[Ohio-Talk] The Day After Civil Rights, An Address Delivered by Kenneth Jernigan at the Banquet of the Annual Convention in New Orleans, Louisiana, July 4, 1997

[Suzanne Turner]

The Day After Civil Rights

Kenneth              h Jernigan 

Kenneth Jernigan

 

An Address Delivered by Kenneth Jernigan

At the Banquet of the Annual Convention

Of the National Federation of the Blind

New Orleans, Louisiana, July 4, 1997

 

It has been said that all knowledge consists of definition and
classification, and even definition may be just another way of classifying.
History, for

example, can be classified (or divided) into ancient, medieval, and modern;
secular and ecclesiastical; American, English, European, African, Asian, and

Latin American; political, economic, and social. And there are hundreds of
other ways of doing it.

 

As to our history, the history of the organized blind movement, I classify
or divide it into four stages. Of course, I could add a fifth-the centuries

and eons before our founding in 1940. But I prefer to think of that time as
the dark ages, the pre-history before hope and enlightenment.

 

When the National Federation of the Blind came into being almost six decades
ago, our problem was simple. It was to find enough food to keep body and
soul

together-not for all of us, of course, but for many. If you are hungry, it
is hard to think about anything else. And the blind were hungry.

 

And then we moved to a second stage, the attempt to find jobs. Call it
rehabilitation. It wasn't that poverty had been eliminated, but it had been
so reduced

that we could now begin to think about something else, about jobs, about how
to earn and not just be given. Naturally the desire for jobs was there from

the beginning, but it now moved to the center of the stage. This was in the
late '50's, the '60's, and the '70's. We wanted jobs-and we found them. Not

always according to our capacity and not always with equal pay-but jobs.

 

And then we moved to a third stage. Call it civil rights. After a person has
satisfied hunger and found a job, there is still something else-the search

for self-esteem and equal treatment-the yearning to belong and
participate-to be part of the family and the broader community. And for us,
as for other

minorities, there was only one way to get there-confrontation. The status
quo always fights change.

 

Many people think that civil rights and integration are the same thing. They
aren't. The concept of civil rights precedes integration and is a necessary

precursor to it. As used in the late twentieth century, the term civil
rights (although some will deny it) always means force-an in-your-face
attitude

by the minority, laws that make somebody do this or that, picketing, marches
in the street, court cases, and much else. And we have done those things,

all of them. We had to.

 

But there comes a day after civil rights. There must. Otherwise, the first
three stages (satisfying hunger, finding jobs, and getting civil rights)
have

been in vain. The laws, the court cases, the confrontations, the jobs, and
even the satisfying of hunger can never be our prime focus. They are
preliminary.

It is not that they disappear. Rather it is that they become a foundation on
which to build.

 

Legislation cannot create understanding. Confrontation cannot create good
will, mutual acceptance, and respect. For that matter, legislation and
confrontation

cannot create self-esteem. The search for self-esteem begins in the period
of civil rights, but the realization of self-esteem must wait for the day
after

civil rights.

 

It will be easy for me to be misunderstood, so I want to make something very
clear. We have not forgotten how to fight, and we will do it when we have

to. We must not become slack or cease to be vigilant, and we won't. But we
have now made enough progress to move to the next stage on the road to
freedom.

I call it the day after civil rights.

 

If a minority lives too long in an armed camp atmosphere, that minority
becomes poisoned and corroded. We must move beyond minority mentality and
victim

thinking. This will be difficult-especially in today's society, where hate
and suspicion are a rising tide and where members of minorities are
encouraged

and expected to feel bitterness and alienation and members of the majority
are encouraged and expected to feel guilt and preoccupation with the past.
Yes,

it will be hard to do what I am suggesting, but we must do it. We must be
willing to give to others as much as we want others to give to us, and we
must

do it with good will and civility. We must make the hard choices and take
the long view.

 

Let me be specific. If a blind person tries to exploit blindness to get an
advantage, or tries to use blindness as an excuse for failure or bad
behavior,

we must not defend that blind person but must stand with the sighted person
that the blind person is trying to victimize. This will not be easy; it will

not always be politically correct; and it will frequently bring criticism,
not only from those blind persons who claim to want equality but are not
willing

to earn it, but also from some of the sighted as well. But we must do it
anyway. If we want equal treatment and true integration, we must act like
equals

and not hide behind minority status. Yes, blind people are our brothers and
sisters, but so are the sighted. Unless we are willing to have it that way,

we neither deserve nor truly want what we have always claimed as a
birthright.

