A Tribute to the Maurers

by Barbara Loos

When I think about Marc Maurer, my first thoughts aren't of the things I mentioned about him at our national convention in 2019 when celebrating the one hundredth anniversary of the American Action Fund, true and life-changing though those are for all of us. What I think of are moments with Marc Maurer the helper in times of trouble, the problem-solver, the fellow blind parent. And when I think of Patricia Maurer, her ready laugh and words of encouragement always feel like a ray of sunshine to me. I love and respect them both singly and as a couple.
In 1989, the year Jim Walker, my first husband and father of my biological children, died of a sudden heart attack, Marc Maurer, then NFB President, came as national representative to our Nebraska state convention. I was state president at the time. Jim had died in June, and our convention was in October, so the impact of his death was still an open wound. Many of my memories of that time hurt. Two that do not hurt feature President Maurer, first as a helper in a time of trouble and then as problem-solver.
During our banquet, as my voice was about to break during the singing of the PAC song (Jim had led our efforts until he died), I heard the strong, steady voice of our President coming closer and filling the microphone as he came to stand beside me while we finished the song. I recovered my composure as PAC contributions began to be offered, and the banquet remained a spirited occasion.

When our van wouldn't start as we were leaving that convention, President Maurer gleefully checked the vehicle, assessed the situation, did something to get it started, and suggested that we forego our plan to stop for lunch and go straight from York to Lincoln. Although we missed the opportunity to lunch with him before he left, his confident, take-charge handling of that situation not only put a hopeful cap on that difficult convention, but also it sparked continuing conversations about what blind people can do.

In 1992 it became clear to me that I needed to step away from the presidency of our affiliate to focus on issues with my children, who turned eleven and nine by the end of that year. Before that time, President Maurer had encouraged me to continue seeking that office. He listened as I expressed not only what I thought I needed to do but also my concern for the ramifications of it. His response was both affirming and encouraging as we spoke about our dual roles as Federationists and parents.

Our convention that year was uncharacteristically contentious, due to a plethora of issues surrounding who would be my successor, including a job opportunity that moved our prime candidate away and the tragic death of the infant son of another. Fortunately, both my personal and our Federation families weathered these tumultuous times.

In 2000, when he offered me the opportunity to give a presentation about employment creation at the 5th General Assembly of the World Blind Union in Melbourne, Australia, the offer included responsibilities for my offspring, nineteen and seventeen at the time, provided we could raise some money for airfare. We did, and that experience became a memorable part of our transition from mother and children to mother and young adults.

On March 4, 2013, on presidential release 415, President Maurer joyfully pronounced me "ecstatic" as he recalled our conversation at the birth of daughter Marsha's son, my grandson, Jameson Clifford McBride. I remember well my elation in that shared moment.

In 2017, on the other end of the spectrum, when I talked with him by phone about the death of my son John, Dr. Maurer offered condolences and a listening ear. And when I entered the room at the funeral home for the visitation, I heard there, in person, his calm, assured voice as he spoke with a fellow Federationist from Hastings, Nebraska. Mrs. Maurer stood by his side, offering her own quiet words of sympathy.

Dr. and Mrs. Maurer are, of course, human, with all that that implies. I am, too. One thing this means is that, on a few rare occasions, we have found ourselves on different sides of an issue. We have not, though, ever found ourselves divided at the heart. I am grateful to them for their leadership as colleagues in our movement, their example as fellow blind parents, and their love as cherished friends.