[stylist] 7 Division Members In Freedom Rings!

[Robert Leslie Newman]

Here are the 7 letters which appear in "Freedom Rings," written by Division
members- Chelsea Cook, April Enderton , Patricia Harmon, Helen Stevens,
Michael Floyd, David Stayer and Gary Wunder; 

 


Chelsea Cook
Newport News, Virginia


August 27, 2009

Dear President Obama:

I am a senior attending the Denbigh High School Aviation Academy in Newport
News, Virginia. Two days before the launch of the 2009 Louis Braille
Bicentennial Silver Dollar into space, the National Federation of the Blind
of Virginia held its monthly board meeting. When I walked into the room, our
state president recognized me and jokingly asked if I would be going with
the coins. I told him that I wished I could.

I am Braille literate, and I have been since I was four. I realize now that
I was one of the lucky students who learned Braille at an early age. Many I
talk to now do not know Braille. This is a problem because Braille equals
literacy for the blind. It has made all my dreams and goals seem that much
closer, and it is an integral part of my life. I want to be an astronaut,
and my blindness will not stop me from achieving this goal. Physics is my
favorite subject in school, and when I memorize the equations and formulas
used, I read them first and retain them in my mind in their original Braille
code. It continues to baffle me how blind people can grow up and graduate
high school without the vital tool of literacy. When I cannot access my
electronic Braille books due to technology glitches, I feel as though a part
of me is missing--that a void has opened and needs to be filled. Audio just
does not measure up.

For me Braille is not only essential in higher science and math courses; the
code is also critical in my writing and civic endeavors. I compose poetry
and science fiction novels just for the pure pleasure of seeing my words on
paper (Braille, of course) and for having something important to say. When I
switch to a talking computer, the ease of writing is gone; Braille is what
I've grown up with, and the electronic voice interferes with the process of
getting my thoughts down into memory. It shatters the fragile correspondence
between writer and future reader. Even now I am writing to you in electronic
Braille.

I grew up reading. Once I started, I could not be stopped. My passion for
literature would not have developed had I not learned the code. I have
always read several steps above grade level, and I believe my success in the
academic world is due to the fact that I learned Braille early. My
classmates often ask me how I take notes so quickly. I respond by telling
them about Braille's many contractions, and I say that my notes are already
abbreviated.

Within the National Federation of the Blind I hold several positions at the
national level. I am second vice president of the Writers Division,
something I could not have attained without my love of writing. I also hold
the office of secretary for the Science and Engineering Division, and this
position would not be possible for me at all without a firm grasp of
Braille. I could not imagine doing it any other way.

Most students today do not have the luxury I did of learning Braille while
they are young. I am shocked to hear some people talking of teachers not
teaching the Nemeth (math) code. I am also startled by other blind youths'
stories of how they hate reading because they cannot do it. That reasoning
should be eradicated. I do not remember the number of famous scientists and
authors who got their journey's start from simply picking up a book. Isaac
Newton was one of them; so was I, with my love for astronomy. As I was
listening to the shuttle launch of the Louis Braille coins, I smiled at all
the familiar radio calls as everything was reported to be nominal. When they
made it into orbit, I thought I was there with them, circling the globe at
17,500 miles per hour, looking around at the stars and the small blue planet
we call home, realizing my dream. Braille makes it possible. The symbolism
of knowledge gained by blind people and by astronomers studying the depths
of the universe with the Hubble Space Telescope was not lost on me; it was
amplified. Those coins being launched were my two worlds coming together,
and they were just waiting for me to join them.

We must keep teaching Braille. Those six dots unlock doors. Those six dots
help solve the mysteries of the universe. Those six dots give freedom. I do
not want to be the last blind child dreaming in America because I have the
gift of literacy. Braille makes dreams reality. Braille gives us words;
words give us knowledge; knowledge gives us power.

Thank you for listening.

Sincerely,

Chelsea Cook  
 
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April Lynn Enderton
Des Moines, Iowa


August 1, 2009

Dear President Obama;

I invite you to read over my shoulder.


Dear Grandma Beulah,

When you drive down our road for the first time, you'll want to have your
windows open so that you can savor the sounds and smells of the farm. You'll
hear loose gravel pinging against your tires, while inhaling the aromas of
freshly-mowed hay, clover, wildflowers, and damp earth--all intermingled
with the sharp, unmistakable odor of cow manure.

