Beginnings and Blueprints

Beginnings and Blueprints

Beginnings and Blueprints

A Kernel Book

Edited by

Kenneth Jernigan

Beginnings and Blueprints

Kenneth Jernigan

Editor

Large Type Edition

A Kernel Book

published by

NATIONAL FEDERATION OF

THE BLIND

Copyright 1996 by the National Federation

of the Blind

ISBN 1-885218-06-0

All Rights Reserved

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Editor's Introduction

Beginnings and Blueprints

The Leaky Roof, the Children, and the

Future

Hook, Line, and Golf Balls

Reaching for the Stars

The Metal Pole

The Loving Congregation

Ride Like the Wind

Homework: This Mom's Perspective

Possibilities

Editor's Introduction

Five years ago we printed What Color

is the Sun, the

first volume in the Kernel Book series.

Now we come to the

eleventh, Beginnings and Blueprints.

Although the previous ten and this volume

contain widely

divergent subject matter they have a

constant theme--what it

is like to live on a daily basis as a

blind person. Just as

with the others, the stories in this

book are true. They are

the firsthand accounts of blind men and

women as they live and

love, work and play, laugh and cry.

The people who appear in these pages

are friends of mine.

I know them through our joint efforts

in the National

Federation of the Blind. We have come

together to help and

encourage each other, to find other blind

people who can

benefit from being part of the Federation,

to participate in

joint activities for self-improvement,

and to inform the

sighted public about what we are and

what we are trying to do.

In short, we are changing what it means

to be blind, and an

increasing number of you our readers

are helping us do it.

If we are to achieve our goal, we think

it must be done

with a lighter touch than preaching and

statistics. That is

why we began the publication of the Kernel

Books and why we

try to produce at least two of them each

year. They tell of

the everyday happenings in the lives

of ordinary men and

women--people just like you: a man and

his children who repair

a roof, a mother who wonders what the

future holds for her

daughter, and a man who likes to go fishing.

These are people who might live next

door--people who go

to work, raise children, experience disappointments,

make

successes, plan for the future, think

about tomorrow's dinner,

wonder about taxes and wage increases,

and hope for better

things ahead--people who yearn and dream,

laugh and cry--just

like you.

We hope that when you read this book,

you will feel that

you know those of us who appear in its

pages and that you

will, in a very real sense, regard us

as friends and

acquaintances. We are trying to take

the mystery out of

blindness, for our lives as we lead them

are not mysterious.

In many instances they could better be

described as run-of-

the-mill. I say this even though I know

that it is not

possible for a blind person to live a

completely run-of-the-

mill life in today's society as it is

currently structured.

Too many people believe we are either

thoroughly helpless or

thoroughly marvelous (or perhaps both)

to permit it.

Since around 50,000 people become blind

in this country

each year there is a perfectly good reason

for every member of

the sighted public to learn about blindness

and what it is

like. It will inevitably happen to a

family member, a friend,

or a neighbor.

But that is not the principal reason

for you to learn

what this book has to tell. All of us

(blind and sighted

alike) will have richer lives if we see

each other

realistically and with understanding.

It is better for all of

us to achieve our full potential than

for some of us to be

left behind unnecessarily.

Above all, I hope you will enjoy this

book, that you will

find it interesting and worthwhile. Beyond

that, I hope you

will contact us if you need our help

or want information about

blindness, or if a friend or family member

needs help. The

Kernel Books are becoming a major factor

in changing what it

means to be blind, and you are an important

part of the

process.

Kenneth Jernigan

Baltimore, Maryland

1996

Why Large Type?

The type size used in this book is 14

point for two

important reasons: One, because typesetting

of 14 point or

larger complies with federal standards

for the printing of

materials for visually impaired readers,

and we wanted to show

you what type size is helpful for people

with limited sight.

The second reason is that many of our

friends and

supporters have asked us to print our

paperback books in 14-

point type so they too can easily read

them. Many people with

limited sight do not use Braille. We

hope that by printing

this book in a larger type than customary,

many more people

will be able to benefit from it.

BEGINNINGS AND BLUEPRINTS

by Kenneth Jernigan

When does a beginning turn into a blueprint?

I don't

know, but of one thing I am certain.

Blueprints have played an

important part in my life. And not just

in the work I have

done managing and remodeling buildings

but also in the

disappointments and opportunities that

have shaped my being

and made me what I am.

As readers of the Kernel Books know,

I have been blind

since birth. I grew up on a farm in Tennessee

in the late

twenties and early thirties, and as might

be imagined, jobs

and money were much on the minds of my

parents and their

neighbors. Such things were on my mind

too, but not from the

perspective of my elders. I knew that

there was a depression,

of course, and that things were bad.

But that wasn't what

mainly concerned me.

From my earliest hazy memories, I recall

wondering what

would happen to me when I grew up. My

blindness didn't bother

me (I took it for granted--just as I

did that I was a boy and

not a girl), but I didn't ignore it.

It was there. It was part

of me. My mother and dad didn't believe

I would have very many

options. They didn't say so, but I could

tell how they felt.

They had seen a blind person preaching

once, so they thought

I might do that. They also thought I

might be able to play

some kind of musical instrument. In fact,

they went so far as

to buy me a second-hand piano somewhere

along the way; and

early on, my Aunt Ethel (she was my dad's

sister) gave me a

violin that had belonged to her husband's

brother Scott.

But all of this was to come to nothing.

For although I was

required to memorize a great many chapters

from the Bible when

I went to the Tennessee School for the

Blind, and although

some of the speeches of my adult years

have been likened

(sometimes happily and sometimes not)

to sermons, preaching

was not for me. Nor was music.

Soon after I entered the Tennessee School

for the Blind

in Nashville in January of 1933, I was

enrolled in the violin

class. After all, I had a violin of my

own. Simultaneously (or

soon thereafter) I joined the school

band, vainly moving from

horn to horn in a futile attempt to find

my niche. But for me,

trying to learn the notes was like memorizing

a string of

telephone numbers. I couldn't play the

simplest melody, and I

still can't today. I continued band and

violin for five years,

being thoroughly bored with both.

I ultimately quit band to take what was

called manual

arts, which in reality was a high-toned

name for chair caning

and broom making; and I quit violin to

take piano, an even

greater disaster since I spent the bulk

of my practice time

disassembling the piano and engaging

in similar mischief.

Occasionally I tried sleeping, but the

bench was too short. In

brief, neither music nor preaching fit

the blueprint.

