[Nfbf-l] TO LIGHT A CANDLE WITH MATHEMATICS by and about Abraham nemeth

[PLipovsky]

Brook,

This was very interesting.  Thanks so very much for sharing this. 

Merry Christmas...



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From: Nfbf-l <nfbf-l-bounces at nfbnet.org> On Behalf Of Brooke Evans via
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Sent: Saturday, December 22, 2018 4:16 PM
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Subject: [Nfbf-l] TO LIGHT A CANDLE WITH MATHEMATICS by and about Abraham
nemeth

 LIGHT A CANDLE WITH MATHEMATICS

by Abraham Nemeth

Mathematics is a field which has often been considered beyond the capacity
of the blind to master. This attitude continues to exist despite the
evidence presented by the careers of world-class blind mathematicians such
as Dr.
Abraham Nemeth. In 1985 Dr. Nemeth retired, having spent forty years
teaching college-level mathematics. His successful career has provided
inspiration and hope to later generations of blind students interested in
pursuing jobs involving mathematics.

In fact he invented the basic system for reading and writing mathematical
and scientific materials in Braille which has been used by thousands of
blind students. Here Dr. Nemeth tells the story of his struggle first to
obtain an education in mathematics and then to obtain a position teaching
it.

I was born congenitally blind, on the Lower East Side of Manhattan in New
York City. And I want you to know that my parents raised me in a very close
and loving family. I had a brother and a sister and two sets of grandparents
and lots of aunts and uncles and cousins. We led a very happy life. And
although my parents were both immigrants and lacking in any kind of formal
education, they instinctively knew not to over-protect me on account of my
blindness. So I became street-wise in a tough neighborhood on the Lower East
Side of Manhattan at a very early age. Without knowing it, my father taught
me what today would be called mobility and orientation. Whenever we walked
to a familiar destination, he would take me there by a different route. As
we talked, he would tell me such things as "We are now walking west, and in
a moment we will be making a left turn, and then we will be walking south.
We are passing a luncheonette, and after that we will be passing a bakery.
Now the traffic on t his street is one way going west. On the next street
the traffic is one way going east, and there is a fire hydrant at the
corner. Across the street there is a mailbox." So he instilled in me a very
good sense of direction.

He also taught me the formation of printed letters by letting me touch the
raised letters on mailboxes and on police and fire call boxes. He bought me
wooden blocks with raised printed letters to play with, and he got me large
rubber stamps on which I could feel the printed letters.

My elementary education began at Public School 110. Now you know that New
York is such a big city that we run out of eminent people's names, so we
just put numbers to the schools. The one I went to was Public School 110,
which happened to be within walking distance of my home. One of my aunts
walked with me every day to and from school.

In my daily activity, I attended regular classrooms with all the sighted
students for general curriculum subjects like arithmetic, spelling, and
reading. 
But when the sighted students were engaged in activities like art,
penmanship, and things of that kind, I returned to the resource room for
training in specific blindness skills like Braille, typing, and even
geography. There was a very large globe of the world with raised land masses
and even more highly raised mountain ranges. Because of family
circumstances, I went to live and continue my education at the New York
Jewish Guild for the Blind in Yonkers, New York. At the Yonkers Home
children were encouraged (although not
required) to
engage in activities like music, handcrafts, light sports and athletics, and
religious education after school. While I was there, my father came to visit
me almost every Sunday, no matter how severe the weather was. My mother
would come whenever her busy household chores would allow about every other
week, I would say. They would bring me my favorite foods, and they were
refrigerated and dispensed to me during the week by kindly kitchen staff.

In the spring and summer months many of my uncles and aunts would also come
to visit me. We would all go to a picnic area in a nearby park and enjoy the
food they brought as well as such activity as the park provided. My father's

favorite was rowing.

One of my grandfathers was particularly attentive to me, and he gave me the
religious training that I now possess. He would try to find messages that
would be encouraging to me and that would serve as a guide for me as a blind
person. One of those messages, which has stayed with me and which has had
particular impact on me during all the years that I was growing up and by
which I am still guided, is: "It is better to light a candle than to curse
the dark."