After all these years I am still composing letters to Grandma in my mind as
I once did in Braille. It's a lifelong habit, I guess. Whenever something
exciting would happen, I'd grab my Braillewriter and share my news with
Grandma. Nowadays the phantom letters help me feel close to her, even though
she's been gone for almost eight years.

Our story began back in the late 1950s, shortly after my birth, when the
doctors told my mother and grandmother that I was blind. Although I had
enough vision to read large print, I always understood that I would use
Braille. I'm not sure what made Grandma decide to learn Braille. I always
just took for granted that she did. At any rate, she was undaunted by claims
that Braille was too complicated to master.

In those days Braille instruction wasn't offered until first grade. The
night before my first day of first grade, I was so excited about learning
Braille that I had trouble falling asleep. The first day of school our
teacher asked for a show of hands for those who would be reading print and
for those who would be learning Braille. My hand shot up for Braille.

I learned the Braille alphabet ahead of my classmates. My teacher gave me a
little desk in the back of the room where I could write while she worked
with the other students. Since I didn't know many words, I entertained
myself by writing Braille numbers into the hundreds. Meanwhile, back home
Grandma was learning Braille too. She bought a Perkins Braillewriter, slate
and stylus, Braille paper, and books on Braille instruction.

Around that time I started receiving Braille books in the mail from our
state library for the blind. One of my first reading ventures was The Little
House by Virginia Burton. When Grandma asked what the book was about, I told
her I couldn't read it because it was too hard for me. Grandma transcribed
the book into print. For years the tale of the little house that moved from
the country to the city was one of Grandma's and my favorite bedtime
stories.

Grandma and I started exchanging Braille letters when I was in second grade.
The first letters arrived at the school for the blind on heavy manila paper
folded in fourths to fit into letter-size envelopes. With much of the
Braille mashed in the creases, these early letters were difficult for small
fingers to decipher. In her letters Grandma wrote about the weather, her
garden, and Foxy, her fox terrier. These letters contained two or three
pocket-size print storybooks for a teacher or a housemother to read to me.

By the time I reached third grade, the pocket books were replaced by poems.
Grandma enjoyed poetry and frequently copied some of her favorites in
Braille to share with me. Many of the poems dealt with nature: plants,
animals, and the changing seasons. These poems inspired me to try my hand at
writing poetry. Years later I won first place in a couple of poetry
competitions.

In the late 1960s Revenue Foregone became law, allowing us to mail Braille
materials free of charge. The law required that we leave the envelope
unsealed and write "free matter for the blind" where the postage stamp would
go. Gradually we moved away from standard envelopes to cardboard tubes.
These letters posed a whole new set of reading frustrations. Out of the tube
the pages would roll back up during reading. Eventually we discovered that
the best way to send Braille letters was to fold the pages in half and print
the mailing information on the back of the last page. With a few strips of
scotch tape, these letters were good to go.

In the beginning, Grandma's Braille skills far surpassed mine. She had been
reading and writing for decades; now she merely needed to transfer her
literacy to Braille. On the other hand I was just learning the nuances of
language. But with continued exposure to Braille in and out of school, I
quickly took the lead. Before long Grandma looked to me instead of the
experts for answers to her Braille questions. Since I wouldn't have wanted
to plead ignorance, it was crucial that I be knowledgeable about Braille.

Because her fingers lacked sensitivity, Grandma read Braille with her eyes.
Many times I caught her reading over my shoulder. This was especially
disconcerting when I was writing to a friend or writing in my journal. "What
are you doing?" I would say with annoyance, as I covered the Braille with my
hand.

"I'm just practicing my Braille," Grandma would calmly reply.

In sixth grade I started losing the precious little sight I had left. While
some things such as travel and picking out my own clothes required a major
adjustment, my reading and writing did not. Thanks to my early Braille
training, my school work moved forward without a hitch.

Grandma's letters followed me into adulthood as I moved away from home.
Often Grandma transcribed my letters into print so Grandpa could read them
too. Grandma took literary license to tailor my letters to suit Grandpa.
Once, when I had written that some friends and I went back to my apartment
for drinks, Grandma wrote that some friends and I went back to my apartment
for dessert.

When I announced to Grandma in a letter that I would be getting married, she
wrote to say that she was "saddened" to hear of my plans. Angrily I wrote
back accusing her of not using the proper Braille contractions in the word
"saddened" and suggested that maybe she should focus more on her Braille and
less on my business. She wrote back to say that I was probably right.
Although she didn't use the proper Braille contraction for the word "right,"
I let that one slide.

