[PHOTO/CAPTION: Seville Allen]

[PHOTO/CAPTION: Seville Allen]

Braille Monitor

November

2004

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The

Blind Witness History Too

by

Seville Allen

Seville

Allen

From the Editor: Seville

Allen is first vice president of the NFB of Virginia and a longtime resident

of the greater Washington, D.C., area. The following article appeared in the

Summer/Fall issue of the Vigilant, the publication of the NFB of Virginia.

This is what she says:

June 9, 2004, was an historic

day in Washington, D.C. For the past four days the media had been full of film

clips about former president Ronald Reagan, who died on June 5, 2004; and June

9, 10, and 11 were the dates designated for national ceremonies, recognition,

and remembrance. On the morning of June 9 I stood on a crowded morning rush

hour Washington Metro train, listening to fellow passengers complaining about

the snarled traffic, the way they were inconvenienced by the funeral procession,

and the hot summer weather. I heard not a word of being privileged to witness

an historic event. While I stood reading my Braille magazine, I realized that

I too had not participated in any of the history being made in Washington, D.C.,

since the Presidential inauguration of 1993 when I joined friends to walk across

the Memorial Bridge to Arlington Cemetery following President-elect Bill Clinton.

Several historic events had occurred in the eleven years since I participated

in that inauguration celebration, and I decided that it was time to take advantage

of the opportunity to participate in an historic event once again and join the

crowd to witness the caisson move down Constitution Avenue on its way to the

Capitol building.

The

procession was scheduled to begin its journey at 16th and Constitution Avenues

about 6:00 p.m. Since I expected to be within two blocks of the procession route

about 6:00 p.m. on my way home, I figured I could get off the Metro train and

walk the two blocks to the procession route and join the throng at 12th Street

and Constitution Avenue.

As

I made my plan, I kept hearing a little voice asking, "Can you really do

this alone? What about the crowd? Will the police stop you, telling you it is

too dangerous to be in such a large crowd alone?" Was I buying into society's

idea that a blind person shouldn't be alone in a crowd?

During

the day I mentioned to several people that I planned to go watch the caisson

pass. Every person had a negative reaction. Several assumed I was going with

a sighted friend; one told me in a harsh, blunt tone that I had no business

doing such a thing alone. Another urged me to drop such a fanciful plan and

go home. I heard all their fears, and my own doubts grew. Then I remembered

I still had two loads of laundry to finish before packing a suitcase and catching

a Greyhound Bus at 6:10 a.m. the following morning. I decided it would be most

efficient to go home and take care of the chores. Then I stopped short, realizing

I was falling into the trap of making excuses for skipping the event when the

real issue was my lack of personal confidence.

At

5:57 p.m. I left the Metro train and hurried out of the station. When I reached

the top of the escalator, I could hear band music. I moved faster. As my cane

touched the curb indicating that 12th Street was immediately in front of me,

a policeman called to me and said, "You can walk in the street if you want,

because it is blocked and there is no traffic." I thanked him, stepped

off the curb, turned right toward the sound of the band and the direction I

knew was Constitution Avenue.

I

heard no footsteps as I hurried south along 12th Street, and I felt strange

running down what is usually a very busy city street with multiple traffic lanes.

As I ran faster, I suddenly heard sirens behind me and then the motor of a large

vehicle coming fast; I realized it was a fire truck moving faster than I, so

I turned and ran to my right, looking for the safety of the curb. My cane touched

the curbing, and I continued running because I was afraid I would miss the caisson.

The fire truck stopped. Hearing no vehicle, I stepped back into the roadway,

where I could run faster. As I reached the crowd, I again moved to my right

and stepped up onto the sidewalk. Just as I stepped out of the street, the fire

truck, siren blaring, returned, moving swiftly into the intersection to my left.

Within a few seconds I reached the back of the crowd, which was almost to the

curb on Constitution Avenue.

A

fellow observer said, "You made it just in time," and told me all

I had missed was the Army band. I was close enough to hear the feet of the marching

soldiers, the slow movement of the dignitaries' cars, the lumbering sound of

the media truck, and the hooves' slow, rhythmic clop as the horses pulled the

caisson along the historic avenue. Several people quietly identified the various

military bands, dignitary cars (with blacked-out windows concealing riders),

the media truck, and Nancy Reagan's car. Their descriptions added to the easily

recognized sounds. We all quietly and respectfully applauded each segment of

the procession.

Within

fifteen minutes the event was history, and as I slowly walked back to the Metro

station to continue my trip home to the laundry and packing, I was pleased that

I had gone to the event. None of the things I had imagined actually happened.

In fact, the police officer had given me permission to run in the street instead

of telling me it was too dangerous to be in the crowd.

Yes, I was on the Greyhound

Bus at 6:10 a.m. the following morning. As I settled into my seat for the six-hour

ride, I thought of my Federation family and how you all made it possible for

me to participate in an historic event on my own. We are indeed changing what

it means to be blind.

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