In previous Kernel Books I have talked

about my

activities in high school and college,

my building and selling

of furniture, and my work as an insurance

salesman; so I will

not deal with those things here. Suffice

it to say that

(although furniture and insurance were

rewarding, both

financially and otherwise) they did not

suit the ultimate

blueprint of my life. Nor did real estate,

which I considered

for a while--going so far as to get a

broker's license once.

No, it was not to be music or preaching

or furniture or

insurance or real estate even though

I made beginnings in some

of them.

After college, I did a stint of high

school teaching for

a few years, and then I had my first

formal acquaintance with

blueprints. It happened like this.

There was an opening for the Superintendency

of the

Kentucky School for the Blind, and I

applied. Happy Chandler

(former baseball commissioner and erstwhile

senator) was

governor of Kentucky at the time, and

I had his support; so it

seemed likely that I would get the job.

But a snag developed. When I talked with

the hiring

officer (I think he was called Superintendent

of Education or

some such), all went well until we came

to the question of

working with architects. Some 300,000

dollars' worth of

remodeling was to be done at the school,

and the hiring

officer wanted to know how I as a blind

person would read

blueprints.

I told him I had never thought about

the matter but that

I was sure it wouldn't be a problem.

That wasn't good enough,

and I didn't get the job--a fact that

is laughable in light of

my later experience.

When I became director of state programs

for the blind in

Iowa in the late 1950's, we bought an

old YMCA building (it

was seven stories tall) and made it into

a training center and

headquarters. As the years went by, we

did many millions of

dollars of remodeling, and I directed

it all.

As to the matter of blueprints, it was

amazingly simple.

The architects and I sat down one morning

for a couple of

hours and worked it out. The architects

did their normal

measuring and drafting, and then produced

their regular

blueprints. All that was necessary for

me to read them was for

the architects to trace each line with

a narrow piece of

plastic tape.

Most people think of blueprints as mysterious

and

complex, but they aren't. A series of

parallel lines close

together indicates stairs, and a line

drawn at an angle in a

doorway shows which way the door is to

swing. Narrow lines

represent windows, and wider lines represent

walls, with

squares or rounds appropriately placed

marking columns. All of

this can be done with tape of proper

width, and it can be done

in a very short time. The resulting blueprint

is completely

accurate and easily useable by both the

sighted and the blind.

Yet, in the attempted beginning in Kentucky

a few years

earlier my lack of experience cost me

the job. Maybe that is

the way it always is. If beginnings and

blueprints don't go

hand in hand, there isn't much chance

of success.

When I came to Baltimore in 1978 to establish

the

headquarters of the National Federation

of the Blind, we got

a complex of old factory buildings and

began the process of

remodeling. By now, working with blueprints

was routine, as

easy for the blind as the sighted. I

could in a few minutes

teach any architect how to prepare blueprints

for me, and as

the Baltimore years have gone by, I have

done it repeatedly.

The National Center for the Blind is

visible proof of how it

works. The buildings are the envy of

all who see them,

attractive and well proportioned.

So far, I have said almost nothing about

the National

Federation of the Blind, but in a very

real sense it is key to

everything--the beginnings, the blueprints,

the career, the

full life, and all of the rest. I first

became acquainted with

the Federation in the late 1940's, and

it gave me a whole new

perspective about blindness and what

I could hope to be and

do.

It was not just an organization for the

blind. It was the

blind, speaking, thinking, and doing

for themselves--helping

and encouraging each other, exchanging

ideas, and working to

bring new insights to the public.

With its more than 50,000 members throughout

the country,

the National Federation of the Blind

has, in my opinion, been

the biggest single factor in improving

the quality of life for

blind people in the United States in

the twentieth century.

Most of the work of the Federation is

done by volunteers,

by those of us who are blind and by our

sighted friends. On a

daily basis we do our work with new beginnings

and expanding

blueprints, and the encouraging thing

is that we who are blind

are no longer doing it alone. An increasing

number of sighted

friends and associates are helping us

change what it means to

be blind. In the circumstances how can

we do other than to

look forward to the future with hope

and confidence?

THE LEAKY ROOF,

THE CHILDREN, AND THE FUTURE

by Marc Maurer

Marc Maurer is now in the full flower

of his Presidency

of the National Federation of the Blind.

Both he and his wife

Patricia are totally blind, but this

does not interfere with

the raising of their two children, David

and Dianna. If the

realization of the American dream means

a full life of

satisfying work and busy activity, the

Maurers qualify, and it

is not a passive life. Here is how Marc

describes one of his

joint projects with the children:

Raising children is challenging, and

for me at least, it

cannot occupy all (or even most) of my

time because--like so

many other parents--I spend a major part

of every week on the

job. This, of course, creates tension;

but both the raising of

the children and the requirements of

other work must be done,

and each of these activities is entirely

worthwhile.

There are two children in the Maurer

household--David,

who is twelve, and Dianna, who is nine.

My wife Patricia and

I are both blind, but our children are

not. We the blind

parents of these sighted children have

many of the same

problems and frustrations that all parents

come to know.

How can we provide our children a decent

education? How

can we teach them to be independent?

How can we teach them to

be honest and open and upright? How can

we teach them to

recognize that there is danger and skulduggery

in a sometimes

wicked world and that they must approach

unfamiliar situations

with sufficient caution to avoid trouble?

How can we teach

them responsibility? How can we teach

them to be joyous and

free of fear? How can we teach them to

embrace the exploration

of new things and to be aware of wonder

and the splendor of

living in a world that, with all of its

problems, can be

glorious and generous and exciting? How

can we get them to

take out the garbage and do the dishes

and pick up their

rooms?

We have owned a house in Baltimore for

many years. Last

summer the back porch roof began to leak.

I asked a contractor

to give me an estimate for repairing

it, and he said that he

would.

But after a month, the estimate had not

come, and I began

to wonder whether I would ever get it.

Perhaps it would be

better, I thought, if I did the work

myself, and I also

thought that this was an opportunity

to give my children David

and Dianna a little education of a practical

kind.

Sometimes my children appear to be more

interested in

television and less interested in physical

exercise than is

good for them. In fact, they are sometimes

downright

lackadaisical. This is especially true

of David.

The work that I do is frequently administrative.

