would not be particularly valuable.  What had
been previously learned might need to be unlearned in working
with guide dogs for the blind.
     While preliminary work was still going ahead, one of the
leading institutions for the blind in this country inspected The
Seeing Eye's work in Nashville.  The director of this
organization, himself blind, decided that he would procure a dog
and try it out.  The Seeing Eye was hopeful that recognition by
such an important organization might lead to immediate acceptance
of the dog guide by similar associations throughout the country.
The Seeing Eye then believed that it might best develop its
service if it placed its technique and its dogs under the wing of
an established blind association and became a part of its general
activity.
     To this end, a group of dogs was educated for a class of
blind persons selected in cooperation with the association.  The
police dog trainer was detailed to handle this class under Mr.
Ebeling's supervision and it was during the instruction and
training that differences in technique became evident which were
difficult to reconcile.  Conflicting opinions precipitated many
heated discussions and Mr. Ebeling would have dropped any attempt
to carry through the collaboration if the association had not
been
insistent.  It was doubtless one of the most difficult
experiences any young and struggling organization could have had.
     When the class was finally completed, The Seeing Eye adopted
a resolution to which it has since strictly adhered.  Always in
the future, it was agreed, the school would develop its work
according to its own high standards.  Never would it split
responsibility with any other group.  The technical knowledge
required for sound judgment on its work was an essential part of
the responsibility which The Seeing Eye assumed with every blind
student it accepted.  As no other group shared the knowledge, no
other group could share the responsibility.
     The first two classes also demonstrated that the climate in
Nashville would be unsuitable for the strenuous work of teaching
the dogs and the blind students.  After considerable study of
possible places, Mr. Ebeling proposed that the school be moved to
his home in New Jersey where adequate kennel space could be
provided for the dogs and where the community of Morristown
offered excellent natural traffic problems for training.
Morristown had everything that was needed: quiet, residential
streets within a few blocks of a square on which converged the
bulk of the traffic from three main state highways.  It also had
several shopping streets with numerous busy stores which would
provide a wide variety of pedestrian traffic.  His offer was
accepted and plans were made to move to New Jersey.
     For nearly two and a half years Willi Ebeling gave not only
his house and kennels and himself to The Seeing Eye; he went
further than that and gave his dogs as well.  A breeder of
splendid shepherds of the working type, his dogs were most
adaptable to the instruction and were most successful.  While
headquarters were in Mr. Ebeling's home the students were housed
in a comfortable hotel in Morristown.  Even in these early days
the efficacy of the dogs was dramatically demonstrated.  One
night
fire broke out in the hotel.  Before the fire department arrived
with its equipment the eight blind men of the current class had
been quietly guided out of the burning building, the first
tenants to reach the sidewalk.
     While work was carried forward in Nashville and Morristown,
Dorothy Eustis and Jack Humphrey were in Germany trying to find
men there who might be capable instructors.  The lesson learned
in the abortive attempt to obtain a capable instructor by the
simple expedient of hiring an excellent dog trainer and teaching
him the specialized work, had been costly but valuable.  After
their return to Fortunate Fields, Jack and Mrs. Eustis
decided that the most probable source of a ready-made instructor
would be one of the German schools.
     It seemed logical to assume that some or at least one of the
men from the blind guiding schools in Potsdam or Oldenburg might
be induced to work in America.  Mrs. Eustis put the whole matter
frankly before school officials. One told her with equal
frankness that on their large staff only three men were
considered capable of instructing dogs without constant
supervision and it would be impossible to tempt them away.  They
explained that as school executives they had made practically no
effort to develop fully capable instructors, having instead
instituted a system of strict supervision which was adequate to
the German requirements.
     Mrs. Eustis and Jack searched the entire country following
up all clues which might lead them to a competent instructor. 
One man, recommended as particularly able, was found in a state
verging on nervous collapse from the strain of the work. 
Another, also highly recommended had, he proudly declared,
developed his own system.  He didn't know how to explain it
exactly, but it seemed to work out fairly well, he said.  Such
casualness was not to be countenanced by the precise
methodologists at Fortunate Fields.
     Mrs. Eustis heard of one institution which trained dogs and
shipped them to their prospective owners with a letter of
instruction as to their use.  The head of this enterprising if
dangerous racket refused to see Mrs. Eustis and literally slammed
the door in her face when she requested an interview.  Later in
Zurich she saw one of the dogs which had been graduated from this
"school." The man and his dog managed to negotiate fairly well as
long as they were on an uncrowded sidewalk.  But every time they
came to a street crossing, they stopped and waited until a kindly
pedestrian came along and led both of them across.
     Later Mrs. Eustis and Jack had reason to be thankful
that they had not been able to secure an instructor from Potsdam.
Further investigation into the teaching methods showed that they
might probably have failed in America without a complete and
utterly impracticable revision in instructor attitude and
technique.  Students in the German schools accepted training
automatically without asking why.  But however impressive it
might seem to a novice, the instruction did not allow for the
freedom of movement required for guide work in America.  In spite
of the friendly cooperation of Potsdam much of the work ahead
still had to be experimental.
     After the exhaustive survey of the possibilities of finding
a fully developed teacher, Mrs. Eustis and Jack realized that
their first and main job was to start a school for instructors.
Fortunate Fields was already crowded with the now continuous
routine of police and army courses and by the breeding program
which was being expanded.  A new site would have to be selected. 
A Swiss Army captain who was keenly interested in Fortunate
Fields agreed to rent his home in Lausanne to the project for a
temporary period.  There, under a French translation of the name
"Seeing Eye," L'Oeil Qui Voit, a school for apprentice
instructors was formally opened with three pupils on June 19,
1929.
     By the time L'Oeil Qui Voit was ready to begin operations,
Mrs. Eustis had foreseen the possibilities of developing guide
dog services for countries other than America.  She envisaged an
educational and experimental center in Switzerland to which
qualified men might come from France, Italy, Belgium, England -
from any interested country, in fact, to learn the fundamentals
which would enable them eventually to establish schools similar
to The Seeing Eye in their own countries.
     The functions of L'Oeil Qui Voit were to be two-fold. First,
it would provide the initial experimental dogs for those
countries interested in the service.  Second, it would prepare
the instructors for those countries so that eventually each of
them would have its own school with a staff of instructors
capable of meeting the high standards of The Seeing Eye.  Because
of her intense personal interest in the humanitarian aspects of
the question, Mrs. Eustis believed that leaders in work for the
blind everywhere would be equally alert to the tremendous
possibilities she saw in the guide dog. She expected to find them
eager to participate at L'Oeil Qui Voit the moment its service
became available.
     But new ideas, even good, often take a long time to
penetrate the minds of those who should be the first to recognize
their inherent value. In nearby Italy, where Mrs. Eustis first
attempted to arouse interest, she was warmly welcomed by a few
friends, and individuals subscribed enough funds to teach dogs
for twenty Italian blind people.  But in other quarters she found
that her motives were suspected.  It was hinted that she had come
down from Fortunate Fields with some new idea which she hoped to
use to worm a decoration out of the King.  It took both tenacity
and forebearance to buck that attitude. But Dorothy Eustis's chin
was out and she kept at it consistently until her sincerity could
no longer be questioned.  Even state officials agreed that she
must be in earnest because no Italian medal could be worth the
effort she was putting into her plea.
     Once her sincerity was established, Mrs. Eustis received
great encouragement from all sides.  In Italy, under the
administrative set-up devised by Mussolini, all work for the
blind came under one man who could make decisions without
consulting innumerable boards and committees.  When the way was
finally prepared for Mrs. Eustis to see him he agreed almost at
once to send a representative to L'Oeil Qui Voit to make an
investigation of what was being done there.
     But in France it was a different story.  Private citizens
were interested and subscribed to scholarships.  But when she
approached schools for the blind Mrs. Eustis's enthusiastic
proposals were met not with official suspicion but something much
worse - official apathy.  She found many large organizations and
innumerable smaller ones working in one way or another on behalf
of the blind, but with intense antagonism and intense rivalry and
almost no central organization or clearing house.  She was
shunted back and forth from one to the other steadily for weeks,
and when she came away she had not aroused a sign of even feeble
interest. That Mrs. Eustis's convictions were undimmed by such a
reception is attested by the fact that she persistently kept at
the authorities in France for more than five years although she
never once received the slightest encouragement from any of them.
     The initial reception of the idea in England was not
inspiring either.  Sir Ian Fraser, head of St. Dunstan's,
England's great organization for war blind, had visited Fortunate
Fields in Switzerland and spent a week carefully studying every
phase of the subject with Jack Humphrey.  He followed this up
with a visit to Potsdam and returned to England sincerely
convinced of the value of the work.  He was, however, unable to
convince his board of directors that it would be a worthwhile
project for St. Dunstan's.  When Mrs. Eustis came to England to
talk with him he had to discourage her.
     The problem of cooperation between Fortunate Fields and
England was further complicated by the six months of quarantine
required before a dog could enter Great Britain.  Because of this
strict regulation for control of rabies it would be impossible to
educate the dogs in Switzerland and then ship them over.  They
would have to be trained all over again by the time they got out
of quarantine.  Likewise, it would be impossible for a blind
person to come from England to Switzerland to get a dog if, on
his return home, the animal was to be taken away from him for six
months.  The only solution seemed to be to prepare an instructor
for England at L'Oeil Qui Voit and then send him over to begin
work there.  He would not be able to use Fortunate Fields dogs
but there was doubtless a sufficient supply of educable dogs
available in Great Britain to make a start on the project. 
Encouraged by the National Institute for the Blind, and through
the crusading interest of Miss Muriel Crook, the Guide Dogs for
the Blind Association was formed, with headquarters at Wallasey
near Liverpool.  Mr. Humphrey's services were to be donated to
the new school by L'Oeil Qui Voit; local costs of operation in
Great Britain were to be raised by contributions in England.
     Meanwhile, L'Oeil Qui Voit was experiencing numerous
difficulties in Lausanne.  It was not easy to find ambitious
young men interested in dedicating their lives to the career of
teaching dogs to guide the blind.  Unfortunately many people were
disinclined to agree with Dorothy Eustis's contention that the
work was much more exciting than managing an office or going
"into trade" and that it was equally honorable.  When it came to
considering the prospect of their own sons participating in
L'Oeil Qui Voit, with very few exceptions, the "best people" were
inclined to banish the thought with the damning appellation of
"dog training." Inasmuch as only the rare individual could
qualify for the work, even if he took it most seriously,
obviously most of the young men who did enroll as apprentices in
the course at L'Oeil Qui Voit were unfitted in temperament for
their positions.
     They were also unfitted by their backgrounds to deal with
some of the tourists, one of whom followed the apprentices about
Lausanne intently observing their every action, anticipating the
moment when they could be arrested for "cruelty" to animals. The
ridiculous accusation of cruelty was constantly hurled at L'Oeil
Qui Voit from one source or another.  Indignant apprentices were
very frequently hailed into court, only to have the charges of
cruelty against them dismissed.  The most frequent accusation
made was the absurd but nevertheless vehement assertion that the
dogs were being enslaved and robbed of their right to freedom. 
The lives of the apprentices were made miserable with such
constant interference.
     There is something to be said, however, in justice to the
critics.  During those early days when the work was entirely
unknown and no public spirited and impartial group stood sponsor
for it, misinterpreting a routine procedure in educating dogs was
a natural mistake for a layman who had no knowledge of animals. 
For example, when a guide dog in training slows down its pace,
the instructor calls encouragingly, "hup, hup," which means "come
on, snap out of it." When through some perversity of the moment
the dog does not immediately respond the instructor repeats the
command, at the same time bringing his right foot in back of his
left knee to tap the dog's hind-quarters.  There is no force to
it. There couldn't be or the man would upset himself.  But to the
observer who is looking for an opportunity to criticize, the
instructor is kicking the dog! What the tourists did not
understand was that they did not understand.  And, unfortunately
they made no effort to find out the facts.
     The pressure on L'Oeil Qui Voit did not relax much even
after six months when the school was moved from Lausanne back to
Vevey where it could be more conveniently near Fortunate Fields.
Criticism broke out afresh and finally came to a climax when one
irate, but entirely unprovoked, Britisher attacked an apprentice
with his cane.  To his everlasting credit the young man did not
retaliate but promptly called a policeman.
     A physical attack is a most serious offense in Switzerland
and the townspeople were greatly shocked.  Most of them
immediately rallied to the defense of the school.  They called
two town meetings; one in the afternoon and one in the evening,
so everyone could be heard.  People came from sixty miles away.
They reported on their investigation of the training methods and
voiced their indignation at outside interference.  Several
constituted themselves deputies to prevent tourist interference
with the instruction.  Under this pressure the criticism
gradually subsided.  The critics one day became boosters; some of
them years later were to tell dinner companions how they had
watched the beginning years of The Seeing Eye in Switzerland with
great interest.  "Wonderful work, you know," they would say.
     One of the most important problems in teaching apprentices
arose seemingly out of a small matter.  It was necessary to get
the apprentice instructors to convey appropriate praise to the
dog for work well done.  At Fortunate Fields, in training for
police work, it was agreed the spirited French phrase "Oui, ii
est beau," which translates into good American as "That's a good
boy," was the most expressive and therefore the most effective
phrase possible.  Properly enunciated it has verve and is a good
many decibels above a whisper.
     But it was one thing for an instructor to put his heart and
voice into paying that compliment for a job well done in the
privacy of Fortunate Fields; it was quite another to do so in the
public streets where its delivery with appropriate and essential
emphasis was certain to attract the attention and arouse the
curiosity of passersby.  Then there was for many months the
ever-present danger of attracting the unwelcome attention of a
tourist. This possible embarrassment to the green and uncertain
apprentices caused them frequently to mutter the words of
encouragement and approbation, thus reducing them to a low
monotone which had no heartening effect whatsoever on the animal.

Even where the apprentice was willing to shout if necessary, he
seldom put enough spirit into it.
     A course in voice culture had to be instituted.  It was
necessary to give special instruction to the men to speak their
commands to the dogs distinctly.  But this proved to be
inadequate.  Finally Jack Humphrey found out what was wrong.  The
men's voices followed their eyes and therefore wandered with any
diversion of interest.  The apprentices weren't focusing their
attention on the dog.  Like Morris Frank when corrected by Sothem
and Marlowe, they spoke their commands into the air, and so
their commands were only about 50 per cent effective.  Jack
taught them to direct their voices and their undivided attention
at a point between the dog's ears, just as if they were speaking
into the animal's brain.  It was a method of concentrating
attention where it belonged - on the dog, and animals responded
with better work immediately.  Then, with attention fully
directed where it was needed, Jack standardized the tone for all
commands.  This helped to assure evenness of performance, because
it informed the dog by tone as well as by word of what was
wanted.  This technique has since become a cardinal principle in
the teaching of blind students and the instructors as well.
     Teaching apprentices presented many other unanticipated
difficulties.  It was one thing for Jack Humphrey to work out a
method of teaching something to a dog or a blind person which he
could himself use.  He was not only expert in established
technique but he was also a master of improvising new methods to
meet unanticipated requirements as they arose.  But he could not
advise his apprentices to build up or depend upon a general
reliance on instinct or experience to tell them what to do to
meet unexpected problems.  He had to teach a system, a method
which would be workable for any apt pupil and covering all
problems that might be faced.  He had to reduce his own knowledge
of things which he did instinctively to simple, understandable
statements of fact.  It was a difficult job for an individualist
who was a better listener than teacher.  It was a continuous
process of analysis, experiment, error, correction-repeated, it
seemed, ad infinitum.
     The dogs with which the apprentices first worked showed
unmistakably that they were being trained instead of being
educated.  It was easy, for example, to teach a dog to stop for a
curb or a step.  It was exceedingly difficult and required vastly
different methods to teach a dog why it should stop.  The
apprentices' dogs were learning to stop for a curb but they
weren't stopping for a shallow ditch which might be equally
dangerous and which certainly called for an application of the
same principle.
     Teaching a green dog to stop for an automobile rather than
to scoot out of its way, at a pace which no blind person could
safely follow, required that the apprentice instructor go out
into the street and meet an advancing motor car. As the mud guard
bore down on the dog's head, a smart smack of the
apprentice's hand on the fender would bring it sharply to the
animal's notice. If the synchronization of the dog, automobile
and smack was imperfect, the dog would be left with a muddled
impression of what it was all about.  This was worse than no
lesson at all.
     On one occasion an important principle was learned while
giving such a lesson.  Jack Humphrey had a theory that if
properly handled the whys and wherefores of stopping for a
vehicle could be taught the dog in one lesson. One day on a test
to demonstrate his point, the first vehicle he met seemed made
for the purpose.  A farmer perched high on the box of his little
farm wagon was sleepily driving his horse home after a long day
at the market. Nicely judging the distance from the curb, Jack
gave his dog the command "forward" at the moment it would bring
horse and dog together.
     Absorbed in his test, Jack thought only of the dog.  As his
hand hit the shaft with a resounding smack, the horse opened both
eyes wide in startled surprise, hunched up and brought all four
feet together and skidded sideways into the gutter where he
folded up in a heap.  Startled, the farmer let out a stream of
oaths which menaced Jack's person in no uncertain terms.  In a
split second, Jack shut both his eyes, commanded "forward" and
let the dog guide him out of the difficulty.
     He was two blocks away before he opened his eyes.  The
farmer was far behind and Jack had already forgotten him.  For in
that short walk with his eyes tightly closed Jack learned
something which ultimately provided The Seeing Eye with the final
guaranty of the accuracy and safety of its work - the blindfold
test.  Jack had discovered several defects in his dog's guiding
technique which he had not observed before even when checking the
dog for proficiency.  The dog had shown uncertainty when given
direction commands where previously it had moved with sureness
and case.
     Investigation revealed a serious defect in the training
technique.  It showed that an instructor teaching a dog with his
eyes open always, unconsciously by moving a hand or an arm, gave
signals which the dog came to expect and which therefore
emphasized the voice command.  Missing those confirming signals,
the dog had hesitated to follow Jack's voice only.  Jack realized
at once that such hand signals could not be given by a blind
person.  From that point on, no dog was graduated by L'Oeil Qui
Voit or The Seeing Eye until it had passed several exacting
traffic tests with its instructor completely blindfolded and
entirely unable to compensate for any imperfections in his
animal.
     The problem of finding capable young men to take the
apprentice course continued to be serious.  There seemed to be no
way of determining in advance the qualifications a man should
have. It seemed obvious at first that patience would be one of
them.  It was believed that an apprentice would need tireless
endurance in order to repeat over and over again the lessons
necessary to teach the dog.  It was also assumed that great
patience would be necessary in the instruction of the blind.
     But impertinent though persevering patience was actually
found to be a handicap rather than an asset.  An apprentice who
had that quality of patience which would enable him to repeat
endlessly was likely to take twice as long to complete a
particular lesson as a man with a "do-it-now" spirit coupled with
proper self-control.  In teaching the dog the important thing was
to get the animal to understand what was required of it.  When
that was accomplished the instructor merely had to insist with
calm intelligence and with kindness that the job be done.  That
produced results.  Cheerfulness, willingness and a capacity for
high concentration and quick coordination also seemed to be
essential.  Hunting for a needle in a haystack would have been
child's play compared with the task of finding these qualities in
a single individual.  And after they were discovered there were
apparently other equally important qualifications which no one
seemed able to define.
     Certainly the challenge presented in the securing of the
proper material for instructor apprentices was a vital one.  The
Seeing Eye's attitude continued to be one of characteristic
honesty and thoroughness.
     Dozens of young men who expressed a desire to become
apprentices were tested.  Most of them lasted only a few days or
weeks before leaving to make way for someone else.  A vocational
bureau was pressed into service and all the tests then known were
given to applicants in an effort at predetermination of their
ability.  For months, this bureau furnished L'Oeil Qui Voit with
a constant stream of men.  How many likely candidates the bureau
may have eliminated is not known.  But of those who were
recommended, not one succeeded.
     For a time, Mrs. Eustis and Mr. Humphrey hoped that selected
women apprentices might prove satisfactory.  The excellent work
which had been done by women in England, both as obedience
trainers and kennel maids, encouraged them to believe that women
might be adaptable.  But despite the fine record made by two
women considerable experimentation demonstrated that they could
not do the job.  The work was more suitable for men.  A woman
with the necessary attributes was, like such a man, exceedingly
rare, and after attaining some proficiency the constant physical
and mental strain was likely to prove too much for her endurance.
With a woman there is also the ever-present possibility and
perhaps, on her part, the hope that she may suddenly abandon her
work to become a wife.  L'Oeil Qui Voit could not afford to
provide several years of costly education as a background for
marriage.  So women were rejected as applicants as a matter of
policy.
     Of all the scores of people who attempted the courses
of instruction at L'Oeil Qui Voit, only three made the grade. 
One of them went to England, another to Italy.  The third is
William Debetaz who was a member of the first class enrolled in
L'Oeil Qui Voit the day it was opened.  His qualifications were
so exceptional and he assimilated the instruction so eagerly that
within six months he was sent to America to join Willi Ebeling in
establishing The Seeing Eye at Morristown, where help was greatly
needed.
     It had soon become apparent that a central headquarters was
needed for The Seeing Eye, one which combined both the
dog-training establishment and the students' dormitories. To have
the blind students living in a hotel in Morristown was most
unsatisfactory; there was almost no opportunity for the
successful building up of a close relationship between Mr.
Ebeling and Mr. Debetaz and the students.  These relations, Mr.
Ebeling quickly sensed, would be highly important.  Sensitive
blind people - many of them conditioned by years in habits of
helplessness - could not be expected, except in most unusual
circumstances, to become entirely different people with a
completely changed outlook on life, in the short space of thirty
days.  Mr. Ebeling realized that the confidence and respect of
every blind person was absolutely necessary.
     Mrs. Eustis and Mr. Ebeling agreed that to accomplish this
it would be essential to bring the organization together as one
unit. Since Morristown provided ideal traffic problems and the
climate was most suitable, it was decided to locate as near by as
possible.  In October, 1931, Mrs. Eustis acquired for The Seeing
Eye a large country property three miles out of Morristown in the
adjacent village of Whippany.
     The house was a large building with ten bedrooms, ample
kitchen and dining facilities, and space which could, with slight
changes, be made into an excellent dormitory.  On the first floor
there was room for several offices, and by enclosing porches,
additional offices could be created when needed.  Back of the
main house was a large barn which had been converted into a
garage and which, with another smaller building, provided kennel
facilities. In addition to the grounds occupied by these
buildings there were some sixty acres of land.  In the back of
Dorothy Eustis's mind was already the thought that it might later
be desirable to bring everything over from Switzerland.  That
additional sixty acres which The Seeing Eye did not need could
take care of any expansion of Fortunate Fields which might
possibly be conceived.
     The first problem The Seeing Eye had to face in
endeavoring to establish itself in its new home on Whippany Road
appeared at once.  Some of the well-to-do neighbors learned that
a "dog farm" was to be established near them and immediately took
steps to rezone the property and thereby prevent its transfer.
Residents envisioned the countryside being overrun with dogs,
terrorizing their own pets, biting their children and in general
taking most of the joy out of living in the peaceful New Jersey
countryside.  They organized meetings and petitioned the local
authorities.  Fortunately for them, the law was on the side of
The Seeing Eye.  It was fortunate because they later became proud
to have the organization as a neighbor and fully enjoyed the
splendid distinction which it brought to their community.
     By December the buildings were refurnished and ready to
receive The Seeing Eye.  Except for the disapproving neighbors,
no one took notice of the event. America was in a tail spin of
deflation - belatedly heading into the worst depression the world
had ever seen, despite optimistic predictions of a new and
greater prosperity which was "just around the corner." Mussolini
was the respected Messiah of a growing crop of believers in
leadership through strength.  The imminent collapse of the
Russian Communist experiment was freely predicted.  A man by the
name of Adolf Hitler was beginning to get something more than
local attention for the underground strong-arm political machine
he was building in Germany.  The Japanese were explaining that
they meant only to "police" Manchuria and to establish
opportunities for trade there which would immeasurably benefit
the ungrateful and darkly suspicious Chinese.  Thus was the
attention of the world occupied when on December first The Seeing
Eye unceremoniously moved into its first headquarters and
prepared to provide dogs for twenty-two blind men and women in
the year of our Lord, 1932.

