Let the Old Creep Die

Let the Old Creep Die

The Braille Monitor_______

October 1997

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PHOTO/CAPTION: Barbara Pierce

PHOTO/CAPTION: Quincy Magoo

Let the Old Creep Die

by Barbara Pierce

Across the summer an unlikely topic surfaced

again and again on radio news, talk programs, and Internet listservs throughout

the country. The subject was Mr. Magoo--the curmudgeonly cartoon character created

shortly before World War II, transformed in the fifties into the self-satisfied

prig seen in theater shorts, and modified again for television in the sixties

into everybody's bumbling, incompetent, but kindly uncle. By the late seventies

the near-sighted nitwit voiced by Jim Backus was a has-been, so why, in 1997,

was he suddenly appearing on the front page of the Wall Street Journal, on the

editorial pages of dozens of major newspapers, and on the ABC television program

"Access Hollywood"?

The reason was simple: a couple of years

ago The Walt Disney Company bought the rights to Mr. Magoo and decided to make

a feature-length, live-action Magoo film, starring Leslie Nielsen, to be released

at Christmastime this year. News of this project filtered out last spring, and

as soon as they heard of the project, blind people began to worry--at least

those who had weathered the effect of Mr. Magoo on blind children the first

time around began to worry.

Society is constantly evolving, but whether

the changes are on balance positive or negative is more than those who live

through them can objectively assess. But the fact of change is pretty universally

accepted. Take humor, for example. What people laugh at in polite company is,

perhaps, the first thing to change from generation to generation. The moron

jokes of my childhood are long gone, and ethnic and racial jokes soon followed

them into well-deserved obscurity. Any significant cultural trend will impose

a discrepancy for a while between jokes told in polite circles and the ones

people laugh at in their own, homogeneous groups. As a brunette I find some

of the blonde jokes amusing, but my blonde daughter distinctly does not, even

though her intelligence, common sense, and practicality remove her as far from

the objects of those jokes as it is well possible to be. So, out of respect

to her, I no longer tell blonde jokes, but I still find them funny.

Over the centuries the evolution of humor

becomes more pronounced. In the Middle Ages blind men were dressed up with donkeys'

ears and set to fighting each other to amuse the crowds at country fairs. In

the eighteenth century people toured insane asylums to enjoy the antics of the

chained inmates. But anyone who found either of these spectacles amusing today

would be unhesitatingly branded as perverted.

If you had asked me five years ago whether

Mr. Magoo could make a revival in the United States in the 1990's, I would have

said with conviction that as a culture we were past taking delight in the mistakes

of a man who saw so little that he did not know where he was or what he was

actually doing most of the time. I could not have been more wrong. People laugh

at what frightens them; that is one way of coping with fear. But whatever the

reason, Disney gambled on the proposition that Magoo would draw a nostalgic

adult audience, along with children who would find Nielsen's brand of klutzy,

disorganized silliness funny. To hear Disney officials talk about the decision

in their public statements, you would conclude that the idea that Magoo might

make life harder for a new generation of blind children, as it did for blind

adults now in their thirties and older, never even entered their minds.

Mr. Magoo, they protested, wasn't really

blind; he was just very nearsighted. They hadn't intended any harm, so none

could be done by the film. And, besides, Magoo as they planned to portray him

was an American hero because he managed to solve the problems and resolve the

conflicts--only after he put his glasses back on, of course. They said Magoo

was a Forrest Gump figure and that the film could appropriately be compared

to Children of a Lesser God and My Left Foot. True, Disney has not offered to

let officials of the National Federation of the Blind read the script of the

film, but it stretches credulity to conceive of Leslie Nielsen's style of acting

as bearing any similarity to the powerful portrayals of Marlee Matlin or Daniel

Day-Lewis in the films just mentioned.

The absurdity of such arguments would

be funny if the film's potential for harming blind people were not so great.

What does it matter that Magoo's corrected vision places him above the legal

definition of blindness when the joke is that he does not wear his glasses?

He behaves bizarrely and wanders around unaware of his surroundings because

his creators consider that such actions are both plausible behavior for the

blind and funny to watch.

It may comfort the Disney folks to announce

that they had no intention of causing problems for blind people, and it may

well be so. But it was undoubtedly more a case of its never having occurred

to anybody to take the warnings seriously. An op-ed piece in the Los Angeles

Times at the time Disney acquired the rights to Magoo warned that reviving "the

old creep," as Jim Backus took to calling Magoo in later years, was a bad

idea and would harm blind people.