This

means that my children do not often see

me doing physical

things. Although they don't say it (and

they are probably

unaware of the tendency), they occasionally

avoid physical

effort unless it is in the form of a

game such as skating or

basketball. I must find a way to help

my children understand

that physical exertion is enjoyable and

productive. Maybe we

could fix the back porch roof together,

I thought. They might

learn something about the value of work,

and they might learn

how to put on a roof.

The first step was to climb onto the

porch to assess the

extent of the needed repairs. We found

a hole straight through

the shingles, and there were rotten places

in the planking

underneath, which would have to be replaced.

Precisely how

much of the roof could be saved would

depend on what we found

when we began tearing into it.

We started demolition early on a Saturday

morning with

the dew still on the grass and the sun

beginning to warm the

earth. The first point of attack for

our hammers and crowbars

was the hole in the shingles. Underneath

these was rotten

planking. Our crowbars lifted a large

portion of the roof, and

away it went, exposing even more rotten

wood. Another piece of

roof was pried loose and dropped to the

back yard. But there

was still more deterioration. After awhile,

we decided that it

would be harder to fix the roof than

replace it, so off it

came.

Perhaps we should have anticipated the

problem. The

shingles and planking were not the only

damaged portions of

the structure. Several of the two-by-fours

which had supported

the roof had rotted almost all the way

through. I began to

feel most uneasy. I had been walking

on a roof with a hole in

it. When we took the shingles away, the

boards underneath were

rotten. When we took the rotten boards

away, the rafters had

also rotted.here I was--standing on rafters,

wondering whether they

would hold my weight. What about the

support for the rafters?

Not only did I feel anxiety for myself,

but my children

were with me. Of course, they weigh less

than half as much as

I do--so maybe the rotten two-by-fours

would support them, but

I didn't really want to find out. We

tore out the boards and

headed for the lumberyard to get more.

How does a blind person cut two-by-fours

so that the

angles required for a pitched roof come

out right? Measuring

the length of a board is no problem.

A tool called a click

rule is used for measuring. This is a

piece of threaded rod

inside a metal sleeve. The threaded rod

has one thread for

each sixteenth of an inch. When you push

the threaded rod out

of the sleeve, a little spring clicks

against the threads to

hold the rod in place.

The threads on one side of the rod are

milled off except

for one thread each half inch. By feeling

the half-inch

threads it is easy to count the number

of half-inch lengths.

With this tool measurements can be made

to within one-

sixteenth-inch accuracy.

But how do you ensure that the angles

are right? I don't

know what other people do, but this is

what I did.

A sliding bevel square has a handle with

a piece of

slotted steel in it. The piece of steel

can be set at any

angle to the handle. The two pieces can

be held rigidly at

that angle by tightening a thumb screw

on the square. I got

out the sliding bevel square and put

it on the roof to measure

the angle at which the rafters met the

exterior wall of the

house.

With the sliding bevel square set to

the proper angle, I

put a straightedge on my two-by-four

to guide the saw to make

the cut. We were using a portable circular

saw--the kind that

you see on a construction site. The frame

around the blade on

such a saw is about ten inches long and

eight inches wide. The

blade is perhaps two inches from one

side and six inches from

the other.

I measured the distance between the saw

blade and the

edge of the frame and clamped my straightedge

on the two-by-

four with enough space between the straightedge

and the end of

the board so that the blade would cut

the length I needed.

David and Dianna observed what I was

doing and asked

dozens of questions. David wanted to

operate the saw, and I

reminded him about the safety rules.

He took the machine in

hand, and the saw blade bit through the

two-by-four following

the desired angle. When we put the board

in place, it fitted

snugly, and we hammered the nails home.

With the two-by-fours installed, it was

time to begin the

sheathing process. We used four-by-eight-foot

sheets of

plywood to form the underlayment for

the roof. Four-by-eight

sheets of plywood are fairly heavy, and

my helpers David and

Dianna each weigh less than eighty pounds.

We wrestled the

plywood sheets up the ladder and onto

the rafters.

As soon as the first one was fastened

to the two-by-fours

with epoxy-coated nails, I felt a little

better. There would

be no more walking on open rafters. We

would all still need to

pay attention--so that we wouldn't fall

off the edge. But at

least there was footing.

Along about noon, we knocked off for

lunch and a little

rest. The day had turned into a real

scorcher. The temperature

on the ground was approaching the mid-nineties,

and the sun on

the roof seemed hotter yet. We were all

hungry and thirsty and

covered with grime. There was dust in

our hair and down our

necks and all over our clothes.

We scrubbed as best we could and sat

down for the

sandwiches. The job was far from finished,

but we had

completed the demolition phase and were

well into

reconstruction, and we felt good about

it.

At the beginning of a job there is the

excitement of

discovery and the newness involved to

keep a guy interested.

As the project goes forward, the "new"

wears off, and

determination is needed to persevere

to the finish. I was

proud of David's work during the morning,

and I appreciated

Dianna's helpfulness.

David had been with me on the roof using

a hammer, a

crowbar, a saw, or some other tool all

morning. But I wondered

at lunch if his energy, his willingness

to take direction, his

interest, and his enthusiasm would flag

during the afternoon.

The effort during the morning had been

steady and demanding.

David had stuck with it, followed directions,

remembered

safety precautions, and been anxious

to do his part. But I

knew his muscles would be tired when

we resumed in the

afternoon.

We took a break for a few hours to rest

a little and let

the sun get farther west so that there

might be a little shade

in the yard. About three thirty we went

back to the job.

We finished the sheathing and started

sealing the roof

with tar paper. A good seal requires

overlapping the tar paper

a lot. So, there were many, many sheets

of tar paper to cut

off the roll and tack into place.

As we worked, I was reminded that tar

paper gets hot when

the sun shines on it. I told David how

the pioneers on the

prairies of the midwest had used these

same materials (pine

boards and tar paper) to build shelters

against the sun, the

rain, the cold, and the snow.

After the tar papering was finished,

we put on the

shingles. A row of shingles is nailed

to the edge of the roof

with a little overhang to give the roof

an edge. The second

row of shingles overlaps the first. This

continues until the

entire roof is covered. Each shingle

must be lined up, nailed

down, properly overlapped with its neighbors,

and not damaged

in the process.

Hot weather is good for roofing; it helps

the shingles

create a good firm seal. When they get

hot, they get soft, and

they mold to the roof and close any openings.

But a good hot

shingle can become so soft that it is

easily ruined. We picked

a good day for it, but the handle of

my hammer was wet with

perspiration during the afternoon and

evening hours. As the

sun struck the roof, the shingles reflected

the heat, which

seemed to boil up around us.