     CHAPTER 7
     One of the first questions an interested person usually asks
about The Seeing Eye is how the dogs are trained.  Strangers
frequently approach a Seeing Eye instructor busy at work on the
streets of Morristown and put that question in the manner of one
who expects a complete answer in a few sentences.  It is somewhat
like asking an admiral how a battleship is built.  The procedure
is complicated and is apt to vary in some particular with each
dog.
     A convenient and accurate answer to the question is that the
dogs are educated by kindness.  But again this is somewhat like
answering the question about the battleship by replying, "It is
built with steel." Steel is doubtless the basic ingredient in the
construction of a large naval vessel, just as kindness is the
basic ingredient used in the education of a Seeing Eye dog.  But
there is much more to it than that. Carrying the analogy even
further, it takes just as long to teach a likely apprentice how
to educate a Seeing Eye dog as it does to construct a battleship
from blueprint to launching - some four years.  Complete data on
the process of dog instruction would fill a volume or two and, in
fact, does in manuscript in the archives of The Seeing Eye.
     But despite its complexity there are a few elementary but
interesting methods of teaching, developed and used by The Seeing
Eye, which can be described for the layman.
     The first step in educating a dog for this work is selecting
the right dog.  The dog must be responsive to instruction, a
general quality for which The Seeing Eye uses a tongue-twister of
a word - "educability." But there are a good many dogs which
readily assimilate lessons that would be highly unsatisfactory in
guiding the blind.  They are intelligent but lack essential
qualities.  These qualities are most generally found in the
German shepherd.
     A notable example of canine intelligence that has no place
in guide work is the type possessed by the French poodle, though
for many years these dogs have been the stand-by of circus and
vaudeville acts.  Poodles are now gaining some distinction and
recognition of their intelligence in dog show obedience trials,
where a dog is rated according to its ability to execute
precisely and efficiently certain standard commands.  They are
amazingly quick.  The French poodle could learn the routine of
guiding a blind person in about two-thirds of the time it takes
to teach it to a German shepherd.  But the intelligence of the
poodle is such that it obeys the letter of a command with never a
thought of disobedience. Obviously this would be a serious
handicap in guide work.
     Since a blind person cannot see what is before him, he must
frequently issue commands to his dog which if followed exactly as
given would lead him into disaster.  If a blind person were
standing on a street corner facing heavy traffic and gave a
poodle the command "forward," the reaction of the dog would be to
obey instantly.  It would step off into the traffic, possibly at
great risk to its own and its master's life.  Faced with an open
manhole, the poodle on the command "forward" would not go left or
right and around the manhole but it would, as has been
demonstrated in tests, attempt to jump it, to the imminent and
serious risk of its blind charge.  If there were an obstruction
across the sidewalk and a line of cars blocking the curb, making
it difficult to go around the obstruction, at the command
"forward," the poodle would be distressed and unable to proceed.
It would be unable to figure out the necessity for going first in
several other directions in order eventually to go forward.  It
does not have the kind of mentality it takes to disobey the
letter of such a command, and get where the blind man wants to go
by obeying the spirit of it.
     The dachshund provides an example of a real intelligence in
the other extreme.  Apart from its size, the dachshund as a type
is unsatisfactory for guiding blind people because, being
completely self-centered, it uses its intelligence to avoid doing
the things it doesn't want to do, if it can at the same time
avoid punishment.  This quality in the breed has proved
exasperating to many dachshund owners and fanciers, some of whom
have condemned the animal.  The breed is not dull-witted.  It is
merely exceedingly clever in gaining its own ends.
     The Seeing Eye dog must not only be able to assimilate
education; it must be willing to use what it has been taught in a
way which will not endanger its blind master.  The dog must be
able to reason, and by reasoning, not by instinct, determine when
a course of procedure would be dangerous to follow.  Then it must
be able to reason out what can be done which would be safe.  This
ability, which is inherent in some degree in most shepherds, is
the key to the extraordinary accomplishments of Seeing Eye dogs. 
If they did not have this capacity, and if they were not
thoroughly and properly taught how to use it, there would be no
possibility of their being dependable and efficient in modern
traffic.
     This essential quality is present in some breeds other than
shepherds but in those of the right size, strength and with a
coat of fur which is easily kept clean, it occurs only in
exceptional individuals.  These individuals of other breeds make
up about 5 per cent of the total graduated by The Seeing Eye. 
They do the work every bit as well as the shepherd.  The Seeing
Eye has been successful with a number of selected animals from a
hunting type of dog - notably the Chesapeake and the Labrador
Retriever.  In hunting, a good retriever reacts only on command,
whether that command is the spoken word of a master, the shooting
of a gun, or the falling of a bird.  The dog is not expected to
take the initiative in figuring out when to retrieve, and indeed,
if it does take that initiative, it is an unsatisfactory hunter. 
If it has the quality of initiative, which is another way of
saying the ability to disobey, then it very likely would make a
suitable Seeing Eye dog.
     The selection of the dog involves factors which are not
readily described.  Except for a few specific points, even Jack
Humphrey cannot tell you precisely why he will approve one dog
and reject another.  He can explain, of course, that every
acceptable dog must be in a healthy condition, have good strong
feet, and probably be lacking in the body points which are
usually associated with success in the show ring.  He can explain
also why a dog would be rejected for lack of "gun sureness."
Every dog is tested for his reaction to the nearby explosion of a
Fourth of July torpedo.  Many otherwise capable dogs are shy of
such a noise and will cringe when they hear it. In the presence
of sudden noises, such as the back-firing of an automobile, such
an animal would be completely unsafe for guiding a blind person.
     Beyond these somewhat easily defined factors, however, Jack
Humphrey depends for accuracy in making the selection on his own
keen judgment, sharpened by years of handling thousands of dogs. 
One dog will have a slight lackluster in its eye, another will
have an almost imperceptible droop to its tail and head.  Still
another will cringe when approached - so slightly that a layman
wouldn't notice.  Dogs with these faults must be instantly
rejected, but only a man long trained in their detection can
discover them before the dog is put in class.
     When a dog is tentatively selected for instruction, it is
placed on probation for from two to four weeks in the quarantine
kennels.  This provides a safe period of observation and
segregation during which some latent disease or illness has an
opportunity to develop without running the risk of infecting
other dogs.  This is important, for some types of disease can
wipe out an entire kennel of fifty to a hundred dogs in a week.
It also provides a further and necessary opportunity for Jack
Humphrey and his staff to check up on the dog's character and
I.Q. If, after this period of close observation and handling, the
dog has indicated no traits of deficiency, it is then placed with
a group of dogs ready for preliminary instruction.
     The education of a dog covers a period of three months and
is divided into three sections or phases.  These are obedience
exercises guide work, and the all-important "educated
disobedience." During the first phase, the special instructor in
this field gives the dog a series of exercises, which every dog
should have at the end of its puppyhood.  They are primarily
designed to give the dog an understanding of its relationship to
a human being and to teach it something of what are its rights
and what are the rights of its master.  It learns the joy and
satisfaction which come from doing what the instructor requests,
for it is rewarded for a job well done through an affectionate
pat and a word of caress.  It experiences also the real
humiliation which  follows a willfull error when the instructor
reprimands it with the sharp verbal reproof of "Phui" a Swiss
colloquial term of rebuke.  The dog learns that it's fun to
please and unpleasant to displease.
     Once this basic attitude is inculcated, a dog's lessons
proceed rapidly.  In these obedience exercises, there are several
specific commands to which the dog is taught to respond.  It
learns to run immediately to the side of the instructor when its
name is called together with the word "come." It learns to sit,
to lie down and to stand up again, on request, and to fetch
an article which has been dropped or tossed a distance away. 
Prompt response to these commands will be essential in its later
relationship to its blind master.  It will also be important
throughout its schooling at The Seeing Eye, for these commands
are used as daily routine setting-up exercises which serve to
sharpen the dog's interest in the more complicated lessons that
follow. Almost all the dogs which start the course pass this
period of instruction.  The few which are flunked out are sold. 
Those which succeed are ready for more advanced lessons.
     After obedience training the dog studies the technique of
working in guiding harness.  Now the schooling gets down to
serious business.  The dog quickly becomes accustomed to the feel
of the guiding harness on its body.  The harness is designed so
that it does not hamper its movements in any way.  The first
lessons teach the animal where it should walk in relation to the
man it is guiding - on the left side with somewhat more than half
the body of the dog ahead of the instructor.
     From this point on the instructor must act to the dog as if
he were blind.  Anything which would impede the progress of a
blind person must also interfere with the progress of the
instructor.  If a scaffolding would bump the head of a person who
couldn't see, it must also bump his head.  Or, as usually
happens, he must make the dog think it does.  Where a blind
person would run into a tree or into a pedestrian, the instructor
does also. A dog must learn by experience to allow sufficient
clearance for the man on his side so that he doesn't touch
anything.  Every day Seeing Eye dogs guide their blind masters
through the heavy pedestrian traffic of Chicago's Michigan
Boulevard, San Francisco's Market Street, Philadelphia's Chestnut
Street and New York's Fifth Avenue without bumping them into
anyone.
     Probably the most difficult lesson for the dog in the whole
course is one which people rarely appreciate.  This is learning
to stop at curbs.  This is a difficult lesson for the dog in
comparison with stopping for an automobile, for example, because
it isn't natural for a dog to stop for a curb, while the penalty
for failure to stop for an automobile is manifest.  From many
points of view, curbs are a matter of vital concern in the life
of
a Seeing Eye dog.
     First and foremost, every blind man using a Seeing Eye dog
gets his primary points of orientation at street corners.  When
it comes to the end of a block, the dog guides its master
straight to the curb directly ahead and stops.  The blind man
then gives the command for the direction in which he wishes to
go: right, left or forward, and the dog proceeds to the curb at
the next corner and so forth.  One of the problems which had to
be met in Vevey, and which is sometimes found in America too, was
rounded curbs where there were no sharply defined corners.  They
create a particular difficulty for the dog which must determine
in which direction to face before coming to a stop.  Any failure
to go straight ahead until the curb is reached, whatever its
rounded condition, would be almost certain to confuse the dog's
sightless master and probably result in his becoming temporarily
lost.
     What the public does readily appreciate is the much more
dramatic lesson involved in teaching the dogs to avoid
overhanging obstructions such as awnings or scaffoldings which
might bump their masters' heads.  In a motion picture used by The
Seeing Eye in the early days, there was one excellent sequence in
which a blind person and his dog walked under two awnings.  The
first of them was high enough to allow a few inches clearance for
his head. The dog guided its master directly under it.  As the
man and dog approached the second awning, it became clear to the
audience that it was too low and would bump the blind man
severely if the dog didn't do something.  The dog did.  A few
feet before they reached the awning, without even appearing to
look up, the dog veered out around it.  It was done so easily and
with such grace that when that scene came on the screen the
audience often responded with appreciative and commendatory
exclamations, and not infrequently with applause.
     The education of suitable instructors has been the
organization's knottiest problem.  It is still unsolved. The
extent of it is clearly shown by the fact that in its first
twelve years The Seeing Eye was able to produce only six men who
could be termed instructors and several of these had not
completed their courses.  Some of them may never become full
instructors capable of teaching the dog and the blind man the
entire course without need of supervision.  As one of the six
came from L'Oeil Qui Voit, The Seeing Eye itself could, after
twelve years, claim credit for only five.
     Full comprehension of the magnitude of The Seeing Eye's
instructor problem comes with appreciation of the fact that all
the records and experience of L'Oeil Qui Voit's five intensive
years are added to The Seeing Eye's own accumulated knowledge. 
If any solution appeared to be within reach, the organization
would not regret the large amount of time, energy and money which
have been utilized in its efforts to teach other men.  But, even
during the two most recent years, no measurable progress was
made.  Of eleven young men engaged during that period, only three
were retained as apprentices.  What success these will meet as
they go further into the complexities of the work cannot be
foretold.
     Jack Humphrey is often asked what qualities he looks for in
the men he employs as apprentice instructors.  Usually he answers
frankly that he doesn't know.  But even though the knowledge on
the subject is insufficient to form the basis for workable
conclusions, The Seeing Eye has added something to the sum of the
experience gained at L'Oeil Qui Voit.  There it was demonstrated
that one of the qualities an instructor should not have was
patience, but rather that he should have a strong but controlled
desire to get things done.  Tact was also found to be essential,
as well as a firm friendliness in dealing with both the dogs and
the blind students.
     In 1938 The Seeing Eye made a determined effort to find
suitable individuals to enroll in a special course of apprentice
training.  Through this special preliminary course the
organization hoped to determine the prospects of the applicants
for a career of teaching Seeing Eye dogs.  A booklet was
published entitled "Career jobs for Five Men," which described
the opportunities which The Seeing Eye offered for men of
ability. These booklets were distributed to college men through
the placement bureaus of a hundred leading American universities.

It was believed that at least five men could enter The Seeing
Eye apprentice training course each year, and that if one of
these five passed the preliminary training the program would be a
success.  If more than one succeeded it would be a bonanza. This
booklet lists seven major qualifications.  These are:
     (1) intelligence, which means also the capacity to use it;
(2) stamina, which comes from good physical development; (3)
character, which comes from good moral development; (4) size,
which means not over 5' 10" tall; (5) spirit, which means the
fortitude to stand up to discouragement; (6) youth, which means
over 22 and under 27; (7) education, which means, simply, knowing
how to learn.
     In outlining the work, the organization attempted to
discourage any applicant who might not have a good chance of
success, and to inspire those to make the attempt who were likely
to prove satisfactory.  This is how the job was presented:
     "Great opportunities come only to those who have proved
themselves worthy.  The period of apprenticeship varies.  For
some it is brief; for others it is a lifetime.  At The Seeing Eye
the controlling factors in advancement will always be initiative
and capacity.  The will-to-do is not enough; one must also have
the ability.  But ability is lost where there is no impelling
desire to use it.  This combination is fundamental.  Those
without it will find no opportunity at The Seeing Eye.
     "The five men who ultimately qualify will complete a course
of instruction preparatory to becoming Seeing Eye instructors. 
As instructors, they will provide the key through which is
unlocked the school's future.  They will be responsible for
educating the dogs to do guiding work under all conditions of
traffic.  They are responsible, also, for teaching blind people
to use the dogs once they have been educated.
     "Instructing the dogs is progressively interesting and the
men who do it successfully invariably have an indefinable quality
which makes dogs like them instinctively.  Dogs and students are
usually taught in classes of eight.  It takes three months to
educate a class of dogs and one month to teach the blind person
how to use a dog.  The work is exacting but never tedious.  The
variety of practical and theoretical training problems provides a
stimulating incentive to achievement.  Progress is easy to
determine for it is constantly rated against minimum standards.
     "Those who pass the first preliminary tests in their Seeing
Eye instructor apprenticeship must make an important decision. Do
they, in going ahead, accept as their career the future that
appears before them? If they do they become a part of The Seeing
Eye staff and the traditions of the school become part of them.
Everything they learn, every constructive suggestion they make,
every new responsibility they show themselves capable of
shouldering, fits them more fully for seizing the opportunity
when it comes to them.
     "But if they look upon their continuing work with The Seeing
Eye as a means of filling in until a job appears in some other
field, then their time is being wasted.  Becoming an instructor
requires usually four years of study and practice and, while
those years are stepping stones to bigger jobs within the
organization, they do not lead to the business positions college
men usually seek.  The five men selected must truly be unusual."
     But the booklet also attempted to warn any who might think
that by joining the staff of a philanthropic organization, like
many who were attracted to L'Oeil Qui Voit, they were making a
soft berth for themselves.  There was no easy-work-and-good-pay
attitude in this appeal to the esthetic tendencies of prospective
applicants:
     "The man who wishes to measure his life's achievement by
the salary paid him should not try this road.  For the salary,
while adequate, is and must always be a secondary consideration. 
The security of permanent employment is offered, certainly; but
not luxurious living.  The admiration and respect of one's
contemporaries? Yes.  But not the influence or the power of
money.
     "But to those who can appreciate it, there is a much more
potent reward than that which money brings.  It is the reward of
achievement - the reward of molding raw and sometimes doubtful
material into a finished product and knowing that it is good.
Probably no men in America can do this more often or more
thoroughly than Seeing Eye instructors. The contrast between the
strivingly hopeful blind who arrive, and the upstanding men and
women who leave, full of gratitude, is a satisfaction which only
creative work can bring. And to create with that which lives is
high adventure.",
     From The Seeing Eye's experience in endeavoring to procure
instructors, one conclusion is fairly obvious.  Like almost all
philanthropic agencies, The Seeing Eye may be handicapped by its
conviction that, because it is philanthropic, it must pay the
lowest salary.
     The salary scale of The Seeing Eye would seem ridiculously
small in any business organization of its size and importance.
The organization contends that neither the value of the work of
educating the dogs nor the value of the combination of qualities
essential to success in this field can be measured in terms of
financial compensation.  As The Seeing Eye rightfully points out,
if a man does not have within him the spirit of service -
eagerness to do something valuable and beneficial to his
fellow-men, he will never succeed as a Seeing Eye instructor. 
But not everyone has the good fortune to have born within him the
intense spirit of helpfulness so characteristic of The Seeing Eye
staff.  Some people need to have their eyes opened to the
diversified satisfactions which derive from indulging that
spirit.  If such people can be tempted by more adequate payment
into a position where they may have opportunity to learn about
these different and greater values, this essential and priceless
spirit may be developed.
     Those candidates for apprenticeship who satisfy the school's
initial requirements spend their first several months of training
as kennel assistants.  Under supervision they feed the dogs and
clean them and turn them out into the exercise runs.  This gives
them an opportunity to observe the dogs and to learn how
different two dogs, which seem, to the untutored eye to be enough
alike to be twins, can be in temperament, attitude and even in
looks as well.  They learn to distinguish the various types of
dog and to recognize the factors which influence the development
of individual characteristics. This close association with a
large number of animals provides highly important groundwork
without the risk, always present when an amateur attempts to do
actual training of ruining one or more dogs in the process.  Any
inept teacher will quickly spoil a dog for use as a Seeing Eye
guide simply by confusing the animal through the
maladministration of its lessons.
     After a period in the kennels, the apprentices go on to
primary work in obedience training.  They take the course in
voice culture through which they learn the proper inflection to
use in addressing the dogs, and the hand and body movements which
supplement the spoken commands in the early stages of training. 
When they have learned how to command, dogs are provided for them
to work with.  Some of these animals may have had previous
instruction but others will be completely green.  From time to
time the apprentices will get a dog which is mentally incapable
of learning even the simplest exercises.  They must be able to
observe faults in a dog such as this as clearly as they recognize
the capabilities in an alert and responsive animal
     The next stage in the education of an instructor is guiding
work.  As an introduction, the apprentice must devote a period of
one month to being "blind." Day and night he wears a lightproof
sleepshade while going through precisely the same Seeing Eye
course of instruction in learning to use a guide dog which would
be given to him if he had suddenly lost his sight.  At the end of
this month's course, he has some appreciation of the problems
involved in blindness.  He knows what it is like to dress and eat
and shave in the dark and to make his way around with and without
a dog.  He gains an understanding of the reactions which a person
who cannot see will have to lessons given by a seeing instructor.
He has had it fully brought home to him that one doesn't tell a
blind person in which direction to go by pointing, nor does one
describe visually some landmark by which a blind person is
expected to identify his location.  The apprentice gains an
appreciation of the fact that while there is only a slight
difference in the methods used to instruct a person who is blind
from the technique used to teach people with eyes, it is a
difference of primary importance.
     Apprentice instructors are given a thorough course of study
in theory to supplement the practical work which forms the bulk
of their daily routine.  The sum of The Seeing Eye's knowledge of
the technique of teaching guide dogs, blind people and
instructors, which can be reduced to writing, has been compiled
into master textbooks by Jack Humphrey.  This information forms
the basis for continuous individual lecture-lessons which are
given to each apprentice.
     Although the ability and progress of the apprentices are
rated with the same impartial precision which applies to the
rating of the dogs, not every apprentice need become a
fullfledged instructor in order to fill an important and
permanent place in The Seeing Eye organization.  One man might
show a much greater aptitude for teaching dogs obedience work,
for example, than he shows in teaching a blind person to use a
dog.  Such an individual would probably be assigned to teaching
obedience work, if not exclusively, at least for a major part of
his time.
     Through such specialization, and by a precise systemization
of the training method, it is theoretically possible to start a
green dog along a production line of instructors, each of whom
would add something to the animal's education until, reaching the
end of the line, the dog would be a fully educated animal. 
Doubtless such specialization and its implications of efficiency
are much more effectively applied to the production of a
mechanical instrument than to a Seeing Eye dog. Nevertheless,
some modification of the principle of straight line production
might eventually prove to be feasible and therefore
the organization from time to time has experimented with it.  But
up to now no practical application of straight line production
methods has been made by The Seeing Eye except on a temporary and
limited basis.
     Although many men have attempted this work and most of them
have failed - some after a few weeks, others after months and
some after several years - The Seeing Eye is completely satisfied
that once a man meets its standards of successful qualification,
he will not leave the organization.  So far, this contention has
proved true - for no instructor able to do the work without
supervision and according to the Seeing Eye's standards, has ever
resigned. 
     But even though The Seeing Eye still seems to be almost as
far away as ever from a solution to the problem of instructor
personnel, every member knows that the answer exists and will be
found.  When this happens, there will doubtless be a sharp
increase in the number of blind men and women using Seeing Eye
dogs.  For, although the organization is, as it contends, able to
meet the present demand from the blind, somehow the number of
applications for dogs has always increased in direct ratio to the
growth in the capacity of the school.  As this has happened in
the past so it will probably happen again.  There will be a
demand for Seeing Eye dogs as long as there are people without
sight who want to get ahead in the world.

     CHAPTER 8 
     Except for one important quality common to all of them, the
blind men and women who come to The Seeing Eye seeking
independence are, after all, just people.  They are more
interesting than most people, to be sure, but by and large they
represent a cross section of everyday life.  Some are slow
thinkers.  Others have minds like steel traps.  Some are well
off; some are exceedingly poor.  Some have been manual laborers;
others are keen business executives or practicing professional
men.
     Their one common denominator is that each has an inordinate
amount of ambition, character and fortitude.  They have the
courage to assume responsibilities which, if they chose to do so,
they could easily shirk.  Men and women using Seeing Eye dogs are
not the only blind people who have these qualities.  Far from it.