Over the years Grandma seized many opportunities to use her Braille. If I
wanted a recipe, Grandma would whip out a Braille copy and put it in the
mail. For my children's birthdays, she would copy their birthday cards in
Braille so that I could read them. She also copied articles for me from the
Reader's Digest and Prevention, two of her favorite magazines. Once I told
Grandma that a friend and I had had a letter-writing contest to see who
could write the longest letter. Grandma thought that sounded like great fun
and challenged me to a letter-writing contest. This will be a breeze, I
thought, recalling Grandma's two- and three-page letters. I'll beat her
hands down. Imagine my surprise when a book-sized letter arrived in the mail
for me.

Every time Grandma and I got together, our conversation invariably turned to
Braille. Grandma asked me to create Braille worksheets to test her
knowledge. "You really stumped me with that last worksheet you sent," she
would say, laughing.
            Grandma was outraged when I told her that blind children born in
the 1970s and beyond weren't automatically taught Braille the way we had
been. She strongly disagreed with the contention that Braille was obsolete
and that cassette tapes and later screen-readers were an adequate
replacement. Like me, she believed that Braille is literacy for blind people
and that literacy is the key to success for blind and sighted alike.

In her late 80s Grandma reluctantly set her Perkins Brailler aside when her
arthritis made writing Braille too painful. Grandma's Braillewriter, along
with a catalog of my life (all the letters I had ever written to her) fell
into my hands in 2001 upon her death. I cherished her Braillewriter for all
the wonderful memories it evoked, but I didn't think I'd ever use it. Enter
Alyssa Joy.

Born in 2002, our youngest child, Alyssa Joy, never knew Grandma. But early
on she expressed a strong love for books. I borrowed books from our state
library for the blind and bought books from Seedlings Braille Books for
Children, but that wasn't enough. She would see a book in the store and
demand that I take it home and read it to her. So I unearthed Grandma's
Braillewriter and started Brailling Alyssa Joy's books. If I can Braille
books to read to Alyssa Joy, the thought occurred to me, I can also Braille
books for other children. In 2006 I started Brailling children's books to
donate to the Braille Book Flea Market at the annual convention of the
National Federation of the Blind. I call my project BRL, the contraction for
the word "Braille" and an acronym for Beulah Reimer Legacy, named for my
grandmother, the wise and insightful woman who empowered me to become
proficient in Braille. BRL's mission is to put Braille at the fingertips of
as many eager readers as possible.

Alyssa Joy is seven years old now, and, although she is sighted, like
Grandma she is learning Braille. What would Grandma think? I sometimes
wonder. Hmmmm. Perhaps I'll write and ask her.

Sincerely,

April Lynn Enderton 
 
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Patricia Harmon
Toms River, New Jersey


August 28, 2009

Dear President Obama:

Running quickly up the steep attic stairs to the tiny lavender bedroom, I
reached for peace and familiarity in the Nancy Drew books of my adolescence.
Nancy did it all when I was awkward and unpopular. She drove the car I
pictured in the midst of challenging mysteries. In high school I traded
Nancy in for The Catcher in the Rye and Lord of the Flies. I imitated the
poetry of Emily Dickinson, scribbling my personal lines on flowered sheets
of stationery. Then I read them dramatically to the window or the mirror. I
watched my face closely as I read from F. Scott Fitzgerald or Robert Frost.
It was all reading, teenage-style, in the sixties.

Reading took me to the dormitories at the College of Notre Dame in
Baltimore. When texts clogged my mind, I read historical fiction like Gone
with the Wind. Imitating Scarlet, I postponed worry until tomorrow. I wrote
sonnets in iambic pentameter and dramas with poor dialogue. Lines of poetry
or music lyrics came alive as I practiced in my room or under a tree.
Reading rewarded the days.

When the print of English textbooks was fading, I realized teaching was
fading too. Childhood diabetes was creating serious issues for print vision.
Without books my life lost personal beauty.

Braille arrived like a colorful parachute, a rescue for a floundering
college graduate with no certain objectives for her life. Without Braille
all career goals were impossible dreams.

The New Jersey Commission for the Blind sent a home teacher one spring
morning in the late sixties. I had had treatments for my eyes in Colorado
Springs. I went West, but I cannot recall why doctors in the East sent me to
Colorado. This fact dramatically altered several aspects of my life. Just by
chance a family took me in, so I did not stay at the hospital. The new
friends from the Colorado School for the Deaf and Blind persuaded me with
positive views about life. With Braille, recommendations, study, and
positive thinking, I enrolled at the University of Northern Colorado. For a
master's, Braille was required; For life, reading was essential.