The final step was to cover the edges

of the shingles

where they met the wall of the house

with roofing tar to

ensure that there would be no leaks.

It was late when we came

to this part of the job. David asked

what was to be done and

requested the chance to do it. With the

tar brush in his hand

David put the finishing touches on the

roof. We cleaned our

tools, picked up the trash, and congratulated

ourselves on a

job well done.

Two days later, it rained hard. We stood

on the back

porch under the new roof--no leaks. The

roof was tight, and we

were dry. Each of us took satisfaction

in watching the rain.

Blind people often find it difficult

to get jobs.

Sometimes we haven't been able to obtain

proper training. Even

when we know the techniques to be used,

the opportunity is not

always available because employers occasionally

feel that they

would not be able to do the work if they

were to become blind.

Because of this experience, I value work

more than I might

have if it had always been easy to get.

But this is not the

only reason I like it. Good work is its

own reward--worthwhile

to do and productive for the worker and

the community.

In the National Federation of the Blind,

I learned that I

should not sell myself short--that I

have talents which can be

used to help make the world a better

place. This understanding

has served me well, and I am doing my

best to pass it on to my

children.

We must be prepared to be independent

and stand on our

own. But we must also recognize that

we need the help and

support of our friends. The only way

to get it is to be

willing to give that same help and support

to those who need

it.

This is exactly what we are doing in

the National

Federation of the Blind. This is what

we are teaching blind

Americans to do in every corner of our

land. This is the

education that I hope I can pass on to

my children--along with

a tight roof and no leaks.

HOOK, LINE, AND GOLF BALLS

by David Walker

David Walker lives in Missouri with his

wife Betty, who

is also blind. Both work hard in the

National Federation of

the Blind, helping others come to have

the independence which

they have achieved for themselves. David,

an avid sportsman,

loves to fish; and neither his blindness

nor golf balls

whizzing across the path to the lake

are going to keep him

from it. Here is what he has to say:

I love to fish and find it neither difficult

nor unusual

in any way. I enjoy it regularly and

as a matter of routine.

It does not take extraordinary skill

for a blind person to do.

My visual acuity is light perception;

I see only bright light

and shadows. A long white cane is necessary

for my safe and

independent travel.

The road to the lake near my home used

to be a nice path

to follow, but the redesign of the golf

course changed that a

few years ago. Two new fairways were

put in crossing this

road, leaving only a small section of

road near the lake. My

route to go fishing now requires me to

cross the fairway near

the sixth tee, which I refer to as "the

artillery range."

I meet other fishers at the lake, and

some seem to be

interested in how I do my fishing. Surprisingly

enough, I

don't get many ridiculous questions and

comments about how

amazing it is for a blind guy to travel

to the lake and fish

alone.

Crossing the fairway and maneuvering

around the tee area

to get to the lake is not very difficult.

It's crossing the

artillery range, where those little hard

projectiles are

landing, that sometimes gets a little

difficult.

Crossing that zone takes a simple, common-sense

approach.

I stop at the edge of the fairway at

the point where I need to

cross; determine whether or not any golfers

are playing

through; and listen for the distinctive

crack of the club on

the ball, voices of approaching golfers,

and the thump of

landing golf balls.

While doing this, I use my Braille compass

to line myself

up in a west by southwest direction so

I will come out near

the sixth tee and a paved golf-cart path

which will lead me

down the hill to the old road to the

lake. Since there are

many contours and no real landmarks in

this open area, the

long white cane and compass are essential

tools. Once I line

up and go, I don't stop until I am across

the fairway; this

reduces my chances of being hit. Once,

on my way home, I

stopped to check my compass when I thought

there were no

players near, and a golf ball driven

from the fifth tee struck

my tackle box--I was happy it was not

my knee just below the

box.

This risk is greatly reduced when I go

fishing at night.

It's not that I like danger, but crossing

the fairway is the

most efficient way to the lake because

of the layout of the

golf course and the location of the lake.

Besides the compass, I use other information

to confirm

my travel such as particular slopes,

the height of the grass,

ground texture, location of the sun as

I feel it on my face or

back, wind direction, and the honk of

the Canada geese that

frequent the lake. Traffic noise on the

roads and highways

surrounding the golf course differs depending

on the time of

day, and it is a good reference on direction,

as is the sun's

direction as it moves during the day.

I find the golfers to be very courteous

when I cross

their turf. Many who see me waiting to

cross say hello as they

play through; some offer to let me cross

before they tee off;

and some wish me luck. I wish them a

good game in return. I

have never had a golfer tell me that

a blind guy should not be

crossing the fairway.

When I get to the road along the lake,

I walk until I get

to a point where I think I would like

to start. There is no

beaten path down from the road, so I

just work my way down the

steep slope through the thick brush and

dead wood. I carry my

rod with the tip behind me so I don't

snap it off on a tree as

I move along. Because of the thick brush,

steep slope, and

rough ground, my long white cane is necessary

in finding the

easiest path ahead of me. When I get

to the edge of the lake,

there is a path, and I use the cane to

find it and follow the

irregular shoreline.

When I find one of the landmarks that

tell me where some

of my favorite spots are, I set down

my tackle box, slip off

my pack, and tune in my favorite country

music on a pocket

radio, which I place near my tackle box.

Not only does the

radio provide entertainment, but it is

an audio marker when I

have to leave the site to untangle a

snag or try to catch some

fish that just jumped nearby and want

to locate my tackle box

quickly.

When I look for a new spot, the white

cane is an

important tool. I use it to reach into

the water to check the

slope and depth of the water. It also

keeps me from

accidentally stepping into the drink.

The cane is also helpful in locating

structures that will

steal valuable tackle. I use it to check

for branches that

might catch my line or lures when I cast.

It is not foolproof,

but it generally gives me an indication

of objects in my way.

Once while I was checking for the edge

of the lake and

underwater objects, a bass pounced on

the shiny tip of my

cane--too bad there wasn't a hook. In

addition to using the

cane to check for potential snags, I

use the fishing rod,

which is longer, to reach and sweep in

the area where I might

be back-casting.To check for snags out

of reach of my cane in new areas,

I usually put a cheap set-up on my rod

to test the waters. If

there are any snags out there, I lose

only the cheap tackle

and not the more expensive lures. Besides,

I might even get a

bass to take the bait while testing.