But despite the firm conviction by many sentimentalists to the
contrary, these qualities are rare among the blind.  They are
rare among all people.
     When a person loses his sight, several courses are open
to him.  First of all, he can become a part of the world of the
blind, an organized, closely knit society set up to meet at least
his basic emotional needs.  Some of this world is organized along
formal lines by private charity.  Much of it is informal,
resulting from the natural affinity for one another of people
with a common interest.  For many of these people, their handicap
is their chief interest.  These are indeed the unfortunate blind.
As a member of this latter group, a man's social contacts and
mental concepts are bounded north, south, east and west by
blindness.  He may possibly learn a craft or a trade and may
eventually become partly if not fully self-supporting.  The
likelihood is, however, that he will not, unless living
dependently on the sympathy of other people is defined as
self-support.
     Aside from his immediate family, the sighted persons with
whom he usually comes in intimate contact, are professional
"workers for the blind." Many of them are exceedingly capable and
objective, and want to help him to become really independent. 
But only in exceptional instances will the public support them in
doing an adequate job.
     Another course open to such a man, and one which is often
followed, is to do nothing.  This is meant literally.  Thousands
of men and women face this handicap by not facing it.  They do
not join the blind world.  They do not do anything.  They stay at
home and allow themselves to be cared for as completely as highly
solicitous and frequently emotional friends and relatives wish to
indulge them.
     From the day a man adopts such an attitude, he begins to
degenerate.  The symptoms are almost imperceptible in the early
stages.  There is gradual loss of interest in people and in
things -especially in doing things.  Then, whatever spark of
initiative remained suddenly vanishes and he exists only to be
waited on. He will see people if they come to him, he will listen
if someone reads to him, he will breathe fresh air if someone
opens the window.  He will eat if food is brought to him, cut up
for him and, in some cases, fed to him.  At this stage he can be
labelled incurable.
     A third course he can follow is to ignore his handicap - to
rise above it.  This is not as easy as it sounds, nor is it as
difficult as it might appear.  For example a Western educator
accidentally and suddenly lost his sight just as he was about to
be made superintendent of schools in his community.  He was
licked, he thought, his career blasted.  So he went to the school
board and in miserable humility tendered his resignation.  His
abjectness drew the pity of all the board members but one who
blasted the tear-stained atmosphere of melancholy with a roar of
impatience.  "What do you mean 'resign'?" he shouted.  "We hired
you for your ability.  We still want it.  Get yourself a Seeing
Eye dog and let's get to work." It did the trick.
     That man's spark of inspiration came from the outside but
for him it was just as potent as if he had thought of it himself.
From that moment forward he disregarded his blindness.  With his
dog he could go anywhere his eyes could have taken him.  His
secretary read his mail and regular office details to him. 
General information which he needed in order to keep up with his
profession was read to him by his wife who found herself, for the
first time in their married life, able to talk intelligently with
her husband about his work.  It drew them closer together.  That
man isn't blind in the usual sense.  He merely is unable to see.
     Another man enrolled with his Seeing Eye dog as a freshman
in a large Eastern university.  In the good old college
tradition, every freshman on this campus was expected during the
hazing season to run errands and undertake all manner of duties
for the upper classmen.  This young blind man was walking with
his Seeing Eye dog near the sophomore dormitories wearing the
badge of his low office, the freshman cap, when a soph spotted
him from a top window.
     "Hey, frosh," he yelled.  "Pick up that mattress on the lawn
beside you and carry it up to the fourth floor rear."
     The youngster picked up the mattress and with his dog
guiding him, pushed, pulled and carried the ungainly burden up
four flights of narrow stairs.  When he reached the door of the
room, the sophomore was waiting for him.
     "Thanks, frosh," he said, "Just toss it on the bed."
     "O.K." the youngster replied.  "But tell me where the bed
is."
     When the sophomore realized that the young man was blind, he
was overwhelmed with mortification.  He began profuse and sincere
apologies but was cut off before he was fairly started.
     "Can it," the young man said.  "I'm a frosh and if you think
I'm not as good as the next one, you've got another think
coming."
     That young man, incidentally - or perhaps it is the point of
the story - within a few weeks was elected president of his
freshman class.
     But those who fall into these general classes by no means
include all the people without sight.  There is a large group of
resourceful, intelligent and successful men and women who have
been able to build full lives with no external aids whatever. 
Their place in the world, and part of what they think, feel and
do has been splendidly summarized by John B. Cunningham in a
booklet published by The Virginia Commission for the Blind, one
of several important agencies in the country.  Mr. Cunningham's
authoritative statement provides a revealing insight into what
goes on in the minds and manners of some people who are blind.
     "It is but natural that people should ask how a blind man
gets along in this world.  It is a world built, not for blind
men, but for men with five senses.  People naturally want to
know: 'What is your conception of color?' 'How do you get about
by yourself?' 'How does it seem to you when it is dark?' 'Is it
worse to be born blind or to lose your sight when on in years?'
     "These questions, the most natural in the world, are at once
the simplest and at the same time the most profound that could be
asked of a blind man. When they are asked they seldom bring out
the truth, and for two reasons: first, the questioner is usually
too abrupt and tactless with his question; and, second, the blind
man is usually too sensitive and bellicose with his answer.  Now,
the truth may hurt, but a part truth or a distortion of truth,
hurts even worse.  If the truth were freely uncorked - if people
knew how a blind man, deposited in their world of five senses
manages to get along with only four - the mutual understanding
that followed would put both at their ease in true social
harmony.  And the questions, though simple, are vital; the
answers, though unique, are understandable.
     "In this much limited discussion, we had better concentrate
on the blind man's way of perceiving things, and have little to
say about his way of doing things.  Also, we had better not
expect anything like a rigid, exhaustive analysis.  Instead, we
shall take one or two leading questions, and let the answers
radiate at loose-tether from these.
     "'What is your conception of color?'
     "The man blind from infancy, who has no memory of vision,
knows nothing of color.  He knows the shape of things, the size
of things, the weight of things, because these perceptions come
by touch.  But he knows nothing of color.  He knows which door is
the drug store, which flower is the rose, which cigar is
cheapest, which field is being fertilized, which fruit is
overripe, which meat has spoiled, which egg is not good, where
the fish market is, and here is the gas tank, and there was the
hay field, and these are pine woods and what perfume the lady
uses, (or did she forget it) - these things he knows from smell. 
But he knows nothing of color.  He knows how Deanna Durbin has
progressed; why the old maid was kicked out of the choir; can
analyze Roosevelt's radio personality; may tell you the pitch of
a tree-frog's chirp; can tell by your voice who you are, or what
section you are from, whether you are educated or 'just went
there' - these things he knows through sound.  He knows the sun
exists, because he feels the heat of it.  He knows the earth
exists, because he walks on it; but he does not know of the
stars, for he can not touch them, nor of the moon because it
gives off no heat.  If he were making his own private dictionary,
its definitions of four very important words would run something
like this:
     "'Sight.  Noun.  An unknown and unknowable sense through
which some people claim to be cognizant of objects which they
neither touch, taste, sineu, nor hear.
     "'Light.  Noun.  The medium in space by which sight
perceptions are received, and of which nothing may be known save
through the odor, sound, or chiefly the heat which sometimes
appertains to it.
     "'Darkness.  Noun.  A purely relative term; the absence of
light; an unknown sensation, but one said to be fraught with
extreme inconvenience to those dependent upon the myth of light.
     "'Color.  Noun.  A sensation stimulated only through the
sense of sight. Hence color is unknown and unknowable.'
     "Pierre Villey, in appropriate connection, says 'Sight is a
long distance touch with the sensation of color added.' Had he
been speaking in another connection treating of smell instead of
touch - had he been describing, for instance a blind man's
perceptions at a flower show, he might have said, 'Sight is a
long distance smell plus touch (or even plus sound) with the
sensation of color added.' We have stated the cold fact that the
blind man without memory of vision knows nothing of color.  We
shall not dwell on what he thereby misses; let us see if there is
anything he can retrieve therefrom.
     "All people unconsciously practice the transference of the
'imagery' of one sense to the field of another.  You know how
onion tastes, and you know how apple tastes.  Now get a small
slice of onion and a small slice of apple; hold your nostrils
tight with one hand, and with the other place one of these slices
on your tongue, and see how hard it is to tell by taste which is
onion and which is apple.  The point is this; the distinctive
sensation from the onion (or apple) is not altogether in its
taste; indeed mostly it is in the smell. But taste and smell are
so closely allied that it was not natural to make any distinction
between them and so, unconsciously, you had been borrowing your
'smell imagery' of the onion and transferring it to unite with
your 'taste imagery' of the onion. Unconsciously we are daily
thinking of a 'taste' of one thing or another, when it is not a
taste - it is an odor transferred to and blended with our 'taste
imagery.' This transference of imagery is easy to point out in
the case of taste and smell because they are so closely allied. 
But the same kind of transference goes on when the two senses
involved are not so closely allied, as for instance, sight and
touch.  You think you learn all things through sight, but do you?
If I show you a new kind of razor, are you satisfied merely to
look at it still held in my hands? You are not; you take that
razor into your own hands, and only then do you get your desired
impression of just what it is. Afterwards, you remember the razor
as a thing you have 'seen,' not as a thing you have touched.  You
have, in memory, transferred all the impression of that razor to
'sight imagery'; but it was not all sight imagery in the first
place, it was partly an impression to be got by touch, or else
you wouldn't have grabbed it out of my hands.
     "Now it is precisely through this transference of imagery -
this borrowing of perceptions from one sense and consciously or
unconsciously lending them to another - that the blind man's
world is built up.  You had thought that the difference between
the onion and the apple was a difference in 'taste imagery,'
until you discovered it was a difference mostly in 'smell
imagery.' You think that the blind man has no 'image' of your
personality; he has never seen your face.  You do not realize
what he instinctively uses and what Disraeli expressed when he
said, 'There is no index of character so sure as the voice.'
Unconsciously you've formed the habit of thinking it is a
friend's face you like; but is it entirely so? No, for
unconsciously you are transferring memories of other impressions
of that person and concentrating them all into this present
visual image.  That warm hand has touched you; that voice has
soothed you.  Now those memory-images are secretly flooding your
present visual image - and now you like that face better than you
once did.
     "The blind man makes these same transfers, only more of
them.  With him, the transfers are not unconscious only; they are
built up by necessity, by effort, or by imagination.  Indeed the
heart of the matter is pretty close to this: that the blind man
lives by these 'substitutions.' Some of them are instinctive, and
he cannot remember when he learned them.  For instance, going
around by himself - how does he do it? He does it mostly by
sound. When you see him cross a quiet street in the middle of a
block, you wonder why he doesn't walk smack into one of those
cars parked on the other side.  He veers to the right or left,
finds an opening, and mounts the curb.  How does he do it? His
ears are keen to catch echoes.  The sound of his feet on the
pavement, or the popping of his fingers for the purpose - these
sounds are reflected back to him from the parked cars and so he
knows they are there.  This detection of echoes can be practiced
to a fine point, sufficiently fine to enable him to locate a curb
six inches high.  So he need not hit a post, a building, a tree,
a car; - anything that has a sound-reflecting surface he can
dodge.  A rose-bush has no such hard surface, and so there he
gets stuck.  A proclivity is not thus detectable, and so an open
coal cellar he dreads.  He knows full well the appropriateness of
the Biblical language in picturing the 'ditch' as the direct
catastrophe likely to befall the 'blind leading the blind.' This
keenness in detecting echoes does not mean that his sense of
hearing is better than yours. You might locate a cricket in the
cellar sooner than he will, or hear thunder in the distance
before he does.  But this particular use of his hearing - for
detection of echoes - this he has been compelled to develop by
use
from infancy, and so he can find echoes where you would as soon
expect to find elephants.  Getting around without sight, though
partly helped by the feel of the walk or the smell of the hedge,
is mostly a matter of sound - its reflections, refractions, or
interference.  Details can not be gone into, but most questions
of 'locomotion visionless' can be explained in this general
direction.  For instance, deep snow not only 'blurs' the pathway,
but covers many objects to the extent that their echo-giving help
is lost, and so a blind man doesn't go so well in the snow. 
Obviously useful is a cane or a guiding dog.  Such 'external'
aids are not here considered.  Why is it that no blind person (or
few) will answer questions like, 'How do you get about?'
     "As Pierre Villey says, 'The blind man feels an invisible
dislike to talking to others about his infirmity.' The blind
man's pet aversion is to hear you so much as hint that there is
anything abnormal about him.  He will do anything to keep you
from thinking him abnormal.  If he goes to college and finds that
'regular fellows' drink, he may pitch in and become the biggest
sot on the campus - just so there won't be any doubt that he's a
normal 'regular fellow.' If he is old, his sensitiveness on this
point may assume expression in an extreme irritableness.
Nevertheless he secretly enjoys the role and repute of the
'mysteriously remarkable person' and so when you ask him how he
gets about by himself, he is likely to say 'I go by air
currents.' This is not an explanation; it is a means of keeping
you mystified.  If you say the word 'wonderful' to him, he'll
sting you like a wasp.  All the same, he'd like you to think him
so. Though he wants you to think him perfectly 'normal' he
secretly hopes you think him 'wonderful.' He is human, he wants
the world with a gold fence; he wants to eat his cake and have
it.  The next time you meet one, try this: don't talk about him
or his blindness; talk about other things.  He begins to be
surprised; then he gets disappointed. Just wait long enough, and,
like all men, he'll get on the topic all men like the best -
namely, his own cleverness.  This outward determination to be
known as 'normal' coupled with a secret wish to be thought
unusual - this is one of those magnificent inconsistencies close
to the heart of reality.  It shows just how human the blind man
really is.
     "We have yet to speak of the part that imagination plays in
building up the blind man's world of sensory substitutes.  You
must not expect the blind man to be very accurate or concrete in
telling us how his imagination works. With regard to color, for
instance, it is especially unreasonable for us to expect him to
say what he imagines about color, when fact is you can't tell him
in words just what color is.  Robert Louis Stevenson tried that
once.  He wanted to order from London the interior trimmings for
his home in the South Sea Islands and, master of English though
he was, he could not put into written words his choice of
color-scheme.
     "Starting with a bald fact, then, let us admit that the
blind man misses what every mule can see - namely, the sunset. 
What is it that mule, with good physical eyes, does not have?
     "It is the intellectual and emotional capacity for blending
remembered sensation with new perceptions.  It is the association
of the qualities in things, in people, in ideas.  Learning from
infancy that grass is green, that snow is white, that the
infinitude is blue, that gray is associated with age, or red with
fire, or black with death or with dirt, the blind man builds up
an association of the color name with the qualities in things
that have that color.  If he is musical, he will associate the
light shades with major chords, and the dark shades with minor
chords, and the neutral colors with single tones struck without
harmonization.  The harmonies will not mean the same as color
shades, but, if by association he can make them sisters in the
soul, then the moods which a minor chord evokes in him may
possibly be the same moods that a dark shade evokes in you. 
Personal qualities may enter into the blend.  He thinks of the
personalities of people he knows.  Light shades, and major chords
- they seem to go with the bold, dashing blonde. Dark shades and
harmonies in minor - they seem to go with the dreamy, illusive
introverted brunette.  The analogy is not perfect, for you may
have a panoramic effect from beautifully alternating light and
dark shades, and the panoramic thrill is instantaneous, whereas,
if you struck major and minor chords simultaneously, the effect
would be bedlam.  Sight is quick, comprehensive. Touch and
hearing are slow.  The thrill of the panorama must be got from
music, not instantly as from colors, but lingeringly, by
successional modulation from major to minor.  But if the
emotional trophies are the same, it may be that 'the race is not
to the swift' - not altogether.  Some have said that the full
sublimity of Niagara breaks upon the spectator, not while he is
looking at it, but afterwards when he thinks on what he has seen.

Thus the blind man builds his inner world.  If the unsuspected
echoes tell him where the tree is then music may convey to him
what color withholds from him - a true sense of proportion, of
the fitness of things, and the joy of the unquenchable thirst. If
he has to say that the unseen moon must still be there, even
though she gives out no warmth, then he will go further and
affirm that the unseen Heart of the universe, though He gives out
no word, must still be there.
     "One other question should be answered: 'Is it worse to be
blind from infancy or to lose one's sight in maturity?' "On this
point, a field agent for a State Commission for the Blind, and
one who has come into personal contact with some eighteen hundred
blind people, has this to say:
     "'In my observation,' he writes, 'those blind who best
succeed in life are neither the infantile cases nor those blinded
at any considerable age. Those who best succeed in life are
generally the ones who lost their sight when they were old enough
to have acquired first-hand information through their eyes, for
we must remember that the eye is the most important instructor of
childhood.  They were old enough to have gotten this normal
instruction through the eye, and yet young enough to make their
adjustment to blindness.  I should say, then, that if one had to
lose his sight, the best time for this to happen would be between
the ages of ten and twenty-five.  Of course there are exceptions
and notable ones, but, as a rule, you will find the best-adjusted
and most successful were blinded within those age limits.'
     "The blind individual is, after all, a human personality.
Neither from the standpoint of the psychology of blindness nor
that of social work for the blind should this fact of his
individuality be overlooked. Social service workers seem prone to
pour humanity by masses or groups into vats and molds, and say of
a particular group, 'These are the ill-housed' or 'These are the
blind' or 'These are the unemployed.' What many of the social
psychologists seem loath to remember is that there is no
predicting how a human personality will respond to a stimulus, no
matter how obviously the social calculations may lead to the
expected personal reaction.  Social manipulators, inclined to
forget the dignity of the individual man, blind or otherwise,
might recall the cowboy's reaction on viewing the Grand Canyon of
the Colorado.  Standing for his first time on the rim of that
titanic scene in Arizona, he spat into it a sizeable reservoir of
tobacco juice, and said, 'Ain't that hell?'"
     There are many people who successfully ignore the fact that
they are without sight and yet who do not use Seeing Eye dogs. 
But those who do use them can be more independent and they seem
to get much more fun out of life.  Not infrequently they also
earn more money.
     One of the most important jobs The Seeing Eye has had to
undertake is convincing the public that not every blind person
can use a dog guide, or even wants to.  When first confronted
with the idea of educated dog guides, popular fancy saw in it the
possible liberation of every one of the more than one hundred
thousand blind persons throughout the country.  Many schemes were
advanced for reaching immediately this desirable but impossible
objective. Even The Seeing Eye, though much more conservative
than most enthusiasts, was somewhat giddy in its early
predictions for ultimate service.  Now the school will no longer
hazard even an opinion as to the number of blind persons who will
eventually use dogs.
     There are certain physical limitations which automatically
eliminate the great majority of our blind population from serious
consideration as users of dog guides.  Blindness is a condition
which nowadays most frequently occurs late in life, usually
because of disease or the gradual dimming of eyes which were
fundamentally weak.  This over-age group of people ordinarily
embraces, for practical purposes, all those who are more than
fifty years old.  In exceptional cases when he has led a very
active physical life, a person of fifty, or even one a little
older, can receive real benefit from a dog guide.
     Another, much smaller group of people who cannot use Seeing
Eye dogs are those who lose their sight very young in life. 
While medical science has succeeded in eliminating much of the
danger of blindness at birth, there is still a deplorable amount
of blindness in young people because of accidents.  A person
younger than sixteen years of age, The Seeing Eye has found, is
generally insufficiently mature both mentally and physically to
accept the responsibility that is implied in the dog and man
relationship. Some proportion of blind people also have other
physical handicaps which would prevent them from using a dog. 
Still another group just doesn't like dogs. Altogether, these
several classes of people The Seeing Eye cannot serve include
almost 90 per cent of the total blind population.
     But the main limiting factors among the people who
otherwise might be capable of using a Seeing Eye dog, are a lack
of responsibility and indifference.  Despite the great body of
evidence that this is not true, when a person loses his sight,
altogether too often he thinks of his life as finished. Often he
accepts the depressing belief that the one method by which he may
remain self-supporting is in the weaving of baskets or making
brooms or by practicing other crafts which depend for their
continuance wholly or in part on charity.  If he keeps that
belief uppermost in his thoughts for a sufficient period of time,
he is almost certain to accept it as final.  As a result the
ambition he needs in order to get ahead may be almost wholly
destroyed.
     The public, by making a blind man an object of smothering
pity and charitable engulfment, mistakenly intended as kindness,
has been mainly responsible for creating and prolonging this
condition.  It is the most difficult and debilitating aspect of
the handicap of blindness.  After a period of getting used to his
handicap and the concept the public has of it, the average blind
person cannot readily bring himself to believe that he can ever
again go about his daily life with practically the same freedom
that he once enjoyed.  When he hears about the important
positions held by other sightless people or about independence
open to him through an educated dog, he is inclined to say to
himself, "Well, that might be all right for Joe Jones, but it
would never do for me." Frequently the idea of a dog guide is
pressed on him by a well-meaning friend or relative who has
already overburdened him with panacea intended "to do something
for him." Consequently he rejects the idea of getting ahead and
the idea of a dog guide before he has really investigated them
and, once having done so, is not easily persuaded to reconsider.
     There are, however, a large number of men and women in
this country who recognize their ambition and hundreds of them
are already using dogs or have applied for consideration.  But
there are others equally ambitious and successful who would not
want a dog because they don't like dogs.
     Aside from good moral character, The Seeing Eye has only two
qualifications for those it accepts as students.  One is
adaptability to the dog.  Is he physically able to use and care
for the dog? The other is need.  Will the dog be more than a mere
convenience? An applicant does not need to have money, position,
influence, good looks or even a job in order to qualify for a
dog. But he must have the desire to help himself.
     Once an applicant's eligibility is established after
thorough investigation, he is placed on a waiting list.  That may
mean a brief wait of a few days or weeks before he actually comes
to Morristown and starts his course at The Seeing Eye.  In some
instances where the applicant has led a semi-sedentary life and
is not in the physical condition required for the rather
strenuous course at the school, this intervening period is used
to build up balance and strength through a series of exercises.
     The Seeing Eye prefers to enroll students as soon as
possible after they lose their sight.  Wherever practicable they
come to the school directly from the hospital.  Occasionally one
turns up with the bandages still on his eyes.  Such cases are
given priority status and vacancies in the enrollment are held
open to provide for them.
     The main purpose of taking a man immediately after he loses
his sight is to spare him the harrowing experience of learning to
accept the limitations which blindness is popularly believed to
impose.  The first weeks that a man spends in darkness he usually
has little to do but think.  His friends and family, themselves
bewildered and timid as to their role, treat him strangely and he
finds them out of tune with his new mental processes.  What goes
through his mind at this critical time may mold his entire
future. The importance of the psychological effect of this period
on his future development cannot be exaggerated.  But by
enrolling immediately in a class at The Seeing Eye he never gets
time to brood over his future.  His days are filled with
engrossing activity, his nights with the restful sleep that comes
from healthful exercise.  Before he realizes it he is home with
his dog, free to go wherever he pleases.  He has never had a
chance seriously to entertain the belief that because he is
without sight he is necessarily confined to his own house and
back yard.  He never experiences the debilitating conviction that
he is forever hemmed in by darkness, a pitiful creature dependent
on others to lead him about.
     The Seeing Eye is responsible for establishing the fact that
blind people who find freedom immediately after losing their
sight never really become blind.  When Mrs. Eustis was pioneering
at Fortunate Fields, the conviction was held in Europe that no
person could be trained to use a guide dog unless he had been
blind at least two years.  He must accustom himself, it was said
in effect, to the full horrors of blindness before he could enjoy
the possibilities of freedom.  To Mrs. Eustis this seemed like
ridiculous logic.  She asked herself why a man should have to
know the depths of despondency before he could enjoy the heights
of hope.
     One of the first things she did after The Seeing Eye was
fairly well started was to test this theory in cooperation with
the State of Pennsylvania's blind welfare department.  Three
newly blinded individuals were sent to the organization to learn
to use Seeing Eye dogs.  They went through the course obviously
very different in their point of view from the others in the same
class with them who had been blind for a number of years.  That
demonstration convinced Mrs. Eustis of the error of the old
theories.  Today ophthalmologists who must tell their patients
that they will no longer see, may also tell some of them about
The Seeing Eye.  Thus a note of real hope is added to a message
which heretofore has been one of despair.
     Classes at The Seeing Eye are held in groups of eight.  It
is not unusual to find in a class one or more blind persons who
have journeyed to Morristown from the Pacific Coast to obtain
their dogs.  Usually, several states are represented in a class
and on the average in each group there are two or three women
students.
     Students usually arrive at headquarters on a Sunday.  They
begin a new way of thinking and a new life the moment they walk
in the front door.  Not all of them have the same experience, but
Frank Alden might be considered a typical example.  He arrived at
The Seeing Eye anxious and hopeful.  He did not know exactly what
to expect because he never had a friend who used a Seeing Eye
dog. At first he was surprised and hurt at the treatment given
him. Oh, they were civil enough but so matter of fact.  After he
said goodbye to his wife, a young man, an official of the school,
confidently took him about the house describing the location of
furniture, walls and doors.  In his own room he was told where to
find soap, towel, bed and his bureau drawers.  His mind was
confused trying to remember everything.  At home he had never had
to bother.
     The official who had shown him briskly about said, "Your
suitcase is on the bed; unpack now if you like.  Lunch will be
ready in ten minutes.  I'll see you then."
     Alden protested.  "I can't unpack.  I've never done that
sort of thing since-"
     "Why don't you try it, then?"
     Alden flushed in anger.  "See here," he said.  "That's no
way to talk to me.  Haven't you any respect for the fact that I'm
blind?"
     "I don't know why I should have," the man replied as he went
out.  "I'm blind myself."
     The second step of Alden's introduction into independence
came at lunch.  He asked to have his bread buttered for him, and
was told he should do it for himself.  He had to cut his own
food, too.  He tried and found that, like unpacking his bag, it
wasn't so hard.
     But some of the eight in Alden's class had to struggle to
overcome old habits of helplessness.  Their greatest aid came
from their instructor who had them entirely in charge during the
thirty days they were learning to use their dogs.  The instructor
is always the mentor.  The students look first of all to him to
straighten out any problem or difficulty - personal or otherwise
- which they may encounter.
     Here, for example, is what one Seeing Eye graduate set down
as his impressions of part of his course at the school.
     "On my arrival, last of my class of eight on a Sunday
evening in October, 1940, my bags and coats were taken into the
school and as I stood there, after being guided up the stone
steps, I was told, 'This is the hall. Just ahead of you there is
a flight of ten steps to a landing; then left five steps to a
second landing. Turn right and up four steps to the recreation
room floor.  Here you diagonal across to the right to the
corridor.  Turn left and your room is the first on your right. 
Let's go.' No one steps up to take you by the arm or show you the
railing.  You just go.  You reach the room but probably stop en
route to be retold.  You are shown about your room - then left
alone to unlock and unpack.  If orderly and independent at home
your task is not hard.  If you've been coddled, well it's too
bad.  You have to uncoddle yourself.
     "Your first meal is another eye opener.  Now for a blind
person there's nothing more difficult and tricky to handle on the
end of a nerveless fork than a leaf of lettuce or a fried egg. 
Your first breakfast is of fried eggs.  If you've practiced at
home it's not too, too bad, save that you perform before
strangers, even though friendly ones.  If not practiced, well, -
you've an excellent opportunity to show what you can do toward
decorating your face.  But some find a way out.  They don't eat
the egg.  Well, that sort of evasion may go on for a few meals,
as it actually did with some, until hunger sort of catches up
with you and you grow hard with determination and eat. Table
service is the silent sort.  Your meals quietly appear in front
of you.  The water or milk, you begin to learn, is always at the
tip of your knife, as it should be, and meat, if you have it, is
always directly in front of you on the plate.  Those who have had
their meat cut for them learn to do this for themselves.  Bread
may be buttered and you learn that the butter pat is always just
to the right of your bread and butter plate with bread or rolls
to its left.  The first morning lecture tells you that time is
short for what has to be done, that nerves at high tension, both
ours and the trainer's, sometimes result in outspoken snappy
comments and criticisms but we must know that all is meant to
accomplish the results in the quickest, most impressive manner;
that to put it in common terms 'Every tub stands on its own
bottom.'
     "We are not to hold doors open for each other or warn each
other but to think and remember for ourselves.  For instance, the
chambermaids are instructed not to pick up clothing cast off and
thrown down.  If a sweater is tossed by as on the floor, that is
where we will eventually find it.  I was a victim myself.  On
coming to the school I could not find my coats to put away in the
closet and concluded they had been kept downstairs so as not to
bring snow or rain upstairs on coming in.  Two days later I found
these coats lying on the spare bed in my room, where they had
been dropped on arrival.  No coddling, no alibis.  If you fail,
you fail.  Better luck next time.  But through all the training
fun and comradeship."
     Frank Alden and his classmates devoted their first two days
partly to lectures, to orientation and special aptitude tests,
and partly to getting the feel of being guided by a dog. With the
harness in the proper position, the instructor guided them
briskly about the sidewalks on the grounds, simulating the stops
and starts and changes in direction which would be typical of the
actions of their dogs during training.  During this time, the
instructor had an opportunity for extensive personal observation
as to their individual characteristics and reactions. He used
these observations to round out the picture of each individual
which he had already partly formed as a result of his study of
the detailed data contained on the application records.
     On the basis of this information, he was able to assign a
dog to each student in the class suitable to that individual's
physical and temperamental characteristics.  According to Seeing
Eye practice a blind person who is slow and easygoing, as not a
few of them are, is usually assigned a more active and spirited
dog on the theory that his dog will snap him out of any tendency
to lethargy.  An individual who is nervous or excitable is
provided with an animal of a more phlegmatic disposition.
Naturally, a tall person must have a large dog and a short person
a smaller one.  Such wide variations in size are taken into
account before the dogs themselves are trained for three months
before the class arrives.  When he selects the dogs which he will
educate for them, the instructor usually knows from the
application blank which members of the group will need special
out-size animals.
     The actual handing over of the dog to the blind person on
his third or fourth day at the school is often a very touching
scene. It is then that the blind person meets for the first time
the living, vibrant instrument through which he hopes to regain
his freedom. Some blind people weep from joy when their dogs are
first handed to them.  Others weep from hope. None of them is
unmoved.
     The student is given a piece of meat when the dog is brought
to him and is told to call the dog by name.  Enticed by the food,
the dog obeys the summons with alacrity, and the student takes
the leash in his hand.  Thereafter, the dog's understanding
gradually develops that here is a new master, one to give the
affection it has previously lavished on the instructor.  As with
Morris Frank and Buddy, this transfer of affection is a crucial
period in establishing the new relationship.  Sometimes it takes
three days, sometimes a week or more.  Several times it has
failed entirely to happen.  In those instances, the blind person
looked upon the dog as a mechanical instrument and treated it
with about the same care and affection that a competent
stenographer would devote to a particularly good typewriter. 
There was no heart in it.
     Usually, however, the student readily wins the affection
of the dog.  One simple reason for this is that the dog is with
him all the time.  Even at night, the dog sleeps beside his bed.
This constant companionship, from the animal's point of view,
after several months of being housed in a kennel, is fairly close
to being heaven. The student feeds his dog, brushes it, and plays
with it, and after a brief period of hurt feelings at being
ignored by its former pal, the instructor, the dog attaches its
affection to this new person who seems to want and deserve it.
From that point on, they quickly learn to work with one another.
     As in the method followed in teaching the dog, the first
lessons which the student undertakes are the setting up
exercises. After learning to be consistent in his tone of command
he must become sufficiently persevering in maintaining his
authority so that any tendency which the dog may have to be
playful is not indulged in when on leash or in harness. The
students have two periods of instruction a day - morning and
afternoon - and all the guiding practice takes place in
Morristown. First lessons are given on back streets, where there
is little traffic, with the instructor following close behind to
correct any faults in posture or coordination, and to protect the
student from any danger which may arise because of his
inexperience.
     The most difficult problem in these early stages is to
get the student to walk easily and naturally.  Usually he is
tense, even if not frightened, and inclined to hunch over as if
braced for walking into a forty-mile wind.  But in the first week
or ten days the progress the students make usually amazes them. 
If they are not already experienced in orienting themselves, they
are taught how to learn where they are by such identifying
landmarks as an uneven pavement, the smell of a bakery or a
gasoline station, or corner mail boxes.  Because these lessons
are comparatively simple, the students usually react to their
splendid progress with the display of a certain amount of
bravado.  They begin to think that the whole course will turn out
to be an interesting holiday.
     It doesn't.  Almost invariably, in the middle period of
their instruction, they experience a sudden and serious slump in
which not a few of them for two cents would give up the whole
business and go home.  They find themselves working on streets
where there seem to be almost endless numbers of pedestrians, of
small children playing on sidewalks littered with toys, of
pavements piled with packing cases and other obstructions, and
with all curbs either much higher or much lower than they ought
to be.  As always the instructor insists on precise performance. 
They are constantly admonished to follow their dogs more closely,
to step along faster or slower as the case may be, and never,
never, under any circumstances, to forget to thank their dog by a
caress and a word when it has done a good job.  But always there
is a warm sense of friendliness and encouragement, of helpful
interest, of an intelligent pointing of the way to freedom.
     Dining room conversation provides The Seeing Eye with one of
the most effective means of endeavoring to overcome minor
personality difficulties encountered in the students. 
Good-natured razzing has an exceedingly salutary effect on
tendencies to discouragement when they become evident, and The
Seeing Eye staff have become masters in the art of dropping a
hint, which the mentally alert blind people who make up the
classes are quick to grasp and expand.
     But the dining room has another and even more important
function in the course of education as developed by The Seeing
Eye.  Many people who can't see are exceedingly sensitive about
personal characteristics caused by their handicap which make them
noticeably different from other people.  Not a few of them are
acutely aware that their table manners are not what they ought to
be simply because their families or friends have neglected to
discuss the subject with them for fear of giving offense.  No
student is helped by The Seeing Eye to do things which he ought
to do for himself.  But every one of them who needs it receives
invaluable advice and suggestions as to how to handle himself in
his daily contact with other people in a way which will not draw
attention to his blindness.
     Some of the students who have come to the school have used
only a spoon with which to eat since losing their sight.  Rarely
one of them, to the everlasting discredit of his family, has used
no instruments at all.  When these people get away from the
protective - and smothering - eiderdown of the home, as
invariably they must, if they are to advance in life, they
experience a conviction of indescribable inferiority because of
their mannerisms and deficiencies.  A few, fearing awkwardness,
refuse to mix with others outside their own immediate families. 
As a result their personalities become progressively ingrown. 
Every day that passes it becomes more difficult to draw them out
of themselves.
     A member of the staff of The Seeing Eye carefully studies
each student for any mannerism that might be considered a social
handicap, and immediately assists him to overcome it.  Those who
need this help usually respond gratefully when they receive it. 
In many instances it has corrected errors which were the root of
difficult and complex personality problems.
     One device which was once used by The Seeing Eye to bring
eating habits up to social par is simple enough to be adopted in
every home where there is blindness.  Food is served on a plate
in the ordinary fashion but when it is set before a blind person,
the position of meat, potatoes and vegetable is arranged like the
numbers on a clock dial.  For example, he is told that his peas
are at four o'clock, his potatoes at twelve and meat at eight. 
This not only informs him what he has to eat but gives him a
clear mental picture of his plate.  He doesn't have to feel with
his fingers to find out where his food is. But even this slight
aid is now considered coddling and should not be permanently
adopted by a person who wishes to help someone to become
completely independent.  As soon as possible he should be
entirely on his own.
     Students at The Seeing Eye may also learn how to dress so
that their clothes match properly.  The problem is easily met. 
For example, colors of suits, ties, shirts and socks, as well as
skirts and blouses and other feminine apparel may be quickly
identified by the number of threads sewn into the lining or the
hem.
     Occasionally a man will come to The Seeing Eye who has not
learned to shave himself since he became blind.  This he is
taught to do and it involves no more difficulty than exercising a
little care.  With very little practice he can shave himself
almost as easily and as effectively as if he had sight.