In fact as early as the late fifties

an incident occurred that demonstrated how painful the Magoo joke could be.

The British author Aldous Huxley was hired to develop a Magoo script based on

the Don Quixote story, according to Dun Roman, a former writer for United Pictures

of America (UPA), the organization owning the rights to Mr. Magoo at the time.

Huxley had poor vision, and it soon became apparent that he did not know that

Magoo was all but blind. Rather than tell him about the blindness joke, UPA

paid for his script, which it never used. So much for astonishment that the

Magoo joke might be in poor taste.

The notion that Mr. Magoo in any transformation

could be an American hero or that Leslie Nielsen's comic acting places his performance

in the same class as two of the most moving and powerful portrayals of disability

ever created is nothing more than optimistic public relations puffery. But one

part of that argument must be deeply disturbing to anyone dedicated to the conviction

that blind people are capable of living productive, well-adjusted lives. Disney

officials point out with pride that Magoo puts everything to rights as soon

as he puts on his glasses and can see what is happening. What message does that

plot device give to blind children and to everyone who at some future time will

deal with blindness?

At the opening general session of the

1997 convention of the National Federation of the Blind, delegates overwhelmingly

passed Resolution 97-03, which called upon The Disney Company to stop production

of the Magoo movie and urged the actors to have nothing more to do with the

project. (See the August/September, 1997, issue for the complete text of the

resolution.) The press swept down with open mikes and rolling cameras to demand

explanations for our opposition to Mr. Magoo. Members stepped forward to talk

about their own experiences as children and their fears for what today's blind

youngsters may be in for as a result of Magoo's revival.

Following the convention, President Maurer

asked me to gather several statements together for one journalist who requested

personal stories of troubles brought on by Magoo. In addition to a number of

comments from various listservs, we passed on the following statements:

Statement

by Sabrina Yamini

Four years ago my stepson Musa committed

suicide at the age of fourteen. At the time we did not know that Musa was facing

taunts, teasing, and beatings on a daily basis at school. He was, apparently,

convinced that at fourteen he should be able to handle his own problems independently.

For reasons beyond my understanding, the teachers and staff at the school didn't

bother to tell us what was going on. The first we knew the full extent of Musa's

agony was when we discovered his body.

I have a number of younger children and

stepchildren, several of whom are blind or visually impaired to one degree or

another. They too endure teasing and laughter at the hands of their classmates.

Teachers present during these episodes do nothing to stop them; in fact, they

often seem to encourage the activity. They have no grasp of what all this is

doing to my children's spirits.

These children are very fragile. I have

no words to convey my anxiety when I think about what will happen when the children

in our area see the movie about Mr. Magoo next winter. Perhaps the name-calling

and laughter and tricks will be only a little worse because of the movie, but

how much worse do they have to be before one of our younger children decides

to follow Musa's example?

Statement

by Mary Lou Grunwald

I've heard people say that there is no

tie between Magoo and his adventures and the experiences of blind people. There

are ties. I lived through them.

When I entered school for the first time,

I had to wear very strong glasses. I was, and still am, legally blind. I attended

classes where the books had very large print. I have very clear memories of

hearing other kids make fun of me because I couldn't see very well. They called

me Magoo. At least twice kids cornered me in the school yard, took my glasses

away from me, and broke them. They said, "Now you're really Magoo, and

you can't catch us." They laughed and taunted.

All of this happened many years ago,

and I guess you could say that it was just a matter of children's cruelty and

insensitivity. But I can only end up thinking that the Magoo cartoons taught

them that it was okay to laugh and make fun of somebody with very poor or no

sight. As I remember these painful experiences, I am disturbed by the idea that

this kind of stuff would be considered okay today. I remember how frightened

and angry I was as a third or fourth grader.

I hope we can convince The Disney Company

to do something more positive and helpful with the money it would take to make

a new Magoo movie.

Statement

by Bill Reif

Unlike George of the thankfully short-lived

television program "Good and Evil," Mr. Magoo is supposed to be a

somewhat likable guy and was designed to appeal to children. Still I couldn't

agree more that Mr. Magoo belongs to another time, as do Dick Tracy and the

Frito Bandito, and should not be inflicted on yet another generation.

