Chapter 4

When the raised alphabet is mastered, books are sent from the State Library to the homes, through the mail, free of cost, and thus there is no expense incurred, and as this service is tax-supported, there is no element of charity connected with it. At present, the State Library employs two home teachers, and the number will be increased as the need arises. One of these, Miss Catharine J. Morrison, is stationed at Los Angeles, having been appointed to take my place there when I was transferred to San Francisco last October. The arrangement for this transfer was one of the last official acts of the late State Librarian, my well-loved chief. Mr. Gillis was devoted to the blind, and extended the service to this section at the earliest possible moment.

The State Library selected me as home teacher, not only because of my years of experience with the blind, but because, blind from early infancy, I was familiar with the handicaps and discouragements that overwhelm the adult but recently deprived of eyesight. The pupils have confidence in a blind teacher, because they know that every step in their difficult path is familiar to her feet. The qualifications for a home teacher are, briefly, these: personality, adaptability, tact, a sense of humor, a broad, comprehending sympathy, a strongly hoping heart, unlimited patience, and a determination to do what is best for her pupils, no matter what the opposition, or how hard the task may be. "He who can plant courage in the human soul is the best physician," and this is one of the chief duties of the home teacher. Some knowledge of nervous diseases is also essential, and it is often necessary to exercise the greatest care and patience in giving the first few lessons, as an unwise word, or a failure to understand conditions, may lead to untold misery. This is especially true in cases of sudden blindness, as the pupil is often afraid to move about his own room, confused by the altered conditions, and bewildered by a multitude of sounds hitherto unnoticed. It is absolutely necessary to have the co-operation of the family, and I am often obliged to insist that changes be made in the household arrangements, in order to help a pupil through the trying period of readjustment. This is sometimes fraught with difficulties for both pupil and teacher, but the latter should never lose sight of the comfort and benefit of her charge, and should care nothing for unreasonable objections or selfish protests.

The blind adult is in need of some one who, while recognizing the undeniable calamity and loss, is yet ready to lend a steadying hand, encourage the uncertain feet to their old, free movements, lead the troubled thoughts into other channels, and find new methods of doing old things. Thus encouraged, the blind adult will soon resume his normal attitude, realize that much good work may yet be done, and that others have blazed a trail which he may follow, if he will. But if his family and friends feel that, because eyesight is lost, all is lost, and tell him that, because of his affliction he can do nothing, he will do nothing. But if they tell him he has a handicap, and that they will help him to work it off, all his fighting blood will come to the rescue, and he will say, with Emerson, "the king is the man who can." I give this sentence to all my pupils, and their spirit leaps to the call, and, holding to my hand for the first few, uncertain steps, trusting in my assurance that very soon they will find their way along this new path, the bent shoulders straighten, the bowed head is lifted, the darkness is dispelled by the light of purpose, soul sight replaces physical sight, and the pupil is ready to face life again, undaunted and unafraid. What a wonderful privilege, what a rare opportunity for service, to the teacher alive to the possibilities of her unique position! "When the song goes out of your life, you can not start another while it is ringing in your ears; but let a bit of a silence fall, and then, maybe, a psalm will come, by and by." To live by a song is all very beautiful and wonderful, but to live by a psalm is braver and worthier. And, in the case of the blind adult, the readjustment period may be called the interim between the song and the psalm.

During these trying months, the blind adult should not be left alone, to fight his way "out of darkness, through blood, into light." He should have immediate and competent care at the hands of one who is familiar with his needs, and familiar, too, with the possibilities of his altered condition. An occupation, however light, is an absolute necessity. Enforced idleness is an added affliction, and one not easily borne. The government realizes this fact, and its program for the blinded soldier includes many forms of handcraft, to be taught in the hospitals. Netting is taught, and the soldiers are encouraged to whittle. I was glad to see this latter occupation included in the "first aid" program, as I have recommended it for many years. When a man whittles, he whistles, maybe not just at first, but some day, almost before he realizes it, he finds himself whistling, and he is then well on the road toward a sane acceptance of the new conditions. I have found whittling to be as soothing to masculine nerves as knitting or crocheting to feminine ones. The ability to use the hands in some light work, removes the feeling of helplessness and enables the adult to keep his mind on his fingers; and this effort at concentration is often the means of preserving reason, and reviving in the soul the desire to take up the struggle of life again.

At this stage, the adult should be induced to learn to read raised type, and to write letters to his friends. There are several writing devices by means of which a blind person can once more use pencil or pen, and the ability to do this marks another milestone in his progress.

