The Federation at Fifty

The Federation at Fifty

Future Reflections Convention 1990, Vol. 9 No. 4
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THE FEDERATION AT FIFTY
An Address Delivered by
KENNETH JERNIGAN

At the Banquet of the Annual Convention
of the National Federation of the Blind
Dallas, Texas, July 5, 1990
If the engineers of 1800 had possessed complete
drawings for a transistor radio (one that could be
bought today for $10), they couldn't have built it,
not even if they had had billions or trillions of
dollars. They lacked the infrastructure--the tools,
the tools to build the tools, and the tools to build
those; the plastics, the machines to make the plastics,
and the machines to make the machines; the
skilled work force, the teachers to train the work
force, and the teachers to train the teachers; the
transportation network to assemble the materials,
the vehicles to use the network, and the sources of
supply. All of this is generally recognized, but it is
far less well understood that what is true of material
objects is also true of ideas and attitudes. In the
absence of a supporting social infrastructure of
knowledge and beliefs, a new idea simply cannot
exist.
So far as I can tell, there are only three possible
reasons for studying history--to get inspiration, to
gain perspective, or to acquire a basis for predicting
the future.
In 1965 Dr. Jacobus tenBroek, the founder and
leader of our movement, spoke at our twenty-fifth
banquet, reviewing the first quarter century and
charting the road ahead. We were meeting in
Washington, and more than a hundred members of
Congress were present. I was master of ceremonies,
and some of the rest of you were also there. Tonight
(twenty-five years later) we celebrate our Golden
Anniversary, and the time has once again come to
take stock. Where are we, where have we been, and
where are we going?
In a sense the history of our movement begins
in the distant past--in the medieval guilds and
brotherhoods of the blind in Europe, in the tentative
stirrings of organization in China, and even earlier--but
the National Federation of the Blind is
essentially an American product. Its genesis is native.
Although (as we all know) Dr. Jacobus tenBroek
presided at the founding of the National
Federation of the Blind in 1940 at WilkesBarre,
Pennsylvania, he had a teacher (Dr. Newel Perry),
who laid the foundations and served as precursor.
And Dr. Perry, in turn, had a teacher, Warring
Wilkinson.
Most of what we know about Wilkinson is
contained in the eulogy which Dr. tenBroek
delivered at the time of Dr. Perry's death in
1961, but our knowledge is sufficient to tell us that
Wilkinson was a worthy teacher of the teacher of
our founder. He was the first principal of the California
School for the Deaf and Blind. He served in that
capacity for forty-four years, from 1865 to 1909. He
not only loved his students but also did what he
could to move them toward the main channels of
social and economic participation. Particularly, he
saw the potential in young Perry, sending him from
the California School for the Blind to Berkeley High
to complete his secondary education. To do this
Wilkinson (who was ahead of his time both in his
understanding of education and the needs of the
blind) had to overcome numerous obstacles.
I was fortunate enough to know Dr. Perry,
meeting him when I moved to California in 1953.
He was then eighty, and he spent many hours with
me reminiscing about what conditions for the blind
were like when he was a boy. He came to the
California School for the Blind when he was ten-- "penniless, blind, his father dead, his home dissolved.
Two years earlier he had lost his sight and
nearly his life as the result of a case of poison oak,
which caused his eyeballs to swell until they burst
and which held him in a coma for a month." It was
at the School, of course, that he first met Warring
Wilkinson.
While going to high school (from which he
graduated in 1892) he lived at the California School
for the Blind. He also lived there while attending the
University of California from 1892 to 1896. His
admission to the University (as had been the case
with high school) had to be secured over strong
resistance. Again, Wilkinson was the pathfinder, young Perry his willing and anxious instrument.
"Wilkinson's role in Perry's life as a youth can
hardly be overestimated: father, teacher, guide, supporter--in
Perry's own words, 'dear Governor.'"