After I have found that the area is mostly

snag-free, I

switch to more expensive lures. Some

of these get lost to out-

of-reach snags, but that's what keeps

the tackle industry

alive. Sighted fishers lose a lot of

tackle, too.

Because modern lines are more supple

and finer than in

the past, they are harder to feel and

thread through the eyes

of hooks and swivels. I have devised

a simple little fine-wire

pinched hook similar to but faster than

a needle-threader to

use. This helps me rig up faster. For

smaller hook eyes and

finer lines, I also use self-threading

needles or fine wire

needle threaders.

For fine tippets and very small flies,

I use a fly-

threading tool that I purchased from

a mail order supplier for

fly fishers. It holds the eye of the

fly while I hold the tool

and guide the fine leader into the slot

that guides the leader

through the eye of the fly. These eyes

are too small for a

needle or other threader.

Fly fishing is one of my greatest pleasures.

I am not a

polished caster, but I get the fly or

popper out there and

catch fish. I first learned to fly fish

when I was just out of

high school. My dad often took my brother

Jim and me fishing

when we were growing up in Michigan,

but Jim was not as

enthusiastic as I, and as we grew older

and Jim moved away,

Dad and I became good fishing buddies.

Then I became

interested in fly fishing, and I was

given my first fly reel

for graduation from high school. I bought

some inexpensive

tackle to build the system, and my parents

bought me a fly rod

for my birthday that summer.

One day my dad came home with a new pair

of waders for me

and said we were going up north the next

week. I was soon

stepping out into the current of a northern

Michigan stream to

try and outsmart some trout. The feeling

of this new adventure

was great! I was hooked immediately.

Dad never seemed to worry about my wading

alone. I guess

he had confidence in me, and if he did

worry, he never let it

show. His teaching me how to feel the

bottom of a stream and

to judge and respect the current were

valuable lessons. He

would go his way, and I would go mine,

then we would meet back

at camp.

Sometimes when I was done fishing before

Dad, I would

follow the trail on the high bank along

the stream to find him

and see how his luck was. I would listen

for the swishing of

his nine-foot bamboo rod. If Dad was

finished before I was,

sometimes he would come looking for me.

Back then I had some

usable vision and could see most large

branches of trees near

me, log jams, pools, and bends in the

river within a short

distance. Now I have only light perception,

but I still enjoy

using a fly rod despite the occasional

tree that grabs my fly.

Dad and Mom raised Jim and me in a positive

way and never

really held us back from venturing out.

They allowed us to

join Scouts with neighborhood friends.

In addition to what I learned in scouting,

Dad also

taught me much about the outdoors and

fishing, and I guess

that's why I have such a sense of adventure

and an

appreciation and love for angling, wildlife,

and the outdoors.

My positive experiences as a boy and

my parents' and

friends' confidence in me as I grew up

set the pattern for me

to become an independent blind person.

This independence was

developed even further through my involvement

in the National

Federation of the Blind.

This commitment opened new horizons in

my life, and

meeting so many competent members who

taught me alternative

techniques expanded and sustained this

independence. I found

that learning alternative techniques

from others helped me

develop my own techniques, which I have

applied in other areas

of life, and in turn I enjoy sharing

these with other blind

people.

If it hadn't been for my parents and

the National

Federation of the Blind, I doubt if I

would have developed my

sense of adventure and independence and

would not be dodging

golf balls today.

REACHING FOR THE STARS

by Julie Hunter

Bob and Julie Hunter rejoiced at the

birth of their new

baby daughter--perfect in every way.

Aglow with anticipation,

they brought her home from the hospital.

Then as their baby's

vision faded, so did their hopes and

dreams for her future.

Here Julie relates the heartwarming story

of how she and her

husband Bob not only rekindled those

dreams, but learned to

reach for the stars as well.

Fifteen years ago on a warm June morning

my husband Bob

and I drove to the hospital for our appointment

with destiny.

Because of delivery problems with our

first child, we had the

luxury of being able to choose the day

and time of our second

child's surgical delivery. Later that

morning, we were

overjoyed to welcome a baby girl into

our family--finally, a

girl where for generations (on my husband's

side) there had

only been boys!

She was a perfect baby--healthy, dark

hair, big blue

eyes, and a pretty little face. We couldn't

have been happier!

Little did we know that this tiny, innocent

babe in arms would

turn our world on its ear.

Our new daughter, Lauren, thrived in

her first few months

at home. She was begrudgingly accepted

by her two-year-old

brother, Mark, and gradually our family

life fell into a happy

new routine. But as she grew, some little

concerns tickled the

backs of our minds. She squinted when

she was out in the

sunlight--typical of newborns we were

told.

She didn't smile when someone came to

her crib, but she

would smile when held or spoken to. Finally,

a jerky eye

movement that we assumed would pass with

her infancy became

more and more obvious.

Then came that fateful day when the doctors'

tests

concluded that our daughter's retinas

were not functioning

properly. She would have visual impairment,

but no one knew to

what extent. She might even be able to

drive, we were told.

Of course we were optimistic and clung

to the best case

scenario--that the condition wouldn't

worsen, that she would

be mildly visually impaired, but not

(God forbid) blind. As

the months passed, it became obvious

that this was not a

stable condition. Her visual acuity was

gradually fading. We

mourned for every lost dream. We felt

guilty that we had

unknowingly passed on what we were told

was a recessive

genetic defect. We felt depressed about

the future.

But it's no fun living in depression,

so something had to

give! That something was our first change

in attitude about

blindness. This was our child! She was

bright and charming,

and we vowed that vision or lack of it

would not define her

life. We didn't want to hear any more

sympathetic words from

well-meaning neighbors and friends. Give

up your dreams? Not

on your life!

And so we were inaugurated into a whole

new world--a

world which has caused us to re-examine

our values and broaden

our horizon--a world which has brought

us support, friendship,

and a cause we believe in. Who would

have thought that such

a tiny baby born on a warm June morning

would be responsible

for all of that?

At what point do we move from seeing

the glass as half-

empty to seeing it as half-full? For

us it came gradually as

we learned, through the National Federation

of the Blind, that

the possibility was there that our dreams

for Lauren could be

fulfilled. That foundation was in place

for us when we

sustained our second blow--discovering

that Lauren also has a

progressive hearing loss.

As with the vision loss, which is now

total, the hearing

loss has been gradual. Lauren is now

fifteen years old. She

got her first set of hearing aids when

she was eight. Her

hearing loss has progressed from mild

to moderate, and now

hovers on the line between moderate and

severe. Again, doctors

are no help to us. They don't know why

and can't predict what

the future holds in store. We just live

our lives and take

what comes.