When the adult is able to read and write once more, perhaps to use the typewriter, he feels encouraged, and begins to ask what other blind men are doing, and to wonder what avenues of usefulness still remain open to him. Whenever practicable, I induce the men to resume their former occupations, or suggest other lines of work suited to their altered condition. One young man who was an electrical engineer before his blindness, now wires houses in Los Angeles, his work always passing the inspector, despite the opposition of sighted competitors. He has his own shop, and there he assembles chandeliers, repairs motors, and charges storage batteries. It takes him longer to do the work than formerly, but its character is the same, and his heart sings with the joy of the task, and he is working off his handicap, in the hope that others may follow where he leads. In May he cleared one hundred and fifty dollars, above all expenses. Another young man supports two small children raising poultry, designing his own roosts, coops and troughs. Another man is making good selling janitor and sanitary supplies to hotels and apartment houses. Two of the men are doing well in a house to house canvass for brushes of various kinds. Several men are in the real estate business, and one has bought a home and is supporting his aged father. Another does expert work with the typewriter and dictaphone.

I encourage the women to knit, crochet, sew and cook by proving to them that this is possible without eyesight, and I feel certain that, through such efforts, many a domestic tragedy has been averted. I induce the older men, or those who can not take up any line of business, to work in the garden, chop wood, cut lawns, go to the near-by stores, and make themselves a necessary factor in the household. The possibilities of our work, and the real good accomplished, can not be told in words, but its effects may be seen in many homes where men and women, strengthened and encouraged, are once more assuming their rightful places in the household, sharing the work and the responsibility, just as in the days before blindness came upon them.

In order to bring the work within reach of those to whom it is not possible to give oral instruction, we have a correspondence course for pupils in this and neighboring states. In this way, we are reaching people from Humboldt to San Diego county in this state, and the list includes persons from Arizona, Washington, Nevada and Oregon. This course is well known to every county librarian in the state, and even custodians of very small branches send us the names of blind persons in their vicinity. Among the correspondence pupils is a man who was superintendent of a power plant before losing his eyesight, and he still holds the position, despite his handicap. He tests meters in three power houses daily, walking a distance of three miles in order to reach them all. I taught him to read and write two systems, to use a writing board, and he has now mastered the typewriter. He is a brave man silently fighting his way along the dark trail, and I am privileged in being permitted to guide his unaccustomed feet over the rocks and crevices I have long since learned to avoid. Another of the pupils is in the insurance business, and is also one of the Four Minute men in his country's service. I could give you many more instances of the splendid courage of these men and women who, though deprived of the most important of the special senses in adult life, are cheerfully doing their best, wasting no time in straining after the fruit just over "Fate's barbed wire fence."

Our work carries us into hospitals and almshouses, and, through the co-operation of charitable organizations, we find the poor and, in addition to teaching them to read, we endeavor to better their condition, and the charities are always glad to second our efforts. The teacher in Los Angeles goes regularly to the County Hospital and County Farm, and up here I teach in the San Francisco Hospital, Relief Home, and in the San Leandro Infirmary, and it is a great joy to minister to these lonely, friendless souls. In the Relief Home I have a splendid class, and I go there once each week, and read to all the men in the ward, blind and seeing, before giving the lessons. Two of the men are knitting, one is making squares for the Belgian baby blankets, and the other a muffler for the Navy League. When I asked for volunteer knitters, one old colored man said, "Madam, my hands are not steady enough to knit, but I can hold the yarn for some man to wind."

I am also teaching in the State Industrial Home for Adult Blind in Oakland, and I look upon the afternoon spent there as the redletter day of the week. I go from there each Tuesday with a fresh supply of courage and inspiration. The men collect funny stories to tell me, and the women show their appreciation in countless, little ways. The State Library is proud of its borrowers in this institution, and not long ago had some pictures taken, showing the men reading[1] and the women knitting. It is an inspiring sight to see the men waiting for their lessons. They come in from the shop, where they have been sorting broom corn, sewing or tying brooms--young men and old--all eager to avail themselves of the services of the teacher, anxious to learn everything possible that will help to broaden their outlook on life--fine, brave fellows, all of them. Many have become blind within recent years, victims of industrial accidents in factories, quarries or mines. The thought of the blinded soldier has roused these men to renewed effort, in the hope that their success as broom makers may encourage other blind men who must learn a trade after the war. And their broom shop is a wonderful place to visit, with seventy blind men, and a blind foreman to inspire and encourage the workers. The business of the institution is principally wholesale, although some of the blind men have worked up a good retail trade in Oakland. The sales of the institution average $6,500 per month, and with increased capital, more material and a larger plant, it could handle three times its present business. The board of directors will ask the legislature to increase the appropriation, to enlarge the plant, and to provide an industrial teacher to go into the homes of the blind, teach them weaving, basketry, chair caning and knitting, the Home to market the products, deducting the cost of material from the amount paid to the workers. This industrial teacher is greatly needed, and it is hoped the legislature will make it possible for the Home to enlarge its sphere of usefulness and provide employment for many who are not inmates, but who need to contribute to their own support.