Let me describe a couple of small incidents,

far separated in time, which illustrate the place in the public mind Mr. Magoo

occupies and will occupy if not challenged by the NFB and by people having the

courage demonstrated by those who stand with us.

When I was in high school in 1972, I

had a friend in phys ed who used to look up to me, ask for help in homework,

etc. While definitely not known for his tact, he was generally a nice guy. While

he normally referred to me by my name, he often, when offering help he was sure

a blind person would need, (help such as learning what room I had just entered),

would precede his unwanted offer by stating: "OK, Magoo, you're in the

locker room now," or "I'll walk you out to the car, Magoo." Let

me make it clear that this was not a kid who wanted to make fun of me by calling

me "Magoo." He always used it in a context that implied that, because

of my blindness and but for his help, I would be as oblivious of my surroundings

as Mr. Magoo. Whenever I would decline his unwanted offer of help, he would

point out that Magoo never thought he was lost or needed help either. I think

this was a kid who didn't have the sense not to say what others were content

merely to think.

The other incident happened just a year

ago as I was walking past a church day-care center. One of the preschool-age

children asked his mother what I was doing tapping that stick. Upon being told

I was blind, he asked, in amazement, "Oh, like Mr. Magoo?" That cartoon

is still shown regularly on Nickelodeon. To her credit, his mother replied,

"No, not like Mr. Magoo; he uses a cane because he knows where he's going."

As I continued past, I heard her explaining that blind people aren't like Mr.

Magoo. I hope her assurances came early enough in his life to change his beliefs

and keep them from becoming the emotional reaction to blindness some adults

just can't get past. How much better it would be if parents didn't have to undo

the damage done by the lies and stereotypes which frightened or ill-informed

people find entertaining.

It's interesting that my son hates Mr.

Magoo, finding it beyond belief that he could get through a whole cartoon without

realizing he was on a ship, in a bullfight, or wherever the situation put him.

Statement

by Barbara Pierce

I was the only blind child in my elementary

school in the 1950's. I had a little vision and wore thick glasses in an attempt

to improve my sight. When I look back on those years, I realize that I spent

much of the time worrying: If I was lucky enough to be chosen to take a message

to the school office (an honor that every kid yearned for), I fretted that the

secretary would not be typing to guide me to her door and on the way back that

some teacher would open or close her room door, thereby throwing off my count

of open doors to find my class again. At church I worried that I would not see

the glint of the offering plate to reach for it at the right time. I agonized

for fear that my walking-to-school friends would get tired of walking with me.

When I walked to school alone, I could not count on finding the shortcut, so

I was in danger of being tardy.

And so it went--day in and day out. These

were not shattering concerns, but they occupied much of my waking time. The

problem was that the magnitude of my vision loss was supposed to be a big secret.

I got the message from teachers, classmates, and my family that I should try

to act like everybody else. I was pretty good at recognizing people by their

voices, but I learned early not to give away the fact when I did not know to

whom I was speaking. Actually the fact of my blindness was no secret. I sometimes

heard other students whispering the information; then the older boys started

their very own playground chant:

Blind-as-a-bat,

Where am I at?

Mr. Magoo,

What'ya tryin' to do?

It would be twenty-five years before

I learned that what I should have done once I had been outed was to admit the

situation, get the Braille training I badly needed, and learn to use a white

cane. But protective coloration was all I could think to use as a defense. If

I never risked reaching out to do anything new or different, if I stayed back

in the crowd until the comments of others told me what to expect, I was less

likely to be humiliated by bumping into something or misidentifying someone.

The price I paid was loss of experience. I didn't touch things; I didn't go

places alone; I didn't risk doing things that would have taught me more about

my world. For the sighted child with access to picture books, television, and

films such deprivations are regrettable, but for a blind child they cause deficits

that remain for life.

But despite my efforts I was not spared

the jibes. Mr. Magoo haunted me. I knew his mistakes had nothing to do with

blindness because I never confused dogs with children, bananas with telephone

receivers, or dishes with records; but my classmates assumed that was the way

I must perceive the world. They were forever handing me objects and swearing

that they were something else. They were indignant when I was not confused and

not prepared to laugh at any error I made.