But one thing we have learned over the

years is that fear

about the future results from ignorance

and failing to take

control. If you do all you can to learn

about your nemesis,

never lose sight of your goal (which

in our case is to achieve

maximum independence), and stay in charge

of your destiny,

then the future is not so frightening.

The more we learn, the

less scary the future seems.

As we meet and talk to other parents

with deaf/blind

children and with deaf/blind adults,

we are reassured that

there can be a quality life for an individual

who is blind and

deaf. Our job is to make sure that Lauren

has the adaptive

skills necessary to remain an interactive

member of society.

There is work to do, but I feel confident

that my daughter

will achieve her potential, and no matter

what the future

brings, we will never stop reaching for

the stars.

The Metal Pole

Homer Page is a leader in the National

Federation of the

Blind of Colorado. When he was six years

old he learned a

lesson from a metal pole, and he remembers

it well to this

day. Here is how he tells it:

I was born seven weeks before Pearl Harbor.

As were so

many young men of his generation my father

was soon caught up

in the war. For a number of years during

my early life he was

away from home in the army.

My younger brother and I lived with our

mother and

grandmother on our family farm. My mother

and grandmother were

blind, as was I. They ran the farm, while

we waited and prayed

for my father to come home. In time,

he did return safely. But

during this time we were rather isolated.

During these years I really didn't understand

that I was

blind. I enjoyed enormously running in

the open fields that

made up our farm. I fell off a table

and broke my arm, and

then another time I slipped in the water

on the back porch,

where my mother was washing clothes.

I fell out the back door

and broke my arm again. In each instance

I hardly slowed down

while I wore a cast. Later, when I was

nine, I broke my

collarbone playing tackle football at

school, and still later,

when I was 15, I broke my arm again in

a bicycle accident.

Sometimes my cousin, who was a few years

older would come to

visit. He would tell me about going to

school. It sounded

exciting. I could hardly wait until I

would be old enough to

catch the school bus and go to school.

I spent many of my days

playing school and dreaming of reading

books.

Finally the day came when I could start

school. My father

was home by then. He and my mother took

me to school. No one

mentioned that I was blind. When it was

time to play that

first day, I joined the other children

and went outside.

Children who are six years old run. They

run without purpose.

They run in packs for the simple joy

of running. The children

began to run. I joined them, and I too

began to run.

My next memory from this day long ago

is still vivid. I

ran into the metal pole that braced the

playground slide. In

a split second I was flat on my back.

My nose had squarely

struck the pole. I was in a great deal

of pain, and the other

children were going on without me. In

that moment I realized

that I was blind.

I knew that if I lay there, or if I cried,

I could not

play with the other children. I got up

to join my new friends.

They never commented nor did I. I spent

my childhood and

adolescence with many of those children.

We seldom talked

about blindness. I just took part in

whatever activity

presented itself.

There was no pity or sentimentality shown

to me. When

teams were chosen to play softball, I

was chosen last. But

when teams were chosen for math or social

studies

competitions, I was chosen first. Those

selections were fair

and neither I nor anyone else questioned

them. It meant

nothing to me to be selected last. What

was important was that

I played, that I played hard, and that

I looked for ways to

make a positive contribution to my team.

In my decades since my encounter with

the metal pole, I

have more than once found myself figuratively

lying on the

ground. What I learned at six years of

age, and have relearned

several times since, is that getting

up is the best option.

The other option is to play it safe and

not really play.

In 1981 I was elected to the Boulder,

Colorado, City

Council. In 1986 I was chosen to be Deputy

Mayor of the city.

In 1988 I was elected to the Boulder

County Board of

Commissioners. During all but one of

my years as a county

commissioner I was either Chairman or

Vice-Chairman of the

Board. However, things were not always

easy.

In 1980 I ran for the Colorado legislature.

The race was

very close. Near the end of the campaign,

workers representing

my opponent began going door to door

in the district telling

voters that since I was blind, I could

not represent them,

that I would only represent the interests

of the blind. I lost

that election by 120 votes. That metal

pole had just blocked

my path once again.

I got up and started to run again. I

found that I had won

the respect of my community. A year later,

I was elected to

the Boulder City Council.

Four years later I ran for re-election.

As top vote

getter in the election, I was in line

to be mayor, but once

again my blindness became an issue. I

was not selected to be

mayor. I was, however, chosen to be deputy

mayor. Once again,

that metal pole had gotten in the way.

In 1988 I ran for the Board of County

Commissioners. I

unseated a popular incumbent. In 1991

I was unopposed. My

blindness had simply ceased to be an

issue that could help a

political opponent.

On September 1, 1995, I assumed the responsibility

of

directing the National Federation of

the Blind's training

center in Colorado. Students at the Colorado

Center for the

Blind learn the alternative skills that

they need to live

independent and productive lives, and

they learn the attitudes

that they need to accept and manage their

blindness.

As I work with Center students there

is a perspective

that I hope to be able to share with

them. Perhaps I can state

it like this: In the lives of blind persons

there are

occasional metal poles. Once it was believed

that those poles

made life too dangerous or too difficult

for us to be able

really to participate with sighted persons

on terms of

equality, but now we know that this is

simply not true.

However we also know that when those

poles appear in our

paths and flatten us, we must get back

up and continue to run

without bitterness or self-pity. We must

also improve our

travel skills through life, so we can

avoid as many of those

poles as possible. We must be tough enough

to play without

sentimentality, and smart enough to know

that in this way life

will shower us with abundance.

THE LOVING CONGREGATION

by Harvey Lauer

In the following story Harvey Lauer captures

the

experience that many blind church members

have had and

demonstrates the most effective way of

educating, reassuring,

and witnessing to congregations filled

with ordinary people

who fear blindness and are uncertain

how to behave with blind

people. Here is what he has to say:

"We can't ask them to help. What

could they do? They are

blind!" When we were new members

of our congregation,

Bethlehem in Broadview, Illinois, that's

almost the first

remark my wife and I overheard. It didn't

surprise me because

I had met professors who wouldn't let

me take their courses

and some who wanted to give me a good

grade just because I was

blind. By the time we moved to Broadview,

I was employed as a

rehabilitation teacher and had to deal

regularly with

stereotyped notions about disability.

My wife, Lueth, had just come from a

rural community in

which blindness was poorly understood

by her family and

friends. They meant well but perceived

her as dependent, even

as an adult. She came to the city with

hopes of being accepted

as a contributing member of society.