After graduating from the University, Dr. Perry
devoted himself to further education and to the
search for an academic job. "He took graduate work
at the University of California, meanwhile serving
successively as an unpaid teaching fellow, a paid
assistant, and finally as an instructor in the department
of mathematics. In 1900, following a general
custom of that day, he went to Europe to continue
his studies. He did this for a time at the University
of Zurich in Switzerland and then at the University
of Munich in Germany. From the latter he secured
in 1901 the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in
Mathematics, with highest honors.
"He returned to the United States in 1902, landing
in New York, where he was to remain until 1912.
He had about eighty dollars in capital, a first-class
and highly specialized education, and all of the
physical, mental, and personal prerequisites for a
productive career--except one, eyesight.
"During this period he supported himself
precariously as a private coach of university mathematics
students. He also applied himself to the
search for a university position. He displayed the
most relentless energy. He employed every imaginable
technique. He wrote letters in profusion. In
1905 he wrote to 500 institutions of every size and
character. He distributed his dissertation and his
published article on mathematics. He haunted meetings
of mathematicians. He visited his friends in the
profession. He enlisted the aid of his teachers. He
called on everybody and anybody having the
remotest connection with his goal.
"Everywhere the outcome was the same. Only
the form varied. Some expressed astonishment at
what he had accomplished. Some expressed interest.
One of these seemed genuine--he had a blind
brother-in-law, he said, who was a whiz at math.
Some showed indifference, now and then masked
behind polite phrases. Some said there were no
vacancies. Some said his application would be filed
for future reference. One said ironically: 'For
what--as an encouragement to men who labor
under disadvantages and who may learn from it how
much may be accomplished through resolution and
industry?' Some averred that he probably could
succeed in teaching at somebody else's college.
Many said outright that they believed a blind person
could not teach mathematics.
"Many of these rejections may, of course, have
been perfectly proper. Many were not. Their authors
candidly gave the reason as blindness."
Dr. Perry failed not because of lack of energy
or qualification but because the necessary infrastructure
of attitudes and beliefs did not exist to
allow it to be otherwise--so he did not find a job in
a university. Perhaps it was better for the blind (for
those of us gathered here tonight) that he did not-- but for him what pain! What absolute desolation
and misery! And he had to face it alone--no family,
no supporting organization of the blind--only him-
self and the bleak wall of continuing rejection year
after year. He might have quit in despair. He might
have become embittered. But he did not. Instead,
he returned to California and settled down to build
for the future. If he could not have first-class treatment
for himself, he was absolutely determined that
at least the next generation of the blind would not
be denied.
He taught at the California School for the Blind
from 1912 to 1947--and day after day, month after
month, season after season he exhorted and indoctrinated,
preached and prepared. He was building
the necessary infrastructure of ideas and beliefs.
Those who were his students went on to become his
colleagues, and as the number grew, the faith was
kept. There would be a state-wide organization of
the blind in California. It did not happen until 1934,
but when it came, it was built on a solid foundation.
And there would also be a National Federation of
the Blind--but not yet.
Dr. Perry was to that generation what Warring
Wilkinson had been to him. In the words of Jacobus
tenBroek, his most brilliant student and the man
who would lead the blind in the founding of their
national movement: "We were his students, his
family, his intimates, his comrades on a thousand
battlefronts of a social movement. We slept in his
house, ate at his table, learned geometry at his desk,
walked the streets interminably by his side, moved
forward on the strength of his optimism and confidence."
Dr.
tenBroek graduated from Berkeley High
School in 1930 with, as he said, "plenty of ambition
but no money." He was prepared to enter the
University of California but was denied state aid to
the blind, a program then newly instituted as a result
of Dr. Perry's efforts in sponsoring a constitutional
amendment, which had been adopted by the voters
ofCaliforniainl928.InDr.tenBroek'swords,"The
reason for the denial was not that my need was not
great. It was that I intended to pursue a higher
education while I was being supported by the state.
That was too much for the administrative officials.
