by Bill Borner (he, him, his)
From the Editor: Bill Borner is a Federationist who lives in Baltimore. He worked in quality control and production management for Baltimore Spice, Schmidt Bakery, and Cloverland Dairy before losing his vision. He is married to John Crockett who is his partner of three decades. They have two grandchildren, ages eighteen and eight. Here is what he says about being gay and dealing with when and how to announce it when attending a rehabilitation center not run by the National Federation of the Blind. Enjoy his well-told story:
Our friend Lazarus is asleep, but I am going to wake him.” — The Nazarene, John 11:11
So how did you get blind; was it RP? It seemed a very intrusive question, coming at me during lunch my first day of orientation for blind skills rehabilitation training. How to answer, and whether to answer completely, presented a quandary. It had been a very interesting morning to this point.
The day had begun with a workout session with fellow participants in the program. A fellow trainee offered his physical body for me to ascertain correct positioning on a particular machine. I begged off, ushering us instead to the treadmills. As we began stepping in time together, I explained my dodge from abdominal crunches. I wanted him to know first that I was a gay man. His hearty laughter put me at ease, simultaneously broadcasting a message of acceptance to all. Next came Braille class. I was on lesson one struggling with a “four-letter word.” The Braille teacher offered a hint that this was something every guy wanted. My fellow classmates chuckled to our teacher’s quizzical dismay. I let him in on the joke, explaining that I didn’t go for babes. He laughed nervously as he noted it was, after all, an old book.
So here we are again at my lunch dilemma. I had waded out thus far without incident, but these next steps would put me in the deep end where harsher judgment lurked. With trepidation, I ventured onward. My blindness is the result of retinal damage caused by cytomegalovirus, or CMV. CMV attacks both retinas and small intestinal linings of persons with compromised immune systems. During the dying years between the early 80s and the mid-90s, up to 20 percent of AIDS patients met their makers newly blind. As fate had it, my diagnosis came just as a plethora of new antiretroviral medications came to market, ending the wave of deaths in the industrialized world. After a battle during which my retina’s detached, the new meds finally kicked in. Surgical intervention temporarily restored my vision, and eventually my immune system largely recovered. The phenomenon of the terminally ill rebounding is now identified by physicians as the “Lazarus Syndrome.”
I had been ferried back off the river Styx, yet remained largely on the shore. I permitted the stigma attached to HIV/AIDS to end my career as a food scientist managing food-processing facilities. I became the editor and publisher of my condominium association’s newsletter. I contributed my time to charitable organizations assisting the LGBTQ+ community. I augmented my technical baccalaureate degree with an associate’s degree in the culinary arts. With this, I volunteered cooking for a program that feeds homebound cancer and AIDS patients. Though my vision was beginning to decline, I also volunteered at a hospice that had been one of the first in my city to care for AIDS patients.
After a decade and a half, I became legally blind. Frustrated that I could no longer live the life I wanted, I sought advice from my state’s rehabilitation service. They referred me to a rehabilitation program not officially affiliated with the NFB, though all of the trainers were Federationists. Though my classmates were accepting of me, I began experiencing antipathy to my presence from some of the training staff. I was advised that there were other organizations where I might feel more comfortable. I was told that I would likely fare better as a closeted Federationist. I was even informed during a seminar discussion that gay rights were not civil rights.
There were also glimmers of the light of Federation philosophy. I was urged to abandon my failing vision and see the value of viewing myself as differently abled rather than disabled. As part of the program, we attended a local chapter meeting in advance of legislative advocacy at both the state and federal levels. I was thrilled to be a part of the Federation in action.
Sadly, my rehabilitation was interrupted one morning when I denied what my ears were telling me in favor of my low vision. I was struck by an automobile that broke my right leg below the knee. Dedicated Federationists came to my home as my leg recovered to help me continue my Braille and computer skills training. I returned to my residential rehabilitation-training program in time to go with them to the July 2011 Convention in Orlando. I experienced the power of meeting so many blind people from across the nation. I shared in the revelry of watching an upcoming Federation leader speed around the Daytona racetrack. It was a pleasure to meet the man showing off his brand new leather jacket.
I had returned from Orlando newly enthused about my future possibilities; however, I was confounded by a glaring contradiction. I was being advised to stand proudly as a blind man and reject the stigma our ablest society confers upon blind people. Simultaneously, I was hearing that I could not stand proudly as a gay man within the Federation. Additional unfortunate circumstances led me to question my personal safety. I withdrew from my training, allowing intolerance and fear to block the inland path I had seen, retreating to familiar shores. My attendance at chapter meetings dwindled. I reverted to my internalized ableism, allowing low expectations to hinder attaining my dreams.
Over the next decade, American cultural currents shifted. I was able to marry the man who has stood by me for thirty years, in sickness and in health. Joyfully I witnessed the United States Supreme Court declare that Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 prohibits discrimination of LGBT employees. Sadly, I also witnessed my nation experience another pandemic.
Within social media, I discovered the Federation was planning a virtual convention in July of 2020. Reviewing the agenda, I was happy to see LGBTQ+ breakout sessions. I attended the convention virtually, finding that leather-jacketed blind racecar driver now behind the wheel of the Federation. I listened tearfully to President Riccobono’s banquet speech as he extended the light of the Federation to all blind people, regardless of intersecting characteristics.
I have since taken the Federationist pledge, reintroducing myself to my chapter as a lost “rainbow sheep” coming home. I am proud to serve on several committees, to include Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion. I have more awakening to do as I complete virtual classes in UEB and await the end of another pandemic to resume in-person rehabilitation training. I am proud to have found the NFB undergoing an awakening of its own. Let us keep moving forward together.