Tribute to a Dear Friend

by Kevan Worley

From the Editor: Kevan is known to most people as the successful businessman from Colorado, but when we met, he was a frustrated Missourian looking to find his way in a world that didn’t understand nearly enough about blind people, a world that was making his life a whole lot harder than it needed to be. He found the National Federation of the Blind, and after concluding that we were in a battle to change how the world felt about blind people and how blind people felt about themselves, he decided to throw his emotion and energy into the movement. Here is his story about Marc Maurer and the part he and Patricia have played in the significant contributions Kevan has made using the conviction of his heart combined with the strategy and planning of his head:

I will let others speak to the power of the man’s intellect, his leadership, and his legacy. I just want to write about my friend—and a dear friend he has been to me and my family for almost forty years now. Make no mistake about it: during a good deal of that time I also considered him my boss. I was part of a rank-and-file movement of blind people who were marching together to change the world. I was one of thousands proud to take direction and complete tasks as assigned by our President to the best of my ability.

I first met Marc Maurer almost immediately upon my arrival at the 1983 convention of the National Federation of the Blind in Kansas City. I was new to the outfit, having only stumbled in and out of the local Austin, Texas, chapter over the previous year or so. I had just been marking time living a laid-back Austin lifestyle, dabbling in music, radio, and TV. I didn’t really much want to hook up with a bunch of blind people. What was in it for me? But the chapter gave me $50, set me up with a couple roommates, bought me a Greyhound ticket, and encouraged me to go to the convention. I had nothing else happening.

The convention was at a venerable old luxury hotel in downtown Kansas City, The Muehlebach. Arriving at the convention a little late, following a twenty-hour Greyhound ride from Austin, I was struck by an energy, an intensity, a warmth. But, also, a bit of a dislocation. These were almost all blind people. Most were scurrying about as though what they were doing mattered and having good fun at it. I felt a bit out of place—disjointed—what was this all about? Where was I supposed to go?

Blending into a stream of folks, I found myself at the top of an escalator. I stopped and spoke to a man on my right who was instructing people how to find a meeting of some sort. He asked me my name. He introduced himself as Marc. He asked me if I had anything to do at that moment. I thought he was nuts! Of course, I had nothing to do; what was I supposed to be doing? By the way, he was and still is a bit nuts—in a kind of enduring way. Marc Maurer said, “Ok, here is your first job in the Federation. Stand right where I am, at about a forty-five-degree angle to the side of the down escalator. Yeah, right here, and tell people ‘Escalator down, this way!’ and just keep doing it until people stop coming.” He patted my shoulder, and just like that he was gone! That was my first job in the National Federation of the Blind, just the first of many assignments I would get from Dr. Marc Maurer, or “The Big Man” as I later began to call him. “The Big Man?” I guess because to me he really became a giant.

Three years later he would be elected to the presidency, but our relationship didn’t really change much. Somehow I knew I could call upon him if I was ever in trouble, and I know he knew I would give him my best effort.

Was it with dread or delight, those phone calls at 5:00, 5:30, 6:00 in the morning, Colorado time? Coming up out of deep slumber, I would grasp for the landline, knocking all manner of detritus off of the table to hear a warm, chipper, kind voice saying, “Kev, do you know how to make a mint julip?” Trying to sound as awake as I could at 5:15 in the morning, I would say, “No sir, I don’t. But I know that you do. It’s 5:15 in the morning.” My quirky, dear friend would say something like, “Well, I thought you blind vendor types were already up for hours.”

I said, “Sir, that is one of those myths and misconceptions about blindness you are always talking about.” Then my friend, the President of the National Federation of the Blind, would give me some kind of assignment, and I was proud to have it. That was the nature of our relationship. Occasionally I have shared with my colleagues how much I have appreciated Dr. Maurer’s friendship, suggesting that I and only a handful of others had this unique friendship. But what I heard from them was all of the times they have been befriended or encouraged or challenged by The Big Man.

In 2007 Marc and Patricia’s son David was thinking about finding work in Colorado. My company had a job opening, so young David Patrick Maurer came to work for us. What a blessing he was. DPM, as we all called him, was five years older than our son Nijat, who was still in high school. Nijat could not have had a better big brother than Dave the Rave! This also gave our family even more time to spend with Dr. and Mrs. Maurer. Every visit was a joy. Sometimes folks would ask me, “So, what do the Maurers do over Thanksgiving weekend?” My response, pretty much what everyone else does. Eat, read, listen to football, challenge their son with advanced algebra assignments, help me put together a basketball goal, go shopping at the outlet mall, shovel snow. Speaking of basketball, I always wanted a basketball hoop on a pole in front of my house. So I bought one to assemble. Dr. Maurer, DPM, and I had great fun getting all of the parts out of the box and spreading them all over the driveway. Of course, we are men, so we didn’t fool with directions. Dr. Maurer seemed to know what he was doing. After about three hours of assembling, we had a wonderful basketball hoop in my driveway. There seemed to be a lot of leftover parts, but the thing worked. However, the thing that we brainiacs didn’t count on was my house being on a very steep hill. So, if you didn’t get the rebound immediately, you were chasing that ball, and good luck to you. Still, as in many of the things I did with Marc Maurer, I gained confidence learning from him that I could do things I never considered doing as a person who was blind. Marc Maurer was a role model who in word and deed instilled in me, his friend, that I could live the life I wanted. I still don’t know what all those other parts were for.