     The Seeing Eye has made at least one substantial
contribution to the thinking of both social workers engaged in
aiding the blind and the general public which often is an
unwitting cause of their need for aid. The Seeing Eye does not
give its dogs away.  It does not allow any individual, no matter
how generous, wealthy or influential, to make a gift of a dog to
one who needs it. The school will not knowingly enroll as a
student any who may have privately accepted such a gift.  These
inflexible regulations are based on a simple premise which The
Seeing Eye itself has had a major share in pioneering; charity
begets need of charity.  To give something to a person without
his expending effort to get it makes him more dependent, and with
a blind person may greatly lessen his chances of future
self-reliance.
     The Seeing Eye did not always have this forward-thinking
attitude toward its service, however, and the source from which
it was developed is somewhat obscure.  In the early days a value
of $300 was placed on a Seeing Eye dog and $75 was set up as the
"cost" of the blind person's education during the month he spent
at headquarters.  This total of $375 was fixed as the amount an
individual who wished to sponsor a blind student was expected to
subscribe - that is, provide a free "scholarship" which would
enable a student to take the course of instruction and procure a
dog.  The organization's first booklet, printed abroad when The
Seeing Eye was still situated in Nashville, listed several
regulations regarding scholarships which are contrary to the
policies enforced by the organization today.  As an illustration
of the change in thought which has taken place they are of real
interest:
     1) The Seeing Eye and L'Oeil Qui Voit have instituted a
system of scholarships for the purpose of providing lead dogs to
those blind who, through circumstances, are not able to pay for
them themselves.
     2) The scholarships include the initial cost of the dogs,
their training expenses and their equipment.
     3) The selection of the beneficiaries of the scholarships is
under the management of The Seeing Eye, but the donor has
always prior right to propose the name of the recipient, provided
that he can fulfill the conditions required.
     4) It is the custom, so far as practicable, to keep the
donor in touch with the recipient of the scholarship so that he
may follow him in his new life.
     5) The price of the scholarships are
     a) for the blind of Switzerland 750 fr. Swiss
     b) France 3500 fr. French
     c) Italy 3000 lire Italian
     d) America 300 dollars
     The Seeing Eye has come a long way since then and the fact
that it was courageous enough to make a complete change in policy
is convincing evidence of its progressiveness.  Today the
established cost of a dog to a student is $150. The expense
incurred by The Seeing Eye is, of course, several times that
amount; the difference is made up by membership contributions
from the public.  Any blind person who is unable because of
financial circumstances to pay for his dog, can, if otherwise
eligible, get the dog anyhow.  In theory he does not even need to
have railroad fare from his home to Morristown and return.  In a
few instances, where it was obviously warranted, the organization
has provided those expenses as well.
     What the new applicant must do, however, is to assume the
responsibility for eventually repaying the sum of $150 for
everything that The Seeing Eye provides for him - dog, board and
lodging, equipment, tuition, etc. - when and as he becomes able
to do it.  The Seeing Eye is not concerned whether it takes him
two years or five years.  It believes any man whom it has
investigated and accepted as eligible is entitled to a credit
rating.
     For some of these blind people it is the first time in their
lives anyone has given them financial trust.  That fact alone has
been a powerful factor in the rehabilitation of not a few who
have come to The Seeing Eye.
     Under its first plan, The Seeing Eye permitted a contributor
to propose the name of a prospective student for whom his
contribution was to be used. Today The Seeing Eye revolts at the
very thought of such a practice.  A contributor may certainly
suggest the name of an individual whom he thinks ought to have a
dog, but he cannot contribute directly to aid that man, only
indirectly by contributing to the school's general budget, from
which all expense is paid.
     This policy has far-reaching significance.  It was
determined upon as the result of extensive experience and its
value has been demonstrated in many instances.  It was indicated
by observation of several members of the first groups of men and
women who came to The Seeing Eye, each "sponsored" by someone who
had donated a scholarship for him.
     One such man was a pianist of moderate ability.  He needed a
dog, and a service club to which he belonged, in the spirit of
good fellowship and with the best intentions in the world,
underwrote the cost of his training at The Seeing Eye.  Members
of the club gave him a big send-off and a month later when he
returned, ready to enjoy his independence, an appropriate welcome
home.  He told the club members he wanted to do something to
repay them for their kindness to him.  They said such spirit was
fine and he could provide the piano music at their weekly
luncheon meetings. 
     Grateful for what they had done, he readily assented, and at
the next meeting of the club showed up eager and willing.  He
showed up every week thereafter for ten years, playing without
compensation and without it once being suggested to him by his
benefactors that he might in that time have fulfilled his
obligation to the club.  Even if they had considered his service
worth only $5.00 a performance, the value he returned to them was
something over $2,500, which was not a bad rate of interest on
the club's original investment of $375.
     But this disproportionate return on the investment was not
all that made such an arrangement wrong.  The blind man might
have been glad to play at the club luncheons every week for the
rest of his life, had it been considered his contribution to the
club. What was wrong was something else much more serious.
     Never a day passed in that community as this man, appearing
on the streets with his dog, went about his business, without
some person pointing him out and saying, either mentally or, as
was more usual audibly, "There goes the Men's Club dog." That man
was, and is, reminded every day of his life that he was a
recipient of charity.  He can never free himself from the fact
that a group of people chipped in to buy him something because he
was blind.  In many desperate confidential letters to The Seeing
Eye, that man has declared that, if personal conditions had
permitted, he would long since have moved from his home town just
to escape the stigma which he felt was forever on him.
     So today The Seeing Eye allows neither clubs nor individuals
to enjoy the doubtful privilege of pointing to any of its
graduates and saying, "That man's dog is the one I bought him."
At least fifty times a year someone asks the organization if he
may buy a dog for a particular blind man. Every such request is
refused, but rarely are the individuals convinced of the value of
The Seeing Eye's policy.  The urge to bask in the glory of
personal charitable deeds and to have the personal gratitude of
the recipient is still a very strong one.  But The Seeing Eye
sticks to its guns.  It firmly believes that no one who has the
real interests of a blind person at heart will want to buy him a
dog merely to get personal credit for it, knowing that by doing
so he would rob the blind man of a golden opportunity to do
something for himself which he greatly needs to do.
     The privilege enjoyed by the early scholarship donors, of
keeping in touch with the blind person either directly or
indirectly through The Seeing Eye, is today equally abhorrent to
the organization.  From time to time it informs people who
contribute more than a small sum annually of progress made by
individual graduates, although names and identifying places are
usually changed.  But that is as far as the organization goes.
     If a contributor were in touch with a blind person, there
would be temptations on both sides.  First the contributor would
naturally be anxious and interested to meet his beneficiary.  If
the blind student were not in as good financial circumstances as
he would like to be, the contributor might be moved to make
personal contributions, the receiving of which might undermine
the strength of character the blind person was struggling to
build within himself.  On the other hand, the blind person, being
in direct communication with a "sponsor" deeply interested in him
- a person possessing greater means possibly than required for
individual comfort - might be tempted to accept help now and then
to ease himself over a difficult spot.  In either case there is
serious risk of the blind person getting the worst thing he could
have - outright charity.
     The figure of $375 which The Seeing Eye had adopted as its
initial and publicly quoted price proved later to be highly
inaccurate.  When systematic operations got under way, the actual
overall cost to the organization of producing a dog and man unit
was nearer $1,500.  Every time a generous individual contributed
$375, it became incumbent upon Mrs. Eustis to obtain privately an
additional $ 1,000 or more to make up the difference.  As
everything depended on her individual efforts here was a real
weakness in the organization.  Being young and timorous, The
Seeing Eye was fearful of making the full cost known, because the
public might consider it exorbitant.  This fear was unreasonable
and turned out to be baseless.  The public had never heard of
guide dogs for the blind.  There were no standards of comparison
of value, quality or anything else.  It was prepared to accept
The Seeing Eye's own evaluation of the dogs' worth.
     When, in the interest of the blind students, the individual
scholarship idea was dropped and students were asked to pay their
own way, The Seeing Eye for a short time continued the charge of
$375. However, it soon became obvious that this amount was much
too large for the average blind person to attempt seriously to
repay.  A number of students did not apply for dogs because they
were unwilling to obligate themselves to pay an amount of
this size even though they knew the organization would not insist
on collecting it. Others signed up intending to make at most only
a token payment. As a consequence, no one took the price
seriously, not even the organization itself.
     The charge was not important from the point of view of
producing income. The purpose of setting any price was to provide
a means whereby anyone who enrolled in the school could do so
without becoming an object of charity.  But it was important that
the obligation should be taken seriously and to achieve this end
the price was adjusted to $150.
     Today that is the total amount the blind person pays for his
first dog. When that dog needs to be replaced, The Seeing Eye
does it without charge.  The only additional amount the blind
person pays for his second and subsequent dogs is a small sum for
board and equipment during a month of retraining at headquarters.

This the students seem to want to pay to keep their independence
unquestioned.  The cost set by the organization seems to be an
amount within reach of all and yet not so small as to place a
ridiculously insignificant value on what The Seeing Eye provides.
     This policy, which has built a new conception of
philanthropy without charity, has been the keystone of The Seeing
Eye's success in America.
     The graduation of a class of blind students at The Seeing
Eye is a simple affair.  There are no ceremonies and no
certificates are handed out.  For Frank Alden and his classmates
it consisted merely of a warm handshake and Godspeed from their
instructor and the officials of the school.  But the simplicity
of the event belied the astonishing chance which had taken place
in him and the others since the time of his arrival thirty days
before.  He is no longer hesitant.  He doesn't fumble mentally or
physically.  Where before he had to be led up the steps and into
the front door, now he goes out on his own - suitcase in one
hand, and the other confidently on the harness which serves as
his new optic nerve.  He is ready to challenge the world.
     And he does.  Some of the accomplishments he and others like
him have been able to achieve since graduating from The Seeing
Eye have been amazing.  Many of their stories - some of the most
exciting - cannot be told without an unwarranted violation of
privacy and confidence.  Yet the results are so remarkable that
even those which can be described briefly are likely to test the
credulity of people who haven't made an intimate study of The
Seeing Eye's work.
     But these real life pictures should be prefaced by the
equally fascinating account of how The Seeing Eye, unknown a few
years ago, suddenly became one of the most famous and popular
philanthropies in America.

     CHAPTER 9
     Too many people more than casually interested in publicity
and public relations the rapid spread of The Seeing Eye's fame
has made it the wonder organization of the century.  In the
depression years when the story of its work reached practically
every literate adult in America, not once but many times, less
than five hundred men and women were provided with dogs.  In
comparison with the total of those reached by numerous government
alphabet relief agencies and many private institutions in this
same depression period the number is small indeed. To those who
may question the wide attention given the school, in view of the
number of people it has directly benefitted, The Seeing Eye has
but one answer, "Not how many, but how well."
     This is part of the reason for wide public interest in The
Seeing Eye.  But only part.  The work of The Seeing Eye obviously
captures the imagination more readily than does that of most
philanthropies.  It alleviates blindness, which in itself seems
an accomplishment just short of miraculous.  It utilizes man's
traditional best friend to accomplish this purpose.  The
combination of dogs and blindness - of dogs alleviating blindness
- is not only unique but practically irresistible.
     The Seeing Eye might have been a press agent's dream.  It
had everything.  The publicity pattern of beautiful dogs
photographed posing with movie actresses, models and night club
entertainers, and of similar models, actresses, et cetera
comforting the "poor afflicted blind" was as simple as A B C. The
Seeing Eye contained all the elements required to concoct one of
the greatest sob stories ever told.  The ingredients for a good
cry are found in almost every step of the organization's
procedure.  And every press agent knows that large sums of money
are often extracted from philanthropists by playing on their
sympathies, their heartstrings.  No organization in the world has
had a greater opportunity to indulge this practice than The
Seeing Eye.
     But no organization in the world has more conscientiously
refrained from doing so.  The Seeing Eye did not become a press
agent's dream.  For many months it consistently avoided
publicity, meanwhile building up the organization from within. 
And when large numbers of people were finally told of its work
they were impressed not only with the excellent job done by the
dogs, but also by the admirable and hitherto unrealized
capabilities demonstrated by the blind graduates.  For under the
wise and farsighted leadership of Dorothy Eustis, The Seeing Eye
at its very beginning had nailed to its mast one policy which can
be summed up in the words it compassion, but never pity." The
nails are still holding fast.
     With this basic policy well established the organization
purposely used its inherent human interest value to tell the
world what blind people could do. It has, therefore, regarded its
widening fame as a serious responsibility. With practically the
whole country keenly interested in every phase of its work, it
was mandatory on The Seeing Eye to live up continuously to its
own highest principles.  They were not to be kept on the top
shelf of a deep closet and dusted off and paraded only on
visiting days. Fame for The Seeing Eye has provided both an
opportunity and an obligation. It has risen to the opportunity
and met the obligation.
     The Seeing Eye's fame was not achieved by chance.  Like most
successes it was carefully planned.  During its first four years
very few people paid the organization any serious attention. 
Aside from Dorothy Eustis and a few - a very few - friends whom
she and Gretchen Green had managed to interest, it had no
"public." It was practically a personal philanthropy.  Perhaps
because they never knew of it during its first several years,
some people have believed that no effort was made during this
period to widen interest in the organization.
     They are mistaken.  Between trips back and forth to
Fortunate Fields, Mrs. Eustis was devoting every ounce of energy
she could muster to this job.  She and Morris Frank were wearing
themselves out in an endeavor to arouse some productive interest
among the memberships of scores of frankly curious but
unresponsive clubs and organizations.  They were speaking before
such groups two and three times a day in the fond belief that it
would build up a solid understanding among thousands of club
women and create in them a consuming desire to help develop The
Seeing Eye. The results were negligible.
     Mrs. Eustis firmly believed that support for The Seeing Eye
should come from many people rather than from a few.  She
realized the entire future of the organization was imperiled
because it depended solely on her own generosity and effort.  As
she put it, "What would become of The Seeing Eye if I happened to
get in the way of a speeding taxi?" It would be in only a
slightly less dangerous position if its future were to be
dependent on the continuing support of even a hundred
individuals.  Mrs. Eustis was also aware of a change in the
public attitude toward charity, which was accelerated by the
increasing seriousness of the economic depression.  The number of
persons of wealth was steadily diminishing.  Many of them could
no longer be expected to support new philanthropic enterprises. 
New organizations, she concluded, and many, many old ones as well
would be forced, in the future, to justify their work and
existence to the general public and to look to the public for
support.
     With this conviction, and with the discouraging experience
of attempting to apply it through lectures before clubs and other
large groups, Mrs. Eustis decided to seek counsel on how to
develop an organization such as she had in mind.  With her
principles as guideposts a sound program of public relations was
mapped out.  The first step was to withdraw Mrs. Eustis and
Morris Frank from the kerosene lecture circuit.
     The next step was to endeavor to sell the importance of The
Seeing Eye to the most outstanding person in New York City, who
might logically sponsor the organization and present its work to
a gradually widening circle. Herbert L. Satterlee, it was
immediately agreed, was that person.  A distinguished lawyer; a
brother-in-law of J. P. Morgan; former member of the New York
State Commission for the Blind; a man known to his friends to
have the most impeccable taste and keen and far-sighted judgment,
he was one of those unusual persons of old-school integrity who
would not lend his blessing to any project until he was
thoroughly convinced of its merits.  There was no person in New
York more eminently fitted to be the sponsor of the organization.
     When, armed with a letter of introduction from a mutual
friend, Mrs. Eustis set out to tell Mr. Satterlee about The
Seeing Eye she started with the same keenness, interest and
pleasure with which her great Wigger would start on a trail.  She
met him at the new Cosmopolitan Club and spoke with all the
conviction she could muster about dogs and blind people and what
The Seeing Eye was doing to bring them together.  Mr. Satterlee
listened with polite but noncommittal attention until she had
finished.  He asked a few questions but neither by word nor sign
showed more than a courteous interest.  When Mrs. Eustis left him
he was considering the merits of the unusual decorative scheme of
the Club.
     She went back to her office believing she had lost the
trail. But a few days later she was back at it again.  Mr.
Satterlee was charming, as only he can be.  When the conversation
again settled down to dogs and blind people and what The Seeing
Eye was doing to bring them together, he fixed Mrs. Eustis with
his steel blue eye till she felt he was actually watching her
think.  After she finished, he asked a few more questions and
then showed her Gainsborough's Duchess of Devonshire which hangs
over his fireplace.  But there was nothing to indicate how much
he would help her.  Already very active on behalf of the blind
and thinking she was interested mainly in a personal
contribution, he'd promised her "not a blue chip but a white
one," but Mrs. Eustis wanted his help more than any contribution.
     But if Mr. Satterlee had expected to dissuade Mrs. Eustis
from her purpose by reserving decision, he reckoned without her
devotion to her purpose.  A few weeks later he found himself
signing his name to an invitation to a few gentlemen to lunch
with him at the Downtown Association.  They were to meet Mrs.
Harrison Eustis and Morris Frank and Buddy and hear something
about dogs and blindness and how a new organization called The
Seeing Eye was doing a marvelous work in bringing the two
together.  At Mr. Satterlee's request the House Committee of the
staid Downtown Association set aside a rule of fifty years
standing to permit Buddy to be present.  The lunch was a real
success.  Mr. Satterlee followed it almost immediately with
another.
     And a few days after the second meeting he agreed to serve
as chairman of an Advisory Council for The Seeing Eye and to act
officially as its public sponsor.  Mrs. Eustis had won not only
his interest but his full support.  It was what The Seeing Eye
most needed.
     From among those who attended his two small luncheons, the
nucleus of a committee was formed, the first move toward a
permanent organization.  No announcements were sent to the press,
no reporters were requested to cover developments, and no tips
were whispered to columnists.  It might not have made much
difference; the press wouldn't have been interested in the story
of these small beginnings except to mention the name of Mr.
Satterlee and a few of his guests.  But one of the first
principles in The Seeing Eye's program of public education was
being firmly established.  The organization was not going to
build its foundation for the future on the unstable pillars of
surface publicity and notoriety.  Pleased with the prospects,
Dorothy Eustis went aboard an express liner for Europe to attend
pressing work at Fortunate Fields.
     She left behind as her representative Gretchen Green,
writer, world traveler and accomplisher of the extraordinary. 
Miss Green was to carry on in her absence further to extend
interest already aroused.  Within a few weeks Gretchen was to be
hostess in New York at almost a dozen teas given for Morris Frank
and Buddy.  Morris was to show some movies of dogs guiding the
blind.
     Many of those who came to the first two or three tea parties
did so because they were devoted either to Gretchen or to the
cinnamon toast, doughnut balls and other tasty teathings for
which she is famous.  Motion picture showings in the home were
still a novelty then outside of Hollywood, and the guests found
it rather fun to watch blind Morris Frank set up a projector,
thread the film through the complicated mechanism and run off the
fuzzy movie, with its long subtitles describing The Seeing Eye,
its aims and purposes and its dogs.  Afterwards, the guests,
interested, asked Morris innumerable questions, and regaled him
with detailed accounts of the exploits and dispositions of their
own pets, while Gretchen circulated with huge bowls of foodstuffs
and a pitcher of mulled wine, making sure everyone was well fed
and content.
     The first intrepid pioneers who attended these teas, made
cautious by the unending demands of charity, had all the defenses
up, prepared to withstand the slightest hint that they contribute
money to anything.  They girded their emotions to steely
resistance and carefully left their checkbooks at home.  They
were agreeably surprised to find that Morris never mentioned the
subject of funds.  There were no pledge blanks beginning "I
hereby subscribe ...," cunningly protruding from under their
teacups, nor was there any literature conveniently available.
     Occasionally someone, secure behind a statement of personal
poverty, would ask Mr. Frank how much a dog cost, but never once
did Morris respond, like a puma pouncing for the kill, with an
appeal for a donation.  In fact, this strange young man seemed
not to care whether they contributed anything nor not. Several
people found themselves piqued that their widely known
philanthropic reputations should be thus ignored, and insisted on
sending checks.  Past entanglements with charitable enterprises
may have conditioned them to expect an appeal later on.  But
there wasn't any later appeal.  After a time they began to relax
and to have a positive affection for this independent little
organization which the redoubtable Mr. Satterlee had seen fit to
sponsor.
     To everyone's pleasant surprise, there were no notices in
the social columns, either, reporting on Miss Green's teas.  It
seemed ridiculous that a charity wouldn't endeavor to advance
itself by calling attention to the socially prominent people who
would attend a tea on its behalf. But it gave people who went to
them a feeling of security, as if they were enjoying the same
sanctuary that they would find in their own homes.  As they
breathed more easily in the atmosphere of The Seeing Eye, they
talked more and more about the organization.  It became a topic
of dinner conversation at the tables of three or four, then a
dozen, then scores of New York's most prominent hosts and
hostesses.  People began searching among their friends for
someone who could take them to one of Gretchen Green's parties.
     From time to time one of the guests would receive an
invitation to serve as a member of the organization's Advisory
Council.  By the time the invitation was extended he - or she -
had become so interested that he usually accepted with alacrity,
joining the list of those who had expressed a willingness to
participate following Mr. Satterlee's Downtown Association
luncheons.  In a short time the more active members of the
Advisory Council organized themselves into a functioning
Executive Committee.  They were by then aware of the
organization's financial need and had developed a sincere and
growing desire to do something about it.
     The suggestion was finally advanced that it might be
appropriate and enjoyable for the members of the Advisory Council
to give a dinner and invite a few of their friends to hear Mrs.
Eustis tell her story and to let them have the fun of seeing the
film.  It would be a small affair - a family party - limited, say
to one hundred and fifty in all.  Each member of the committee
would act as host to six or eight friends, and have his own group
and his own private table in the ballroom of the Hotel Park Lane.
     A few weeks before the dinner was held, November 14, 1933,
it was obvious that it would be impossible to limit the number of
guests to one hundred and fifty without unnecessarily offending
people who were genuinely eager to be present.  But not a line
about the dinner or, in fact, about any other activity of the
organization had appeared in the daily press.  No one had
received the formal dinner invitation, issued by the Advisory
Council, who had not already accepted the personal invitation of
an individual host.  The affair was as difficult to attend as a
royal wedding and perhaps much more select in the list of guests.