Almost without discussion, Dr. Perry immediately
filled the gap. Just as Warring Wilkinson had earlier
done for him," said Dr. tenBroek, "he supplied me
with tuition and living expenses out of his own
pocket for a semester while we all fought to reverse
the decision of the state aid officials.
"It was," Dr. tenBroek said, "ever thus with Dr.
Perry. The key to his great influence with blind
students was, first of all, the fact that he was blind
and therefore understood their problems; and
second, that he believed in them and made his faith
manifest. He provided the only sure foundation of
true rapport: knowledge on our part that he was
genuinely interested in our welfare."
So the new generation came to maturity, and
Jacobus tenBroek was to be its leader. Born in 1911
on the prairies of Alberta, Canada, he was blinded
by an arrow in a childhood game and moved to
California to enter the school for the blind. He went
on to earn five academic degrees--from the University
of California at Berkeley a bachelor's in 1934,
a master's in 1935, a law degree in 1938, and a
Doctorate in Jurisprudence in 1940; and from the
Harvard Law School a Doctorate in Jurisprudence
in 1947. There is no need for me to talk to this
audience about Dr. tenBroek's brilliance--his
learned articles and books, his chairmanship of the
California Board of Social Welfare, his scholarly
pre-eminence and national acclaim, his writings on
constitutional law that are still the authoritative
works in the field. Rather, I would speak of the
man--the warm human being who fought for acceptance,
led our movement, and served as my mentor
and role model--the man who was my closest friend
and spiritual father.
When Dr. tenBroek was first trying to get a
teaching position in the 1930s, the climate of public
opinion was better than it had been a generation
earlier, but he faced many of the same problems
which had confronted Dr. Perry--and sometimes
with identical letters from the same institutions. "It
was," he said, "almost as if a secretary had been set
to copying Dr. Perry's file, only changing the signatures
and the name of the addressee."
Here is what Dr. tenBroek wrote to Dr. Perry in
March of 1940. At the time he was studying at
Harvard:
"Last November a large midwestern university
was looking for a man to teach public law. Having
read my published articles but knowing nothing else
about me, the head of the department in question
wrote a letter to the University of California inquiring
whether I would be available for the position.
Cal. replied that I would and accompanied the
answer with a considerable collection of supporting
material. However, when the department head
learned that I was blind, the deal was off although
none of the competing applicants had as good a
paper showing.
"This incident seems to me of particular interest
because, although I have been refused other jobs,
this was the first instance in which blindness could
be traced as the sole explanation for rejection. Of
course, in other cases blindness was also the determining
factor, but the fact could not be
demonstrated as well."
There were other letters and other rejections-- but on June 8,1940, Dr. tenBroek was able to write
to Dr. Perry:
"We have justification for hanging out the flags
and ringing the bells. I have been offered and have
accepted a job at Chicago University Law School.
The job pays $1,800, is denominated a half-time
position, and lasts for only a year. But it is a job
nevertheless. And the Harvard people, who exerted
no end of pressure to get it for me, regard it as an
excellent opportunity. The position is designated
'tutorial fellowship' and consists in supervising the
research of the first-and second-year law students.
It involves no actual classroom teaching, except
possibly by way of an occasional fill-in job."
This was how Dr. tenBroek (the man who fifteen
years later was to win the Woodrow Wilson
Award for the outstanding book of the year in
political science and who was always the most
sought-after professor at the University of California)
was to begin his teaching career. Yet, even
today there are sighted people (and also some of the
blind--people who ought to know better) who tell
me that the blind are not victims of discrimination.
Yes, the tenBroek job search was fifty years ago, but
you know and I know that we have not yet come to
first-class status and equal treatment in society. The
framework of ideas and beliefs to make it possible,
though long in the building, is still not complete.
Warring Wilkinson, Newel Perry and his students,
Jacobus tenBroek and the founders of our movement,
and the Federationists of succeeding decades
have worked year after year to improve the climate
of public acceptance and make opportunity available
for the blind, but the job is not yet finished.
Each generation has built on the work of the one
before it. Each has fought and hoped, dreamed and
drudged for the one to follow--and also for the blind
then alive.