Thank Heaven I was one of the brightest

students in my class. I could often anticipate a Magoo set-up and figure out

how to thwart it. I was blessed with a circle of friends, but all of them at

one time or another tried sneaking away from me silently or standing perfectly

still so I couldn't find them. They were indignant when these stratagems did

not work and gleeful when they did. The theme in both cases was Mr. Magoo--I

was either like him or not like him. When they fooled me, they squealed with

laughter, and when I caught on to what was happening, they were angry because

I wasn't playing by the rules.

There was no way to win. Did all this

mar me for life? Not profoundly. I have not resorted to the therapist's office

to work out my neuroses. But the only way to make a healthy adjustment to blindness

is to admit what is happening and set about openly and intelligently to master

the skills necessary to live effectively as a blind person. I took many years

to recognize this truth and many more to learn to act on it. Mr. Magoo compounded

my problems and confused the people who could have helped me evolve a natural

and healthy approach to my situation.

I survived more or less intact, but I

see no reason why another generation of blind children should be asked to bear

the brunt of Mr. Magoo and his antics.

The themes raised in these statements

have been discussed in Internet conversations and interviews around the country

in the weeks since passage of the July 2 resolution. The responses to the Federation

position seem to be of two sorts. The first has been on the whole from sighted

people who found Magoo's antics funny and who now resent the implication that

there might be any inappropriateness in their sense of humor. The comments from

such people tend to come down to "Lighten up. It's just a cartoon. Political

correctness has gone too far when poor old Mr. Magoo is blamed for causing serious

problems and reinforcing misconceptions about blindness." Unfortunately

there is ample evidence that Mr. Magoo has indeed caused children problems for

generations, and even in such conversations one can see the impact of the Magoo

world view on the very people protesting their freedom from the taint of prejudice.

Recently I found myself engaged in a

debate on this very topic with two interviewers in Texas. I commented that blind

people face an unemployment rate so high that it clearly reflects employers'

presumption that we are more or less helpless. In a little diatribe they announced

that blind people really are pretty helpless and that Mr. Magoo cartoons weren't

actually so far off the mark. A blind person wouldn't be able to distinguish

between plates and long-playing records without somebody there to identify the

item to be washed. Another interviewer, this time in Los Angeles, expressed

incredulity when I said that a blind person could distinguish between various

pieces of clothing and therefore would know what he or she was wearing. He demanded

to know what I was wearing and then insisted on speaking on the air with my

secretary to confirm the accuracy of my words. When the two of us agreed about

the outfit, he yielded, grudgingly, that I might be able to identify clothing,

but I pointed out to him that his tone of voice told me he was still not convinced

of the competence of blind people. My statement that Mr. Magoo had helped to

confirm the public's assumption that blind people had little grasp of the world

around them did not persuade him, but I remain convinced that such statements

as these interviewers made reflexively to me illustrate precisely the damage

done through the years by Magoo and the running gag about his mistakes in identification.

The other typical response arises from

blind people who have chiseled out a precarious place for themselves in their

social circle through demonstrating what good fellows they are by always being

the first to laugh at their blindness. Rather than mastering the alternative

skills they need to live efficiently and productively, they pretend that they

can see as often as they can and then laugh heartily at their errors or injuries

when the fakery falls apart. They, of course, don't want to be pitied, and laughter

at their own expense is the only weapon they have found to defend themselves

when they have no confidence in their actual abilities.

Perhaps the most startling aspect of

the entire Magoo controversy has been dealing with the accusations that members

of the NFB have no sense of humor and that we are engaged in political correctness

run amuck. Until now one of the most common criticisms aimed at us has been

that we seem to be absolutely insensible of the nuances of political correctness.

This older, more familiar complaint happens to be, in fact, accurate. Political

correctness has everything to do with language and labels for things and people.

We have always been more concerned with substance than form, figuring that,

in dealing with blindness at least, if we could straighten out the substance,

the latter would come right or cease to be a problem at all. Since we perceive

the issues raised by Mr. Magoo as going to the very heart of the problems of

discrimination and alienation facing blind people, we believe that protesting

what Disney is doing is genuinely important.

The reflexive opponents of political

correctness who have decided that our objections to Mr. Magoo are nonsense make

the error of labeling anything that has to do with a minority group and that

such people find inconvenient or uncomfortable as "political correctness."