Often classmates and I pounded together on those Perkins Braillewriters long
after midnight. Because I needed Braille just to live alone in the dorm, I
read and wrote as part of daily life. I did not have vision to scribble or
draw. Braille was as necessary as my hair rollers and perfume--a way of
life. Computers and other technology were slowly moving into universities,
but the disabled were not achieving immediate access. I wrote rough drafts
of papers and notes for speeches on the Braillewriter. I read those sheets
over and over again. Braille was essential when I did student teaching to
complete my program. Then I had to use it to go for my interview in
Alamogordo, New Mexico. On the long bus ride I read to calm my nerves. I
needed that teaching job.

The apartment on New York Avenue needed Braille too. I had to organize my
stuff. I had to read fifth-grade books for my eight students. Phone numbers
were valuable. When I felt afraid and alone, I needed to find my John Denver
albums to blare down the small town streets. And I definitely used Braille
to write my reports concerning students. I worked on a typewriter,
transcribing Braille to print. It was the seventies, and there was no other
technique.

Experience perfects skills, and Braille is included. The more I did it, the
better I became. I created stories for students of all ages, including staff
members. Not all learning and practice was fun, but it was part of it. I
became queen of the campus dramas, whether I was teaching lessons or using a
Braille script to take part in school plays. What I needed, blind students
needed.

Students also needed, and I believe they need it today, a desire to read.
For a wide variety of reasons, students needed to read. Many needed Braille
for success. Many of the students I encountered disliked reading because of
negative experiences in the past. It is happening today.

Students and adults are convinced before teachers reach them that Braille is
hard, clumsy, weird, unnecessary, and the opposite of fun. Braille must be
seen everywhere, allowing familiarity to occur naturally. Braille is
beautiful; this fact must be shouted everywhere. Parents and teachers,
politicians and chefs, aunts and cousins, neighbors and writers, librarians
and administrators--all print readers must believe in the beauty of Braille.

In retirement Braille moved naturally out of the classroom and into everyday
life. It had been there, but now it came frequently. I made lists; I wrote
greeting cards; I played a little bridge; I put favorite sayings on the
refrigerator. Magazines were on the floor in the den; cookbooks were opened
up on the kitchen table. It was calming to discover my old friends hanging
out. There were large binders of old stories and speeches, just in case I
ever needed them again.

When I gathered the guts and left New Mexico, Braille had to come. In my New
Jersey house the counter usually holds my Braillewriter. Nothing is better
for quick notes, telephone numbers, messages, appointments, groceries, or
other items. My Braillewriter is there and ready. New friends love looking
as I make those dots. It is so practical and so pretty.

In the East I am still disorganized. I have one drawer filled with index
cards that hold dates and numbers. Someday I shall buy a binder and tidy
them all up. I keep magazines on the floor near the couch, recipes in a
cabinet, and notes surrounding the computer. I can pretend Braille is my
secret code, if I want to do so. But we need to let the secret out--to shout
to all about the practicality and the beauty of Braille. I am slower today;
I read fewer novels; word lists and contraction practices are unnecessary
for me. Without Braille, though, I might never have achieved a teacher's
retirement. The world might have been sad and lonely for me. Academic
challenges might have disappeared. The writing of poetry and stories might
never have been my beloved hobby. Speeches might be only a wistful thought.
Because of Braille I can live alone in a senior development in Jersey.
Independent living is my way, and I love it. When strangers say, "You live
alone?" I answer calmly, yes.

Sincerely,

Patricia Harmon 
 
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Helen Stevens
Gouldsboro, Pennsylvania


August 28, 2009

Dear President Obama:

My name is Helen Stevens, and I am currently a junior at Harvard studying
abroad in Hamburg, Germany. I have been a Braille reader all my life. As a
child I was fortunate to have been taught Braille. I have enough vision to
see large print and to be able to see a computer screen with magnification
software. My teachers could have decided that this was good enough for me,
and they could have left me with those resources to function in school,
which is what happens to most children who can see well enough to make out
print of any size. However, my print reading is very slow, as I can see at
most a few letters at a time. While my knowledge of the print alphabet is
very useful, and while I think it is important that I did learn to read and
write print, had I tried to use print as my primary means of reading and
writing, I could never have excelled at school.