The 247 people who were present that evening represented the
elite of New York's social, business, professional and financial
world.
     Mr. Satterlee presided over the gathering with the dignity
and benign approval of a justice of the Supreme Court, delivering
an opinion of which he was especially proud.  He introduced
Dorothy Eustis who spoke with the sparkle and zest of a great
woman with a message.  And Mrs. Eustis was inspired by the
conviction that through the interest of her audience that evening
the success of her organization was virtually assured.  Mr.
Satterlee also introduced S. Mervyn Sinclair, and his Seeing Eye
dog Kara.  Though blind, Mr. Sinclair had been able to handle
with efficiency and dispatch the executive direction of the
multifarious activities of the council for the blind of the State
of Pennsylvania.
     Mr. Sinclair had a profound effect upon his audience.  Here
was no Morris Frank - no energetic young specimen, who might be
specially groomed, with a trick dog capable of performing unusual
stunts, but perhaps under the careful and constant direction of
the entire Seeing Eye staff.  Here was a calm and deliberate
business executive who had chanced to lose his sight through an
unfortunate hunting accident, a man in whose place, but for the
vagaries of fortune, might have been any other man in the room. 
This man, who was so matter of fact in explaining what his own
beautiful Kara had meant to him, was a run-of-the-mill product of
The Seeing Eye.  This was the job the organization could do.
     Mr. Satterlee also presented the same film that had ground
through the projector so frequently at Gretchen Green's teas.  By
the time the film was finished and Dorothy Eustis had asked for
questions from the audience, there were 246 persons in the room
who knew that they had seen an unusual organization in action. 
It was out to sell itself - there was no doubt about that - but
in a way that none of them had known before.  Why, it was
fantastic! No one had even mentioned the raising of money.  What
could be more unusual than going to a dinner for a charity and
not being asked openly or subtly to give money.  The Seeing Eye
won them completely.  Thereafter it would be a part of their
humanitarian interests.
     But in contrast to the reaction of one person in the room
this show of fervor seemed calm and controlled.  The questions
had hardly stopped before Alexander Woollcott had bounced from
his chair and rolled up to the little platform where Dorothy
Eustis stood, to pour out his unbounded enthusiasm.  His
reporter's instinct, his sense of the dramatic and his capacity
for story-telling had all been bowled over, he said, by what he
had seen and heard.  He denounced the film with typical Woollcott
invective as amateurish and inadequate, cockeyed, he said, and in
a rushing stream of speech, interrupted from time to time by
people around him attempting to knife a word in edgewise, he
poured forth his praise and wonder to Mrs. Eustis.
     "I am busy now," he said, recounting in a few sentences the
schedule of his activities for some weeks ahead, "but in a few
months I am going to do something about this." As always,
Woollcott kept his word.  The Seeing Eye never had a better
friend.
     Following its policy of using only word-of-mouth
advertising, The Seeing Eye still continued to refrain from
publicizing its activities in New York. But funds began to come
in, voluntarily sent by interested individuals, and with these it
became possible to increase the number of blind men and women the
organization could serve at Morristown.  Mrs. Eustis accepted a
few private invitations to dinner and spoke briefly afterwards. 
Morris Frank was kept busy investigating the blind men and women
who were applying, in increasing numbers, for dogs.  Willi
Ebeling was working day and night attempting to handle everything
from general administration to keeping the books.  People
were beginning to motor out from New York, eager to learn in a
half-hour or so everything there was to know about the care,
feeding and training of the dogs. They also wanted to see some of
the "poor dear blind people," a sympathetic diversion in which
they were at once discouraged.
     The next spring the time seemed ripe for a change.  It was
decided that the character of nc Seeing Eye had been established
and that some of the restrictions which The Seeing Eye had set up
for itself could now be removed to give many people who seemed
anxious to help an opportunity to do so.  By a fortunate
circumstance the appropriate occasion almost immediately
presented itself.  Harry Bannister had opened in New York in a
replica of an old style music hall a revival of a
nineteenth-century play called The Drunkard, or The Fallen Saved.

It was Mr. Bannister's belief and fervent hope that the public
would enjoy sitting at tables and drinking beer while watching
with amused tolerance the creaking histrionics of this old drama.
     The performances were attracting a few customers but not
enough to cause Mr. Bannister any happiness when a scout from a
Seeing Eye committee happened in one night.  While watching the
show he got an idea.  Wasn't this a made-to-order opportunity for
a bang-up, hilarious benefit with a capital B - different from
anything ever attempted by an institution for the blind?
     The younger members of a New York social group were brought
together and the idea was presented to them.  "What about a fancy
dress 'Hiss the Villain' party; with everyone in costume
characteristic of the 'seething seventies or the gay nineties,'
with a dancing-floor and casino in the basement, with supper
served by New York's swankiest night club, '21'; with tickets at
$10 each, and with restrictions on publicity lifted?" The idea
was hailed as an inspiration.  Almost at once all the three
hundred seats in the music hall were sold.  Some of the more
enterprising guests set their imaginations to work planning to
arrive at the theatre in the most novel contraption of the
period.  Most of the available horse-and-buggy equipages in New
York were quickly rented.  One group, doubtless with an eye on
the newsreels, chartered a hay wagon. In some trepidation as to
what might be about to occur, the police announced that the
entire block in front of the theatre would be closed to regular
traffic while these shenanigans were in progress.
     A wild rainstorm broke that evening but it stopped not one
guest from attending the "Hiss the Villain" party.  It did
dampen, and in one or two cases, soak right through, some of the
plans for the more dramatic arrivals. But once inside, the
audience was concerned only with whistling at the heroine, making
cat-calls at the hero, and booing the villain during the downfall
and resurrection of the unfortunate Wilson family.
     It was nearly three o'clock by the time the last straggler
had left the basement dancing-hall, reluctantly convinced that
the committee had meant what it said in setting up the casino as
proof of the error of evil ways.  But several hours previously
the early editions of the morning papers had been put to bed with
the full record in words and pictures of the spectacular exploits
of the evening.  The next morning when accounts of the party were
read New York was amusedly aware of a new organization called The
Seeing Eye, which had done something unusual besides educating
dogs to guide the blind.  Mr. Bannister, somewhat stunned by the
publicity given to his modest little production, struggled under
an inundation of requests for reservations.  The play settled
down for an indefinite run and road companies were sent out all
over the United States.
     As the costs incident to putting on the "Hiss the Villain"
party were taken care of by private subscription, the party
netted The Seeing Eye $3,000. It was a huge success.  But it was
about the last benefit in which the organization participated. 
The principle of benefits, The Seeing Eye found, was
fundamentally at variance with its newly developing policies. 
People who bought tickets to benefits were often wholly
unconcerned with the organization they were supposed to be
helping.  They would often buy them to escape the embarrassment
of refusing a friend.
     Even though the organization greatly needed funds with which
to carry on its work it was convinced, for other reasons as well,
that to attempt to procure donations through benefits was
fundamentally unsound.  After the success of the "Hiss the
Villain" party The Seeing Eye received a small flood of benefit
suggestions from people who were awakened to the organization's
possibilities.  Some of them came from groups sincerely
interested in helping support its work.  Others came from banquet
managers anxious to get their restaurants and hotels into the
society columns.  Still others were received from racketeering
promoters who made their living putting on charity benefits for a
percentage of the receipts plus expenses.  Not infrequently the
"expenses" were 90 per cent of the income.
     The Seeing Eye was unable to sift these offers and sit in
judgment on the motives behind them.  As proposals were received
from all sections of the country it would have been impossible to
pass on them even if the organization had been disposed to make
the effort.  But what settled the question for The Seeing Eye was
its desire to protect its contributors.  The organization was
asking individuals to become members and to contribute once a
year whatever sum they felt able to give.  It was obvious that if
there were even a few benefits given for the organization,
inevitably its members would be among those asked to buy tickets.

Even if their reaction was at first sympathetic, it would
eventually turn to annoyance.
     In order to protect its contributors, therefore, and to
eliminate the possibility of rackets being conducted in its name,
the organization refused to participate in any form of benefit. 
Within six months after the notable success of the "Hiss the
Villain" party, at least a hundred suggestions for benefits,
which in the aggregate held out the alluring, if unrealizable,
prospect of $100,000 or more in income, were rejected.  The
organization had informed its subscribers that it would ask them
to contribute only once a year and it intended to keep that
promise.
     In the years that have followed The Seeing Eye has received
numerous newspaper items clipped by its bureau regarding the use
of its name by groups purporting to raise money on its behalf. 
Usually, the clipping is received after the event described has
taken place.  Although every such lead is faithfully followed up
rarely is there any response to requests for some accounting of
the funds raised through the use of its name and without The
Seeing Eye's permission.  Perhaps not all of these affairs are
rackets, but there is no doubt that some of them are.
     By the latter part of 1935 it was apparent that The Seeing
Eye had the loyalty and support of New York.  The success of the
Park Lane dinner in 1933 had been repeated in 1934 in the much
larger ballroom of the Plaza, with Alexander Woollcott as the
headliner.  In 1935, when the dinner was again held in the Plaza,
the ballroom and even the side boxes were filled to overflowing. 
Dorothy Eustis and her advisers realized that nothing would be
gained by further events of this kind in New York.  The people
who could be informed through a dinner had learned about the
work.  They were solidly behind the school, and did not need to
turn out every year in white tie and tails as continuing proof to
the organization that it had their backing. Not all of them had
subscribed to the organization - not yet, at any rate.  They
hadn't been asked to.  But as those who were interested included
the distinguished New York names of Harkness, Davison, Morgan,
Auchincloss, Cromwell, Colgate, Reid, Harriman, Gates and Astor,
the organization began to feel real confidence that it might find
the means with which to meet the increasing need.
     By that time the Executive Committee of the Advisory Council
was well developed and functioning.  The Board of Trustees with
Henry A. Colgate as its chairman had changed from a family affair
to one which was representative of the public whose support was
sought.  The time was ripe to widen public interest in the
organization throughout the country.  In Philadelphia a dinner
was held at the Bellevue-Stratford Hotel.  On the list of the 450
selected guests who attended were many significant family names -
Berwind, Cadwalader, Clothier, Dorrance, Harrison, Lloyd, Janney
and Pew.  Their endorsement and support assured the success of
the organization in that city.
     Boston's dinner for Mrs. Eustis was of proportionate size.
Among those present were members of the Back Bay families of
Adams, Anderson, Bird, Cotting, Forbes, Frothingham, Saltonstall
and Wadsworth.
     Detroit was next.  Nearly two thousand people were present
to hear Alexander Woollcott and Jack Humphrey on a double bill at
Orchestra Hall.  Among names on the reservation list were Alger,
Douglas, Ford, Kanzler, Mitchell, Gillette and Waldon.
     In Chicago, two nights later, four hundred attended a dinner
at the Drake, addressed by Booth Tarkington over long-distance
telephone and loudspeaker, from his home in Indianapolis. 
Represented among the guests were the families of Armour, Knox,
Adler, Cudahy, Ryerson, Field, Upham and Wood.
     Later, in Cleveland, three hundred persons attended a dinner
at the Cleveland Club.  The guest list included the names of
Baker, Blossom, Bolton, Halle, Hoyt and Ingalls.
     In each of these cities The Seeing Eye organized a formal
and permanent committee.  To insure that the work would be truly
national, similar groups were also organized in Los Angeles and
Santa Barbara.  With this committee structure, Mrs. Eustis then
made plans to initiate in most of these cities membership
enrollments through which the public would gradually and
accurately be informed on The Seeing Eye's policies and
objectives. Through these local committees anyone could join the
organization if interested in its work, by contributing whatever
he felt able and willing to give as a yearly membership fee. 
Gradually the committees of volunteer membership-enrollment
workers were built up until more than a thousand took part
yearly.  Among them, in the course of time, they accounted for
fifteen thousand annual subscribers providing 98 per cent of The
Seeing Eye's total annual budgets.
     Everyone of these members, Mrs. Eustis likes to feel, has a
real knowledge of what The Seeing Eye is endeavoring to do.
Through their interest they acquaint other people with the
organization policies and they pass along the word, too, about
the desire of blind people to be free from charity.  In the few
years that have passed since this committee structure was built,
a change in the public attitude is becoming evident.  The public
is now beginning to realize that blind people can and will, if
given a chance, maintain themselves independently and on a
standard comparable with their capabilities.  Some authorities
have suggested that this changed public attitude, when it becomes
widely effective, may have as much to do with the emancipation of
the blind as The Seeing Eye dog itself.  If that proves to be
true, Dorothy Eustis and The Seeing Eye should have the credit
for implementing the change and advancing its acceptance anywhere
from a decade to a generation.
     It was perhaps inevitable that The Seeing Eye should be
imitated.  With the erroneous impression that a blind person
would pay a huge sum for a trained dog if only he could get one,
the prospect of getting in on some easy money appealed to certain
misguided dog trainers.  The blind person didn't need money at
The Seeing Eye.  But, it was reasoned by those who failed to
understand the principles of emancipation of the sightless, it
would be easy to find a rich man or woman with a big heart who
would put up the money necessary to provide "a poor afflicted
blind man" with a wonderful "individually trained" animal. 
Uninformed persons had little doubt but that they could somehow
teach a dog to be a guide if they really put their minds to it. 
Even experienced animal trainers were convinced that they could
be successful on dog guide work if they devoted the time and
energy required.
     One of the first imitators of The Seeing Eye made himself
known in a large city immediately after the work was started. He
could, he declared, train dogs to guide blind people as well as
the next fellow.  Such were his powers of persuasion that he not
only succeeded in convincing several blind men of his
extraordinary if somewhat latent talents, but he also persuaded a
prominent and wealthy citizen in the community to provide several
thousand dollars to meet his charges for doing the job.  After
several months of work in training the animals everything seemed
to be progressing nicely.  The dogs led the trainer around with
great facility, crossing streets in traffic with acceptable ease.
They got him around sidewalk obstructions and were evidently
capable of avoiding a casual pedestrian.
     However, the trainer's financial sponsor had been
reading more about the work of The Seeing Eye and had learned
something of the many years of unremitting study and experiment
during which the organization's background was built up.  He
sensibly began to wonder whether there wasn't something more to
it than merely a knack for dog training.
     When his trainer came to him and announced that the dogs
were about ready and would shortly be turned over to the lucky
blind people, the sponsor found himself worried.  He realized
that he would be the indirect cause of any accidents that might
result from unsound preparation of either the dogs or the blind. 
On the other hand he sincerely wished to help the blind men and
did not want to waste the work already done and the money it had
cost. He decided to send for Jack Humphrey.
     When Mr. Humphrey arrived he told him what he had done and
asked Jack to check on the trainer's work and see whether he
thought the dogs would be safe and efficient as guides. Mr.
Humphrey willingly agreed.  He followed the trainer as he put
each of the animals through its paces.  On the preliminary check
up everything appeared to be reasonably in order.  The sidewalk
work was satisfactory and the dogs checked for automobiles, curbs
and obstructions.  Jack then prepared to make the final test,
which is routine at The Seeing Eye and given to every dog, not
once but several times during its course.  When the trainer
reached the corner of a busy intersection Jack went up to him and
pulled a sleepshade out of his pocket.
     "Put this on," he said, "and cross this intersection back
and forth several times in traffic.  I want to see how the dogs
work when you are under absolute blindfold."
     The trainer looked at him incredulously.  "What do you mean?
Me, put that on?"
     "Sure, why not?"
     An expression of amazement spread over the man's face.
     "Do you think I'd trust myself out in the middle of that
street with this dog - and me blindfolded? "
     "That's what you expected the blind man to do, didn't you?"
Jack asked.
     And that was the end of that.

     No attempt has ever been made to estimate the total size of
the audience which potentially has been reached with information
on the work of educated dogs for the blind.  Statisticians
usually estimate such audiences by multiplying the total
circulation of the media known to carry information about the
organization by the number of times such information appears in
the media. Figuring on this basis an audience of perhaps a
hundred million learns something about The Seeing Eye every year,
whether it is through a half-hour radio program or a
two-paragraph news story about some master and his dog.
     Practically every magazine, newspaper, radio station
and motion picture theatre in the country has in one way or
another carried comparatively full accounts of the organization
and its work.  Some newspapers and radio stations have carried
scores of stories, and requested more.  There are at least half a
dozen lecturers who use Seeing Eye material to illustrate points
in their talks.  Preachers have stimulated their lagging flocks
to renewed self-confidence and initiative by describing what
blind men and women have done with their Seeing Eye dogs.  And
the public, instead of becoming satiated with the story has
continued to ask eagerly for more.  A children's book telling the
story of a blind man and his Seeing Eye dog published in 1937 was
as popular five years after it came out as the day it was issued.

It seems that the more people learn about The Seeing Eye the more
they want to find out.  Fortunately there is always more for them
to know.
     But in spite of public knowledge and support, one highly
important aspect of the school's program has not yet reached
completion.  It became apparent by 1936 that The Seeing Eye was
not adequately safeguarding the interests of its graduates.
Sufficient funds were coming in to meet current needs of the
school, provided the facilities were not too rapidly expanded.
But one day the Chairman of the Board of Trustees, Henry A.
Colgate, pointed out that the organization had a greater duty
than merely to provide a dog for a blind man or woman who needed
it. Every time it did so, he said, it incurred an obligation to
provide a second and a third and possibly a fourth dog for each
graduate.  As the normal life of a shepherd dog is less than ten
years and as it didn't start guiding until two years of age, it
didn't take much arithmetic to figure out that a blind man who
was provided with a dog when twenty-eight would need at least
three more dogs if he lived to the probable age of sixty.
     Mr. Colgate asked, considering these figures, what would
happen to a blind person when his dog died, if there were no
Seeing Eye for him to come back to? Would he not be worse off
than if he had never tasted the blessed fruits of freedom which
the dog made possible? Wouldn't it make him more handicapped,
more despairing, than if he just became adjusted to being blind
and made no effort at independence? When she realized the
importance of these questions Mrs. Eustis sat bolt upright, faced
with the conviction that she was doing only half the job.  She
remembered what had happened to the several students whose dogs
had already died - their messages of distress, their pleading
that something be done for them immediately.  Especially she
remembered a telephone call that came into The Seeing Eye late
one night.  It was for Morris Frank.
     "Morris?" the voice came over the wire.
     "Yes.  Who's this?"
     "This is Hubert X, out in St. Louis."
     "Well, what the devil are you getting me out of bed for at
this time of night?"
     "Morris." The voice broke.  "Morris, my dog has just died."
     Morris didn't answer.  He knew only too well what that
meant.
     "What will I do?" The voice was filled with anguish and
despair.  "Morris, I'm blind again."
     Mrs. Eustis realized that the future happiness of the men
and women who were using dogs hung by a thread too slender for
her conscience. Truly when their dogs died they were blind,
plunged into a more terrible darkness than if they had never
known freedom. Something must protect them from that.  A
financial depression which prevented the public from contributing
even temporarily might put the organization permanently out of
existence.  Those blind people with dogs must not have their
freedom, their lives, subject to the vagaries of economic
disturbance.  There must be a way to safeguard them.
     The Board of Trustees began to figure.  Conservatively, in
order to operate the school on the most restricted possible basis
and to provide only for those men and women already using dogs
and taking no additional new students, they found that the income
from a fund of at least $1,600,000 would be required.  The amount
seemed very large - and it would have to be increased
proportionately as the number of blind people using dogs
increased.  But it did not daunt Mrs. Eustis and the Board. 
Plans were laid for a Seeing Eye Security Fund with that amount
as a minimum.  It would provide an emergency fund and the income
would be used primarily to guarantee the replacements of dogs
which die.
     The fund has been set up for several years, though it is
still a long way from the original minimum of $1,600,000.  But
some day - before it is needed, Mrs. Eustis fervently hopes -
this sum or a larger one must be available to do the job which
must be done.  Mrs. Eustis is confident it will be. She still
clings with unshakable conviction to the philosophy which has for
years carried her over difficulties called insurmountable: "What
is right will triumph; nothing wrong can harm what is good."

     CHAPTER 10
     When Alexander Woollcott in a happy moment of incautiousness
accepted an invitation to the first dinner for The Seeing Eye in
1933 he did not anticipate that his gifts as a raconteur would
one day make him chief storyteller of the organization.  What
fascinated him first at the dinner was the picture he saw the
moment he entered the reception room, crowded to the walls, as he
put it, with New York's dowagers and their escorts.  Through this
virtually impenetrable group he saw the head and shoulders of one
man moving with the sureness and ease of a ship's prow cleaving
blue water.  Curious, he followed the man through the crowd as
best he could, and when finally he caught up with him found that
he was Mervyn Sinclair.  Mr. Sinclair was blind and what had
steered him through the crowd with such unerring grace was his
Seeing Eye dog.  From that moment Mr. Woollcott was interested.
     This story of his first glimpse of a guide dog at work is
one which Woollcott has woven into the fabric of his lectures on
The Seeing Eye.  Although he has not done any more than scratch
the surface of the possible material, Woollcott has unearthed
some tales about the organization that are fascinating and has
fed them, as only he can, once, twice and again to his eager
public.
     But there was one tale he told, for what must have seemed to
the more devoted among his audience to be an interminable number
of times, which suddenly he stopped telling altogether.  For Mr.
Woollcott to desert a favorite story is ordinarily as unthinkable
as for a she-grizzly to abandon her cubs.  But the facts in this
instance, while certainly circumstantial, were also extraordinary
and perhaps did call for desperate measures.
     This once-favorite story of Woollcott's concerned one of the
pioneering exploits of Morris Frank and Buddy.  They were staying
at a Cincinnati hotel, as they had often before, when one morning
they left their room on the tenth floor and walked down the hall
to the elevators.  As they reached a point which Morris's
experience told him was fairly near where the elevator door
should be, Buddy suddenly stopped and pulled back.  This action
on the part of a Seeing Eye dog is ordinarily an indication of
danger or at least of something unusual and Morris explored the
carpeted area immediately in front of him with his foot. Finding
no obstruction he gave Buddy the command to go forward, but she
refused to budge, obstinately hugging the floor.
     In his impatience to get going, Morris gave the harness a
couple of yanks and again commanded forward, this time with
emphasis.  Buddy pulled back even further.  So, typically, Morris
said to hell with it, let go the harness and was about to step
forward to feel for the bell when he heard a sharp scream behind
him.  A maid coming out of one of the rooms down the hall had, by
some good fortune, chanced to glance in their direction.  And she
saw what Buddy saw.  Through some fool's carelessness, the
elevator door had been left open.
     This is a poor imitation of Mr. Woollcott's graphic version
of the story that he told from platform, microphone and
comfortable divan until his followers began to see elevator
shafts in their sleep.  Then, at the end of a long and doubtless
exhausting series of broadcasts, on the eve of entering the
hospital for protracted observation and rest, Mr. Woollcott, as a
final gesture, told it once again.
     The next morning to his hospital bed was delivered a
moderate sized packing case which an attendant obligingly opened.