[Footnote 1: See illustration, p. 4.]

The men of the Home are not alone in their desire to help in the hour of their country's need. More than a dozen women are knitting for the men in the trenches. They are an Auxiliary of the Navy League, and their work is the finest of any turned in by the thousands of knitters in the bay region. They knit socks and sweaters, helmets and mufflers. One of the women made five pairs of socks in one week, with never a dropped stitch anywhere. This same woman made three sweaters in ten days, all perfect garments. The wife of the superintendent is the teacher, and two of the blind women help the others by picking up dropped stitches, straightening puckers, and suggesting easier methods to the inexperienced workers. Those who can not knit, snip rags for the ambulance pillows, hem Red Cross handkerchiefs, and sew on hospital quilts. In addition to this, a blind invalid in San Francisco rips up work poorly done by seeing knitters, and the members of our wonderful auxiliary make perfect garments from the used wool. This stimulates them to do their very best, for they know they are proving to the public that the fingers of the blind worker are deft and sure, and that, given the opportunity, they can knit as well, and often better, than their more fortunate sisters. They feel, too, that they are doing their best to promote the comfort of the soldiers, doing it evenings, after working in the shop all day, where they cane chairs and make toy and whisk brooms. I am sure we need not go to the hospitals of France in search of blind heroes--we have them right here in our midst, and are proud of them. The State Library permits me to devote all the time necessary to keep the women supplied with wool, and return the garments to the Navy League. The library regards this as a part of its campaign of enlightenment, and it is confident untold good will result, both to the public and to the blind. In addition to their work, both men and women read a great deal, and dozens of books are mailed to and from the Home each day.

And so the State Library is doing its share toward the re-education of the blind adult, has been doing it for the past thirteen years. It provides the best books available in the various types. It has over eight thousand books in circulation, and its list of borrowers numbers more than one thousand. The keynote of this department is Service, and each borrower is made to feel that his success is of vital importance to the Library, and when a new reader is added to the list, a note is usually sent, welcoming him to the family circle. For we are all like one large family circle--with common aims, common interests and a common goal--namely, to spread far and wide the gospel of home teaching, to do our best in order to help others similarly placed, and to prove ourselves worthy of the help so generously given by the State Library.

Another potent factor in the work of re-education is the Matilda Ziegler Magazine, a periodical in raised type published since 1907, through the generosity of Mrs. Matilda Ziegler, head of the Royal Baking Powder Company of New York. This magazine is printed in New York City, and sent to the homes of more than twelve thousand persons in the United States and Canada. It is like any other magazine, with current events, timely articles, short stories, poetry, a woman's page, and a page of humor. In addition to this, every month there is an article telling of the success of some blind person, the account written by the man or woman in the form of a letter to the editor. And the manager, Mr. Walter G. Holmes, is a man with a heart of gold; he has his finger on the pulse of the blind of the country, and he believes in them, loves them, and brings out the best that is in them. Every number contains a map of some of the warring countries, and so the readers are kept in touch with all the vital issues of the day. Many a man is induced to learn to read raised type just to read this magazine. And so Mrs. Ziegler's philanthropy can not be too highly commended, and her name and that of Mr. Holmes are enshrined in the hearts of the blind. Her service to them is incalculable.

