Chapter 3
Having outlined the aim and purpose of the residential school, and shown it to be a necessary factor in the education of the blind in every state, I wish to call attention to some of the advantages to be derived from coeducation of blind and seeing children.
As early as 1900 Chicago started a special class for blind children as a part of its public school system, thus inaugurating the movement in this country, if not in the world. Since that time many large cities, including Boston, New York, Jersey City, Rochester, Milwaukee, Detroit, Cleveland, Toledo, Cincinnati and Los Angeles, have started similar classes, carrying the children from the kindergarten, through elementary and high school, and preparing them for college. The class in Chicago was started through the efforts of John B. Curtis, a blind teacher, and the Superintendent of Public School classes of Cleveland, Toledo and Cincinnati. Mr. R. B. Irwin, is a blind man, and so it is not strange that a blind teacher of Los Angeles should be the first to recognize the need of such a class in this state.
The State Library was glad to further this forward movement in the education of blind children, and permitted me to devote a great deal of time to organizing the class, and it provided the books and some of the apparatus for carrying on the work for the first year. It still supplies many of the books, though the Board of Education provides its own apparatus. Dr. Albert Shiels, Superintendent of the Los Angeles City Schools, was glad to have a class for the blind in the city, since he has seen how successfully the work was carried on in New York, where more than two hundred children attend special classes, and this in spite of the fact that New York has two state schools for the blind. When the home conditions are favorable, and a special class is available, it is wiser to permit the blind child to remain with its parents, to attend school each morning with its brothers and sisters. In this way there is no break in the family relation and the child does not grow indifferent to home ties, as so often happens when he is sent to a residential school. Mr. Irwin says "the special class is the twentieth century emphasis on the integrity of the home."
On January 2, 1917, the Los Angeles class started with eight pupils enrolled, and on June 30 of this year the number had increased to seventeen, with the prospect of more at the opening of the fall term. Teachers for special classes are generally chosen from the regular school department, their work being usually directed by a blind supervisor. In pursuance of my work as home teacher I found a number of children for whom there was no room in the State School at Berkeley, and before the special class was organized I taught these children in their homes or at the library. Miss Frances Blend, a grade teacher, asked to study with me, since she wished to teach the blind here or in the East. I sent her to teach the children, and in this way she acquired the necessary experience, learned to read and write Braille rapidly, and gained an insight into the psychology of the blind child, so, when the board of education needed a teacher for the special class she was ready and eager for the task. Since then Miss Blend's sister has qualified and is now the second teacher in the blind department, eight to ten children being considered all that one teacher can properly care for.
Among the poor of every large city, there are children whose parents conceal them, for fear they may be sent away to school. These are known as hidden children, and I found one such child tucked away under the bed, and was told she always hid there when she heard strange voices. She was a little Mexican girl, and spoke no English. She is now one of the brightest children in the class, and her parents are delighted that they need not part with her.
In the special class, the children are trained to speak intelligently of things which they do not see with the physical sight, so that they may be able to converse naturally upon ordinary topics, and need not have to plead ignorance, on the ground of never having seen this or that object. Their minds are filled with a love for all beautiful things, especially flowers and pictures, and they are frequently taken to parks and museums. They are told about the stars, the blue sky, sunsets, the majesty of the ocean, and all the other wonders that enchant the eye; and they are taught to speak of "seeing" these things, because they really do see them with the mental vision, keener, in many instances, than mere physical sight. The boys of the polytechnic high school made a wonderful doll house for the children--a house of four rooms, fully furnished throughout. The children made their own rugs and baskets, tables and chairs, and one boy modeled a bathtub of plasticine, perfect in design. The house has a sloping roof, and it is thatched, and I must confess that my first real knowledge of roofs was gained from examining that one on the doll house. It has a chimney, too, and a stovepipe, and so the children learn a great deal from this miniature home of their dolls.