 

That birthright, equal responsibility as well as equal rights, is the very
essence of the NFB's philosophy. It is what we set out to get in 1940; it is

what we have fought for every step of the way; it is what we are now close
to achieving; and it is what we are absolutely determined to have. Equal
rights-equal

responsibility.

 

We are capable of working with the sighted, playing with the sighted, and
living with the sighted; and we are capable of doing it on terms of complete

equality. Likewise, the sighted are capable of doing the same with us-and
for the most part I think they want to. What we need is not confrontation
but

understanding, an understanding that runs both ways. This means an ongoing
process of communication and public education.

 

It is for that reason that in 1991 we introduced the 

Kernel Books.

As I said at last year's convention, what we have done in writing,
publishing, and distributing these books is nothing short of revolutionary.
More than

three million of them are now in circulation, and the difference they have
made in public attitudes about blindness would be hard to exaggerate.

 

This year, following our usual pattern, we are issuing two more Kernel
Books. Book twelve, Like Cats and Dogs, is available now; and book thirteen,
Wall-to-Wall

Thanksgiving, will come this fall. There are, of course, many other elements
in our educational program, but the Kernel Books are the centerpiece of it.

As you hear the introductions to the two 1997 books and excerpts from the
articles I wrote for them, keep in mind the context and the reason for
publishing

them. They must carry a message without being so preachy that nobody will
read them, and they must be entertaining without blurring the purpose:

 

Like Cats and Dogs

 

Editor's Introduction

 

In the early and mid 1930's, when I was a boy in grade school, I dearly
loved to read poetry--or, more properly speaking, have poetry read to me.
And my

teachers often obliged. One of my favorites was a poem by Eugene Field
called the "Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat." Although it will never be a
classic,

I liked it. It begins like this:

 

"The gingham dog and the calico cat

Side by side on the table sat;

'Twas half-past twelve,

and (what do you think!)

Nor one nor t'other had slept a wink!"

 

The poem goes on to tell how the cat and dog had anawful fight and concludes
by giving the outcome:

 

"But the truth about the cat and pup

Is this: they ate each other up!"

 

Thus we come to the title of this book, Like Cats and Dogs. Maybe I chose it
because I once had a dog that I dearly loved, or because I currently have

some adorable kittens-or maybe because of the well-known saying about people
fighting like cats and dogs. Regardless of the reason, the title is chosen,

and we come to a question:

 

Exactly how do cats and dogs behave toward each other?

 

If they don't understand each other, they fight "like cats and dogs." But if
they have the opportunity to get acquainted, they can live in harmony and

become good friends.

 

As it is with cats and dogs, so it is with the blind and their sighted
neighbors. There can either be harmony and friendship or misunderstanding
and frustration.

This little volume (the twelfth in the Kernel Book series) is meant to
promote understanding, the ultimate framework of all true friendship and
mutual

respect.

 

As with past Kernel Books, the stories here are real-life experiences, told
by the blind persons who lived them. The one exception is the article by
Theresa

House, who is the sighted wife of a blind man. Her parents feared that a
blind person could never be an adequate husband for their daughter, and
certainly

not a suitable father for her children. You will see how it is turning out
as they live their lives and raise their family.

 

As a matter of fact, marriage and children are major themes of this book.
Bruce Gardner, blind and preparing to be a lawyer, dates and falls in love
with

a young sighted woman. She has questions, and so do her father and mother.

 

And there is the matter of blind parents and sighted children. As the boy
and girl grow up, how do they feel? Do they think their parents can take
care

of them-and how do the parents feel? What ambitions do the parents have for
their children?

 

There is another theme relative to children (blind children). Many are not
given the chance to learn Braille. What does that do to them, and how do
they

feel about it as they come to adulthood?

 

There is more-the article I wrote about the difference between the sounds
and smells of today and sixty years ago; and there is the story about a
blind

kitten (told by the owner, of course, not the kitten); an account of a blind
woman's experience with pouring coffee; and much else. But I think I have

told you enough to give you an inkling of what to expect.