Now you may not believe this, but at school I experienced particular
difficulty with arithmetic. I graduated from the eighth grade of PS 16
deficient in mathematics, but with my father's earnest and sincere promise
to the school that he would see to it that the situation was remedied. So I
enrolled in the fall at Evanderchild's High School in the Bronx, to which I
was also bussed back and forth from the Yonkers Home. In one year's time, I
not only caught up with all the arithmetic skills I should have had in
elementary school, but I also

received top grades in a first-year algebra course in which I was enrolled.

I continued to do well in all my high school courses, and during this period
I became keenly aware of an ambition to be a teacher particularly, believe
it or not, to teach mathematics. One of the boys at the Yonkers Home was a
good friend, but he was one grade behind me in school. As I learned algebra,
I shared with him my knowledge and my enthusiasm on that subject. When he
entered high school a year later, he was able to pass an algebra exam with
honors and was thus exempted from first-year algebra.

In due course I graduated from high school and returned to live at home with
my parents and my brother and my sister, who by now had moved to
Brownsville, Brooklyn.

Then it was time for me to go to college. By that time I had already
acquired independent travel skills. I knew the routes of all the New York
City subways and most of the Brooklyn bus lines. Equipped with this skill
and with a high proficiency in Braille, I entered Brooklyn College. I knew
that I wanted to major in mathematics, but my guidance counselors were not
at all supportive of this goal. They insisted that mathematics was too
technical a subject for a blind person, that notation was specialized, that
there was no material available in Braille, that volunteer or even paid
readers would be difficult to recruit, and that no employer would be likely
to consider a blind person for a position related to mathematics.

Counselor after counselor told this to me. You know, my wife told me that
her mother said if three people tell you that you are drunk, you better lie
down. So after several counselors told me this, I obediently declared
psychology to be my major a subject more amenable to the abilities of blind
people, my counselors told me.

I took as many psychology courses as I could fit into my schedule.
Nevertheless, whenever there was an opening for an elective course, I always
chose one from the math department. In taking these courses, there were two
things that I did which were, I would say, decisive in my later career. When
I found that there was no way of putting mathematical notation down in
Braille, just as my counselors warned me, I began to improvise Braille
symbols and methods which

were both effective for my needs and consistent from one course to the next.
So
this was the beginning of the Nemeth Code.

The other important skill I developed was the ability to write both on paper
and on the blackboard. Sometimes it was the only method I had of
communicating with my math professors. And although I was certainly no
calligrapher, my handwriting was perfectly adequate for these purposes, and
it was surely far superior to the alternative of shouting and arm waving.

In this way I graduated from Brooklyn College in 1940 with a B.A. degree and
a major in psychology. Nevertheless, I succeeded in having completed courses
in analytic geometry, differential and integral calculus, some modern
geometry courses, and even a course in statistics.

I knew that a B.A. degree in psychology was not a sufficientcredential for
anyone intending to enter that field professionally. So accordingly, I
applied for graduate admission to Columbia University. My grades were
adequate to ensure my acceptance at that prestigious institution, so in 1942
I graduated from Columbia University with an M.A. degree in psychology. 

Meanwhile, it was time to begin looking for a job. The only work I could
find was of an unskilled nature. At one time I worked at a sewing machine,
where I did seaming and hemming on pillowcases at piece-work rates. I worked
for seven years at an agency for the blind, and there I counted needles for
Talking Book phonograph records. I collated Talking Book records. I loaded
and unloaded trucks in the shipping department. I typed letters in Braille
to deaf-blind clients of the agency, transcribing incoming Braille letters
from these and other clients on the typewriter. I also designed and
organized itineraries in Braille so that they could be read by Helen Keller.

After graduating from Columbia University with a master's degree in hand, I
began to look earnestly for work more suited to my training. The employment
environment for the blind is never too hospitable, as you well know. But in
those days, it was more inhospitable than it is today. In 1944 I was already

married; and as time went on, my wife perceived my growing frustration.
After working all day at the agency, I would find relaxation in taking an
evening course in mathematics. By 1946 I had already taken all the
undergraduate math courses offered by Brooklyn College, and my wife
perceived that I was much happier in mathematics than in psychology. So one
day she asked me if I wouldn't rather be an unemployed mathematician than an
unemployed psychologist.