In their special classroom, the children are taught Braille reading and writing, and a great deal of time is given to these branches. They are taught all sorts of handwork, basketry, weaving, knitting, modeling, and chair caning, and, when old enough, they are sent with the other children to sewing, cooking, sloyd and music classes. As soon as possible, they recite with the regular classes, their lessons being previously read or explained by the special teacher. This gives them the contact with normal children, so necessary to the development of the blind child. Those not in favor of special classes claim that this competition is too severe a strain, and that it is unkind and unwise to place blind children with those whose physical advantages and opportunities for study are greater. But we have found that the plan works admirably. The special teacher trains her pupils to be self-reliant and helpful, insists that they join in the games of the others, assuring them that, with greater effort, they, too, may play, and it is delightful to watch them at recess or at noon, each blind child affectionately led by a seeing child, the latter calling the teacher's attention to the successful performance of some feat on the part of his blind playmate. In the classroom, too, the spirit is the same, the blind child remembering things for the one who sees, and the seeing child using his eyes for the one who is blind. The special teacher trains the memory of her pupils to the highest possible degree, impressing upon them that their minds are vast storehouses in which to keep all sorts of knowledge tucked away for future use, and that it is disastrous to blind children to forget. In mental arithmetic, they usually lead the class. Their presence in the school is of the greatest help to the others with whom they work in class. Their success in overcoming difficulties is a stimulus to the pride and an incentive to the ambition of the seeing child. The presence of the blind children is a constant reminder to them of their superior physical advantages, and they are ashamed to have them outstrip them, as they so often do, in intellectual work. And so the presence of the blind child is sure to result in untold good, not only to the child so handicapped, but to the entire school, removing as it must, the belief, now, alas, so general, that when eyesight is lost, all is lost. Trained side by side with its sighted companions, doing the same work as well, if not better, the later success of the young blind seeker after knowledge is practically assured; for, as I have said, in mental attainment, at least, the blind child is the peer of the child with eyesight,--here, beyond cavil, the chances are equal.
To my mind, the coeducation of the blind and seeing is a step in the right direction--a very forward step, since it will ultimately bridge the gulf of misconception and skepticism now separating these two classes--a gulf which must be bridged if we hope to arrive at a sane and satisfactory solution of the problem of finding employment, not only for the returned blind soldiers, but for the thousands of intelligent blind men and women who are waiting eagerly, hungrily, for a chance to prove their ability, a chance to earn their daily bread. When blind and seeing children are trained side by side, from the kindergarten, through the grades into high school, and on to college, perhaps, the barriers dissolve, the blind boy and the seeing boy are comrades--they have played together, worked together, and together they have planned their future. The seeing boy knows the blind boy will succeed because he has seen him victorious in many a mental skirmish. Just this May, right here in the University at Berkeley, a blind student graduated fourth in a class of more than one thousand seeing students. It may be interesting to note, in passing, that there are seven blind students now attending the university, and that the state provides three hundred dollars a year to defray the expense of a reader for each student. New York was the first state to provide readers for blind college students, and this was brought about through the efforts of Dr. Newel Perry, a blind graduate of the University of California, now a teacher of mathematics in the California School for the Blind. Dr. Newel Perry was largely instrumental in the passage of a similar bill in this state, and so once again, the blind are indebted to a blind teacher for advancement.
But all the children in the special classes will not care to go to college, and for those who do not, other work will be provided, manual training given, and all sorts of trades encouraged. Here, too, they will have the added stimulus of studying side by side with their sighted companions. It is my earnest hope that some day this state will establish a technical school for the blind. In such a school, a deft-fingered intelligent blind boy could learn electric wiring, pipe fitting, screw fitting, bolt nutting, assembling of chandeliers and telephone parts, trained as a plumber's helper, and taught to read gas and electric meters, by passing the fingers over the dial--in short, a variety of trades and occupations could be pursued with profit to the school and to the students. But while waiting for the establishment of such a school, there is much to be done by way of preparation. We must prove the truth of Clarence Hawkes' assertion that "blindness is, after all, but a 25 per cent handicap in the race of life." But it _is_ a handicap, no matter what profession is adopted. I analyze the handicap thus: 24 per cent of it is the prejudice and unbelief of the public, and the other 1 per cent is the lack of eyesight. I believe this is not too strong. In speaking of the handicap, Clarence Hawkes continues: "a blind person, in order to succeed equally with the seeing, must put in 125 per cent of energy before he can stand abreast of his seeing competitor."
But in order to prove blindness to be but a 25 per cent handicap, we must train our blind children from their earliest infancy. We must not sidetrack them. We must plant their feet firmly on the highroad of life, encourage their first, faltering steps, teach them to go forward fearlessly, with head erect and shoulders squared, warn them of pitfalls and hidden thorns, show them the wisdom of making haste slowly when the path is steep or uneven, impress upon their minds the importance to others of their success, and, above all, train them to have confidence in themselves, teach them to realize that, because of their struggles and limitations, they have a mental equipment and reserve force possessed by very few of their more fortunate fellow beings. Thus trained and fortified, our young blind people will work like Trojans to prove their ability to those who doubt it, and succeed in removing one obstacle after another, until they stand ready to take equal chances with any who may be pitted against them. The hand of the sightless worker is steadier, and his courage greater, because of the years of struggle and constant effort of which his sighted competitors can form no conception.