They assume that, if they announce that a thing is superficial, it is. But laughing

at people because they can't see, underscoring the public's conviction that

things straighten themselves out only when you can see them, and encouraging

people's misconceptions about what a person can accomplish without seeing are

all serious matters. Whether one agrees with us about Magoo's involvement in

such issues, it seems amazing that people would define such questions as superficial

political correctness.

The accusation that we lack a sense of

humor seems equally peculiar to anyone who has spent any time around members

of the Federation. Few groups have more fun together or enjoy humor more completely.

We do not make a point of laughing about blindness; our lives and interests

are too wide-ranging to focus our humor on any one area of existence, but a

sense of humor certainly helps one to deal healthily with the absurdities that

occur because of blindness. Ridiculous situations, silly reactions, peculiar

comments: all these are shared among Federation friends and passed along with

zest. By and large, however, I cannot remember hearing Federationists laugh

at cruelty or anecdotes that make fun of blind people just because they are

blind. All of us have been the objects of such laughter too often to find such

anecdotes or jokes funny.

Shortly after the Wall Street Journal

published its front-page story on the history of Mr. Magoo, President Maurer

received a letter from a man in New York. The intemperate tone and obvious anger

of the letter demonstrate just how uncomfortable and even threatened some people

have been made by the prospect of blind people standing up and saying clearly

yet temperately that we are no longer willing to endure taunts and disparagement

without registering our displeasure. President Maurer's response is a model

of balance, rationality, and clarity. Here is the exchange of letters:

West Henrietta, New York

August 4, 1997

Dear Mr. Maurer:

I was outraged to read in Thursday's

Wall Street Journal that your organization is disturbed by Mr. Magoo's

resuscitation by the Disney Company. It is obvious that you people are ridiculously

overly sensitive and apparently don't have enough to do for the blind, subsequently

your complaining about a animated individual.

I've asked my people in New York to determine

where your funding comes from. If any of it comes from public funds, perhaps

such funding should be reviewed.

With best wishes, I am,

Sincerely yours,

Baltimore, Maryland

August 8, 1997

Dear ________:

I have received your letter, and I appreciate

the directness you employ in stating your opinion. Mine is different from yours,

but I believe that it is based upon experience. Perhaps I read more into my

experience than I should, but I don't think so. This is the experience to which

I refer.

The Walt Disney Company has proposed

to issue a live-action, full-length film reviving Mr. Magoo this upcoming Christmas.

At its 1997 convention held in New Orleans, Louisiana, the National Federation

of the Blind, the largest organization of blind people in the United States,

protested this proposed action by The Walt Disney Company. In response to the

protest, Disney said that we who are blind did not understand. Magoo is not

blind, they said; he's just nearsighted. Besides, they said, he is a role model,

a heroic figure.

From the perspective of the blind of

this country, we believe it is Disney that does not understand. I, Marc Maurer,

serve as President of the National Federation of the Blind. I am totally blind,

forty-six years old, and the father of two children. My wife Patricia is also

blind.

I am a lawyer and the administrator of

the largest organization of the blind in this country, the National Federation

of the Blind. We operate a number of training programs for the blind. We help

people find jobs. We have created 700 chapters that bring blind people together

in every state in our nation. We print and distribute millions of documents

that bring hope to the blind every year.

My wife, who is blind, has a teaching

certificate and has taught in several schools. She presently serves as a full-time

volunteer in our headquarters office.

Our two children, David, thirteen, and

Dianna, ten, are both sighted. They do what children usually do--go to school,

play in the yard, ride their bicycles, and complain about doing the dishes.

They cannot avoid the subject of blindness because we, their blind parents,

live with it every day.

When David was beginning in school (he

was in the second grade), he came home crying. The other kids had told him that

his parents were incompetent and ineffective because of blindness (the children

had said stupid and dumb). David knew better, and he told the kids that they

were wrong. The argument became heated and developed into a fight. David knew

what to do. He took the matter to the teacher, expecting vindication and support.

But he didn't get it. The teacher sided with those who had belittled his parents.

My son was isolated and alone. He didn't have the words to express it, but the

feeling was there. He knows his parents have ability, but nobody would believe

him. They called us by the name of Magoo.

The year started badly, and it got worse.

David knows that I sometimes make television appearances on behalf of the blind

of the nation. After one of these he told his friends that I had been on television.

But they wouldn't believe him. The teacher didn't believe it either. When David

insisted that his father had been on television, the teacher punished him for

lying.