The government is making extensive preparation for the re-education of our blinded soldiers, both in the hospitals of France and the hospital school at Baltimore. The grounds and some of the buildings of this school were given to the government by Mrs. T. Harrison Garrett of Baltimore, and no expense is being spared in providing every care and facility for the training and comfort of the blind soldiers who are to be rehabilitated and returned, not to the battlefields of France, but to the battle ground of life. The government plans to begin the re-education in the base hospitals, to continue it at the ports of embarkation, and complete it in the hospital school at Baltimore. The training in this school is to be patterned after that of St. Dunstan's in London, where the work of re-education, under the direction of Sir Arthur Pearson, himself a blind man, is meeting with the greatest success. The Red Cross Institute for the Blind is on the same grounds as the Hospital School, and is supplementing the work of the government in a most able manner. Typewriting, dictaphone, switchboard operating, telegraphy, osteopathy, massage, and salesmanship are to be taught to those who are fitted for these branches; and trades and occupations, including piano tuning, winding coils for armatures used in electric motors, joinery, mat and mattress making, broom and basket making, rug weaving, and shoe cobbling are to be taught to those who are not fitted for the professions. The government will send over to France at least one blind teacher for each base hospital, for his inspirational value to the men during the first trying months of the readjustment period. Blind teachers will be employed in this country, too, and the government is already looking about for those best qualified for such positions. All blind soldiers will be given an opportunity to learn to read and write the raised system, and provision is being made for an enlarged circulation of books, and for newer publications to be embossed in the universal Braille system. In this work, the volunteers who learn to write Braille can materially assist, by copying short stories, timely articles, and nonsense verse to be distributed among the blind of their communities, and for the pleasure of the returned soldiers.

When the men have been a sufficient time in the hospital school, they are to be returned to their own cities and towns, and the government, through its agent empowered to find employment for handicapped soldiers, will endeavor to secure work for them in existing industrial institutions and plants in the various states. It is also planned to place capable blind men in shops with the seeing, whenever possible. I say whenever possible, for it will take time and much effort to persuade employers to include blind men among their employees. But the day is not far distant when the public will see the wisdom of providing work for its handicapped men and women, and condemn those who fail to co-operate with the government in securing positions for those qualified to fill them. The government is generous in its appropriation of funds to carry on this re-education, but it does not include the civilian blind in this program. The blind adult in civil life must be employed or cared for by the civilian population, and this brings me to the discussion of the attitude of the public toward the blind since three-fourths of the blind of America could be gainfully employed right now, if the public would only believe in them, would only give them an opportunity to prove their ability. With his remaining faculties keenly alert, with a courage and fortitude born of many trials, the blind adult is prepared to face life squarely, undaunted and unafraid, asking only to take his place on the firing line, to march shoulder to shoulder with his seeing brother, and to do a man's work in the world.

THE ATTITUDE OF THE PUBLIC TOWARD THE BLIND.

In discussing this subject I realize I have a most difficult and delicate task before me--a task which only a blind person can adequately perform. I approach it with no misgiving, with no unkind feeling, for, as I have previously stated, I believe the public needs, not so much to be instructed, as to be reminded, and I believe it will be glad to have some of its mistaken ideas corrected, and thus bring about a better understanding between the two classes.

In the first place, I wish to mention some popular fallacies concerning the blind. Chief among these is the idea that all blind people are so much happier than sighted people. This belief seems very general, and comes, I suppose, as a result of the feeling of the average human being that, if deprived of eyesight, he could never be induced to laugh again. The blind adult soon realizes that "humor is a shock absorber," and that "mirth is the soul's best medicine." When my pupils fail to recognize the efficacy of humor, I establish a rule that they must laugh at least once during each lesson, and very soon they agree with Charles Lamb that "a laugh is worth a hundred groans in any market." One of my foreign pupils said to me when I spoke of his cheerful attitude, "Madam, I laugh that I may not weep." And this is the key to much of the cheerfulness of the blind, whose philosophy is not often understood by their sighted friends. There is nothing really remarkable about making the best of a trying situation, unless it is the small percentage of persons who do so. People feel so sorry for the blind that they are often unable to address them at all, or, when they do speak, convey a whole world of well-meant but misdirected sympathy in a few ill-chosen words. This misdirected sympathy is one of the hardest things the blind adult has to bear, and often when I urge a man to go out among his friends as he did when he could see, he answers, "I can't do it just yet. I can't bear the pitying tone. It would make me lose my grip, and I must not let go." And sometimes I go to his friends and explain the situation, and persuade them to call on their friend, take him out with them, talk to him of the ordinary, commonplace happenings, keeping their sympathy well disguised, or, rather, showing a comprehending sympathy, a sympathy that recognizes a brave man's effort to accept his fate unwhimperingly.

Another popular belief is that the blind are naturally very religious. Unfortunately, this belief seems to be shared by those who selected many of the books to be printed in raised types, since about one-half of the books selected are of a religious character. The blind are naturally introspective, and their power of concentration is greater than that of the average person, but I have not found them to be unusually religious. I do not think that blindness increases or decreases the religious tendency.