And so those in charge of the education of the blind, whether in residential schools or public school classes, have a herculean task before them, but if their hearts are in the work, if they are alive to their wonderful opportunity for service, and if they have faith in the ability of their pupils, the future success of these handicapped young people is practically assured. As with the nation today, so with those interested in the welfare of the blind--we look to the children for the fulfillment of our highest ideals, and hope, in their advancement, to see our "dearest dreams come true." I am often called visionary, and I am proud to confess that I have a vision, a wonderful vision of the future of the blind. It may not be realized during my lifetime, but if some of the children I have inspired will take up the torch, and carry it on unfalteringly, I shall be satisfied. Meantime, I walk by the light of my vision along rough roads, across strange streams, up hills that are steep and rock-strewn; and, though my courage sometimes fails, and my strength seems unequal to the task, the light shines clear and steady, and I go forward, in the glad assurance that one day my vision will be realized, my cherished dream for the emancipation of my people, the emancipation of the blind, _must_ "come true."
THE RE-EDUCATION OF THE BLIND ADULT,
With Special Reference to the Blinded Soldier.
"A voice came in the darkness And lifted the curtain of Mind; I saw that fingers could be Also eyes to the blind. I touched, I thought, I saw, And the dark shades rolled aside. And to you my heart pays tribute. Dear teacher, friend and guide."
These lines were sent to me by one of my blind pupils after he had learned to read and write the Braille characters. They express the purpose of re-education, and indicate the means by which it may be attained. Rehabilitate, reconstruct, re-educate--these are familiar terms in this hour of stress and world conflict. To the minds of many, these words may present problems that are entirely new, but to the social worker, and those whose lives have been spent in the service of the handicapped men and women of our civil communities, the problem presented is no new one, the only difference being that, whereas, hitherto, only a few recognized the problem, today, stirred by the knowledge of war and its frightful consequences, every one is eager to share in the rehabilitation movement now sweeping over the land. The re-education of the blinded soldier is, after all, only the re-education of the blind adult, and he has been with us, lo, these many years! Adult blindness has increased alarmingly in the past half century, and the problem of providing for this unfortunate class has assumed proportions. The prospect of having to care for thousands of blinded soldiers has led to a consideration of the blind and their possible rehabilitation, and much good should result from the united effort. We extend a cordial invitation to all to "come over to Macedonia and help."
The California State Library has been engaged in the re-education of the blind adult since it opened its Books for the Blind Department in December, 1904. At first it supplied books to those who already knew how to read, but soon it became evident that its field of usefulness could extend to the adult suddenly deprived of eyesight, and not eligible to a school for the blind. And thus the need for home teaching became apparent long before the State Library could employ such a teacher. I realized this need, even before leaving school, and it was my privilege to teach as a volunteer for twenty years prior to my appointment as home teacher for the State Library. During that period I taught the blind of this and neighboring states, and, before books were made available by the State Library I copied stories and poems suited to the tastes of my individual pupils. In this way I came in close touch with the blind and their problems, and my every waking moment was devoted to their service and although there were
"Heavy burdens in the load, And too few helpers on the road,"
I clung to the belief that some day help would come, and I should be permitted to enlarge my scope of usefulness, and reach all who needed re-education. And this hope was realized in July, 1914, when the State Library asked me to accept the position of Home Teacher of the Blind of the state.
As early as 1890 Pennsylvania started home teaching in this country, but its work was privately maintained. Since then other states have established such departments, Massachusetts, New York, Ohio, Illinois, but these have special appropriations for carrying on the work. Our State Library is doing it out of its general appropriation, and as a phase of its extension. It is the only state library maintaining such a department in connection with regular library work. Some of the large cities have reading rooms in their public libraries, where books are loaned on application, and where reading is taught to those who can go there for lessons.