I was extremely honored to work with and for President Maurer on our three March for Independence events in 2007, 2008, and 2009. We had a wonderful crew of Federationists working to imagine and manage an event that would be up to Federation standards. Late one afternoon, a group of half a dozen or so gathered around Dr. Maurer’s desk to brief him on the program logistics, marketing, and fundraising for the event. As the overall chair of the event, I was in the hot-seat ready to facilitate the event outline from the team to Dr. Maurer. The Big Man was a little late. He stormed in and said, “Kevan, this better be good. It’s been quite a day. I’ve already given several people hell today.”

I mean, this was the President. I was in the hot seat. I was a little novice. After our team outlined the event, Dr. Maurer said, “Okay! We’re good.” Turning to me he said, “Kev, have you ever had lobster thermostat?”

“What,” I said, “Lobster thermostat? I have heard of lobster thermidor.” My friend may have had a hard, hard day, giving people hell and all, but he got on the phone to make several calls to inquire about where we could get lobster thermidor. He found a place, and he and Mrs. Maurer took me to dinner. He was right about lobster thermostat. It was great! And I guess it is fairly rare because I haven’t found it on a menu since! As I think about it, he is also the guy who introduced me to crème brûlée. He seemed to take great delight in explaining the whole process of crème brûlée to me. I have taken great delight in eating crème brûlée many times since.
Dr. Maurer taught me about blindness, but he also taught me about life. On more than one occasion, I must admit, I showed up on the phone or to his office in tears struggling with a bad business decision I had made or difficult personal life choice. No one has ever treated me with the kind of graciousness, warmth, and challenge. Sometimes the challenge part of the equation wasn’t all that easy. Sometimes he could be abrupt and even dismissive when he thought it necessary.

Dr. Maurer enjoys the corniest of jokes with the hardiest of laughs. He enjoyed calling me out at state conventions. “Kevan, who was the first president of the National Student Division?” Out of the blue, “Kev, who developed the Nemeth Code?” I once accompanied Dr. Maurer to a state convention at which he was providing the banquet address. Butler, a University in Indianapolis, was playing in the semi-finals of the NCAA basketball tournament. Many Monitor readers are familiar with Professor Matt Maurer, Marc’s brother, who professes at Butler University. A truly fine and very funny man in his own right. Before Dr. Maurer’s banquet address, I told him, “Don’t worry sir, I’m not going to listen to the game during your speech. I would never do such a thing.” Of course, I immediately turned on the game in one ear. My friend was no fool. Somewhere in the middle of the speech he said, “So Kev, what’s the score of that game down there.” Lucky I was paying attention to both. “Fifty-six to fifty-four,” I said.

So many memories. So many teaching moments. So many challenges. And so much love. At a dinner party several years back, Dr. Maurer and I witnessed some people having a debate about the existence of God. I decided to strut my stuff by quoting authors such as Christopher Hitchens and others. Later Dr. Maurer pulled me aside and said, “You know Kev, it’s relatively easy to bluster and hold forth but, what it really comes down to is faith. You either have faith or you don’t.” That’s probably the most important lesson my friend shared with me. He is a man of deep faith. He is a man with a faith in God, a faith in country, and faith in his sisters and brothers who make up the family of the National Federation of the Blind—a family he has helped to nurture and lead for more than half a century. Now he is retiring from direct day-to-day engagement in the Federation. But I know he and Mrs. Maurer are not leaving their friends and families in the movement he worked tirelessly to build.

As I write this, I think about the time he called me at 1:00 a.m. in the morning to tell me I needed to be in California by 1:00 the next day to help manage a protest we were launching. “But Dr. Maurer,” I stammered, “I have a big contract negotiation in the morning.” But much like the time at the top of the escalator many years ago, Dr. Maurer was already gone. I rearranged my schedule, and I went. But make no mistake: If I couldn’t have done it, he would have understood and found someone else. The thing is, there were many of us willing to fight the good fight and get into the good trouble with and for the President of the National Federation of the Blind, or as I called my friend with such great respect, The Big Man.