What we have done must be seen in perspective;
for no act of the past (no gain or denial) is irrelevant,
and no present behavior of ours can be divorced
from tomorrow. We are close to freedom, and we
must finish the journey.
1940 was notable for something else besides Dr.
tenBroek's debut at the University of Chicago. It
was also the year of the founding of this organization.
With the passage of the Social Security Act in
1935 the federal government had supplanted the
states in providing assistance to the blind. In 1939
Congress and the Social Security Board combined
to pressure the states having the most forward looking
programs (chief among them California but also
Pennsylvania, Missouri, and Wisconsin) to repeal
their progressive laws. This supplied the immediate
impetus for the formation of the Federation, but of
course the momentum had been building for a
generation. The event occurred at Wilkes-Barre on
November 15 and 16, 1940, coincident with the
convention of the Pennsylvania Federation of the
Blind.
In a letter to Dr. Perry dated November 19,
1940, Dr. tenBroek said in part: "The confab at
Wilkes-Barre gave birth to an organization, the
National Federation of the Blind--of which you,
vicariously through me, are president. The long
range aims of the organization are the promotion of
the economic and social welfare of the blind, and its
immediate and specific aims are the sponsorship of
the principle of Senate Bill 1766 and an amendment
of the Social Security Act.
"Seven states were represented at the organizational
meeting--Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois,
Missouri, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and California. We
arrived in Wilkes-Barre in the middle of Friday
afternoon....
"On Saturday morning, while the Pennsylvania
state meeting was going on, I had several back-ofthescenes
conversations with Pennsylvania
leaders.... In the afternoon... we drew up a skeleton
constitution, which we presented to a meeting of all
of the delegates to the national meeting, beginning
about four o'clock and ending about the same time
twelve hours later.... The meeting was interrupted at
5:30 in the afternoon long enough to give the other
delegates a chance to eat dinner, and the Pennsylvania
leader (Gayle Burlingame) and me a chance
to appear on the local radio, where we lambasted
hell out of the Social Security Board."
On January 4,1941, Dr. tenBroek wrote to Dr.
Perry concerning the details of getting the new
orgnization started. "With the National Federation
of the Blind not yet two months old," he said, "its
permanence is definitely assured. The factor
guaranteeing that permanence is the closely knit
nucleus composed of Minnesota, Pennsylvania, and
California. We three have now had enough experience
with each other to know that we can make
a go of it.... We can add to this trilogy the state of
Wisconsin.
"I had a letter from Minnesota yesterday to the
effect that they are ready to pay their assessment but
that they wish assurance that Pennsylvania and
California are also ready before they mail their
check. I also had a letter from Pennsylvania stating
that it is ready but wishes assurance that Minnesota
and California are ready. I have written to both of
these states requesting them to make out their
checks, payable to the Treasurer of the National
Federation, and to send them to me, with the stipulation
that I shall not forward them to the Treasurer
until I have the dues from each of the states of
California, Pennsylvania, and Minnesota. Consequently,
if California is ready, I suggest that you
follow the same procedure...."
But the new president did not limit himself to
procedural matters. The Federation immediately
assumed its present-day role of working to improve
the quality of life for the nation's blind. In a letter
to Dr. Perry dated March 15, 1941, President tenBroek
described the efforts he had been making to
get changes in the administration of public assistance to the blind. Here, in part, is what he said:
"After a week in Washington I have more unsocial
exchange to report than specific accomplishment....
Gradually working our way upward, Gayle
Burlingame and I first presented our case to Jane
Hoey, director of the Bureau of Public Assistance,
and her associate, a lawyer named Cassius. Next we
went to Oscar Powell, executive director of the
Social Security Board; and finally to Paul V. McNutt,
administrator of the Federal Security Agency.
