[Nfbf-l] Charlie Crane, The Useful Citizen

[Alan Dicey]

Dear Friends,
A bit long, but worth the read!
With Best Regards,
God Bless,
Alan
Plantation, Florida

Charlie Crane, The Useful Citizen
A ten-year-old boy called Charlie - regarded by Alexander Graham Bell as the 
most wonderful boy in the world - went on to become the first deafblind 
person to study at a Canadian university.
By Rosemary Anderson, Trek Magazine, May 2013.

Photo: Geoff Lister

A blind person can study by listening, a deaf person can learn by seeing, 
but what of the person who is both deaf and blind?
This is the story of Charles Allen Crane, Canada's Helen Keller.

The world thought it was ready for Charles when he was born in Toronto on 
April 10, 1906. His six older brothers and sisters had awaited his arrival 
with anxious enthusiasm. Charlie, as they called him, was a healthy, 
good-natured baby who loved every bit of attention his family lavished on 
him. He reached all the usual milestones on schedule - cooing and babbling, 
smiling, crawling, growing - until he was nine months old and contracted 
cerebrospinal meningitis, a vicious disease that can kill within hours.

Charlie survived, but the disease had ravaged his optic and auditory nerves.
His distraught parents, Minnie and William, made the rounds of the country's 
best doctors, but no one could help. In desperation, they booked passage on 
a ship to England, where they took Charlie to the country's top specialists 
but, in late January 1908, they returned to Canada, resigned to the awful 
reality: their beloved little boy would never again see or hear.

Children like Charlie, who acquire this double disability prior to the age 
of two, are known as "congenitally deafblind." Their experience of the world 
has more in common with that of children born deafblind, than with those who 
become deafblind at a later age. They often develop a heightened sense of 
touch to help navigate the world around them.
If you shook hands with Charlie once, he'd recognize you immediately the 
next time you gave him your hand, even years later. He could identify the 
colour of someone's hair by its texture, though he lacked the concept of 
color as sighted people know it. "He was so smart," says his niece, Iris 
Lees, "you couldn't fool him with anything." Iris remembers how, as an 
adult, he'd walk about in her yard feeling the plants with his hands and 
know exactly which species they were.

Charlie had a talent for communicating. With his mother's help, he developed 
a rudimentary sign language. Only the family understood it, but it was 
enough to get by. When he was five, the family moved to Vancouver. Minnie 
and William consulted BC's Superintendent of Education, Dr. Robinson, who 
put them in touch with the School for the Deaf in Halifax, Nova Scotia. The 
School mailed Minnie and William a copy of their annual report, which 
featured a depiction of the manual alphabet. The family immediately began 
spelling their names into his hand, including that of Charlie's little 
brother, Tom, their brown cat, Bill, and their grey dog, Prince, followed by 
familiar household items. Charlie loved it.

If he suspects you are fooling him, up, like a flash, goes his hand to your 
throat to find out whether or not you are laughing.

Children develop language skills easily, but Charlie wasn't being exposed to 
the underlying nuances of everyday spoken language. When the boy was finally 
admitted to the Halifax School for the Deaf, just after his 10th birthday, 
Principal James Fearon reported that he had, "strictly speaking, no 
language." That quickly changed when Charlie began classes, becoming, 
according to Fearon, one of the fastest learners the school had ever known.
An article written later that year and published in a Halifax newspaper 
boasted that "Dr. Alexander Graham Bell, perhaps the greatest authority 
today on the education of the deaf, regards Charlie Crane as the most 
wonderful boy in the world." Many people, including Bell, compared Charlie 
with Helen Keller.

A handsome, energetic boy, strong and tall for his age, Charlie thrived at 
the Halifax school and showed a keen sense of humor. "If he suspects you are 
fooling him," Fearon said, "up, like a flash, goes his hand to your throat 
to find out whether or not you are laughing." Once a word was spelt for 
Charlie, he never forgot it. Fearon had instructed the teachers to spell 
into Charlie's hand the very words they would say to him were he not 
deafblind, and the results were extraordinary. "In this natural manner," 
Fearon notes in his 1916 year-end report, "he must have acquired in the six 
months he has been here a vocabulary of at least two thousand words as well 
as endless question forms which he thoroughly understands and uses."

By then, Charlie had learned to use both a manual typewriter and a Brailler. 
His typing speed wasn't remarkable, but his accuracy would become legendary.
Even more amazing, he had learned to speak, in a clear, pleasant voice. He 
pronounced all the sounds of the English language correctly, with the 
exception of "dzh" (J). With one hand, he'd feel his teacher's throat as she 
articulated a word. With the other he would feel the movements of her lips 
and tongue. Then he'd mimic the muscle action he had observed. Once Charlie 
could say the word properly, he would be taught its meaning.