My teachers realized this and chose to teach me Braille, something that is
sadly rare. With Braille I can read as quickly as sighted students. I became
an avid reader as a child, and have gained much from what I've read. In
school I could participate in class, reading aloud like everyone else, and
learning to spell words as I felt them on the page. In high school I learned
Braille math and science symbols so that I could take calculus and advanced
placement physics and chemistry, and I could read well enough to complete
the heavy reading loads for advanced English and history courses. In college
I was not afraid to take math classes or a course in computer programming,
where my use of Braille aided me in learning the syntax that is essential
for producing useful code. Knowing Braille has also greatly aided me in
learning foreign languages. I read Braille in German, allowing me to learn
German spelling, capitalization, and punctuation, knowledge that will be
crucial for my completion of coursework this year. I have also briefly
studied Spanish and Arabic, which I could not have done well without
Braille. Without Braille I am certain that I would not be where I am today,
since I could never have learned as well, and would never have enjoyed
learning and reading as much. It saddens me to think that there are many
students who have never had the opportunity to truly read and thus reap the
benefits of literacy; students who might have been where I am, except that
no one ever gave them the chance.

Sincerely,

Helen Stevens

 
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Michael Floyd
Lincoln, Nebraska


August 28, 2009

Dear President Obama:

Braille makes it possible for me to face people. It's just that simple. Yes,
I use many other modern tools to perform my daily duties, but I could never
manage what I do with comparable effectiveness.

Braille is to me what your teleprompter is to you. With Braille I can, as a
man of fifty-seven, stand up in front of a room of friends or strangers and
competently deliver a presentation. I can smoothly and seemlessly conduct a
classroom. I can prepare notes to prompt me as I engage in a session with a
client.

Braille has made all these things and more possible in my life--many great
and many small. Without it I do not know where I'd be or what I'd be doing.
The other side of the Braille coin is I do not know where I'd be or what I'd
be doing if I'd had Braille provided to me at a more appropriate age. You
see, I only learned Braille at age twenty-eight, just barely thirty years
ago. I spent nearly half my life without it--my entire childhood without it.
My whole youth went by with unnecessary frustration and diminished
prospects. Despite this, Braille has proven to be such a powerful asset that
I have still made something meaningful of my life.

My conclusion is bold and concrete: Braille is a must for any blind person.
Braille must be promptly, enthusiastically, and thoroughly promoted for all
blind people--especially children. This means each and every school in
America must consistently and unflinchingly provide Braille. No excuse must
be accepted--no pause or study of the problem considered; just do it.

Sincerely,

Michael Floyd

 
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David Stayer
Merrick, New York


August 27, 2009

Dear President Obama:

I am a totally blind sixty-nine-year-old retired licensed clinical social
worker. I have other characteristics, but they are not germaine to the
purpose of my letter.

I grew up before the advent of computers, PDAs, and other current
technology. As a totally blind youngster I was taught Braille. Braille has
assisted or rather enhanced my life to this day. I have read the classics,
taken notes all the way through graduate school, and used Braille while
working for thirty-seven years. I do have some adaptive technology, but it
is Braille that keeps me literate. I have nine sighted grandchildren, and it
is Braille that allows me to read to them. Without Braille I would have a
wasted life.

Many ask me what about audio or people reading to you. My response is
simple. Braille allows my fingertips and imagination to broaden the horizons
of my mind. Thank you for reading my letter.

Sincerely,

David Stayer

 
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Gary Wunder
Columbia, Missouri 


August 28, 2009

Dear President Obama:

When I think of Braille, I think of places I've never been except through my
fingertips. I think of places I have been because my fingertips allowed me
to make the money to go. I think of dreams that came true because the
secrets to making them reality were found in the pages of a Braille book.

When I was a child in school there was no question that totally blind people
learned Braille. Today people make the decision more complicated by saying
technology provides us with alternatives, but what technology could ever
replace your need to read, to scribble a note to your wife on your
anniversary, or to write yourself a reminder to get the cake for your
daughter's birthday. Technology supplements what and how you read, but never
does it supplant your need to read. So it is with your brothers and sisters
who are blind.

I make my living writing computer programs. One overlooked period, one
misplaced indentation, and the program I've written for my day's pay doesn't
work. How are those mistakes avoided or detected when they happen--for blind
people through Braille. If much of what we learn is through imitation, how
do we see the spelling of words or the punctuation used to form
grammatically correct sentences? For blind people we use Braille. 

In a world forged by so many technological marvels, please help us be on the
right side of the digital divide--not casualties of the information age, but
significant contributors in it. Leader or loser; specialist or spectator;
reading makes all the difference.

Sincerely,

Gary Wunder