The duties of the State Library home teachers are manifold. This department has steadily grown in importance until now it is recognized as the very bone and sinew of work for the blind in this state. Some of the teacher's duties are, first, to teach raised type to all who can not see to read ordinary print, (a person need not be totally blind in order to read in this way, as many learn who can see to go about alone): second, to search for, and when possible, place either in the school at Berkeley, or the special class in Los Angeles, all blind children who have reached the age of six years; third, to conduct a campaign for the prevention of blindness and conservation of vision in adults and children; and, lastly, to set forth the needs of the blind, convince the public that its attitude toward them is often an added affliction, and correct a few of the many mistaken ideas concerning those deprived of eyesight, who are, necessarily, somewhat handicapped in the race of life. The importance of this last duty can not be overestimated, and so my next lecture will present this subject in its many phases, with the hope of creating a better understanding between the blind and the seeing--an understanding which will not only help the blind adult now in our midst, but aid materially in the re-education of the blinded soldier. My task is not an easy one, but I love my work and my pupils, and I have come to know that the public needs, not so much to be instructed, as to be reminded.
Our first borrower was a lady of ninety years, and so we realized at once that there was practically no age limit in this work, thus proving the truth of the well-known saying, "we are never too old to learn." A man of ninety, with hands toil-worn and crippled from rheumatism, was able, after a few weeks of study, to read with pleasure, his only regret being that he had not learned twenty years before, when blindness first came upon him. When it is considered that, during all those years, the man had not read a single word, his progress is truly remarkable, and the fact that he is reading has stimulated others who, on account of their advanced age, hesitated to study the raised types. The requirements for study are simple--a love for reading, persistent application, and a determination to succeed. If a person did not care to read with his eyes, he will certainly not be willing to learn with his fingers. This is a fact not well understood, and it is very generally supposed that all blind people want to learn to read. Among our elderly borrowers are doctors, judges, ministers, teachers and authors, and to them the reading has given a new lease of life. There are invalids among our elderly people--men and women in wheel chairs, with crippled limbs, sometimes deprived of the use of one hand--but they are reading, and their pleasure is beautiful to see. One woman of eighty-seven, who has not walked for four years, and blind one year, learned to read last January, and since that time she has read twenty books, besides knitting squares for the Red Cross.
The type read by the elderly borrowers, and those with toil-hardened hands, or suffering from some nervous affection, was formulated by a blind man, Dr. William Moon, of London, about 1845, and is called Moon type. The characters are large and distinct, many of them being shaped like the ordinary printed letters. They are easily learned, and this type is invaluable, not only for old people, but in cases where, in order to restore lost confidence, a quick return is imperative. Dr. Moon lost his eyesight in early manhood, and spent the remaining years of his life perfecting his system, printing books and pamphlets, and going about teaching the poor of London, thus inaugurating home teaching for the blind. Moon type books have been printed in many languages, and thousands of men and women have been blessed and brightened by the unique philanthropy of this blind man. His son, Robert Moon, brought the type to Pennsylvania, and that state and ours lead in the number of Moon books in circulation. Often when a borrower has read Moon for six months or a year, he is able to learn the Braille, his fingers being trained by the Moon to remain in a proscribed space, and his confidence in their ability fully established. This is a potent factor in mastering a dotted system, as the progress is generally slow and laborious, especially for elderly people.
The fact that an adult can learn to read with the fingers seems very wonderful to the uninitiated, and, indeed, it is a long step forward, but the ability to substitute fingers for eyes is only one of the marvels wrought. Helen Keller has truly said that "idleness is the greatest burden of the blind," and this is why our work with them is so acceptable, though the reading is, after all, only the means to an end. While training the fingers to perform their new functions, I strive to renew hope and courage in the hearts of the pupils, assuring them that they may still do many things that were possible before their blindness. Self-reliance and helpfulness--minus self-pity--this is the formula I use when urging the pupils to make the most of life; for when a man is sorry for himself, he is on the road to despair, and his condition is well nigh hopeless. When the pupils are able to read and write once more, after having given up all hope of ever doing so, their confidence is restored, and a way is opened to new and hitherto undreamed-of possibilities. Old aims and pursuits, relinquished when the eyesight failed, are once more remembered and discussed, and, in many instances, resumed, thus bringing back the light, not to the eyes, but to the mind, through work. John Newton says: "You can not shove the darkness out of a room, but you _can_ shine it out." I see this miracle performed every day, yet to me it is ever new, ever wonderful, stimulating me to greater efforts for my people--because the blind _are_ my people, and their joys and sorrows, triumphs and defeats, find an echo in my heart.