Reflections on How an Investment in Training Has Shaped My Last Twenty-Five Years
by Mark Riccobono
From the Editor: Our training centers make a difference—a big difference, but not many folks reflect on that difference a quarter of a century later, and still fewer say thank you so publicly. Here is what our President has to say about the value of gratitude and taking the time to express appreciation.
On May 24, 1999, 25 years ago, I arrived on an airplane into Denver, Colorado. This date was about a week after my graduation from the University of Wisconsin, airport security had not been impacted yet by September 11, and we hadn't actualized the partying like it was 1999. I was fortunate to have a job lined up out of college, but it would not start until mid-August. Fortunately for me, earlier in the year a friend talked to me about what I might do with my spare time. I shared that my goal was to do as little as possible, and they challenged me to wonder if that was the best choice.
My friend was a blind person who got me to consider attending the Colorado Center for the Blind. I partly decided to do so because I didn't have a great excuse for avoiding it, but in the month leading up to my arrival in Denver, I began to understand how truly monumental it would be.
With the limited time I had at the Colorado Center for the Blind, I used every potential hour in class and outside of class to undertake the training that the skilled center staff were offering me. The training had two components: the actual day-to-day techniques and tasks that a blind person uses to be successful (or maybe it is more accurate to say the understanding that almost every task perceived to require vision truly does not and the methods for working out the solution) and the development of the internal pattern of thought for self-determination, high expectations, and integration into society on terms of equality.
When I landed in Denver, I was nervous, but I also somehow falsely believed I would leave with all of the skills and understanding I needed. I discovered that the learning, growing, and thinking was a lifelong journey that I am still on, but the Colorado Center for the Blind prepared me to take on every challenge that has come my way.
In many ways, the instructors I had at the CCB have been important lifelong mentors for me. Amazingly, some of them I have even had the challenge of supervising later in positions that I have taken on. All of them have continued to be strong friends and marchers with me in the National Federation of the Blind, where all of us have continued that journey of growth and exploration. In many ways, the accomplishments of my last twenty-five years have their fingerprints on them whether they recognize it or not, so this post is to honor them (in no particular order):
Julie Deden was the new Director of the Colorado Center for the Blind when I arrived in May of 1999. She had taken over the leadership role at the Center after some challenges and after the tremendous leadership of Diane McGeorge. Let me pause to say that Diane and Ray McGeorge were leaders in the National Federation of the Blind of Colorado, and while they did not feature as part of my instructors at the Center, their impact on my life is no less significant. I think of them every day when I walk through or sit in the Diane and Ray McGeorge Living Room at the NFB Jernigan Institute. That deserves a post of its own. Back to Julie.
While Julie was a new director, it was clear that her understanding of the problems blind people face, her faith in the capacity of people who happen to be blind, and her determination to challenge every student to achieve maximum independence was infectious. Since my time at the Center, I have called on Julie so many times for perspective. I have learned from observing her work, and we have linked arms in many uplifting challenges like reorganizing the National Federation of the Blind of Montana—not to mention that we have shared laughs, tears, and sometimes both, often over a glass of wine or a good meal.
Dan Wenzel was the assistant director at the Center when I arrived. He later became my brother-in-law, but on the day I landed in Denver, he could not meet me at the airport (this normally would have been his job). That was the day his first child was born—so happy birthday to Roland Wenzel. Dan always had a great way of working with students, listening to their concerns, and helping students craft their own solutions. During my time at the Center, I mostly observed Dan through his leadership as we did not have too many interactions on a day-to-day basis. However, the time I spent getting to know Dan and his wife Jennifer and watching them with their new baby set a powerful example of blind parents living the lives they want. The one time I did face a challenge at the Center and took it to Dan, he handled it with skill and professionalism that has always stuck with me. Dan was the one who handed me my Freedom Bell at the end of my training, and it sits next to me on my windowsill behind my desk for all to see.
Eric Woods was the tough and insightful blind travel instructor who totally changed my thinking and confidence around independent travel. I was always impressed when he would silently move ahead of me or to some other position without my hearing anything. He worked with me through the good trips and the bad. He rightfully made fun of me when I made really stupid mistakes because we had developed an understanding of each other that was very deep (I enjoyed his sense of humor). There is not a day that goes by that I do not think about Eric’s influence on my movement all over the world. Getting to know Eric in his day-to-day life, listening to him play guitar or wrestle his dogs, watching baseball, and just talking about life made my time at the Center invaluable. This was one of the few times I actually taught something on guitar as Eric credited me as teaching him how to play “Norwegian Wood.” And I should not forget that although the Center did not have an industrial arts teacher at the time, Eric gave extra time to work with me on power tools and making a project before I left.
Michelle Chacon was my daily living instructor. We talked and worked on dozens of things together. If you do not know Michelle, you have missed out. Like with the others, it was the example she set in her personal life with her family and her warmth in opening her family to me that made such an impression. I think about Michelle every time I fire up the grill, as sharing time grilling at her house was formative for me. Any time I pick up a spice bottle with a Braille label or consider how I am going to do something non-visually in the kitchen, I hear Michelle’s voice in my head. She is an incredible educator.
Dave Hyde was my instructor for a catch-all class where we worked on a variety of things. However, much of the time we would talk about important topics of policy, philosophy, and how to create change in society. Although our work together was always very serious and sometimes intensely deep, there was always a moment to review what was happening in baseball that day. Amazingly, Dave always had a story that was both entertaining and instructive, and I am pretty sure most of them were true. He is a master storyteller, and I learned a lot from him about connecting with people. It was a bonus to get to know Dave’s wife Nancy and share time with both of them. Congratulations again to Dave on his recent retirement. I have some Orioles tickets when you make it to Baltimore.
I cannot close this without mentioning Tom Anderson who, like Ray McGeorge, has already left us. Tom was the Braille instructor at the CCB, and he had a masterful command of measuring his students’ progress, pushing them further, and tracking many students at one time, all while not speaking very loudly at all (just enough to be heard). However, when you got him to laugh, you could feel the joy coming out of him, and there was no way you could resist smiling yourself. Tom knew that literacy was critical to success, and he worked to find the topics, books, or other content that would motivate students. Every time I touch a piece of Braille, my heart gives thanks for the worlds he helped open to me. Like the others, his powerful influence through the positive way he lived his life was invaluable. We miss you, Tom.
There are others I could share stories about—both students and staff—but this is what came on my heart this morning as I grabbed my cane, walked to my office at the National Federation of the Blind, got my cup of coffee, fired up my computer, and turned on my Braille display. Just another average day in the life of a man who happens to be blind, a life where the last twenty-five years have been so different because of these folks who gave of themselves to build me in new ways. While the building continues and will into the future, I hope that I am able to give back in the same spirit and warmth that each of these folks has during the time I have known them.
To those in training today, take full advantage of every moment you have to build yourself. To those considering training at any stage of life, I promise you that you will not regret it. To those of you who are in a position to support one of the Federation’s training centers with your time, talent, or treasure, you will not regret the impact you can make on a person like me.