 

At the core all of the people represented here are talking about the same
thing. What they are saying is this:

 

In everything that counts we who are blind are just like you. As you read,
you will recognize yourself in the story of our experiences. We laugh and
cry,

work and play, hope and dream, just like you. And although we don't forget
that we are blind, we don't constantly think about it either. We are
concerned

with the routine business of daily living-what we plan to have for dinner,
the latest gossip, and the current shenanigans in Washington.

 

Around fifty thousand people become blind in this country each year. That
means that it may happen to you, a member of your family, a neighbor, or a
friend.

So we want you to know what blindness is like--and, more to the point, what
it isn't like. That is why we are producing the Kernel Books. We hope you
will

find this volume both informative and interesting. If you do, we will have
accomplished our purpose. We want to live in harmony with our neighbors-not

the way most people think cats and dogs live.

 

Kenneth Jernigan

Baltimore, Maryland 1997

 

That is the introduction. Now here are excerpts from my article called "The
Sounds and Smells of Sixty Years":

 

Everybody knows that change is probably the only constant in life, but I
think we don't fully understand what that means until after we are fifty. At
least

that is how it has been with me.

 

As readers of the Kernel Books know, I grew up on a farm in Tennessee in the
1920's and '30's, and it seems to me that almost nothing today is the way

it was then. Since I have been blind all of my life, I am not talking about
how things look but how they smell, taste, sound, and feel.

 

Start with smell. The world smells different today from what it did then.
Nowadays I spend much of my time indoors, breathing conditioned air, whether

heated or cooled. But that wasn't how it was when I was a boy.

 

Since we didn't have electricity, we couldn't have had air conditioning even
if we could have afforded it. So in the summer the windows were open, and

usually so were the doors. The air was rich with odors-the smells of growing
things, of the barnyard, of the dust and gasoline from an occasional passing

car, and of creeks. These were the smells of summer, but there were also the
smells of winter-wood, burning in a fireplace, the smell of the unheated
portions

of the house, and the smell of the country in winter.

 

And it was not just the smells of that time but also the sounds-the mixture
of stillness, bird songs, distant cattle, and the aliveness of the land.
Today,

whether indoors or out, one thing is always present-the sound of motors.
There are automobiles, office machines, fluorescent lights, power tools,
lawn

mowers, vacuum cleaners, kitchen appliances, air conditioners, and heating
units. When I was a boy, I might go a whole week without hearing a motor-but

not today. In the world of the '90's there is never a minute without a
motor. Sometimes it is an avalanche of noise, and sometimes only a vibration
in

the background-but it is always there-always a motor.

 

And I mustn't omit taste and touch. At first thought it might seem that
there would be no difference between then and now, but there is. It isn't
necessarily

that I can't touch most of the things today that I touched in the 1930's. It
is just that I don't. And as to taste, it may simply be my imagination or

my aging taste buds, but it certainly doesn't seem that way. Food is
prepared differently, and the ingredients take a different path from origin
to table.

 

But what does all of that have to do with blindness? After all, that is what
this book is about. Certainly blindness and blind people are not treated
today

the way they were sixty years ago. The blind of that generation had almost
no chance to get a job and very little chance to get an education.

 

In my case (many of you know this story as well as I do, so you can judge
for yourselves whether it fits our purpose in the Kernel Books), I was
allowed

to go to college, but I wasn't permitted to take the course of study I
wanted. I attended elementary and high school at the Tennessee School for
the Blind

in Nashville, graduating in 1945. One day in the spring of my senior year, a
state rehabilitation counselor came to talk to me about what I wanted to do

and be.

 

I remember it well. We sat in what was called the parlor-a room,
incidentally, which deserved the name. The School was housed in an old
southern mansion,

and the parlor, which was used as a general reception area, was the very
essence of elegance.

 

The counselor and I sat on the elaborately carved sofa, and he asked me to
tell him two or three areas of study that I might like to pursue when I went

to college. I told him that I didn't need to pick two or three, that I
wanted to be a lawyer.

 

He said that he wouldn't say that a blind person couldn't be a lawyer but
that he thought it wasn't realistic. I would not be able to see the faces of

the jury, he said, and would not be able to do the paperwork and the
travelling. I argued, but I was only a teenager-and I didn't have any money.