Not more than three slats had been removed before the incurably
curious Mr.Woollcott had reached inside to find out what it was. 
His exploring hands brought out a large white rabbit.  It was a
gift from Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur, good friends but
somewhat elevator sick.  Around the rabbit's neck was tied with
ribbon a huge greeting card on which was inscribed in bold
letters: "My name is Buddy.  I am trained to jump down elevator
shafts." 
     What is probably Mr. Woollcott's favorite story is really
two stories on the same theme.  He told them in his own words in
Cosmopolitan Magazine.  Let me tell them here again, beginning as
indeed he did, by explaining his business - "the business which
earlier in this year of grace" (and now this is Woollcott
speaking) "took me overseas to Europe.  I sailed to arrange for
the extermination of two women - one French and the other
English.  Poison suggested itself as the obvious method and an
adequate supply of prussic acid was doubtless available, but it
seemed a pity to use one which, while indisputably toxic, would
be so swift in its lethal action. Something more lingering would
be the thing; something, as the Mikado used to say, with boiling
oil in it.
     "It happens that a few years ago - back in 1927 it was or
thereabouts - there arrived at the mountain village of Mont
Pelerin near Vevey in Switzerland an eager little Frenchman who
had lost his eyes in the Great War. Now, he knew that at a
blessed place called Fortunate Fields they were breeding and
training dogs as companions for the blind - those powerful,
shaggy, lupine creatures which are properly called German
shepherd dogs.  To be sure, the English, ever since 1914, have
insisted on calling them Alsatians, on the theory, I suppose,
that nothing so good could come out of Nazareth.  And we in
America (because some of the breed do good work with the
constabulary) have fallen into the silly and misleading habit of
calling them police dogs.  But German shepherd dogs is the right
name for them.  That's what they are.
     "Well, my little Frenchman was awarded an exceptionally
faithful and intelligent bitch named Xenia and, after a month of
training, off they went together into the world.  Some neighbor
had had to pilot the little Frenchman's shuffling and frightened
steps to Mont Pelerin, but he was able to go home with no one to
help him.  No one, that is, except Xenia.  Jack Humphrey, the
American in charge of the training - back in Saratoga Springs his
mother named him Elliott, so everyone calls him Jack - Jack saw
them off at the station.  He noted with satisfaction how brisk
and unafraid Xenia's master stepped along the platform, how
content these new partners were, how visibly content with the
world and with each other.
     "He was the more surprised, therefore, when, a month later,
a crate which arrived by train at Vevey proved to contain Xenia -
Xenia, accompanied by her harness, her leash, her collar and her
currycomb but by no word of explanation.  How could she have
proved unsatisfactory? In what way could Xenia - star pupil -
have disgraced her school?
     "To find out, Humphrey blindfolded a trainer and sent him
down to Vevey to give her a checkup in the thick of that town's
capricious traffic.  In and out of its twisting streets she led
her man, guiding him around puddles, warning him about curbs,
choosing the rough part of every footway for herself that he
might have the smooth.  As a supreme test, they drove a car
suddenly out of the road onto the sidewalk, cutting across her
path by a lunatic, right-angle turn wild enough to have caught
most pedestrians unawares.  But not the taut and wary Xenia, who
signaled her man in time.  In short, she passed the examination
with flying colors.  'So help me, Jack,' the trainer babbled,
'there's nothing the matter with her.  She's perfect.'
     "Much puzzled, Humphrey telegraphed an inquiry to the little
French town north of the Aveyron.  No answer.  Then he wrote.  No
answer.  Finally he sent a scout on a visit of investigation,
which yielded the fact that Xenia, far from having failed in her
task, had been the wonder of the town and a tremendous success
with her new master, who, thanks to her, had for the first time
since the war tasted the sweets of freedom - freedom alike from
the callousness and the equally infuriating pity of others,
freedom to go and come when and where he pleased, freedom even to
stay out till all hours, he and Xenia together, drinking with his
cronies in the smoky old buvette on the cobbled square.
     "There was the rub.  That was what his wife couldn't bear.
No longer was he dependent on her.  No longer was he under her
thumb.  So she had shipped the interloper back to Switzerland. 
And her explanation to the desolate blind man? Oh, she just told
him that his precious Xenia had proved faithless and run away.
     "The other woman whom I marked for extermination as my good
deed for the year had in like manner violated the fundamental
decencies.  She had a neat little house on the outskirts of
Birmingham in England and some wealthy busy-body had provided her
sightless husband with one of the guide-dogs from the training
school at Wallasey near Liverpool.
     "Reports that the dog was failing in her task led in this
case, also, to an investigation.  This brought to light the fact
that the blind man, when at home, was accustomed to leaving his
dog outside, which wounded her pride, weakened her affection,
interrupted her interest and wrecked her morale.
     "Full well her master knew this but he could do nothing
about it.  You see, his wife wouldn't have the creature in the
house.  Indeed, they had to take the dog away because on this
point the Missus wouldn't yield an inch.  No sir! Tracking mud on
her linoleum! Getting hair all over the furniture! That was her
reason.  The bitch! The dirty bitch!"
     Mr. Woollcott not only caused a great many people to join
him in doing something to aid The Seeing Eye but he also brought
hope to blind men and women who had given up their lives to
despair.  Among these was a man who operated a pneumatic drill in
a quarry.  One unfortunate day by cruel chance he ran his drill
into a charge of dynamite which blew him sky high and, as quickly
as an ambulance could take him there, into a hospital.  He was
badly bunged up and it was weeks before he began gradually to
emerge from his bandages.  Finally came the day when the nurse
was to remove the last wrappings from around his head and eyes. 
She knew that act would tell whether he would ever see again or
not, but she was, as usual, impersonally pleasant as she started
to unravel the white gauze.
     "There are three of them today, John," she said.  "The last
three too.  Won't you be glad to get them off?"
     "Oh boy, will I! What sort of a day is it anyway? Bright and
sunshiny I hope."
     "Yes, it is.  There.  That's the first bandage."
     "I'll be out of here in a week or two, won't I?"
     "That's what the doctor says.  Lucky you! "
     "Well, the hospital's all right if you don't have to stay in
one too long - a good place for a rest, I mean."
     "I know what you mean," she answered.  She deftly
manipulated the gauze and held her breath.  "There, that better?"
     "So far, so good.  Hurry up unwrap the last one."
     She hesitated a moment - but only a moment.  "The last
bandage is off."
     For two days and two nights that man wrestled with the
knowledge that he was blind - permanently blind.  Through his
mind raced one idea - how could he, a blind man, commit suicide?
Climb a high building? There would be someone watching him.  A
revolver? Who would give him a revolver? Could he hang himself?
Suppose in his blindness he bungled it? But there must be a way
out - there must be.  He wouldn't live on - helpless - useless.
     But he had found no answer - when he suddenly became
conscious of a voice. It was coming over a radio which a patient
in the next bed was playing, and was talking about guide dogs for
the blind! His neighbor had been twisting the radio dial in an
effort to tune in a good dance orchestra when he happened to
catch for a second or two the station from which Mr. Woollcott
was broadcasting.  He had already tuned it out in favor of a
rhumba when the blind man realized that the voice had had a
message for him.
     "Get that man back.  I want to hear him," he shouted at his
neighbor. Then, for the several minutes left of the broadcast, he
heard Mr. Woollcott's narrative of hope.
     Some months after John had come to The Seeing Eye and
received his dog, Mr. Woollcott stopped at his home in the
Adirondacks and asked to see him.  But he wasn't there.
     "This is Sunday," his wife casually told Woollcott, "and he
and Lady have gone fishing.  He has always liked to fish and I
guess Lady does too."
     That man didn't need to be cured of blindness, for he had
never really experienced it.  But had it not been for Mr.
Woollcott he might have gone down into total darkness.
     The drama of dogs against darkness has also inspired Booth
Tarkington. Mr. Tarkington has for some years been Honorary
Chairman of the National Membership Committee of The Seeing Eye. 
He has written most effectively of the joy Seeing Eye dogs get
from their work and of the special value of Seeing Eye dogs to
women who are blind.  Mr. Tarkington's vivid words can only be
dulled by interpretation.  Therefore his reactions are given
here, as he himself once described them in The Ladies' Home
Journal.
     "When I was blind," wrote Mr. Tarkington, "a friend
inadvertently read aloud to me out of a book the words, 'He felt
himself as unlike his fellow beings as if he had been blind or an
idiot,' then checked herself in consternation.  We both laughed,
she nervously and I with perhaps a trace of shock.  I had been
totally blind for only two months at that time; I was still
safely recumbent in a hospital bed, and among the nuisances of
blindness to which I was imaginatively looking forward, had not
been that of relegation to the status of an idiot, so far as
relations with my fellow-men went.
     "Lying flat in a hospital bed, it was natural to be waited
upon literally hand and foot; even to be fed.  Indeed, I enjoyed
a luxury of helplessness, a freedom from all responsibilities.
When at length I was sent home, however, to regain strength in
preparation for the operations upon what was euphemistically
spoken of as my 'other eye,' I found my helplessness
contradictorily increased by my being out of bed and supposedly
active.  Simply being blind is by no means unbearable - to a
world now generally accustomed to the radio, one doesn't need to
explain how much 'sight' there can be in sound - but to be
obliged to let others, no matter how angelically, how tactfully
willing they may be, help one to perform even the most simple
actions is curiously distressing.  I couldn't even manage to eat
without incessant aid.
     "My six months of total blindness, added to many more months
of dimming vision - while it was an enriching experience and one
I now am heartily glad not to have missed - taught me that I was
not likely ever to be much of a success as a blind person.  For
those who without sight can yet read and write and cook, become
musicians and switchboard operators, play cards and practice law
and knit - who can, in fact, do almost anything that people with
eyes can do-I have a bewildered admiration.  I could never have
been like them in their achievements, even if my blindness had
been prolonged; but I did share and shall forever fully
understand that chief and naggingly unremittent woe of both the
efficient and the inefficient sightless - dependence.
     "Except within circumscribed and familiar areas, all blind
people must have help, be it ungrudging or grudging, be it from
friend or stranger, if they are to go anywhere.  Facing the
possibility that my 'other eye' might not respond to the
surgeon's hand and wisdom, I realized if it didn't and I stayed
blind, I would never again be able to go where I wanted to go
without having somebody take me there.  I and the thousands of
other blind people in the world were hopelessly, inescapably
bound by this doom, for doom it is.
     "I should have known better after my years of residing in
this shifting, astonishing world than to have thought of anything
as hopeless.  At the very moment when I, blind, was contemplating
the 'inescapable doom' of blind people's humiliating dependence
upon their seeing fellows, young Mr. Morris Frank, of Nashville,
Tennessee, blind but free, was striding gaily over these United
States with his left hand resting lightly upon a leather handle
borne by Buddy, his eyes, his friend, his sweet liberty, his
Seeing Eye dog.
     "Mr. Frank can never be embarrassed by the thought that it
may be inconvenient for Buddy to guide him.  Buddy is not only a
Seeing Eye dog, she is a dog - and a dog's happiness, a dog's
bliss, indeed, is in being with the adored master.  Moreover, all
dogs love to be commended by the master's voice.  Seeing Eye dogs
work for praise - extravagant praise - and all their lives long
they receive it in full and grateful measure from their owners.
Incidentally, the habit of bestowing praise is a very beneficial
one for human beings to acquire; it is likely to enlarge their
hearts.
     "By making use of Buddy, by being a 'burden' upon Buddy, Mr.
Frank does her an inestimable and entirely practical favor. 
Buddy, a German shepherd, is a working dog, with centuries of
working ancestors behind her.  It is in her blood to be useful. 
Without serious occupation dogs of Buddy's staunch breed become
demoralized, and one of man's crimes against dogs has been the
indiscriminate popularity of what in this country we carelessly
call 'police dogs.' Such dogs are bewildered by being haphazard
pets; idle and with their instinct for protective service
neglected and grown awry, it is no wonder that they have
sometimes gained a reputation for being dangerous.  Educated as
Seeing Eye dogs, they are as contented and as kind to all the
world as only creatures who are fulfilling their destiny can be.
     "Thus, the more a blind person depends on a dog guide and
the harder he works it, the happier that dog is.  Human guides
often are wearily unwilling; but the dog does not exist who is
not always enraptured to take a walk.  There are other
differences between canine and human guides, as the following
letter from a blind woman indicates with a frankness that is, I
think, useful. This lady writes:
     "'I lost my sight very suddenly.  I had the usual difficulty
in readjusting my life and habits.  I felt so utterly useless
that unhappy" is not the word to describe any of the mental
conditions in various stages that I experienced.  I heard about
these dogs and wanted one; but my husband said "No." Mr. Frank
was kind enough to take me with him on his trips here.  He had
Buddy.  I had human guides.  I bruised both knees on fireplugs,
hit at least five telephone poles broadside, sideswiped
pedestrians, stumbled up and down steps.  He did not.  Buddy took
him as calmly as a summer breeze everywhere he went.  Then I was
completely converted, and I will help any blind person who will
treat a dog kindly to get one and give him my blessing.
     "'Dogs appeal to me very much, for my experience has been
that people kill me with kindness.  As long as I act
feeble-minded and partially paralyzed I get along fine with
guides.  I have tried friends, acquaintances and strangers.
Friends are the worst.  That does sound ungrateful, but really I
am very happy that my friends do try so hard to help.  But I feel
there is nothing wrong with my mind since losing my sight. 
Perhaps I flatter myself.  My personality is unchanged, so I feel
just as capable of making certain decisions as I ever did.
     "'A dog would not be guilty of imposing her wishes upon me
just because she felt that I was blind and was incapable of
thinking.  She would not enrage me to tears by insisting that she
spread my biscuit or butter my toast, thus making onlookers feel
sorry for me.  She would not insist upon taking my arms and half
carrying me down steps, with the result that I never quite know
just where my foot is going to land.  She would not do that
because "she feels safer" regardless of how safe or unsafe I
feel.  She would not say in a patient tone, when I look for
something that perhaps somebody else has misplaced, "Now what did
you lose?" Am I in favor of dogs as guides? As my ten-year-old
son would say, "Are you asking me?"'"
     "Last summer," Mr. Tarkington continues, "when Mr. Frank and
Buddy were sitting with me on the veranda of an old boathouse in
Maine, and Mr. Frank happened to drop his box of matches on the
floor, Buddy, who had apparently been asleep, rose, picked the
box up, nosed it into Mr. Frank's hand, glanced at him briefly;
then lowered herself to the floor, curled into a comfortable half
circle, sighed contentedly and went to sleep again.  Mr. Frank
laughed.  'She's very good at finding and picking up collar
buttons,' he said.
     "I laughed, too, at this new aspect of the immemorial
collar-button jest; but my mind was engaged with an absurd idea. 
Some quality in Buddy's glance at her master after she'd 'handed'
him the matchbox had made me exclaim to myself, 'Why, that dog
knows her man is blind!'
     "Was this an absurdly imaginative idea of mine? I thought it
was; but lately I've been informed that at Morristown, when The
Seeing Eye dogs, unharnessed and unleashed, are sleeping on the
floor after the day's work, many of them will get up and move out
of the way of blind persons other than their own masters, while
they don't disturb themselves at all for anyone who can see.
     "I have a friend who speaks with bitterness of what she
calls the stupidly unnecessary misery of blind women.  'Most of
them,' she cries indignantly, 'could be leading useful and normal
lives if people who see would only let them, instead of
practically forcing them to be nothing but idiotic objects of
pity! Why, I know one blind girl - a lovely, spirited, brave
creature she is, too! - and her family think she could lie down
under her "affliction," as they call it in whispers she can hear.
(Lots of people seem to think the blind are deaf too.) It
actually annoys them for her to laugh and have fun. They won't
let her have a dog because they think a dog guide would make them
conspicuous, put them in the wrong - make it look as if they
wouldn't take the trouble to lead the poor thing around
themselves!'
     "This seemed harsh; but I feared it was not unjust for I was
aware of our poor human tendency to pity selfishly and even
tyrannically.  I thought, however, of another blind girl whose
story I had heard.  Though surrounded by unselfishly loving care,
this girl, whose blindness had been creeping remorselessly upon
her since her early childhood, had gradually retreated into her
own mysterious recesses. By the time she was a grown woman,
denied sunlight, she had repudiated all other lights and crouched
within her own personality, willfully friendless, sullen,
hopeless; and her body, reflecting her soul, lost its vitality.
     "Her father learned about Seeing Eye dogs and tried to
interest his daughter in having one; but she was sluggishly
indifferent.
     "'Why bother?' she asked, 'since I don't care if I live?'
"In desperation the father went ahead on his own unsupported
initiative and applied for a dog for her.  An examination of the
girl, however, resulted in the regretful dictum that she didn't
possess sufficient physical strength to work with a dog. Denial
from without had an effect of repercussion upon all the denial
within that unhappy young woman.  Suddenly she said, 'I will!' A
program of exercise was given her and, perhaps fortunately,
nobody expected her to follow it, so there was no urging - urging
that might have stopped her.  She did exercise; and, at the end
of two months, her walking speed had doubled.  She continued her
exercising for two more months and then was accepted for training
with a dog guide.  Today she has her dog; and, because of her
dog, she now has thoughts for things and people outside the
aching sphere of her own ego and therefore she has friends. 
More, she now has a happy father.
     "Blind girls and women, as I think is indicated by the
scraps I have most gratefully quoted from their letters, are not
different from their sisters who see.  They have the same
capacity to enjoy life; they can laugh as gaily.  They are
interested in their own looks and wish to look as pretty as
possible, and they are interested in how other people look.  They
wish to work and to play - many of them, by the way, play
excellent bridge and at least one blind woman makes her living by
teaching bridge - they wish to be admired, sometimes they even
wish to be envied, and they wish to have an appetite for dinner. 
They wish to have nice clothes and to have some privacy; they
wish to keep old friends and make new friends and to go on
picnics.  They wish to find conversation easy, to be free from
self-consciousness and to go swimming, and they wish children to
like them.  In particular they wish to forget their blindness, as
we all of us wish to forget our various troubles.
     "There isn't a wish in this list that a Seeing Eye dog
hasn't the power to grant to the Cinderellas who sit in the ashes
of blindness."
     From Mr. Tarkington this is high praise.  But only one who,
like him, has lived in shadows which threaten to become total
night can so completely understand the problems of the blind. 
Only one who knows as he does the meaning of animal sagacity can
appreciate the full measure of the devotion and the joy in
service which animates the heart of a Seeing Eye dog.
     Mr. Tarkington knows of the happiness a dog takes in aiding
his master - he would be the last to deny that Seeing Eye dogs
share also in the development, enrichment and success which they
bring to the lives of these blind men and women.
     One of the noteworthy accomplishments by Seeing Eye
graduates is that of the first blind man to ask how he could get
a dog after Morris Frank returned from Switzerland.  He was the
pastor of a little church in Western Pennsylvania and his letter
to Mr. Frank, written in 1928, is as interesting for what it
doesn't say as for what it does:

     Mr. Morris Frank
     Nashville, Tenn.
     Dear Sir:
          The Pittsburgh paper this morning contained an item
telling that you had secured a Shepherd dog from Germany that led
you around and made you independent of help.  It also said that
there were other dogs coming over and a Lady coming to give
instruction to both men and dogs.
     I have been blind for three years and Doctors give no hope
for my sight.  I was in China and had Malaria and the retina is
detached.  I can read Braille and can write on the typewriter as
I am doing this.  I am still Pastor of a small congregation and
can do about everything but get around.  My wife who took me
around at first is now an invalid in bed for over a
year-and-a-half and my daughter who reads to me is a cripple from
Infantile Paralysis and so cannot help me to get around and so I
am badly handicapped this way.  When I heard your item read I
wondered if there would be any chance of getting help.  It might
be impossible for me to get a dog, or the paper may have
overstated the matter, but I would like to know as it would be a
great blessing to me and overcome about the only handicap that I
now suffer from blindness.
     Any information about this matter will be very gratefully
received.

     This man's ability to preach wasn't in the least impaired by
his loss of sight.  His intelligence, his interpretation of the
Word of God and his understanding of it were not adversely
affected.  They may even have been broadened by the experience. 
But there was one job which he could not do and which is a
fundamental duty of every pastor - he could not visit his
parishioners.  Unless some kindly member of his congregation
volunteered to take him out on his calls, he was tied to the
parish house.  Those who needed his help and guidance often
failed to come to him.  And when someone was willing to act as
guide, the possibility of confidence between parishioner and
pastor was destroyed by the constant presence of a third person.
     The situation was not tolerable.  The governing board of the
church knew it and so did the pastor.  Even the deep pity which
the congregation felt for him because he was blind threatened
soon to be overcome by their understandable desire to have a
leader who could do all that was required of him.  He was in
imminent danger of losing his church and with it his livelihood
and his mission in life.  His prospects were bleak and desperate
indeed.
     On the Sunday after his return from Nashville, where he
received his Seeing Eye dog in the first class, the minister's
congregation watched with interest as his dog guided him expertly
to the pulpit and then at his soft command lay down quietly at
his feet.  They were curious about the dog - but even more so
about their preacher.  What might this experience have done for
him? As they listened to his sermon they heard in it stirring
undertones of which they had never before been aware.  Their
leader had changed; that was manifest, but they did not know how
much! During the following week, they began to get some
appreciation of what had happened to him.
     On Monday morning he began making the rounds.  With his dog
guiding him, he went from house to house visiting people, some
who were regular members of his congregation and some who hadn't
been to church in months.  At every door at which he knocked he
found someone eager to greet him and his dog.  It was perfectly
natural that they should display more immediate interest in his
recent experiences than they did in theology.  But he well knew
that if they listened to his stories about his dog, it would not
be long before he could give the teachings of the New Testament
practical application.  He was right.  He prepared his sermon
with a light heart.
     The next Sunday his congregation was larger than it had ever
been.  It continued to grow as time went on.  Soon the minister
was invited to other and much larger churches to give special
sermons.  Though he accepted these invitations and was proud of
the recognition they implied he showed no desire to leave his own
congregation to accept offers in other parishes. He was doing his
work in his field and doing it well! And that, to his Christian
way of thinking, was all he should ask of life.
     Experiences of Seeing Eye graduates have often been more
dramatic - but certainly no more satisfying - than those of this
simple missionary.  But one who was determined to get ahead
proved what could be done where there was a will. He had been
blind since birth, the youngest of eight children. When he came
to The Seeing Eye at the age of eighteen, he admitted that there
had never been a day in his life which he could remember without
some member of his family reminding him that they needed to make
personal sacrifices so that he would never be committed to an
institution for the indigent blind.  He was one of the few
students accepted by The Seeing Eye when there was serious doubt
that a guide dog would be of any value.  He had never been
allowed to do anything for himself.  He was weak physically from
lack of exercise and mentally retarded from lack of inspiration. 
Somehow, through an extraordinary ear for music, he had learned
to play the piano.  That was literally all he could do.
     The Seeing Eye found him alert and eager to learn.  Because
he had never been allowed to develop and mature, it took him
longer than the average student to complete his course of
instruction.  But when he finally did go home, he had learned his
lessons well.
     He was given an opportunity to open a little news and candy
shop near a Standard Oil Company plant in his community.  With
wild enthusiasm he wrote The Seeing Eye of the prospect.  If only
he could earn a little money for himself! If only he could
relieve his brothers and sisters of the feeling that he would
always be a burden to them!
     As the only confidence ever reposed in him had come from
The Seeing Eye, he took particular pleasure in sending that
organization periodic reports of his progress.  Sometimes he
wrote a letter, on other occasions he sent a copy of his simple
monthly balance sheet.  As with any new business, the first few
weeks were a struggle.  But his eagerness, his sincerity and his
will to succeed soon began to attract a small trade which grew
steadily. It must have been a proud day in the life of this young
man, who had never done anything for himself, when he could write
The Seeing Eye this letter:

     It is almost six months since Uma came into my possession
and working with her has become such a natural pleasure that at
times I almost forget that there was ever a time when the freedom
which I now enjoy was denied me.  We are getting along
splendidly.
     Business is great.  Gross receipts for October totalled over
$400, an increase of $100 over the previous month.
     I have always looked forward to the time when I would be
able to repay you for all that you have done for me, and I feel
proud to tell you that at last this is possible.  With your
consent, I am going to send you a certain sum at the end of each
month until my account with you is settled in full.  At present,
I am not in a position to say just how much will be given at a
time, but I assure you that it will be as much as I can possibly
afford.
     When officials at The Seeing Eye received that letter in the
mail, they knew they had done a good job.
     The financial statement which they received for March of the
following year showed that business was continuing its upward
march.  It is worth reproducing:
     Sales .......................... $649.61
     Purchases  $513.58
     Add-Decrease in Inventory  $3.88  517.46
     Gross Profit .................... 132.15
     Cash Balance March 1st ..........   2.27
                                      $134.42