Shruti Shravah, born with partial vision, was "a strict Braille reader" when 
she entered UBC in 2007.Shruti was thrilled when she discovered "this giant 
library of Braille books." At the Crane, she's been able to get Braille 
copies of all the books required for her 17th, 18th and 19th century 
literature courses. "I don't think anything could ever replace Braille for 
me," she says. "Nothing compares to having the hard copy in front of you, 
and being able to read along with the class."
(Photo: Geoff Lister)

Charlie returned to Vancouver in 1922 to begin secondary school at the 
British Columbia School for the Deaf and the Blind on Jericho Hill. His 
family moved to Garibaldi so, once again, Charlie was a fulltime boarder. He 
wasn't much good at math, but compensated by excelling in history, 
literature, French, Latin and botany.

Charlie yearned for a university education. In the Introduction to her 1926 
book The Silent Zone, Annie Dalton quotes Charlie's words to a friend: "You 
ask me what is my great ambition? I have been very fortunate so far in 
receiving a fair education, but I dread to think of my being checked in my 
desire for more advanced studies. My hope is to take up the University 
course in British Columbia. And duly receive my degree in arts. After that, 
I should like to become a useful citizen."

Charlie's personal library at this time consisted of just four titles, all 
in Braille: Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare, Treasure Island, The Book of 
Psalms, and Lorna Doone. In 1927, he began acquiring quantities of Braille 
books from publishing houses in England, Scotland and the US. He became a 
voracious reader and collected English classics, all the classics available 
in Braille that had been translated into English from Greek and Latin, 
historical works, dictionaries, and books about botany and medicine. He 
personally transcribed into Braille dozens of volumes, most in English and 
at least one in Latin, in a wide variety of subjects. This he did with the 
assistance of a reader, who would spell the printed book into his hand, 
letter by letter. Charlie would patiently type the book on his Brailler then 
have the sheets professionally bound. He wrote a detailed description of his 
library for the June, 1962, New Beacon, closing with, "Vita sine litteris 
mors est," meaning, "Life without literature is death."

He joined the classics club and the wrestling club, and exercised fearlessly 
on the rings and bars at the gym.

UBC accepted Charlie into first year arts when he graduated from high school 
in 1931, and the Government of BC awarded him a $600 scholarship towards 
fees and expenses. An "intervener" was hired, to spell out lectures, and 
guide him around campus.

Charlie Crane pictured in The Ubyssey (January 29, 1932)
The first deafblind student to study at a Canadian university, Charlie 
embraced UBC, signing up for English literature, English composition, Greek 
history, sociology, and Latin. He took to smoking a pipe, and loved a good 
game of chess. He joined the classics club and the wrestling club, and 
exercised fearlessly on the rings and bars at the gym. Several Ubyssey 
articles that semester boasted about Charlie, touting his knowledge of 
classical literature and history, and his "courage, sportsmanship and 
Varsity spirit." Columnist Ronald Grantham described him as one of UBC's 
keenest new students. "His handicap is very severe," wrote Grantham, "but, 
like Helen Keller, he has learned to speak - and he possesses a very active 
mind. His industry and intense interest will ensure him academic success."

But the world of academia wasn't ready for Charles. The university wasn't 
equipped to accommodate a person with his degree of disability, and one year 
was all UBC could give him. Completing a degree would have meant hiring a 
team of interveners to spell out the lectures - not just in class but for 
hours afterwards, because manual spelling takes so much longer than speech.
In addition, there was no mechanism to allow for extra examination time. It 
would have taken hours for an intervener to spell out the exam questions to 
Charlie, and many more for him to spell back his responses and for the 
intervener to write them down.

This was the fate he had dreaded, yet he accepted it with grace. In an 
article published in October 1931 in The Province he wrote, "I do not intend 
to acquire a full college education, but my main reason for taking a term at 
the university is that I am anxious to befit myself for a profitable career, 
whereby I would not only earn a good salary, but also be of assistance to 
others. I would come out of the University wiser, more independent both in 
action and in thought and a friend better disposed to others."

The last mention of Charlie in The Ubyssey came in late January, 1932. It 
was a plea for money to augment "The Charlie Crane Education Fund."
Charlie's father, who built the Alpine Lodge and Store in Garibaldi, had 
passed away in 1929. These were Depression years and, although Charlie's 
brothers were making a go of the business, they were either unable or 
unwilling to give him the financial support that may, conceivably, have 
enabled him to carry on at UBC.

Charlie had a flair for writing and his goal was to enter some sort of 
journalistic or public relations work. Immediately after he left UBC, the 
Vancouver Welfare Federation hired him as a publicist. The position ended, 
however, after just one year, and Charlie spent the rest of his working days 
making brooms at the Canadian National Institute for the Blind. "It's a 
really sad thing that this incredibly brilliant man ended up in a CNIB 
sheltered workshop," says Paul Thiele, who met Charlie in his later years, 
"but the interesting thing is, he was so people-oriented, so outgoing, that 
he didn't mind at all - he loved it!"