 

Ultimately he told me (with big words and gently, but with absolute
finality) that either I could go to college and study law and pay for it
myself, or

I could go and prepare to be something else and be assisted by the
rehabilitation agency. Since I was a teenager and didn't have any money, I
went and

was something else.

 

Of course I now know that he was wrong. I am personally acquainted with
hundreds of successfully practicing blind lawyers, and most of them are not
noticeably

more competent than I am. But I would not want to create the wrong
impression. This man was not trying to do me harm. Quite the contrary. He
truly believed

that what he was doing was in my best interest. He was trying to help me. He
was acting in the spirit of the times and doing the best he knew.

 

Today it wouldn't happen that way. Many things have made the difference, but
principal among them is the National Federation of the Blind. Established

in 1940 by a handful of blind men and women from seven states, the
Federation has conducted a never-ending campaign to educate the public and
stimulate

the blind. I joined the organization in 1949, and it changed my life.

 

Today the Federation is the strongest and most constructive force in the
affairs of the blind of this country, but its work is by no means finished.
The

job that still has to be done is not so much a matter of legislation or
government assistance as of handling the interactions of daily life. We have
come

a long way in public acceptance, but sometimes the attitudes of sixty years
ago are still with us.

 

Let me illustrate by what at first may seem to be trivial examples. (Again,
some of you are familiar with the details surrounding the story I am about

to tell, so you can judge whether it meets our test of suitability for the
Kernel Books.) Over fifty years ago, when I was a boy on the farm in
Tennessee,

I often found time heavy on my hands during the summer months when I was not
in school. To relieve the tedium, I would sometimes ride with a truck
driver,

who collected milk from the local farmers to take to a nearby cheese
factory.

 

The days were hot, and when we could afford it, we sometimes bought a bottle
of Coca-Cola. (Incidentally, it cost five cents.) I didn't have much money,

but now and again I had a little, and I wanted to pay my share. One day I
said to the driver (a young fellow about twenty), "I'll buy a Coke for each
of

us."

 

"Okay," he said, "stay here. I'll go in and get it."

 

"No," I said. "I'll go with you."

 

He was obviously uncomfortable and didn't want me to do it. Finally he said,
"I can't do that. How would it look if people saw a blind person buying me

a Coke?"

 

I was a teenager, not yet accustomed to the ways of diplomacy. So I told him
in blunt terms that either I would buy the Coke publicly or I wouldn't buy

it at all. After greed and pride had fought their battle, he decided not to
have it, and we drove on--after which I was not welcome in the truck.

 

But that was more than fifty years ago. It couldn't happen today. Or could
it? Well, let me tell you about an incident that occurred less than six
months

ago. My wife and I were entering a restaurant-an upscale, classy place with
plenty of glitter and lots of manners.

 

It so fell out that another couple and we reached the door almost
simultaneously. I happened to be positioned so that it was natural for me to
open the

door and hold it while the other couple entered, but the man was obviously
ill at ease. He insisted that he hold the door and that my wife and I go
first.

Since I already had my hand on the door and was holding it open and since I
was not in the mood to be treated like a child or an inferior, I dug in my

mental heels and stayed put. It was all done on both sides with great
politeness and courtly manners, but it was done. As I continued to hold the
door,

the other couple preceded us into the restaurant. But the man was obviously
uncomfortable, showing by his comments and demeanor that he felt it was
inappropriate

for a blind person to hold a door for him and behave like an equal.

 

Trivial? Not related to the daily lives and economic problems of the blind?
Not a factor in determining whether blind people can hold jobs or make
money?

Don't you believe it! These incidents (the one fifty years ago and the one
this year) typify and symbolize everything that we are working to achieve.

 

But again I must emphasize that we are not talking about people who are
trying to cause us harm. We are talking about people who, almost without
exception,

wish us well and want to be of help. Our job is not one of force but of
giving people facts.

 

And key to it all is the National Federation of the Blind-blind persons
coming together in local, state, and national meetings to encourage each
other

and inform the public. Sometimes we are tempted to believe that our progress
is slow, but in reality it has been amazingly rapid. We have made more
advances

during the past sixty years than in all previously recorded history. And
there are better days ahead.