Later the same year I was invited to

visit the First Lady, Mrs. Barbara Bush, in the White House. When David told

this story, he was once again accused of lying. The students and the teachers

just couldn't believe that a blind person would be doing such things. And it

all started with Mr. Magoo.

Humor about blindness is not wrong unless

it hurts. We in the National Federation of the Blind have as good a sense of

humor as anybody. But we believe that there is a difference between a good joke

and a put-down. For example, the story of the blind person who goes to the store

with a guide dog comes to mind. After entering, the blind person picks up the

dog by the tail and swings it in a circle. When the manager asks, "What

are you doing?" and "May I help you?" the blind person responds,

"No thanks, I'm just looking around." This is not offensive because

it can't injure anybody. But Magoo is offensive because he represents a false

image of blindness. When he can see, he gets things done. When he cannot see,

he makes errors and is incompetent. Blind people are not like that. Of course

all of us make funny mistakes sometimes, but blind people with proper training

are not less competent than the sighted. And we object to the power of the film

industry being used to say we are. We do not mistake a bear for a person dressed

up in a fur coat, as Magoo does. We do not mistake a fire plug for a small child,

as Magoo does. And we do not mistake long-play records for dinner plates, as

Magoo does.

I have described one of my own Magoo

experiences here, but it is not unique. Tens of thousands of blind people in

America have been faced with the same taunts and stereotypes based on the Magoo

theme. If it hadn't been painful for us, we wouldn't object. We ask Disney to

leave Magoo in the past, which is where he belongs.

A number of my friends have found themselves

bedeviled by the Magoo character. Maybe we should let people continue to do

this, but I'd rather they wouldn't. If they do, it seems reasonable to me that

we should have the opportunity to respond.

This may not answer the questions you

have raised in your letter. If you want to ask others, I'll do my best to respond.

Sincerely yours,

Marc Maurer, President

National Federation of the Blind

How is the controversy over Magoo likely

to end? At this writing, early in September, it is too soon to tell. The Disney

people came to meet with President Maurer in August and apparently have plans

to return in a few weeks to discuss our differences more completely. To date

no resolution has been hammered out. Surely all blind people would agree that

a series of solid portrayals of blind people on television and in the movies

would be a constructive step toward educating the public about the capacity

of blind people. Until recently we have endured little but wild or absurd characterizations

of blind people in entertainment: Audrey Hepburn fighting an intruder in Wait

Until Dark or the crazy driving and olfactory prowess of the depressed veteran

in Scent of a Woman. Magoo cartoons and the psychologist George in the ABC program

"Good and Evil" fall into the same category.

Two recent exceptions to this pattern

point the way toward the genuinely constructive portrayals of blind people that

could undo the damage Disney is about to perpetrate. These are the blind woman

on the CBS program, "Early Edition," and the blind scientist in the

new Jody Foster film, Contact. Both these characters have roles in the unfolding

plots, and they carry out their duties efficiently and appropriately. They use

canes and dogs and get on with their lives. Occasionally the fact of blindness

surfaces, but it is not dwelt upon. A sighted character could have been substituted

for either but was not. The message is clear: blindness is a characteristic

in each of these lives, but it does not define the person or control the life.

If Disney would commit to see that a

series of ordinary, competent blind characters find their way into films and

ABC television programs over the next several years and that the NFB will be

consulted to make sure that the portrayals are neither condescending nor spectacular,

the negative impact of Magoo this coming winter would be markedly reduced. Magoo's

danger has always been that his antics fall into a vacuum of ignorance about

the reality of blindness.

The National Federation of the Blind

will continue to fight to educate the public about the abilities of blind people.

Nothing Disney or uninformed sighted members of the general public or stunted

blind members of that same public can do will discourage us from working to

protect blind children from unnecessary attacks or resisting the effects of

discrimination wherever they surface. Mr. Magoo is merely the latest battleground.

It will not be the last.

Jim Backus was quoted as saying of Mr.

Magoo that he wished that they would "Let the old creep die." Blind

people can only echo that sentiment, but whatever Disney does, we have no intention

of allowing Magoo to undo the good we have accomplished during the peaceful

years in which he was absent from the scene. The cartoons used to end with Magoo

chortling to himself: "By George, Magoo, you've done it again." Whatever

it takes, the National Federation of the Blind is determined to see that his

words will not stand as the final epitaph of Mr. Magoo.