Well, I began to wonder how we would support ourselves if I quit my job and
went to school full-time, working toward a graduate degree in mathematics.
My wife
suggested that I give up my job and do just that. She would go to work while
I went to school. If I couldn't find work as a mathematician even after
completing my training, I could always get an unskilled job like the one I
was currently  holding at that same skill level, she pointed out. By 1946
the war was over. Men were returning to civilian life. At Brooklyn College
there was a large contingent of men who had taken a first-semester course in
calculus, and now (a war later) they were returning to enroll for a second
semester course in calculus. I leave it to your imagination how much of the
first semester they

remembered.

So I offered to be one of the volunteers in a corps that was organized to
assist those men. I offered to be one of their volunteers after classes were
over in the evening. Each student was stationed at one panel of a blackboard
which ran clear around the room. Each wrote on the board as much of the
problem as he could do, and the volunteers circulated helping the students
to complete their work.

I would ask the student to read me the problem from his textbook and then
read as much of the solution as he was able to put on the blackboard. Many
times the blackboard panel was blank. I would do my best to show the student
how to proceed. Unknown to me, I was being observed by the chairman of the
math department. One Friday night I received a telegram from him. He
informed me that one of his regular faculty members had taken ill and would
be disabled for the remainder of the semester. He asked me to report on the
following Monday evening to assume that professor's teaching load.

Over the weekend I got the textbooks, boned up to know just enough to teach
the following Monday evening, and launched my teaching career.

My ability to write on the blackboard, I believe, was the difference between
continuing as a mathematics teacher and finding some other work to do. I
continued this way, doing part-time teaching at Brooklyn College.

In 1951 I again applied to Columbia University and was admitted as a
doctoral student toward the Ph.D. degree in Mathematics. My wife went to
work.

In the summer of 1953 I registered with an employment agency for teachers. I
received a call from that agency to report to Manhattan College the
following Monday, there to conduct a course in the mathematics of finance a
course I had neither taken nor known anything about. But anyway, I made sure
I knew what to do. Manhattan College is a school run by the Christian
Brothers. Brother Alfred was a little dubious when a blind man showed up,
but he really had no choice. Classes began in an hour. However, when the
summer course was over, Brother Alfred naturally assumed that I would return
to teach in the fall, and he handed me my teaching schedule for the
semester, beginning in September.

When January came, I received another call this time from Manhattanville
College to fill in for a professor who was on sabbatical. Now Manhattanville
College is a very elite girls' school run by the Order of the Sacred Heart.
As a matter of fact, Jacqueline Kennedy attended that school, although not
in the time that I was there.

Dean Mother Brady received a glowing letter of reference from Brother
Alfred, and so I had no difficulty securing the position at Manhattanville
College. 
Commuting to Manhattanville College was an entirely different matter,
however.

To do that commuting, I had to walk six blocks from home to the local BMT
subway station, take the train to Fourteenth Street in Manhattan, and change
at Fourteenth Street from the BMT to the IRT line through an intricate maze
of stairs and tunnels which, however, I was already familiar with.

Then I had to take the IRT to Grand Central Station. I had to negotiate a
complicated route through the New York Central Railroad, and that took me to

White Plains, New York, where finally I was picked up by the school bus for
the final fifteen-minute ride to the school in Purchase, New York. And of
course I had to do this in reverse at the end of the day.

The Sunday before reporting to work, I went alone to Grand Central Station;
and there, all day long, I practiced negotiating the route between the IRT
subway station at 42nd street and the Grand Central Railroad Station. The
most important landmark on that route was the New York Central Railroad
Station Information Booth. Every morning I would stop at that booth and
inquire on what track the 8:02 for White Plains would be leaving. It was a
two-hour commute each day, and I was surely glad when the semester ended. It
was time to begin to search for permanent employment. By 1954 I was becoming
tired of part-time work. The search for employment is stressful for anyone,
particularly for a blind person. So I embarked on a campaign of
letter-writing with a view to securing permanent employment.