Hoey is simply another social worker of the familiar
type but with a higher salary than most. Cassius has
lost none of his qualities since Shakespeare
described him, except that his wit has been sharpened
by a little legal training. Powell is a very high
calibre man with a fine sense of argumentative
values, a considerable store of good nature, and
unusual perception. He simply is not a believer in
our fundamental assumptions. McNutt, on the other
hand, is a lesser Hitler by disposition and makes our
California social workers look like angels by comparison.
"Hoey
and Powell had argued that the new
ruling of the Board did not necessarily result in a
reduction of a recipient's grant by the amount of his
earnings or other income. McNutt took the position
that it did and, moreover, that it should. 'Are you
saying to us,' I asked McNutt, 'that blind people
should have their grants reduced no matter how
small their private income and no matter how great
their actual need?' His answer was that he was
saying precisely that. I formulated the question in
several other ways, only to get the same reply. I
can't say that I wasn't glad to get this official
declaration from McNutt since it provides us with
an official declaration by the highest administrator
of them all that ought to be of immense propagandists
value to us. Moreover, McNutt's conduct
during the conference has provided us with the most
perfect example of the arbitrary and tyrannical
methods of the Board that we could hope to have.
"In the remaining week that I shall stay in
Washington, we shall attempt to carry our appeal to
the last administrative step. Senator Downey of
California and Senator Hughes of Delaware are
attempting to secure for us appointments with Mrs.
and President Roosevelt. "As things stand, the only
course open to the blind of California is to urge the
legislature to retain the blind aid act in its present
form and tell the federal government to go to hell.
Even if we can get a favorable amendment to the
Social Security Act, it certainly will not be until after
the California legislature adjourns."
This is what Dr. tenBroek wrote in 1941, and
although we have often said in this organization that
the first task which the Federation faced after its
founding was to help the blind of the nation get
enough money for bare survival, I sometimes
wonder if we have made the point with sufficient
clarity to convey the desperation of it. The report
which was prepared following the 1941 convention
of the Federation in Milwaukee says in part:
"Mr. Stephen Stanislevic of New York City
reported as follows: 'The blind population of New
York State is roughly estimated at 13,000. Of these,
more than half are in New York City. A very small
number of our people, a few hundred in all, are at
present employed in sheltered industries, on government
projects, at newsstands, or in miscellaneous
enterprises. The majority depend for sustenance
either upon private bounty or upon Social Security
grants. The average monthly grant per individual is
$27 in New York City and $23 in the upstate
counties. This is the paltry pittance which the wealthiest
state in our Union sees fit to dole out to those
of its citizens who are blind.'
"Mr. Hugh McGuire explained that in Indiana
there are approximately 2,600 blind and that between
2,200 and 2,300 are drawing assistance with
the monthly average of $20."
That was forty-nine years ago, and much has
happened in the interim. Not that it happened by
chance, of course. Mostly we made it happen. How
many times since 1940 has the National Federation
of the Blind led the way in social reform in this
country, not only for the blind but also for others?
To mention only three examples, we pioneered exempt
earnings for the recipients of public assistance;
we pioneered fair hearing procedures in rehabilitation
and other public programs; and we pioneered
jobs for the disabled in government service.
As I have already said, our first task as an
organization was to initiate programs to enable the
...
"Please think this matter over as long as you
want, but let me have an immediate answer."
Among other things, Dr. tenBroek obviously
wanted to get Price to become more active in the
movement, and he probably thought the banquet
speech might be a way to do it. There has always
been a tendency for the successful members of a
minority to try to avoid involvement. The only
trouble with this behavior is that it won't work. At
an earlier period many blacks tried to straighten
their hair and hide in white society, but then they
realized that it was better to make it respectable to
be black. The corollary, if I need to say it, (and every
one of us had better know and understand it) is that
it is respectable to be blind. That's what the National
Federation of the Blind is all about.
No blind person in this country is untouched by
our successes or, for that matter, our failures--and
no blind person can avoid identification with the rest
of us. This is true regardless of how the blind person
feels about it and regardless of how we feel about
it. Blindness is a visible characteristic, and all of us
are judged by each other whether we like it or not.