     DISBURSEMENTS
     Seeing Eye (Final Payment) .....  $30.00
     Board ..........................   45.00
     Electric Bill ..................   10.87
     Xmas Fund ......................    2.00
     Annuity ........................   26.50
     Miscellaneous ..................   14.22   128.59
     Cash Balance Closing March 31st  ......     $5.83

     The disbursements are particularly noteworthy. He was
already making the final payment of his obligation to The Seeing
Eye.  He was paying his family  $45.00 a month for board - a very
substantial sum for a family in moderate circumstances.  He had
started a Christmas Fund - he wasn't going to get caught short
come December - and he had begun to purchase an annuity.  For
nineteen years he had heard his brothers and sisters say that
they must make sacrifices in order to take care of him.  Never
again - not if he could help it!
     And at the end of that year, this young man made a
contribution to The Seeing Eye and became an active member
supporting its work.  By then he had added a laundry agency to
his business. He was a man of substance, his gross receipts
averaging around $800 a month.  It wasn't very long after that
The Seeing Eye received news of an even greater achievement.  He
had bought a house and lot.  As soon as he got it furnished he
was planning to live in his own home.  He isn't married yet, but
not because he isn't able to support himself and a family.
     The worth of a Seeing Eye dog cannot be measured solely by
economic or spiritual values.  On several occasions these dogs
have provided a cure for social ills, as well.  One of the first
young men to come to The Seeing Eye was from an Eastern city.  He
arrived for his month's stay with one extra shirt and other
clothing in proportion.  His hair was tousled and unkempt and he
had two days' growth of beard.  This youngster was
anti-everything.  He didn't believe in God or government.  He was
against authority and against kindness.  Attempts to aid him he
characterized as trying to soften his will.  Firm treatment, he
said, was oppression.  This young man's emotions and intellect,
from the shock of blindness, were utterly confused, and the
result was unreasoning rebellion.  No efforts were made to force
him to change other than exposure to the general attitude of the
school, - an assumption that a man is no less a gentleman because
he can't see.
     He hadn't been working his dog a week before he asked his
roommate to lend him a necktie.  At the end of two weeks he was
dousing his hair with water and combing it slickly back before
breakfast, dinner and supper.  By the third week he broke down
completely and had his suit pressed.  He became increasingly
social - so full of joy that he began remarking daily how
pleasant the weather was.  Before he returned home, with his
outlook on life completely revised and in focus, someone asked
him what had come over him.
     "Why the sudden change and reversal of opinions?"
     "Oh, I don't know," he answered a little sheepishly.  "I
guess it's because my dog is such a lady.  I just couldn't be
like that and be around her."
     Many people conceive of the relationship between the blind
person and The Seeing Eye dog as producing a constant series of
thrilling escapes from serious danger.  Although there have been
several verified instances in which The Seeing Eye dog by a
remarkable combination of acumen, strength and agility saved its
master from possible in such instances are rare.  A dog and
master
working together efficiently and smoothly do not get into
dangerous situations any more often than a person who, with good
eyes and the good sense to use them, is constantly having to
extricate himself from a perilous position.  He uses his eyes to
avoid hazards.  This is also what the dog does; and insofar as
accident statistics can be checked, they indicate that The Seeing
Eye dog is doing a better job of it than those who depend on
their eyes.
     One of the "rescues" made by a Seeing Eye dog had its humor
as well as its thrills.  In winter in northern Minnesota streets
are frequently covered, for weeks at a time, with ice several
inches deep.  When they are not properly sanded they may be
exceedingly slippery and dangerous.  A young woman and her dog
were crossing such a street, picking their way warily, when the
dog noted an automobile turn out of a filling station and come
toward them.  The dog stepped up its pace slightly to avoid the
car but its mistress slipped and fell.  She was directly in the
path of the automobile.  Stopping was impossible.  The ice was as
slippery as greased glass.  What the dog thought of the situation
is impossible to know.  What it did was important.  Without a
second's hesitation, it put its shoulders into the harness and
dragged its mistress across the ice-sheeted street to the
opposite curb.  Depositing her, safe but still seated, in the
gutter, the dog turned and licked her face as if to say, "Whew,
that was a close one."
     In the devastating New England hurricane of 1938, a blind
master and his dog were on the streets at the height of the
storm.  It was almost impossible to stand up against the wind. 
Trees were crashing down and bringing with them telephone and
live high tension wires.  As the dog guided its master along the
debris strewn sidewalk, the man put himself completely in the
animal's care.  He knew he was not being guided in a straight
line but was zigzagging back and forth in order to avoid fallen
branches.
     In the middle of one block, however, the dog stopped.  After
a moment or two it made a few hesitant steps first to the right
and then to the left. Finally it went across the street in the
middle of the block to the opposite sidewalk, traversed the front
yard of a residence - the blind man could feel a soft, rain
soaked lawn under his feet - went around to the back of a house
and emerged through a driveway two houses beyond, recrossed the
sidewalk and street again to the side where they had previously
been walking and continued warily on to their destination.
     The next day the blind man remarked to a friend that there
must have been a large tree down in the middle of that block,
otherwise his dog would not have had to make such a detour. But
his friend said, no, there hadn't been any tree down, only some
high tension wires were strewn along the street at that point. 
If the dog had let him touch one of them, the result would have
been electrocution.
     But the excitement of using a Seeing Eye dog under difficult
circumstances doesn't always come from conditions over which the
blind person has no control.  At least, one blind youngster has
traveled with his dog across the continent.  And with his dog to
guide him a blind mountain climber made what many people with
eyes have found to be the difficult and somewhat dangerous ascent
and descent of a peak 11,000 feet high.
     Another young man, a college student, somewhat more
adventurous than most of them, took time off from his studies to
spend several months going around the world alone except for his
Seeing Eye dog.  He didn't go on a deluxe liner either, with
stewards standing about ready to help him if he raised a finger.
He went on a sea-going freighter, this young man did! He learned
what it was like in Rangoon and Port Said from the sailor's point
of view.
     Among the blind as among the seeing, however, the
sensational experience is the exceptional one, and in no case is
obtaining it the objective of The Seeing Eye.
     When blind men and women apply for Seeing Eye dogs they
often give diverse and sometimes interesting reasons for asking
for it. It would seem to be reason enough that the dog will
provide a means of getting about, and that the experience of
hundreds of others should be proof enough for anyone of their
value in doing just that.  But for many blind people, that simple
reason isn't sufficient.  There is also some personal equation -
some indirect reason given for wanting a dog. The Seeing Eye
recognizes, of course, that almost invariably what the blind man
really wants is to be free.
     One man, a traveling salesman who owned a little farm, had a
wife and two young sons when he lost his sight.  Although he gave
up his job, he determined to do as much as possible for himself
around the farm.  He used to walk around the farm alone to the
despair of his little sons, who ran to their mother crying, "Let
us go with Daddy.  We're afraid he'll hurt himself."
     The youngsters developed the habit of accompanying him
wherever he went, and quickly drifted into guiding him.  He came
to depend on them.  When they were old enough to go to school, he
realized that something must be done.  He wrote to The Seeing Eye
and as a reason for wanting a dog declared, "I need one so the
children can go to school and I can go where I like." In addition
to operating his farm, this man is now a successful storekeeper.
     For several years, The Seeing Eye has enrolled during the
summer vacation months classes composed entirely of men and women
attending college.  Here the organization helps to solve a social
problem - one of the most critical periods in a young person's
life.
     A blind person attending college can have a pretty unhappy
time of it.  He is dependent on a paid guide or his fellow
students to lead him from class to class.  Nothing is so likely
to destroy the normal friendships of youth as the constant
outpouring of pity of a person who is capable for one who appears
in constant need of help.  Kindly students will lead a blinded
fellow-student from class to class cheerfully enough at first but
with increasing reluctance as the school year weirs on.  Their
attitude toward the blind student will often be unhealthfully
colored, not only by this diminishing willingness to help, but
because of a natural though usually unrecognized contempt of the
strong for the weak.
     This problem does not confront the college student who uses
a Seeing Eye Dog.  He has no trouble in making his way from one
class to another and, when he has an hour or so to spare, to the
dormitory, library and wherever else he wants to go.  From the
moment he lands on the campus, he becomes a center of attention
because everyone wants to meet his dog and ask questions about
it. If he has any personality at all, he will make a hundred
friends before the average new student gets really acquainted
with his roommate.  Through his dog, the life of the campus is
opened up to him.  In a young person there is nothing more
important in building stability and character than the emotional
security of normal social life.
     A number of Seeing Eye graduates attending college have won
unusual honors.  The Dartmouth student who was elected president
of his freshman class is one of three who have been class
presidents.  Others have been members of Phi Beta Kappa, have
been elected to various campus societies, and some have headed
their fraternities or sororities.  Several have been graduated
from universities magna cum laude, and the president of at least
one university in awarding a diploma to an honor student paid
tribute to the importance of his Seeing Eye dog in the attainment
of achievement.
     Occasionally it takes considerable effort for a blind person
to establish his eligibility for Seeing Eye instruction.  One
young Midwesterner applied to the Seeing Eye and received the
routine request to forward a doctor's report.  He was a big
fellow, six feet three inches tall, husky as they come.  But
after going over him, the doctor refused to recommend him.  "You
are entirely too nervous to take training with a dog guide," he
said.  "The slightest noise in traffic would upset you. Why, you
can't even stand meeting people."
     This young man was not the kind of person to let a challenge
pass and he picked this one up to see what he could do with it. 
So the doctor thought he couldn't meet people! He started meeting
them the moment he left the office.  He invited a group of
friends to his house that very night.  He called up other
acquaintances the next day and urged them to come over.  Soon he
was having regular gatherings at his home.  The steady group
seemed to settle down to several who played musical instruments.
     Naturally, almost inevitably a small orchestra was formed
and their gatherings were turned into practice periods, under the
young blind man's direction.  To his great surprise and pleasure,
he found that his group was able to get minor engagements for
which they were paid.  Soon he had organized a full-sized dance
orchestra with the not unduly modest title of "Kings of Rhythm."
When finally the young man found time enough to get back to his
doctor for another check-up at which he received full approval,
his orchestra had steady engagements for five nights a week and
frequent fill-in dates.  Thus his ambition for a guide dog led
him towards success even before he got to The Seeing Eye.
     Another young man who experienced even greater difficulty in
getting his dog also ended up with an orchestra.  This man was a
Southerner who had lost his sight when influenza affected his
optic nerves.  Once he recovered from the shock, he determined
that he would not be beaten by his blindness.  He surveyed his
assets and found that aside from an indomitable Scotch-Irish
ancestry he had little to depend on.
     He enrolled in a school for the blind and after months of
assiduous study learned touch-typewriting and dictaphone
operating, only to find that there were no openings for blind
stenographers.  He then turned to music and learned to play well,
but no orchestra seemed to be interested in hiring a blind
musician unable to read his notes.  But his music did give him a
start.  He got a fill-in job teaching the harp and guitar to
youngsters on the play-grounds operated by the recreation
department of his city.  But the pay was inadequate, so in
partnership with some friends, he opened a watermelon tavern, a
venture which succeeded moderately for a time.  Then an inspector
from the city health department found that his place of business
lacked the requisite number of water faucets and that the walls
of his establishment were painted a non-regulation color.  He had
to go out of business.  The cost to him of fixing up his stand
would have been more than his business earned.
     Next he tried to earn a living in a job at an ice
house, which inconveniently failed.  Then he arranged to sell
coal on commission, but it was summertime and very few people
were sufficiently provident to buy coal in the summer even at
reduced rates.  He tried to sell himself as a musician to local
radio stations and for a brief period he obtained some work in
which his blindness was exploited.  Then one day he was told he
was through. "The novelty has worn off," they said.
     He next tried to enter the popcorn business.  He had found a
junked popcorn machine which was deteriorating from exposure to
sun and rain.  He found the owner who readily agreed to let him
use it, but warned him, however, that it wasn't fit to operate. 
The blind man got some help and renovated the machine.  Then he
set it up at a corner in a busy neighborhood and began selling
"crispy popcorn, buttered and salted to a queen's taste." He had
begun to get some customers, when the owner of the machine asked
to have it returned to him.
     When this blow fell he was about to give up.  But a few days
later a stranger offered to stake him in the popcorn business. 
Soon he was back at work in an even better location.  People
liked his popcorn.  Then he added a cleaning and dyeing service
as a side line by arranging for a commission on all business he
procured for a local cleaning establishment.  Gradually, he was
able to save up enough money for railroad fare to Morristown.
     When he returned home with his dog, he went back to work
with renewed vigor.  Within a short time he added to his
achievements in the popcorn and cleaning business a full-sized
hillbilly orchestra.  Within six months he and his "Ranch Boys,"
as he called them, traveled an average of a thousand miles a week
to play at dances, political rallies and anything else that could
use hillbilly music.  Also, he landed a contract to play seven
times a week at a radio station.  He and his dog, as he put it,
"were in the money!"
     It is of no use for any blind person to tell that young man
you can't overcome a handicap if you are willing to try hard
enough.
     Even the variety of jobs undertaken by this young man does
not indicate the diversification of the occupations which the
graduates have entered.  More than a hundred full-time jobs in
different fields are held by Seeing Eye graduates and the list
becomes more extensive and more varied every year.  Seven blind
men entered politics as a career after learning to use their
Seeing Eye dogs.  Two of them were senators in their state
legislatures.  One was the mayor of his town; one was a judge;
one a justice of the peace; another an alderman. The seventh
became a circuit court commissioner.
     But if politics seems unusual because it is not popularly
associated with blindness, some of the other jobs are even more
odd. Bee raising, for example, would seem to require the constant
use of all one's faculties, merely as a means of self-
preservation. Yet an apiarist who claims to have one of the
largest colonies of bees in California uses his Seeing Eye dog
every day in his work. Among the graduates of the school are a
baker's assistant, a bank manager, several ministers, more than a
dozen practicing lawyers, nearly a score of musicians, as well as
newspaper reporters, social workers, storekeepers and office
workers.
     To most people who think of the blind as developing
competence mainly in the handicrafts, the thought of a successful
blind newspaperman, blind manufacturer, lawyer or banker is
somewhat revolutionary.  They do not understand how a
newspaperman could cover a story if he couldn't see what was
happening.  They don't know, or have forgotten, that nine-tenths
of all newspaper reporting consists in asking questions and
getting them answered. One doesn't need to have eyes to do that
job well.  They are convenient - but not essential to success.
     Altogether, 85 per cent of all of the graduates of The
Seeing Eye are either gainfully employed in full-time jobs, are
students in high school or college, or are housewives, which in
any woman's language, is a full-time job.  But even if the
economic achievements of the graduates were less striking there
are those who maintain that its work is justified anyhow.  It is,
they maintain, serving a sufficiently valuable function just in
making the blind free.
     That is true enough in itself, but as Mrs. Eustis once aptly
phrased it, "What good is freedom unless you put it to use!

     CHAPTER 11
     The dogs of The Seeing Eye are not unlike their masters in
their variations of personality, temperament and size. They are
completely different from their masters in that all of them must
meet rigid standards for intelligence and performance, which, in
terms of human understanding, are just two or three points short
of genius. There are usually about a hundred dogs at The Seeing
Eye at one time and they have much the same attitude toward doing
their jobs as a candidate for a position on the freshman football
team has toward the varsity squad.
     When they leave the school with their blind masters they
begin to adapt the fundamentals they have learned to widely
divergent conditions.  One will guide its master about a farm in
a quiet rural countryside, going into a small town once a week on
Saturday nights.  Another, the guide of a salesman of
household appliances, will be with his master on the sidewalk,
calling on block after block of housewives, continuously
throughout the working day.  Still another dog, whose master is a
commuting lawyer, will find itself using bus, taxi, train and
street car, and amassing a broad knowledge of the intricacies of
a large county courthouse.  Another will find itself on the
campus of a large university - a campus where there are no
sidewalks but only smooth pathways which have no identifying
curbs to mark each intersection and inform a blind man of where
he is.
     These are the everyday problems to which dog and master
together gradually adjust themselves.  These conditions, like the
weather, or the rules of play in football are accepted for what
they are and treated accordingly.  They do not affect the spirit,
the character or the individuality of the dog any more than the
regulations, or the condition of the playing field, affect the
individuality of an athlete.
     But with all their individual differences, Seeing Eye dogs
have certain common features which run like a backbone through
their character.  There is a vast difference in the detail of
their makeup, but there is a true likeness in fundamentals.  In
these fundamentals Morris Frank's beloved Buddy was typical of
all Seeing Eye dogs.
     Man, even with his capacity for mental creation, a few
years ago could not have imagined a guide for the blind such as
Buddy was.  Considered merely as a substitute for eyes, in
getting a man from place to place, Buddy was magnificent.  When
she guided Morris past a building they had entered once before,
no matter in what city it was, she always slowed imperceptibly
but enough to indicate to him alone that here was a place where
he might have some business.  When they went into a hotel she
headed first for the desk, realizing that it was both a place for
registration and a source of information.  When getting off a
train she would stand near Morris's bags until a porter picked
them up, and then, at the command from her master to go forward,
would follow those bags, guiding her master to wherever the
porter took them.
     In an office building Buddy knew an elevator button from a
wall decoration.  She knew the significance of a uniform -
whether on a policeman, doorman, elevator starter, bell boy or
Boy Scout.  When there seemed to be doubt in Morris's mind she
would guide him over to the nearest uniform and stand there until
he got his directions.  Am especially neat piece of guiding was
as exhilarating to Buddy as a long run around the end is to a
fast halfback.  Third Avenue and Twenty-third Street was one New
York intersection which she especially enjoyed.  There was heavy
traffic at this crossing complicated by two street car lines. 
But the real zest came from the Elevated which ran above Third
Avenue.
     Occasionally when Buddy was in the center of this
intersection, picking her way carefully across with Morris beside
her, with a crashing roar an express train would thunder
overhead, blotting out sounds on which Buddy depended for her own
and Morris's safety.  Then her ears would go fully forward and
her eyes would dart back and forth, alert not to miss a moving
thing.  After an experience of this kind, when Morris returned to
the nearby hotel where he often stayed when in New York, Buddy
would jump around him to show how pleased with herself she was
for the fine job she had done.  If they went home to The Seeing
Eye at Morristown, Buddy would go the rounds of the offices; to
Mrs. Eustis, Jack Humphrey, Willi Ebeling and other members of
the staff, tail wagging, eyes shining, nudging them with her nose
until they gave her a pat on the head or some other sign that she
was recognized and her splendid qualities fully appreciated.
     Sometime a writer with a descriptive prose worthy of the
subject will attempt a character sketch of Buddy.  When that
person comes along he may find useful some notes made from
first-hand observation.
     For Buddy was a truly great dog.  It is not difficult to
find in her a character which is both rich and noble and yet
possessing those endearing qualities which all people, in defense
of their frailties, commonly describe as human.  Buddy had
unusual opportunities and she made the most of them.  She had the
undoubted advantage of extensive travel and she was constantly
meeting people of superior intellect.  It may have put her on her
mettle but she invariably rose to the occasion.
     Buddy could measure her rights in mathematical fractions
which carried to three places beyond the decimal point.  She
could measure to an even finer degree how far she could advance
beyond the limit of those rights and still not be challenged. 
She was astute, always conscious of her own natural charm, and
ready to use her wiles to enhance its effectiveness when the
occasion required.
     Though ordinarily regal in appearance and attitude, there
were times, while not guiding, when Buddy would permit herself
the commoner's luxury of being a tramp.  When in one of these
moods and out slumming, she was not above a roll in the muck or
the thorough inspection of a neighborhood garbage can.  At other
times she was a downright thief, imagining herself, perhaps, as a
sort of canine Jimmy Valentine, robbing the rich to help the
hungry poor - although in Buddy's case the hunger invariably
proved to be Buddy's own.  In this as in all things, Buddy was
expert.  If someone set down a tray of canapes or cookies near
her, she could silently filch half a dozen without seeming to
move her head.  Buddy would steal her hostess blind, as the
saying goes, but she would never beg.  Buddy had character and
with it dignity.  She knew that begging was mean.
     On matters in which there was a possibility of doubt Buddy
was her own supreme court.  She would never have refused for a
moment to obey Morris Frank on anything she felt was really
important or clear-cut. But on things that she considered
trivial, mere whims of her master, or open to reasonable
interpretation, she did exactly as she pleased. When Morris was
endeavoring to make a particularly good impression on an
audience, which was not infrequently, Buddy might completely
nullify his efforts by screwing up her face into a look of
ferocity and barking at the audience at inopportune moments with
all the menace she could muster.  She enjoyed hearing Morris
apologize for her, explaining that shepherd dogs weren't at all
fierce really, that Buddy just liked to bark to show she was
present.
     Buddy must have enjoyed those feeble attempts at an
explanation.  She wanted to bark because she wanted to bark.  It
amused her to bark.  And as far as getting recognition for her
presence, she could tell, if her blind companion could not, that
every eye in the audience was focused on her whether she, barked
or not.  It was she they had come to see. In order to watch her
they would tolerate what her sometimes stuffy master had to say
to them.
     There were some people who twitted Morris, telling him
that Buddy was spoiled, and that he ought to be more firm with
her.  Buddy wasn't spoiled; Buddy was smart and knew her role. 
If she climbed up on a silk bedspread in a house where she and
her master were staying it was because in her position she felt
it was important that she should.  Of course ordinary dogs should
sleep on the floor.  That was because they were ordinary dogs. 
If all dogs were to climb on beds, no one would have them around
and that would be very bad for dogdom.
     But it was practically mandatory for Buddy to be on a bed
because it helped to show people that there was a difference in
dogs, just as there was a difference in people.  People who were
important; people who had done things; people who had shown
capacity for leadership were accorded privileges as a matter of
course.  Buddy was all these things.  She maintained the
propriety of her position by making certain that there were no
errors of omission on her part.
     Buddy would have lived up to her royal blood with any master
who did not completely crush her spirit.  With Morris Frank it
was perhaps a little easier than it might have been with another
because, as Morris had been told the first day he met Buddy, he
did not own her; she owned him.  Morris did nothing in particular
to encourage Buddy's assumption of sovereign privileges nor did
he do anything consistently to discourage it.  He was somewhat in
the position of an aide-in-waiting who often found it necessary,
if somewhat trying, through constant repetition, to explain
patiently to crude commoners who had lived too long in a
democracy, the full meaning of the phrase "The Queen can do no
wrong."
     On at least one occasion, however, Buddy carried her
prerogative of independent action a little too far.  Morris was
giving a talk at a fashionable girls' school and took Buddy out
for a run on the lawn.  Ignoring Morris's admonition to stay
close, Buddy ran off some distance and came upon a beautiful
black and white kitten which needed inspection.  Investigation
quickly proved, however, that the kitten was the offspring, not
of a cat, but of a skunk, and that despite its tender years it
had already developed to the full its time-honored powers of
defense.
     Redolent and horrified Buddy rushed back to where
Morris stood surrounded by admiring young ladies.  Crashing into
the middle of the group, Buddy ran from one person to the other,
trying to rub off the terrifying smell.  The attempt didn't
succeed but before the young ladies became fully aware of what
was happening, they smelled just as Buddy did.
     Later that evening, when Buddy was being scrubbed and one or
two of the more courageous faculty members had the temerity to
question Buddy's behavior, Morris pointed out what seemed to him
to be the only logical view to take of the situation.  It was, he
stoutly maintained, entirely the skunk's fault.  It should have
known Buddy intended no harm.  Be that as it may, Buddy never
returned to that college, although doubtless the skunk did.
     Morris claimed for Buddy certain gifts which verge on the
supernatural and probably had no basis in fact in even such a
remarkable dog.  Whenever Morris went to a clothing store to pick
out a suit of clothes, he would feel the texture of the several
offered for his selection and discuss each of them with the
salesman.  Then when the time came to pick out one, he would call
Buddy over and let her sniff carefully at each.  The one she
sniffed at the longest was the one he decided she thought was
best for him and that was the one he would buy.  Whatever Buddy's
capacity may have been for judging either the style, color or cut
of men's clothing, even Morris's worst enemies wouldn't have said
of him that he wasn't well dressed.
     During their first years together Morris was also inclined
to judge people by Buddy's reaction to them.  If Buddy was
obviously hostile, it would take a good deal of tact, persuasion
and chagrin to put Morris in a frame of mind which could be
described as anything more than coldly civil.  If Buddy was
friendly and showed approval when meeting someone, Morris would
welcome him as a bosom friend.  This inclination could be as
quickly dissipated, however, if any annoyance was shown at
Buddy's unexpected exuberance. Such a reaction Morris was
inclined to put down as a lack of good breeding or, if in his
more tolerant moods, merely to a lack of understanding of who
Buddy was.
     But Buddy's tendency vigorously to express her friendliness
finally got out of bounds.  Whenever she felt particularly
affectionate, which occurred frequently, Buddy would greet an
unsuspecting friend by jumping up and putting her front paws
against his, or her, chest and making a valiant and usually
successful effort to plant a kiss on whatever uncovered portion
of anatomy came within reach.  Occasionally Buddy would thus
express her attachment for some lady in a fragile evening dress. 
The resulting disaster was sometimes total.  At best Buddy left
unwelcome footprints, which stubbornly resisted efforts at
eradication.  In such a circumstance the reaction of the lady was
not likely to be pleasant.
     Prodded into action by several persistent friends,
Morris finally decided that something had to be done to cure
Buddy of jumping up on people.  He reached this decision with
reluctance and, because he was a sensible young man, with
trepidation.
     It is very simple to stop a dog from committing the
malfeasance of which Buddy was guilty.  It is also a very kind
and considerate thing to do.  For, from the animal's point of
view, once this method of greeting people becomes a fixed habit,
any punishment seems harsh and unwarranted.  But in polite
society - in Buddy's social circle - jumping on people causes an
immediate and continued diminishing of popularity.  This, too, a
dog finds difficult to understand when its intent is so friendly.
     In breaking the animal of the practice, when it jumps up on
a friend who has been forewarned what to do, the friend merely
inches his foot forward and steps lightly on the dog's hind feet.