I consulted hundreds of college and university catalogs in the local library
to determine which ones offered a math curriculum in which my teaching
skills would be valuable. I arranged my choices in the order of geographical
preference by section of the country. I composed a master letter, tailoring
it from time to time as circumstances dictated, and I sent out about 250
letters and resumes. I felt it necessary to inform a potential employer in
advance about my blindness.

Most replies were negative. They went something like: "At present we have no
opening for a person with your training and experience." Many of them were
noncommittal: "Thank you for inquiring about a position at our institution.
We will
keep your letter on file and will contact you if any opening should
materialize in the future." Sound familiar?
Some were downright hostile: "We do not feel that a person with a visual
impairment can effectively discharge the duties required of professors at
our institution."

Nevertheless, I did receive two letters inviting me to appear for an
interview: one from the University of Detroit and one from the university in
Boulder, Colorado. Since, however, the University of Detroit offered a
position leading to eventual permanence and tenure, I responded positively
to the invitation from that institution first.

My wife and I both appeared at the university's request. I was interviewed
for a full day, and at the end of the interview we were told to return home
and that we would be informed of the outcome within a week. So I mentioned
in passing that we were going on to Boulder, Colorado, for another
interview.

The University of Detroit is a Jesuit university. The following day, early
in the morning, I received a call from Father Dwier. He told me that the
position was mine if I wanted it. He was calling early so that I could
cancel the trip to Colorado if I so desired. I accepted on the spot.

I went to work at the University of Detroit as an instructor in 1955. And in
due course I progressed through the ranks to become an assistant professor,
an associate professor, and finally a full professor. Along the way I was
awarded tenure, and I also completed the requirements for the Ph.D. degree
in mathematics and got it from Wayne State University. I received that
degree in 1964. For fifteen years I taught all kinds of courses in
mathematic s at the

University of Detroit. But it was becoming increasingly evident to me that
my training and skills would soon become obsolete unless I acquired
knowledge and skill in computer science. Accordingly, I applied for, and was
fortunate to receive, a grant from the National Science Foundation to spend
two summers at Pennsylvania State University in State College to train in
computer science.

Each session was nine weeks long, and all the students in this program were
also college teachers. The pace of instruction was, to say the least, quite
lively. 
My wife and I gave up the comfort of a nice home in Detroit to live in a
dorm room for nine weeks of a hot summer during two consecutive years. These
were
1968 and 1969. When I returned to the University of Detroit in the fall of
1969, I designed and implemented a graduate curriculum in computer science,
and I taught most of the courses. They included elementary courses like
FORTRAN and ALGOL and more advanced courses like data structures, artificial
intelligence, non-arithmetic programming, automation theory, systems
programming, and so on.

During my early years of studying and teaching mathematics I realized that
no adequate system existed to represent complex mathematical concepts in
Braille. 
So I set about inventing my own system. Eventually it became a very
efficient tool. It worked well for me, and others who learned about it asked
me to teach it to them. 
In 1952 my system was published as the Nemeth Code for Braille Mathematics.

The Nemeth Code features very close simulation of the printed text, and it
is that feature which has made it possible for me to communicate with my
students just as if I were holding the printed text in my hand. Very
complicated formulas I put on cards which I arranged in a small card file in
my left jacket pocket in the order in which I planned to present them. At
the right moment, I casually walked up to the board and put my left hand
into my pocket, read the formula from the top card, and copied it with my
right hand onto the blackboard. It gave the students the impression of what
a big genius I was, and I tried not to disillusion them. I have been retired
ever since September of 1985. I tell my friends that looking back on my
working days, I reflect that work wasn't that hard. But it took a whole day.

I believe that the experience that I have had in my lifetime demonstrates
how important are the early acquisitions of Braille skills, facility in
mobility, a knowledge of print practice, and good attitudes. Equipped with
these skills, a blind person can - progress as far as his motivation, his
ingenuity, and his talent will permit. Without them, a blind person is
restricted to semi-literacy and lack of independence.


End of life story.




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