enrolled, and on June 30 of this year the number had increased to
seventeen, with the prospect of more at the opening of the fall term.
Teachers for special classes are generally chosen from the regular
school department, their work being usually directed by a blind
supervisor. In pursuance of my work as home teacher I found a number of
children for whom there was no room in the State School at Berkeley, and
before the special class was organized I taught these children in their
homes or at the library. Miss Frances Blend, a grade teacher, asked to
study with me, since she wished to teach the blind here or in the East.
I sent her to teach the children, and in this way she acquired the
necessary experience, learned to read and write Braille rapidly, and
gained an insight into the psychology of the blind child, so, when the
board of education needed a teacher for the special class she was ready
and eager for the task. Since then Miss Blend's sister has qualified and
is now the second teacher in the blind department, eight to ten children
being considered all that one teacher can properly care for.
Among the poor of every large city, there are children whose parents
conceal them, for fear they may be sent away to school. These are known
as hidden children, and I found one such child tucked away under the
bed, and was told she always hid there when she heard strange voices.
She was a little Mexican girl, and spoke no English. She is now one of
the brightest children in the class, and her parents are delighted that
they need not part with her.
In the special class, the children are trained to speak intelligently of
things which they do not see with the physical sight, so that they may
be able to converse naturally upon ordinary topics, and need not have to
plead ignorance, on the ground of never having seen this or that object.
Their minds are filled with a love for all beautiful things, especially
flowers and pictures, and they are frequently taken to parks and
museums. They are told about the stars, the blue sky, sunsets, the
majesty of the ocean, and all the other wonders that enchant the eye;
and they are taught to speak of "seeing" these things, because they
really do see them with the mental vision, keener, in many instances,
than mere physical sight. The boys of the polytechnic high school made a
wonderful doll house for the children--a house of four rooms, fully
furnished throughout. The children made their own rugs and baskets,
tables and chairs, and one boy modeled a bathtub of plasticine, perfect
in design. The house has a sloping roof, and it is thatched, and I must
confess that my first real knowledge of roofs was gained from examining
that one on the doll house. It has a chimney, too, and a stovepipe, and
so the children learn a great deal from this miniature home of their
dolls.
In their special classroom, the children are taught Braille reading and
writing, and a great deal of time is given to these branches. They are
taught all sorts of handwork, basketry, weaving, knitting, modeling, and
chair caning, and, when old enough, they are sent with the other
children to sewing, cooking, sloyd and music classes. As soon as
possible, they recite with the regular classes, their lessons being
previously read or explained by the special teacher. This gives them the
contact with normal children, so necessary to the development of the
blind child. Those not in favor of special classes claim that this
competition is too severe a strain, and that it is unkind and unwise to
place blind children with those whose physical advantages and
opportunities for study are greater. But we have found that the plan
works admirably. The special teacher trains her pupils to be
self-reliant and helpful, insists that they join in the games of the
others, assuring them that, with greater effort, they, too, may play,
and it is delightful to watch them at recess or at noon, each blind
child affectionately led by a seeing child, the latter calling the
teacher's attention to the successful performance of some feat on the
part of his blind playmate. In the classroom, too, the spirit is the
same, the blind child remembering things for the one who sees, and the
seeing child using his eyes for the one who is blind. The special
teacher trains the memory of her pupils to the highest possible degree,
impressing upon them that their minds are vast storehouses in which to
keep all sorts of knowledge tucked away for future use, and that it is
disastrous to blind children to forget. In mental arithmetic, they
usually lead the class. Their presence in the school is of the greatest
help to the others with whom they work in class. Their success in
overcoming difficulties is a stimulus to the pride and an incentive to
the ambition of the seeing child. The presence of the blind children is
a constant reminder to them of their superior physical advantages, and
they are ashamed to have them outstrip them, as they so often do, in
intellectual work. And so the presence of the blind child is sure to
result in untold good, not only to the child so handicapped, but to the
entire school, removing as it must, the belief, now, alas, so general,
that when eyesight is lost, all is lost. Trained side by side with its
sighted companions, doing the same work as well, if not better, the
later success of the young blind seeker after knowledge is practically
assured; for, as I have said, in mental attainment, at least, the blind
child is the peer of the child with eyesight,--here, beyond cavil, the
chances are equal.
To my mind, the coeducation of the blind and seeing is a step in the
right direction--a very forward step, since it will ultimately bridge
the gulf of misconception and skepticism now separating these two
classes--a gulf which must be bridged if we hope to arrive at a sane and
satisfactory solution of the problem of finding employment, not only for
the returned blind soldiers, but for the thousands of intelligent blind
men and women who are waiting eagerly, hungrily, for a chance to prove
their ability, a chance to earn their daily bread. When blind and seeing
children are trained side by side, from the kindergarten, through the
grades into high school, and on to college, perhaps, the barriers
dissolve, the blind boy and the seeing boy are comrades--they have
played together, worked together, and together they have planned their
future. The seeing boy knows the blind boy will succeed because he has
seen him victorious in many a mental skirmish. Just this May, right here
in the University at Berkeley, a blind student graduated fourth in a
class of more than one thousand seeing students. It may be interesting
to note, in passing, that there are seven blind students now attending
the university, and that the state provides three hundred dollars a year
to defray the expense of a reader for each student. New York was the
first state to provide readers for blind college students, and this was
brought about through the efforts of Dr. Newel Perry, a blind graduate
of the University of California, now a teacher of mathematics in the
California School for the Blind. Dr. Newel Perry was largely
instrumental in the passage of a similar bill in this state, and so once
again, the blind are indebted to a blind teacher for advancement.