 

It is true that the smells, sounds, touch, and taste of today are not what
they were sixty years ago-but it is equally true that, despite occasional
nostalgia,

we wouldn't want them to be. We wouldn't because today is better-and not
just in physical things but also in the patterns of opportunity and
possibility.

I say this despite all of the problems that face our country and our
society. We who are blind look to the future with hope, and those who are
sighted

are helping us make that hope a reality.

 

That is my article for the first of this year's Kernel Books. Here are the
introduction and the article for the second:

 

Wall-To-Wall Thanksgiving

 

Editor's Introduction

 

Most American holidays have a double significance-what they are and what
they imply. New Year's Day, for instance, means just that, the beginning of
another

year. But it also means reviewing the past, planning for the future, and
hoping to do better.

 

The Fourth of July commemorates the establishment of the nation. But over
the years it has picked up a whole host of other meanings-everything from
summer

picnics and fireworks to how we should live and the current state of
American values.

 

And then there is Thanksgiving-and also the present Kernel Book, the
thirteenth in the series. When we started publishing the Kernel Books almost
seven

years ago, we didn't know how successful they would be, but our goal was to
reach as many people as possible with true-life first-person stories told by

blind persons themselves-how we raise children, hunt jobs, engage in
courtship, get an education, go to church, cook a meal, meet friends, and do
all of

the other things that make up daily living.

 

And we wanted to do it in such a way that the average member of the sighted
public would read and be interested. The results have been better than we
could

possibly have hoped. More than three million of the Kernel Books are now in
circulation, and I rarely travel anywhere in the country without being
approached

by somebody who has read them and wants to talk about them or ask questions.

 

As to the present volume, Wall-to-Wall Thanksgiving, it is much like what
has gone before. It tells about blind people as they live and work.

 

What does a blind boy do to earn summer spending money, and what do his
sighted parents expect of him? What of the Viet Nam veteran who loses his
sight

in the war and comes home to build a new life? And what about the
self-conscious youngster and young man with a little sight, who is ashamed
of blindness

and yet has to live with it?

 

What of the small details that come together to make the days that form the
years-learning to ride a bicycle, cook a steak, read a book, get a job? This

is what Wall-to-Wall Thanksgiving is about. I know the people who appear in
its pages. They are friends of mine. Some have been my students. All of them

are fellow participants in the work of the National Federation of the Blind.

 

If you wonder why so many of us give our time and effort to the Federation,
it is because the Federation has played such an important part in making
life

better for us. In fact, the National Federation of the Blind has done more
than any other single thing to improve the quality of life for blind persons

in the twentieth century. It is blind persons coming together to help each
other and do for themselves. That doesn't mean that we don't want or need
help

from our sighted friends and associates, for we do. But it does mean that we
think we should try to help ourselves before we ask others for assistance.

And we should also give as well as take. All of this is what the National
Federation of the Blind stands for and means.

 

I have edited the Kernel Books from the beginning, and I have contributed a
story to each of them. My present offering deals with help I have received

from sighted people. Sometimes my reactions have been appropriate and
mature; sometimes not. As you read, you will see that my views have changed
as I

have grown older. Perhaps my article, "Don't Throw the Nickel," sums it up.

 

As to the title of this thirteenth volume in the Kernel Book series,
Wall-to-Wall Thanksgiving, it is taken from the story of the same name by
Barbara

Pierce. But like the various holidays, it has more than a single meaning.
With all of the difficulties we have had and with all of the problems we
still

face, we who are blind have more reason for thanksgiving now than ever
before in history.

 

Unlike many in today's society, we do not think of ourselves as victims. We
feel that our future is bright with promise. That is so because we intend to

work to make it that way, and because more and more sighted people are
joining our cause and helping us.

 

I hope you will enjoy this book and that it will give you worthwhile
information.

 

Kenneth Jernigan

Baltimore, Maryland, 1997

 

That is the introduction. Now for the article. As I have already said, it is
called "Don't Throw the Nickel."

 

When is it appropriate for a blind person to accept help from a sighted
person, and when is it not? If the offer is rejected, how can it be done
without

causing embarrassment or hurt feelings? Since most sighted people are
well-disposed toward the blind, these are very real questions-questions that
I as

a blind person have faced all of my life. As you might imagine, my answers
have changed as I have grown older and gained experience.