Because of her shyness she reacted by

feeling ill at ease

and withdrawing. She hoped that we could

find a friendlier

church, but I saw the problem differently.

I knew that only

time and acquaintance would reveal whether

such remarks were

based on clannishness, ignorance, or

pity.

People were friendly, but that didn't

help much. They

told her how amazing it was that she

read and wrote Braille,

something she had learned in school and

which she felt should

not be considered unusual. As a result,

she felt self-

conscious and would not read aloud in

public.

At church gatherings we both sat a lot

and must have

appeared rather helpless. People may

have wondered how we did

our housework. We kept a reasonably good

house, but there were

two big obstacles to functioning in church.

The first was unfamiliarity with the

territory. At home

we knew where to find things. At church

almost nothing was

ever in the same place twice. At home

awkward behavior could

be laughed off; in public the appearance

of awkwardness brings

not only needed assistance but sometimes

too much help and

expressions of pity that are hard to

take.Talk was futile. There were two barriers. It was hard for

Lueth to try new things, and some people

were reluctant to

give her a chance. Some wanted to help

but didn't know how to

begin.

While she couldn't wait on tables efficiently,

she could

have helped in the kitchen if she had

known where things were

kept. She couldn't watch children on

the playground, but she

could have helped in the nursery if people

had believed in her

ability. She couldn't make posters, but

she had developed the

ability to write and dramatize stories.

Yet she needed

encouragement and acceptance. My own

road to acceptance and

involvement was just as rocky.

Over the course of several years, and

with the help of

prayer and good friends, our strategy

took shape. We

volunteered to organize the coffee hours.

Then we "forgot" to

find someone to go in early to make coffee

and prepare for the

activity, so the job fell to us.

We went a half hour early in order to

familiarize

ourselves with the kitchen and find everything

we needed. The

members who came later with coffee cakes

were surprised to

find us there and more surprised to find

the place set up for

business.

In calling people for the next coffee

hour, we found that

it's easy to get people to bring things,

but harder to find

someone who will go early and set everything

up. Lueth said,

"Why don't we do it again?"

So we did it again and many more

times after that. Each time different

people who were taking

their turns would come in and find us

working.

Good working relationships were formed.

Lueth began to

help with other activities. People found

out what she could do

efficiently and gave her those tasks.

The years went by. We had birthday parties

for our

children and invited members' children.

We joined neighborhood

Bible study groups, where Lueth gradually

gained the

confidence to read passages and contribute

to the discussion.

She volunteered to be a friendly visitor

in convalescent

homes, where she could talk with people

individually, then

later read stories to groups, and finally

lead a Bible class.

Now she is on the evangelism team and

an officer on the church

council.

I did not learn about the final incident

in my story

until twenty years after it happened.

Some people in town told

a group of church members that we should

be investigated

because we were blind and probably couldn't

take proper care

of our children.

Nothing was done about the suggestion

because the members

assured them that blindness was no reason

for such a concern.

They said that our children were at least

as well cared for as

theirs. It turned out that ours is not

only a friendly church,

but an observant and loving one as well.

RIDE LIKE THE WIND

by Margie Watson

What do you do when your five-year-old

announces that she

wants to go bike riding with you--and,

the five-year-old

happens to be blind? Here is how Margie

Watson solved the

problem:

My five-year-old daughter, Katie, likes

to ride her bike.

That surprises most people, because Katie

is blind. My husband

or I walk about ten feet in front of

Katie and tell her when

to turn the corner, but otherwise she

rides straight ahead on

her own.

Last spring, we were getting our bikes

out from the

basement, (Wisconsin snow keeps us off

of them in the winter),

and Katie told us that she wanted to

ride with us and not ride

behind us while we walked. Our first

thought was to look into

purchasing a tandem bike.

We learned that we could add on something

called a stoker

kit which would make the back seat the

right size for a child.

The problem with this idea was that it

was expensive--about

$1,000.

Another problem with the tandem bike

was that the back-

seat rider would have to pedal at the

pace of the front-seat

rider. That would be difficult for a

five-year-old child.

Disappointed, we figured that we would

have to forego family

bike rides until Katie was big enough

for a tandem bike.

Then we heard about a bike called the

Allycat Shadow. It

was designed for bike-riding enthusiasts

who also happened to

be parents. Essentially, it is a child-sized

bike without a

front tire. A bar extends up from the

handlebars which is then

attached to an adult's bike just below

the seat.

The Allycat Shadow would make our own

bike into a

detachable children's tandem. It was

the right size for Katie,

and the price was reasonable. We immediately

ordered one.

We are thrilled with Katie's new bike.

For us it means an

affordable bike for Katie and that we

can use the adult bike

we already have. For Katie it means that

she can pedal (or not

pedal) at her own pace. And while riding

with mom and dad, she

is getting the feel of balancing and

learning to turn, as well

as riding much faster.

You can ask Katie how much fun she is

having riding her

new bike--that is, if you can catch her.

HOMEWORK: THIS MOM'S PERSPECTIVE

by Patricia Maurer

Blind parents face the same challenges

as sighted

parents. Here Patricia Maurer brings

us her perspective on one

common to all--getting the children to

do their homework. Here

is what she has to say:

My husband and I are both blind. We have

two wonderful

children, David and Dianna. My daughter,

who is eight, does

not find her homework much of a chore.

She doesn't really

enjoy it--she just is rather indifferent

about it.

Our son, on the other hand, does anything

he can to get

out of it. The punishment and penalties

continue, but

sometimes the homework just doesn't get

done.

I went to a public elementary school

in a small town in

Iowa. It was the only school in the community.

I was blind at

that time.

My friends, teachers, and parents read

to me and, in many

instances, wrote information down on

paper for me. I could not

read what I had written although I was

taught to print and was

taught handwriting. In the fourth grade

I learned to type on

a standard typewriter so that I could

write and others could

read it.

No one ever considered teaching me Braille

because there

was no one there to teach it to me. Each

evening my father

would read my homework assignments to

me. Once in a while he

would go to sleep reading, and I would

wake him up. He had

worked all day and was tired. He wanted

to help me and did,

but sometimes it was not easy.

Later in junior high or high school I

learned about the

Library for the Blind, and some of my

textbooks became

available on record. I listened to them

on a long-playing

record player.

I had a tiny amount of vision, and although

I tried, I

could not ever really effectively use

large-print materials.