The feeling I have toward those blind persons who
try to hide in sighted society is not anger but pity-- and, yes, I am talking about those who are regarded
(and who regard themselves) as highly successful.
When Professor Price replied to Dr. tenBroek,
he said that he might be able to come but would
probably do a bad job making the banquet speech.
He should not have been deceived by the light tone
of Dr. tenBroek's letter of invitation, for Federation
presidents take banquet speeches seriously. In a
letter dated April 21, 1949, Dr. tenBroek set him
straight:
Dear Kingsley: I am not now, nor on June 20th shall I be, in the least
inclined to accept a bad job in the banquet address. If I were
willing to accept a bad job, I can think of at least a hundred
persons of assured competence to satisfy the requirement.
The banquet address is the focal point of the whole
meeting. It has come to be regarded as the most important
thing that is done at a convention. Many people of influence
in the community are invited to hear it. The Governor of the
State often is present, and the occasion is used to give him
instructions as to what his policy should be towards the blind.
The address is expected to be of such a character that it can
be published and circulated the nation over with some
advantage to the blind.
The address must be on the subject of the nature of the
problems of blindness, and the discussion should be frank and
forthright. Amplification of points by way of personal experience
is always helpful and attractive. One conclusion that
must always be reached is that the blind should speak for themselves because they are the only persons qualified to do
so.
I enclose a copy of my Baltimore address, which may
give you an idea of what needs to be said. The same truths
have to be retold, but the hope is that they will be dressed up
in a new and fresh style, even to the point of appearing to be
different truths.
One further word: It may be that the address will be
broadcast direct from the banquet hall. Consequently, both
speech and delivery need to be well in hand.
I hope these admonitions are solemn enough to convince
you of the importance of doing a good job and yet not so
solemn as to scare you away. We are desperately in need of
a new voice and a new brain to do this job and a man from
New York has geographical advantages as well.
Cordially yours,
In considering our past I am mindful of the fact
that except for inspiration, perspective, and prediction,
there is no purpose to the study of history.
Certainly we can find inspiration in the lives of
Warring Wilkinson, Newel Perry, and Jacobus tenBroek.
Often in lonely isolation they worked for a
distant future which they knew they would never see
but which is our present. Using meager resources
that they could ill-afford to spare, they fought to
build a framework of opportunities and benefits
which constitute the underpinning and foundation
of what we have today. How can we be unmoved by
their story? It speaks to us across the years--calling
us to conscience, giving us strength for the battles
ahead, reminding us of our heritage, and underscoring
our duty to those who will follow.
Yes, there is inspiration in our history, and it
also gives us perspective. Otherwise we might become
discouraged. Even today, with all of our work,
more often than not when we come to one of these
conventions and talk to the press, they assign their
medical reporters to deal with us. They want to write
stories about our guide dogs, the causes of blindness,
and how capable we are because we can do the
ordinary tasks of daily living, like cutting our food
or finding our way.
But the balances are shifting. Each year a few
more reporters are beginning to understand that our
story is not one of physical loss, or courage in the
face of deprivation, but lack of opportunity and
denial of civil rights. A perfect example is the recent
story in the Wall Street Journal about the blind who
are running their own businesses. It contains not a
scrap of pity, nor a wasted word about those who
(though blind) are valiantly struggling to earn a
living. Of course, it contains drama--but it is the
drama of a people fighting to rise to first-class status
in a society which treats them like children and
wonders why they object.
Recently I went to the White House and talked
with the President of the United States about the
problems we are having with the airlines and the
Federal Aviation Administration. We are being excluded
from exit row seats on airplanes, but year
after year the Federal Aviation Administration has
said that there is no issue of safety in our sitting
there. Now (because of pressure by the airlines) they
have changed their minds. As we have become
painfully aware, the issue of seating is only one tiny
part of an overall pattern of bullying and harassment
which blind persons face today in air travel. The
difficulty which always confronts us when we try to
discuss this issue is the talk we get about compassion
and how commendable it is that we are trying
to be independent--all of which is a bunch of nonsense.