 

When I was a teenager, filled with the typical self-consciousness of
adolescence, I frequently rode city buses. This was in Nashville. The school
for the

blind, where I was a student, was located on the edge of the city, and I
liked to go downtown. Incidentally, in those days a bus ride cost a nickel,
as

did a lot of other things-a hamburger, a Coca-Cola, an order of French
fries, a full-size candy bar, a double-dip of ice cream, and much else.

 

One day I was standing on the corner waiting for a bus when an elderly woman
approached me and said, "Here, son, I'll help you." She then put a nickel

into my hand.

 

I could tell that she was elderly because of her voice. There was quite a
crowd at the bus stop, and I felt acute embarrassment. I tried to give the
nickel

back, but she moved out of my way and kept saying, "No, that's all right."

 

Everybody stopped talking, and my frustration mounted. Each time I stepped
toward her to try to give back the nickel, she moved out of the way. It must

have been quite a spectacle, me with my hand extended holding the nickel,
and the woman weaving and dodging to avoid me. Finally, in absolute
exasperation,

I threw the nickel as far as I could down the street.

 

That was over fifty years ago, but the memory is still clear. Once the woman
had placed the nickel in my hand, there was really no way I could have given

it back. If I had simply and quietly accepted it and thanked her, very
little notice would have been taken. As it was, I created quite a show. The
elderly

woman, who was only trying to help me, was undoubtedly embarrassed, and I
did little to improve the image of blindness. Instead I did the exact
opposite.

 

Ten years later, when I was in my twenties, I was teaching at the California
training center for the blind in the San Francisco Bay area. One of my
principal

duties was to help newly blind persons learn how to deal maturely with loss
of sight and the attitudes of the public about blindness.

 

Late one afternoon, after a particularly hard day, I was leaving the Center
to go home. When I came to the corner to cross the street, an elderly man
(he

sounded as if he might be in his eighties) approached me and said, "I'll
help you across the street." "No, thanks," I said. "I can make it just
fine."

I was polite but firm.

 

"I'll help you," he repeated, and took my arm. As I have already said, it
had been a hard day. I made no discourteous response, but I speeded up my
pace

as we crossed the street.

 

Clearly the man could not keep up, and if I am to be honest, I knew that he
couldn't. He released my arm and said with a hurt tone, "I was only trying

to help."

 

When I got to the other side of the street, I came to a complete stop and
said to myself, "Are you really so insecure about your blindness that, even
if

it has been a hard day, you can't afford to be kind to somebody who was only
trying to help you?"

 

As with the nickel-throwing incident, there was a lesson to be learned. I
should have accepted the man's offer of help and should have done it
graciously.

We would both have profited, each feeling that he had done the other a
kindness. As it was, both of us experienced pain, even if only a little and
even

if only temporarily.

 

By the time another ten years had passed, I was in my thirties and directing
programs for the blind in the state of Iowa. My job required me to do a
great

deal of traveling, and one day when I was checking into a hotel, a bellman
carried my bag to my room. As he was leaving, I gave him a tip.

 

"Oh, no," he said, "I couldn't take a tip from you. I'm a Christian."

 

Unlike what I did in the other situations I have described, I did not refuse
or resist. I simply thanked him and let it go at that. Of course I might
have

tried to get him to change his mind, but I didn't think it would be
productive. And besides I didn't feel so insecure or unsure of myself that I
needed

to prove either to him or me that I was equal.

 

So far I have talked about help that has been courteously offered and
probably should have been accepted. But what about the other kind? Blind
people don't

have a monopoly on rudeness or bad manners. Sighted people are human, too.

 

I think of a time when I was standing on a street corner in Des Moines,
minding my own business and waiting for a friend. A big husky fellow with
the momentum

of a freight train came along and scooped me up without ever even pausing.
"Come on, buddy," he said, as he grabbed my arm, "I'll help you across the
street."

 

As it so happened, I didn't want to cross that street. I was going in
another direction. But he didn't ask. And he wouldn't listen when I tried to
tell

him. He just kept walking and dragging me with him.

 

In the circumstances I planted my feet and resisted-and I should have. All
of us, whether blind or sighted, owe courtesy and consideration to each
other,

but in this case I was being treated like a none too intelligent child. No,
worse than that-for children are rarely manhandled in public.