But, oh, when those books came to me

on record--I not only

read textbooks but began reading novels.

You see, I had never

read many novels because there was never

time for anyone to

read them to me. I would occasionally

check something out from

the public library, but it took too much

effort to read it.

In high school I learned Braille. I spent

an entire

summer learning to read and write Braille.

Now, for the first

time in my life, I had a way to write

something down, and I

could read it for myself.

Although I did not have much confidence,

others in the

National Federation of the Blind, both

by example and just by

taking the time to talk to me, made me

begin to understand

that I could do more. I went to college,

and boy, did I read

and write. I studied all the time. Well,

most of the time. I

got a degree in elementary education

and became certified to

teach elementary and special education.

My first teaching job was in a small

school in Iowa

teaching reading to third and fourth-grade

children. These

children were sighted, and I was blind.

I remember talking

with the administration of the school

and landing the job.

When I got it I thought, now I have to

figure out how to get

it done.

I hired a high-school student to read

to me. He and I

made games, and I Brailled materials.

The children used print,

and I used Braille. It was a wonderful

summer, and I got a

contract for the next year. I took another

offer, and my

husband and I were married and moved

away from that small

town.

You see, I was thinking about my reading

and my homework,

because I am trying to figure out how

to get that boy of ours

to do his work. I want him to learn to

love to read, because

it is so important when it comes to learning

and living a

complete life. He's not blind. He can

pick up any book and

just read. It seems so much easier for

him than it was for me

when I was doing my homework.

But for now his books and homework pages

sometimes get

lost. The assignments seem very hard.

He doesn't want to read

them out loud so that we can help. He

just wants us to know

the answers. Soon, I hope he will begin

to look for the

answers and read the assignments. Because

if he does, I know

he will find at least some of it interesting.

I know there will be the nights when

my husband and I

nearly fall asleep helping the children

with their homework.

There are the nights that we are relieved

just as much as the

children because there is not much homework.

I believe that if

I ever go back to teaching I won't be

able to help the fact

that I now have a mom's perspective on

homework.

POSSIBILITIES

by Carol Castellano

Carol Castellano and her husband Bill

are leaders in the

National Federation of the Blind's organization

for parents of

blind children. They live in New Jersey

with their children

Serena and John. Serena is blind and

John is sighted. For both

of these children, the future is filled

with exhilarating

possibilities. With sparkle, pride, and

belief Carol shares

some of them with us. Here is what she

has to say:

It took my daughter Serena a long time

to decide just

what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Whereas my son was

only four when he decided that he would

be a dinosaur

scientist, it wasn't until she was seven

that Serena realized

that her destiny in life was to be a

folksinger. Happily she

played the chords to her favorite song,

"Michael Row the Boat

Ashore," on my guitar.

Then came the Presidential campaign of

1992. Serena was

eight. She sat rapt before the television

listening intently

to the speeches of both parties. After

the summer's two

national conventions, she realized that

it wasn't a folksinger

that she wanted to be after all--it was

a folksinging Senator.

By late fall, having heard all three

Presidential debates,

Serena was going to be President.

Her barrage of questions about how she

could learn to be

President and conversations about what

politicians do kept up

for so long that my husband and I were

convinced she really

might go into politics when she was older.

In the late spring of this year, Serena

went out with her

father to pick early snow peas from the

garden. Coming inside

with her basket of peas, she told me

she was very interested

in gardening. "That's wonderful,"

I replied. "You'll be a big

help to Daddy."

Overnight Serena's interest must really

have taken root,

because the next day she asked me if

I thought the gardens at

the White House were too big for the

President to tend, since

the President is such a busy person.

"Yes," I replied. "I'm

sure there's a staff of people who take

care of the White

House gardens." "Well then,

I won't be a gardening President,"

she told me. "I'll just be a gardener."

The desire to be a gardener was still

but a tender shoot

when Serena took a piano lesson--just

a few weeks after

picking those peas--and realized it was

a pianist she wanted

to be!

Serena is at such a wonderful stage of

life! Interested

in everything, trying everything out,

she sees the world as

her plum, ripe for the picking. She believes

in herself, as we

believe in her. And since what people

believe largely

determines what they do, it is critically

important for

parents of blind children (and other

adults in the child's

life) to have positive beliefs about

blindness and what blind

people can do.

If we are told (in a journal article

or by a teacher of

the blind, say) that blind children usually

do not or cannot

learn how to do a certain task, and if

we come to believe

this, chances are we will not give our

child the experience or

opportunity anyone would need in order

to do this task. And

chances are the child won't learn to

do it.

Imagine, though, if we--and our blind

children--were

never told that blind people couldn't

accomplish a certain

thing. Imagine what the results might

be if everyone believed

that blind people could do anything they

wanted to! Well, I

believe this--and attending NFB National

Conventions has

solidified this belief for me. It is

this belief which guides

the way I bring up my daughter.

My husband and I know personally or have

heard speak a

blind high school teacher, college professor,

mathematician,

scientist, car body mechanic, industrial

arts teacher, Foreign

Service officer, engineer, a high-performance

engine builder,

and a man who has sailed solo in races

from San Francisco to

Hawaii. This makes it possible for us

to glory in the

exhilarating feeling of watching a child

look toward the

future and see only possibilities.

You can help us spread the word...

...about our Braille Readers Are Leaders

contest for blind

schoolchildren, a project which encourages

blind children to

achieve literacy through Braille.

...about our scholarships for deserving

blind college

students.

...about Job Opportunities for the Blind,

a program that

matches capable blind people with employers

who need their

skills.

...about where to turn for accurate information

about

blindness and the abilities of the blind.

Most importantly, you can help us by

sharing what you've

learned about blindness in these pages

with your family and

friends. If you know anyone who needs

assistance with the

problems of blindness, please write:

Marc Maurer, President

National Federation of the Blind

1800 Johnson Street, Suite 300

Baltimore, Maryland 21230-4998

Other Ways You Can Help the

National Federation of the Blind

Write to us for tax-saving information

on bequests and

planned giving programs.

or

Include the following language in your

will:

"I give, devise, and bequeath unto

National Federation of

the Blind, 1800 Johnson Street, Suite

300, Baltimore, Maryland

21230, a District of Columbia nonprofit

corporation, the sum

of $___ (or "___ percent of my net

estate" or "The following

stocks and bonds:___") to be used

for its worthy purposes on

behalf on blind persons."

Your contributions are tax-deductible