Charlie spent the rest of his working days making brooms at the Canadian 
National Institute for the Blind.

By all accounts, Charlie was a happy man, and he was certainly in his 
element in any social situation. But a poignant letter to the editor, which 
appeared in The Province on December 12, 1949, showed another side of 
things: "Please note, dear readers, that this is from a man who, though in 
good health, is both deaf and blind. Because of my double handicap, I am 
left practically alone - in fact, extremely lonely. If there is anyone among 
you who will make my acquaintance, why not come and see me any time?
Charles Allen Crane, 2318 Macdonald St, Vancouver."

Charlie's Communications Equipment

This machine went everywhere with Charlie. Known as a Hall Braille writer, 
or "brailler" for short, it weighs nearly 10 pounds. Charlie used it to note 
down his thoughts and experiences, to write articles for publication and 
letters to his family, and to translate books into Braille. Invented in 1891 
by an American named Frank Hall, it was made in Chicago by the Cooper 
Engineering & Manufacturing Company. It was the first such machine to 
effectively enable blind individuals to write to each other (and to sighted 
Braille-literate people) without assistance, and it was the brailler of 
choice for decades.

This Tellatouch machine was Charlie's communicator. People who didn't know 
the manual alphabet could type a message on the keyboard while he rested a 
finger on the Braille "cell." Located at the back, the cell is a metal plate 
the size of a fingertip, with six tiny holes corresponding to the Braille 
letter format. As each letter is typed, pins poke through the holes to form 
that letter in Braille. Intriguingly, the keys on Charlie's communicator are 
in alphabetical order, not qwerty. An extra row across the bottom has the 
keys specific to braillers, so a blind person can also use the communicator.

The Banks Pocket Brailler was invented in 1928 by Alfred Banks, a physician 
and Lions Club member blinded in WWI. Less practical for lengthy work than a 
regular brailler - it types only on half-inch tape - it has the advantage of 
being highly portable, measuring seven by four-and-a-half inches and 
weighing just two-and-a-half pounds.
In 1952, at the request of the Lions Club, IBM manufactured a thousand of 
these braillers, including Charlie's, free of charge, primarily for 
distribution to blinded veterans of WWII.

In 1951, Charlie's mother passed away. It would seem he received an 
inheritance, because that year he stopped working at the CNIB. He spent 
summers in Saskatoon with a sister, Harriet, and occasionally travelled to 
England, where he enjoyed visiting people in the National Deafblind League.
His niece, Iris, whom he loved to visit, had moved away. He had one close 
friend. Aside from that, his books were his entire world.

By the time Charlie passed away in 1965, he had amassed what was believed to 
be the largest personal Braille library in the world: an estimated 10,700 
volumes. In 1967, in accordance with his will, this library was donated to 
UBC, forming the nucleus of Access & Diversity's Crane Library. Paul Thiele, 
who is visually impaired, was a doctoral student at UBC when he founded the 
Crane Library with his new bride, Judy - Canada's first blind person to 
graduate in Library Science. He also developed the Crane Production 
Facility, where an army of volunteers creates a new talking book every three
weeks.

His legacy is invaluable to visually impaired university students at UBC and
around the world.

In addition to the library and recording studios, the Crane features a
reading room, a lounge, and a lab with e-text readers, which scan and read
aloud textbooks and assignments to students with disabilities. As part of
UBC's Access & Diversity service, the Crane provides materials in Braille,
audio, large print and e-text formats to all qualifying students at UBC, and
at educational institutions elsewhere in Canada and in many other countries
through inter-library loan.

Charles Crane didn't achieve his "great ambition" to finish university (it
would be another 40 years before a deafblind person graduated from a
Canadian university) and he didn't become, in his lifetime, what most people
might consider "a useful citizen." Yet his legacy is invaluable to visually
impaired university students at UBC and around the world.

Not long before he passed away, Charlie took a two-week vacation at the CNIB 
Lodge on Bowen Island. Paul Thiele, the recreation director at the lodge, 
took a group of blind vacationers on a nature walk, including Charlie who, 
by then, had lost his ability to speak from lack of practice. Through his 
intervener, Charlie knew that his companions were putting their arms around 
some trees to get a sense of their size. He asked what kind of trees they 
were, and Thiele made a guess. "Maples," he said. Charlie put his arms 
around one of the trees, and the group resumed their walk. When they 
returned to the lodge, Charlie sent Thiele a beautifully typed note, 
thanking him profusely for the outing, then adding: "From the depth and 
texture of the bark and its moisture and the size of the leaves, I deduce 
that the tree couldn't have been a maple. I assume it was a Platanus 
acerifolia (London planetree.)"

"And I knew then that I'd been told, nicely, not to make things up," says 
Thiele. "I'd been put in my place by a great man."

2013 University of British Columbia Alumni Association
from:http://trekmagazine.alumni.ubc.ca/2013/may-2013/features/the-useful-citizen/
end of article.