The resulting discomfort comes as a complete surprise to the
animal, which, ever trustful of man, blames the discomfort on the
fact that its front paws are not down where they should be. As a
consequence, after two or three repetitions of the deception, the
dog ceases to jump up.  It is all done with the same neatness and
dispatch with which the visiting trainer taught the pup not to
"chicken" at Fortunate Fields.
     In order to break Buddy of the habit, Morris asked his
cousin to undertake the small task of stepping on Buddy's toes
the next time she jumped up on him. The cousin obligingly agreed
and when opportunity afforded, did so.  To his great amazement,
Buddy did not immediately jump down.  Apparently she was not
aware of the formula.  She merely took his wrist firmly in her
teeth and held it until he took his foot off her toes.  A cure
was affected all right, but it wasn't the one which Morris had
anticipated.  Thereafter, the cousin kept his feet well curled up
under him.  Buddy kept greeting people by jumping up on them and
nothing further was done to teach her otherwise.  It was less
work, Morris reflected, to mold the world to Buddy than Buddy to
the world.
     Morris learned from experience to make only the most
considered statements when he lectured on The Seeing Eye.  Once
when he was speaking at a convention, he made the unqualified
statement, in answer to a question, that Seeing Eye dogs never
engaged in fights with other dogs - they were too well educated!
     After the talk, Morris went to the check room, got his hat
and he and Buddy went about their business.  A score of people
from the audience followed to see what happened when he got out
on the street in traffic.  Suddenly a fox terrier joined the
crowd, yapping at Buddy as if to challenge the right of the big
shepherd to walk on its block.  When Buddy didn't respond, the
terrier became courageous and finally got close enough for Buddy
to retaliate.  She nipped a piece out of the terrier.  The
terrier yowled murder.  Immediately some of his lecture audience
pounced on Morris.
     "I thought you said your dog didn't fight," they challenged.
     "Well, I don't call that a fight," Morris replied.  "Do
you?"
     They agreed it wasn't.
     Morris had silenced his onlookers but thereafter he was
careful to qualify his claims regarding Buddy's capacity to
resist annoyance.
     Morris maintained that Buddy was so peaceful that she must
have some Quaker blood in her.  "Why, she's only been in ten
fights in her life.  That's only one a year and that's an awful
lot less than I've had," he said.
     Because Morris and Buddy worked together as smoothly as if
they had been cast from one mold, not infrequently people thought
that he received a special training or that perhaps he could "see
a little." On one occasion a lady in a Queen Mary hat stopped at
The Seeing Eye and wanted to be shown about.  Though it was not
during visitors' hours, because she was an older person and had
come a long way Morris courteously took her around himself,
explaining as they went along how the organization functioned.
     After a bit, she asked if she could see some of the blind
students working with their dogs.  Morris politely told her that
it was impossible and mentioned the school's inflexible rule
against placing the students on public exhibition.  But to be
obliging, Morris walked with the lady out to where she could see
the kennels - from a distance.  That special privilege, he felt,
ought to satisfy anyone.  But the lady was not satisfied.
     "I think it's outrageous," she said, "to come all the way to
this school and then find that you are not able to see even one
blind person."
     "But, madam," Morris replied.  "I'm blind."
     The woman looked at him closely for a minute then said, "Oh
no, you're not.  Your right eye looks perfect."
     The opening was too inviting to ignore.  As Morris said
later, he could have driven a chariot through it.
     "It ought to be," he replied.  "It cost me $25.00."
     Many a dog has at one time or another been credited with
saving his master from fire, and sometimes along with him a whole
house full of people.  Buddy is no exception.  One morning in an
Eastern hotel, Morris was awakened by Buddy licking his face, in
the cold dark hours before dawn.  It was obvious that Buddy
wanted something and though normally she would have been good for
several more hours, Morris naturally assumed that she wanted to
take a walk.  He took up the telephone on the table beside his
bed and called the porter.  He got up to get Buddy's leash and
when he opened the closet door, a cloud of smoke billowed out at
him.  He gave the alarm.  But by the time the hotel fire staff
had reached his room, Buddy had guided Morris down to the lobby
and safety.  The linen-room on the floor below Morris's room was
ablaze and was rapidly being consumed when Buddy's sensitive nose
was aroused to the danger of fire.  For years afterwards Buddy
was a hero at that hotel.
     Buddy lived up to her position in the dog world by proving
she was equal to the ordeal by fire.  She also showed she was
equal to the ordeal by water. Morris enjoys swimming and will
plunge into anything bigger than a bathtub. Ordinarily, when
there was room in a pond for both of them, and even if there
wasn't, Buddy would come in after him.  When he was in deep
water, she would swim around him in circles, standing by, as it
were, in case of need.
     Morris's friends thought this stunt of Buddy's was "cute"
rather than practical, especially whenever Morris swam in the
friendly atmosphere of Mr. Ebeling's lake at Openaka.  But on one
occasion when Morris had been swimming alone for an hour or so in
a large lake he unexpectedly found that all at once he was
exhausted.  As he started to swim ashore, he suddenly realized
that he had lost his sense of direction.  He didn't know where
the nearest shore was!
     There was no sun and he could not learn his direction by
feeling its warmth on his face.  The light breeze he dared not
trust; he knew the vagaries of the wind.  He knew that even if
his fading strength held out he might swim in circles for hours
without ever touching the shore.  For a moment he was
panic-stricken, then he remembered and relaxed.
     "Buddy," he called.  "Come." And Buddy paddled over and
Morris reached out and felt her shaggy coat and took hold of the
tip of her tail.
     "Buddy, forward," Morris commanded, and then swam along
behind her as she paddled off.
     In five minutes, Buddy had him back exactly at the place
where they had entered the water together.  Buddy never got any
Carnegie medals for heroism - she just did her job.
     Yes, Buddy just did her job.  Her life was filled to the
brim with happiness of a kind few are privileged to know, the joy
of appreciated service.  Now Buddy II directs Morris Frank's
energetic steps, and Buddy has gone to whatever special heaven is
reserved for the faithful and the brave in heart.  But her spirit
still guides.
     Hundreds of other guide dogs outside the spotlight that
followed Buddy are today, and every day, doing their jobs.  From
the deserts of Arizona to Montana's Little Big Horn; from
fog-wrapped Puget Sound to the deep blue water of Florida's Boca
Grande; day in and day out these devoted animals joyfully lead
men and women out from the bondage of blindness into a world
where the only barriers are those of space and time.
     They and those two-score people of The Seeing Eye and the
thousands of that organization's members who make possible this
great humanitarian achievement have begun a new chapter in the
history of freedom.  The first page is now written.  Through
endless tomorrows the record will grow - the record of animal
sagacity combined with human intelligence - the story of dogs
against darkness.

     TWENTY YEARS LATER
     Dogs Against Darkness was completed early in 1942 just as
its author's voluntary offer to be of service was accepted by the
Army Air Forces and brought to an abrupt if purposeful end a long
and pleasant observation of this extraordinary philanthropy, The
Seeing Eye.  Now, nearly two decades later, I am given an
opportunity to look again upon the organization and to comment as
I choose on its progress over the years.  This rarely happens to
a writer.  Seldom does a book about an institution prove even for
a time as enduring as its subject.
     What I remember most vividly about the early days of The
Seeing Eye was Mrs. Eustis' concern as to what would become of
the school if something happened to the four people who had been
most responsible for its establishment: Willi Ebeling, Morris
Frank, Jack Humphrey and Dorothy Eustis.  Now we know the answer.

Morris has returned to the insurance business, guided by Buddy
IV.  Willi has retired.  Jack is back with his first interest,
cattle raising, and Dorothy Eustis has passed on.  And The Seeing
Eye is more strongly structured on firmer, deeper foundations
than ever was imagined in its developing days.
     There are new people now, as capable and enthusiastic as
their predecessors.  James Carey of The Bank of New York has
succeeded the late, devoted Henry A. Colgate as president and
chairman, and son Richard M. Colgate is a trustee.  Other
trustees are Richard S. Perkins, son of the organization's first
treasurer and Walter Wood, son of the founder.  George Werntz,
Jr., a former college dean, is executive vice president.  G.
William Debetaz, one of the first and certainly the most
steadfast of Seeing Eye trainers, succeeded Jack Humphrey as vice
president in charge of all training activities.
     Some of the people have changed.  Others have taken on new
responsibilities.  There are more and larger buildings.  The
school now has about 15,000 active members whose financial
support assures its continuing service.  Where there were once
scores there are now hundreds of blind people using Seeing Eye
guides.  Beyond that there is little that is different or
unexpected, with perhaps one or two exceptions.
     Not long ago The Seeing Eye trustees made a remarkable
decision.  In my rather extensive experience I have noted that
most charitable organizations find an outlet for just about all
the money they can raise.  If they get a little more than they
counted on they widen their services.  If they get a lot more
than they can justifiably use they stash it away for a rainy day.

Such surpluses generally build up into an endowment the size of
which is sometimes regulated only by public willingness to
donate.
     Recently The Seeing Eye faced up to one of these occasional
periods of surplus income.  The reaction of the Board was unique.
But the more I ponder it the more I believe it is just the sort
of thing The Seeing Eye would do.  For instead of sending out the
routine annual notices asking its members for their regular
donations, The Seeing Eye decided to skip a year.  No
contributions of any kind were solicited.  Instead each member
received a notice of a paid-up renewal of his membership for
another twelve months.
     The response to this action was immediate and partisan. From
all parts of the country people wrote to express happy surprise
and the firm conviction that nothing quite like this had ever
happened to them before.  A philanthropy turning aside for one
year donations that people were accustomed and glad to give!
After thirty years The Seeing Eye is still a pioneer.
     In its earlier years The Seeing Eye declared that dog guides
were not the answer to blindness.  Many people thought dog guides
could set all blind people free if only they could be trained
fast enough.  The Seeing Eye constantly reiterated that dogs
could successfully guide relatively few people.  The Seeing Eye
found that without lowering its standards it could successfully
train people representing a wide variety of temperaments,
personalities, economic status, vocations and even ambitions. 
However, no one knew with any exactitude just how many people
might use dogs and what the eventual demand might become.  It was
possible that with more and more dogs successfully guiding more
and more blind people the demand might suddenly become
overwhelming.
     Several years ago The Seeing Eye received a special grant to
finance a study to determine more precisely the probable number
of blind people who could effectively use dogs.  The study was
conducted by the New York School of Social Work, an affiliate of
Columbia University.  The main findings are revealing:
     1. Approximately 1 percent of our blind population of
350,000 currently use dog guides.
     2. Slightly under 1 percent additional are qualified and
interested in obtaining dog guides in the future.
     3. Approximately 2.5 percent additional are physically
qualified, but, for a variety of reasons, are not likely to
produce many applicants for dog guide service.
     4. The great majority of blind people are not motivated
toward achieving mobility by any method.  For one or more reasons
the inner drive toward rehabilitation is apparently lacking.
     5. Blind persons who have never used dog guides, family
members and rehabilitation counsellors are most frequently cited
as negative influences on the choice of the dog guide mode of
travel.
     6. Dog guide users, sighted friends, and employers are most
frequently mentioned as positive influences.
     7. Five schools, each in existence more than 10 years,
produced 90 percent of the dog guides turned out last year.  In
addition to these schools (none of which reported extensive
waiting lists), 6 other newer schools together produced only 10
percent of the output.
     8. Only one instance is reported in which need for a new dog
guide service was surveyed before the service was established. 
In this case need was not evident and plans were dropped.
     9. There is no evidence of undue waiting on the part of any
qualified blind person seeking a dog guide.
     Another valuable contribution to understanding blindness is
a booklet on the problems confronted by the newly blinded person
originally published by The Seeing Eye at the request of the
Surgeon General of the United States under the title, "If
Blindness Occurs." This is an invaluable guide for doctors,
hospital personnel, families and others concerned directly with
the handicap.  Since the adjustment of the newly blinded to his
new problems may affect his future adjustment to life this
booklet is of fundamental importance.  It describes simple
methods of telling time, of money changing, of shaving and
lighting a cigarette and what is involved in learning
typewriting, handwriting and Braille.
     One of the most interesting new developments has been the
establishment of a Seeing Eye breeding farm at Mendham, about 12
miles from the school.  The slow but steady expansion of the
school put an increasing strain on the resources for dogs which
might be purchased or received as gifts for training.  Jack
Humphrey and Willi Ebeling knew there was a ready answer to this
problem.  The school could breed its own dogs, thus insuring a
continuous supply.  But they also knew that an adequate supply
was only a partial answer to the problem.  No matter how
selective the breeding process and how carefully it was
supervised, unless the young animals had the proper upbringing
they would be less satisfactory in temperament than they should
be.
     This problem had been solved in the Fortunate Fields
breeding program by placing the puppies in foster homes on Swiss
farms.  When the dogs were family raised instead of being kennel
raised, they happily adjusted to the ways of people before they
undertook training for their specialized jobs in the Swiss army. 
Such a background would be far more important with dogs whose
life work would be guiding blind persons.  They would be a part
of family life, not of army life.  They would need to learn that
many strangers - the grocer, the mailman, the milkman - were also
friends.  They would have to know that radio noises could be
ignored, that linoleum is often slippery, that a flight of stairs
is for walking, not leaping. To achieve this any dogs bred by The
Seeing Eye would best be brought up on farms.  Jack approached A.
Howard Saxe, Morris County agricultural agent, and asked his
help.
     The ideal solution appeared to be through a local branch
of the 4H Clubs, a national organization of more than two million
rural youngsters who take seriously their 4H Pledge: "I pledge my
head to clearer thinking, my heart to greater loyalty, my hands
to larger service and my health to better living, for my club, my
community and my country." As an integral part of the Department
of Agriculture Cooperative Extension Service, 4H Club youngsters
undertake their own farming projects in stimulating and
educational competition with others. The Seeing Eye proposed that
a Club member raising dogs would keep records of each pup's
progress, teach it to walk on leash and develop good behavior
habits in the home.  The Seeing Eye would in turn reimburse each
child for the cost of feeding and would provide veterinary
services and essential medicines.
     The natural enthusiasm of young people for puppies insured
the success of the program almost at once, though some parents
who had heard fearsome stories of German shepherds working as
police dogs were understandably reluctant. But evidence of
hundreds working safely and effectively as guides for blind
people was too persuasive to resist and in 1943 the program was
begun.  Ever since there have been more local farm youngsters
wanting to raise puppies than there have been puppies to supply
them.
     Hundreds of puppies have been raised by 4H Club members to
become Seeing Eye guides.  Not all of them make it.  There is
some illness and some are not suited temperamentally.  Some even
grow too large to fit comfortably in crowded elevator corners or
under bus seats.  But at fourteen months most of them are ready
for the new responsibilities ahead.
     When the Seeing Eye man comes to a participating 4H farm to
pick up a fourteen months old dog ready for training - and
deliver a ten week old puppy in its place - a young 4H-er may
learn for the first time the full depth of Shakespeare's
meaningful line, "Parting is such sweet sorrow." For the
relationship between girl or boy and growing puppy usually
becomes very close. There is sure to be a lumpy throat; there may
even be tears.  When the time came for Bob Vickery of Sussex
County to turn over his first puppy he tried to be philosophical
about it.  "After all," he said, "the dog is going for a good
cause." But when the Seeing Eye man drove up in his truck Bob's
sister, his mother and a woman neighbor were there and they
didn't feel philosophical at all.  They burst into tears.  Soon
the Seeing Eye man joined in. Later he affirmed that there were
tears in the dog's eyes, too.
     The pleasing pangs of parting so deeply affected another
family that rather than endure them once a year they decided to
give up the project.  With only such rare and minuscule problems,
the breeding and home raising program has fitted into the happy
framework of The Seeing Eye.
     The school has grown steadily and up to now 2,500 blind
people and 3,700 dogs have completed training courses.  Now 200
blind people can be accommodated each year, though sometimes more
than half of these are receiving their third, fourth or even
fifth guide as a replacement of one which has died or become
infirm in service.  Thus The Seeing Eye is continuing to meet its
primary obligation so clearly foreseen by Dorothy Eustis and
Henry Colgate: above all else The Seeing Eye must make certain
that once having provided a blind person with a dog it will be
able to continue to supply the means of freedom so that when
inevitably his dog dies he shall not have to "go blind again."
     As the oldest and largest school the influence of the
Morristown organization has steadily widened.  Now at least
twenty inquiries a year are received from abroad on techniques of
setting up guide dog schools.  An official of the Guide Dogs for
the Blind Association of England (which also grew out of
Fortunate Fields) and an instructor from the Japan Guide Dog
Association are being sent to study at The Seeing Eye for from
three to six months.
     Perhaps the most impressive aspect of The Seeing Eye
revealed by an appraisal of the years past is its constancy.  The
principles which it adopted have stood whatever tests time could
impose.  Not one of them has undergone fundamental change.  Even
modifications in procedures or techniques have been surprisingly
minor. Technological progress in this time throughout the world
has not resolved the basic handicap of blindness: inability to
move about freely and safely.  Radar eyes in a handy portable box
may someday be technically feasible but there is no indication
they would be practical financially.  Since such a mechanical
instrument would provide no companionship - no inspiriting team
work in solving the intricacies of traffic - it is questionable
if it would supplant the Seeing Eye dog at any price. In human
experience there is no substitute for devotion.  This is the
ineffable quality that links the guide dog and its blind master.
     There is one area in which I think constancy has met its
greatest test.  This is in the type of blind person who desires a
Seeing Eye guide.  In the first days of The Seeing Eye it was
natural that the idea would attract people of exceptional spirit.
It was new.  It was daring.  It promised to set free people
condemned to the confinement of blindness.  Like the call for
human cargo for early space age missiles, it was a magnet for
pioneers.  And The Seeing Eye attracted them.  An executive
driven by an inner urge to accomplishment; a housewife eager to
continue the joy of running her home; a doctor, a preacher, men
impelled to service - these quickly responded.  And Morris Frank,
first of them all; brash; a person tormented by restraint and
thrashing out for the security of which chance, he feared, was
robbing him.  Such were the people who wanted dogs.
     They continued to come.  In its early years people were
often most impressed by the ambition which marked virtually every
Seeing Eye student.  They wanted jobs that would make them
independent or they had jobs they wanted to keep.  Not always
just any job, but work in which they had a special interest
whether it was janitor, judge or justice of the peace; secretary,
social worker or storekeeper.
     And jobs they got and held.  Within 10 years more than 100
occupations were represented among Seeing Eye graduates.  There
were bee keepers, bakers and bankers; chicken farmer, mattress
maker, innkeeper and orchestra leader. Now 90 percent of
graduates hold regular jobs, are housewives or enrolled as full
time college students.
     The constancy of ambition among Seeing Eye students has
never changed. During the war they performed many essential tasks
in industry including two for which their qualifications were
rated superior: listeners at air raid detection posts and
carrying messages during blackouts.  Now they are found selling
Cadillacs, serving in state legislatures in Texas and Indiana,
manufacturing and wholesaling mops, and winning the "Woman of the
Year" award of the Business and Professional Women's Club of
Syracuse, New York.  This was made to an energetic grandmother,
Mrs. Nerine Coffin, whose job of visiting blind people and
teaching them reading, writing and crafts has been facilitated by
her Seeing Eye dog.  So, also, is her golf game.
     Another award winner is Edward Glaser, an engineer who works
in electronics.  Mr. Glaser has no trouble checking electronic
computer circuits with one hand while with the other reading
specifications which he has previously typed on his Braille
typewriter.  When he needs to make calculations, a constant
requirement in electronics development, he uses a Braille
"blackboard," a peg board with metal slugs bearing raised
characters.  He can set up and erase equations as rapidly as a
sighted person using a blackboard.
     Still another winner of community recognition is H.
Katherine Smith, for 25 years a columnist for the Buffalo, New
York, Courier-Express. Miss Smith was cited for distinguished
work in the field of journalism by the Inter-Club Council of
Western New York during its second annual symposium on The
Progress of Women.  Miss Smith has interviewed hundreds of front
page personalities including presidents and first ladies.  She is
the first reporter to go abroad on a working news-gathering trip
accompanied only by her Seeing Eye guide.  Frequently conducting
interviews in French and Spanish, she toured France, Holland,
Spain, Switzerland and Luxembourg and talked with Queen Juliana
of the Netherlands and Dwight W. Eisenhower before he became
president of the United States, when interviewing him was
sometimes more difficult.
     The Seeing Eye dog is now seen almost everywhere in the
fifty states.  Sometimes one of them is seen in many.  One
graduate has travelled about 1,000,000 miles with her dog as sole
companion.  She is an instructor of sales and promotion
techniques for electrical appliances.  Many others are found in
universities, for the ambition of the Seeing Eye student is
flowered by education.  From Colgate to California; from Puerto
Rico University to Harvard, Union Theological Seminary and Baylor
literally hundreds of young people have built career foundations
with the freedom to go and come as they pleased just like their
classmates.  They golf, swim, bowl, ride horseback and ski.  They
have dates, go to movies, decry television commercials, argue
economic and political theory - maybe even compose beatnik poetry
- while steadily accumulating facts and gaining the maturity and
judgment to put these facts to useful purpose.
     Their ambition is the most constant element in The Seeing
Eye.  It pervades the organization and at times seems to dominate
it, as if the organization was created to serve a special kind of
need as well as a special kind of freedom-seeking person.
     Seldom has that need and its fulfillment been better
expressed than by a young man who experienced it.  In a letter
which won the American Legion's nation-wide contest on "Operation
Comeback" this veteran tells what happened to him:
     "The pronouncement of a Navy doctor - 'You'll never see
again'; - was like a death sentence.  The land mine which had
exploded in my face on the combat conditioning course at Camp
Lejeune seemed unimportant.  At 23 I would never again see the
faces of my loved ones - my home town - even sunshine.
     "I remember sitting on the ledge of a 12th-floor hospital
window thinking that the easy way out would be to lean over - but
I knew that the coward's way was not right with God and not fair
to my wife and family.  The strength which upheld my wife, which
helped her to face her plight without self-pity made me realize
that I needed the peace of mind which she found in her religion. 
From her example, I learned that spiritual guidance helps one
over life's rough spots.
     "Before leaving the hospital I learned to type, studied
Braille, and played bridge with my doctor.  My month's
association with able, alert blind people at The Seeing Eye
school convinced me that I, too, could enjoy life; and there I
found a pal and a means of safe conduct in my Seeing Eye dog,
Fay.
     "When my former employer offered me a job, I jumped at the
chance.  I worked as a clerk-typist, not as the laboratory
technician I had been before entering the Marines.  I had to show
my fellow employees that, with the exception of my eyes, I was
just as normal as before.  I worked successively as clerk,
secretary, disc jockey and P.A. system announcer, journalist and
public speaker.  My present responsibility as public relations
representative for one of the world's leading pharmaceutical
firms is many times greater than that which was mine before
entering service.  My wages are trebled.
     "Ample incentives for working hard were arranged for me at
home.  Within a year after my accident my daughter arrived.  She
and her three younger brothers create a happy, noisy household. 
These youngsters played an important role in my comeback.
     "Blindness endowed me with more understanding, sympathy and
interest in my fellow man than I had before.  I found myself
wanting to do something for others because so many help me.  The
Veterans' Administration drafted me to visit disabled veterans in
my state.  This led to work with the Blinded Veterans Association
- eventually, to its national presidency.  I made speeches on
aiding disabled veterans, Americanism, and the meaning of
blindness.  I became interested in government and ran
successfully for a seat in my State Assembly.  Exactly five years
after I lost my sight I was named by the United States Junior
Chamber of Commerce as one of the nation's 10 outstanding young
men.
     "If I have overcome my handicap, I am humble, for I know
that I was only able to do so because of a rich heritage of
things which are America."
     Whatever handicaps The Seeing Eye may have encountered in
its first years they are obviously behind the organization now. 
When it helps inspire letters such as this; when it insures
continuing freedom for many hundreds of people and a new freedom
for many, many more then its work can truly if modestly be
described as well established.  Yet there are none at The Seeing
Eye who have lost that pioneering spirit.  And after more than
thirty years there remains a freshness; a zest for accomplishment
that makes each new life which comes to them seeking to be free a
challenge to continuing achievement.  For whatever its record of
the past work with each new person who comes asking its help the
work of The Seeing Eye is just begun.