 

Not long ago I entered an elevator, and a man standing next to me reached
out and placed his hand on my arm, between me and the elevator door, in a
protective

manner. He probably felt that I might lean into the door as it was closing
or that I might have difficulty when the door opened. It was a sheltering
gesture,

totally inappropriate but meant to be helpful. He would have been shocked at
the thought of behaving that way toward a sighted adult passenger, but in

my case he saw no impropriety.

 

When the door opened, he restrained me with his hand and said, "Wait. You
can't go yet." Since I was standing immediately next to the door and since
there

was no traffic outside, it is hard to know why he felt I should wait. Maybe
he thought I should take a moment to get my bearings, or maybe it was simply

more of the protectiveness. Who knows?

 

He treated me very much as he would have treated a small child. How should I
have reacted? It all depends on how insistent and how obtrusive he was.
There

is something to be said for restraint and not hurting other people's
feelings, but there is also something to be said for recognizing when enough
is enough.

 

In what I am about to say next, I am not just talking about persons who are
totally blind but also about those who now see so poorly that they cannot
function

the way a sighted person normally does--persons who may be losing sight and
who may be having trouble accepting it. I am also speaking to relatives.

 

As I have indicated, most blind people appreciate help when it is offered.
When a blind person is walking through a crowd or down the street with
somebody

else and trying to carry on a conversation, it is easier to take the other
person's arm. This is true even if the blind person is quite capable of
traveling

alone.

 

All of us like to do things for ourselves, but there are times when refusing
to take an arm that is offered constitutes the very opposite of independence

for a blind person. If, for instance, a blind person is walking with a
sighted person through a crowded restaurant, the sensible thing to do is to
take

the sighted person's arm and go to the table without fuss or bother.

 

As you can tell, my views about independence and help from others have
changed over the years. Probably the single most important factor in helping
me

come to my present notions has been the National Federation of the Blind.
Having chapters in every state and almost every community of any size, the
Federation

is the nation's oldest and largest organization of blind persons.

 

As it is with me, so it is with thousands of other blind people throughout
the country. We work together to help each other and ourselves. We give
assistance

to parents of blind children, to blind college students, to the newly blind,
to the senior blind, and to blind persons who are trying to find employment.

Above all, the Federation teaches a new way of thought about blindness. We
want to take the mystery out of blindness. Mostly we who are blind are very

much like you.

 

This is the message of the National Federation of the Blind, and it has made
a great difference in my life. If I had to sum up my personal philosophy in

a single sentence, it would probably be this: Do all you can to help
yourself before you call on somebody else; try to make life better for those
around

you; and don't throw nickels.

 

There you have excerpts from the two Kernel Books for 1997. I believe our
efforts at self-improvement and public education will be advanced by these
books

and that we will go the rest of the way to full participation and
first-class status in society. While I am talking about the future, let me
say something

else. I never come into one of our convention sessions without feeling a
lift of spirit and a surge of joy, for I know to the depths of my being that
our

shared bond of love and trust will never change, and that because of it we
will be unswervable in our determination and unstoppable in our progress.

 

Through our public service announcements on radio and television, through
newspaper articles and personal contacts, through gatherings like this,
through

our mail programs, through our publications, through public speaking
engagements, through meetings with government officials and corporate
leaders, and

especially through our Kernel Books, we are telling our story-and we are
doing it in our own way and with our own voice. The day after civil rights
is

fast approaching, and we will meet it as we have met every other challenge
we have ever faced-joyously, actively, and triumphantly. My brothers and my

sisters, we are truly changing what it means to be blind-and the Kernel
Books are helping us do it.

 

Pooled Income Gifts

 

In this plan money donated to the National Federation of the Blind by a
number of individuals is invested by the NFB. Each donor and the NFB sign an
agreement

that income from the funds will be paid to the donor quarterly or annually.
Each donor receives a tax deduction for the gift; the NFB receives a useful

donation; and the donor receives income of a specified amount for the rest
of his or her life. For more information about the NFB pooled income fund,
contact

the National Federation of the Blind, Special Gifts, 1800 Johnson Street,
Baltimore, Maryland 21230-4998, phone (410) 659-9314, fax (410) 685-5653.