If we pose a hazard in exit row seats, we
shouldn't sit there--and we wouldn't want to. If we
don't pose a hazard in exit row seats, then we have
as much right to sit there as anybody else, and to try
to make us move is an infringement of our civil
rights. In either case compassion has nothing to do
with it.
When I tried to convey these ideas to President
Bush, his response made it clear that he had been
thoroughly briefed--and by somebody who hadn't
the faintest idea about the issues. In answer to my
question the President said that if there was no
evidence that we constituted a greater hazard than
others in exit row seats, he would put an end to the
rule if he had the power to do so--which, of course,
he has. I wasn't very hopeful about the outcome
because of two things. President Bush kept avoiding
the word blind, gingerly referring to us as the
non-sighted, and he said that Secretary of Transportation
Skinner had personally tested an airplane
door to see whether an individual without sight
could open it--which is comparable to my going
(with my lack of experience) to a hospital to see
what can be done with surgical instruments.
The President assigned his lawyer, Boyden
Gray, to look into the matter and get back to me. The
results were what might have been expected. Mr.
Gray did not talk to us, nor did he look at the video
tape of our test evacuation of an airplane. Instead,
he talked with Secretary of Transportation Skinner,
who told him that we constituted a safety hazard-- which data he ceremonially transmitted to me.
So was it just an exercise in futility? Not at all.
This is where perspective helps. In 1940 Dr. tenBroek
was not able even to get a hearing from
President Roosevelt even though two United States
senators tried to help him do it. Moreover, my talk
with President Bush was only one brief skirmish in
our long airline fight, and the history of our past
efforts tells us that we will ultimately win. It is true
that Dr. tenBroek did not get to talk with President
Roosevelt, but it is also true that most of the Social
Security reforms for which he fought have been
adopted--and mostly they have been adopted
through the efforts of the National Federation of the
Blind.
Likewise, we lost the recent motion to cut off
debate on our airline bill in the United States Senate,
but we had fifty-six votes. And when has any other
group in the blindness field ever been able to bring
a bill of its own to the floor of the United States
Senate and have it be the pending business of that
body for several days? Never--and never with the
number of votes we mustered. Again, this was only
a single skirmish in an individual battle in a long
war--a war which has been going on for more than
a century, a war which we are winning, and a war
which we intend to finish.
Yes, our history provides us with both inspiration
and perspective--and it also gives us the basis
for prediction. Of course, no individual can be sure
of what will happen tomorrow, but I feel absolutely
certain that this organization will continue to grow
and lead the way in improving the quality of life for
the blind. The outward appearance of the issues may
shift, but the basics will not change--not until we
have achieved equal treatment and first-class status
in society. And we will achieve it.
In examining our past I have not attempted to
assess my own role and contributions. How could
I? I have been too close, loved too deeply, put too
much of my life into the process. All I can say is
this: When Dr. tenBroek was dying, I made certain
pledges to him. I have tried to keep those pledges. I
shall always try to keep them. And when in 19861
thought the time had come that the movement would
best be served by my leaving the presidency, I did
it. The decision was not easy, but I think it was right.
I believe that President Maurer was the best person
we could have chosen for the position and that he
will lead this organization into the twenty-first century--stronger,
more vibrant, and more committed
than it has ever been. And there is something more:
I think the new generation that is on the horizon will
provide leaders and members who will be present
fifty years from now when we meet for our
hundredth anniversary. We must never forget our
history; we must never dishonor our heritage; we
must never abandon our mission. With love for each
other and faith in our hearts we must go the rest of
the way to equal status and first-class membership
in society. Let us march together to meet the future.
FOOTNOTES
1. All of the material concerning Dr. Perry except what
I got from my own discussions with him is taken from "Newel
Perry: Teacher of Youth and Leader of Men," by Jacobus
tenBroek, Braille Monitor, February, 1976. The quotes from
Dr. tenBroek are taken from letters in the files of the National
Federation of the Blind.
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