But all the children in the special classes will not care to go to
college, and for those who do not, other work will be provided, manual
training given, and all sorts of trades encouraged. Here, too, they will
have the added stimulus of studying side by side with their sighted
companions. It is my earnest hope that some day this state will
establish a technical school for the blind. In such a school, a
deft-fingered intelligent blind boy could learn electric wiring, pipe
fitting, screw fitting, bolt nutting, assembling of chandeliers and
telephone parts, trained as a plumber's helper, and taught to read gas
and electric meters, by passing the fingers over the dial--in short, a
variety of trades and occupations could be pursued with profit to the
school and to the students. But while waiting for the establishment of
such a school, there is much to be done by way of preparation. We must
prove the truth of Clarence Hawkes' assertion that "blindness is, after
all, but a 25 per cent handicap in the race of life." But it _is_ a
handicap, no matter what profession is adopted. I analyze the handicap
thus: 24 per cent of it is the prejudice and unbelief of the public, and
the other 1 per cent is the lack of eyesight. I believe this is not too
strong. In speaking of the handicap, Clarence Hawkes continues: "a blind
person, in order to succeed equally with the seeing, must put in 125 per
cent of energy before he can stand abreast of his seeing competitor."
But in order to prove blindness to be but a 25 per cent handicap, we
must train our blind children from their earliest infancy. We must not
sidetrack them. We must plant their feet firmly on the highroad of life,
encourage their first, faltering steps, teach them to go forward
fearlessly, with head erect and shoulders squared, warn them of pitfalls
and hidden thorns, show them the wisdom of making haste slowly when the
path is steep or uneven, impress upon their minds the importance to
others of their success, and, above all, train them to have confidence
in themselves, teach them to realize that, because of their struggles
and limitations, they have a mental equipment and reserve force
possessed by very few of their more fortunate fellow beings. Thus
trained and fortified, our young blind people will work like Trojans to
prove their ability to those who doubt it, and succeed in removing one
obstacle after another, until they stand ready to take equal chances
with any who may be pitted against them. The hand of the sightless
worker is steadier, and his courage greater, because of the years of
struggle and constant effort of which his sighted competitors can form
no conception.
And so those in charge of the education of the blind, whether in
residential schools or public school classes, have a herculean task
before them, but if their hearts are in the work, if they are alive to
their wonderful opportunity for service, and if they have faith in the
ability of their pupils, the future success of these handicapped young
people is practically assured. As with the nation today, so with those
interested in the welfare of the blind--we look to the children for the
fulfillment of our highest ideals, and hope, in their advancement, to
see our "dearest dreams come true." I am often called visionary, and I
am proud to confess that I have a vision, a wonderful vision of the
future of the blind. It may not be realized during my lifetime, but if
some of the children I have inspired will take up the torch, and carry
it on unfalteringly, I shall be satisfied. Meantime, I walk by the light
of my vision along rough roads, across strange streams, up hills that
are steep and rock-strewn; and, though my courage sometimes fails, and
my strength seems unequal to the task, the light shines clear and
steady, and I go forward, in the glad assurance that one day my vision
will be realized, my cherished dream for the emancipation of my people,
the emancipation of the blind, _must_ "come true."
THE RE-EDUCATION OF THE BLIND ADULT,
With Special Reference to the Blinded Soldier.
"A voice came in the darkness
And lifted the curtain of Mind;
I saw that fingers could be
Also eyes to the blind.
I touched, I thought, I saw,
And the dark shades rolled aside.
And to you my heart pays tribute.
Dear teacher, friend and guide."
These lines were sent to me by one of my blind pupils after he had
learned to read and write the Braille characters. They express the
purpose of re-education, and indicate the means by which it may be
attained. Rehabilitate, reconstruct, re-educate--these are familiar
terms in this hour of stress and world conflict. To the minds of many,
these words may present problems that are entirely new, but to the
social worker, and those whose lives have been spent in the service of
the handicapped men and women of our civil communities, the problem
presented is no new one, the only difference being that, whereas,
hitherto, only a few recognized the problem, today, stirred by the
knowledge of war and its frightful consequences, every one is eager to
share in the rehabilitation movement now sweeping over the land. The
re-education of the blinded soldier is, after all, only the re-education
of the blind adult, and he has been with us, lo, these many years! Adult
blindness has increased alarmingly in the past half century, and the
problem of providing for this unfortunate class has assumed proportions.
The prospect of having to care for thousands of blinded soldiers has led
to a consideration of the blind and their possible rehabilitation, and
much good should result from the united effort. We extend a cordial
invitation to all to "come over to Macedonia and help."
The California State Library has been engaged in the re-education of the
blind adult since it opened its Books for the Blind Department in
December, 1904. At first it supplied books to those who already knew how
to read, but soon it became evident that its field of usefulness could
extend to the adult suddenly deprived of eyesight, and not eligible to a
school for the blind. And thus the need for home teaching became
apparent long before the State Library could employ such a teacher. I
realized this need, even before leaving school, and it was my privilege
to teach as a volunteer for twenty years prior to my appointment as home
teacher for the State Library. During that period I taught the blind of
this and neighboring states, and, before books were made available by
the State Library I copied stories and poems suited to the tastes of my
individual pupils. In this way I came in close touch with the blind and
their problems, and my every waking moment was devoted to their service
and although there were
"Heavy burdens in the load,
And too few helpers on the road,"
I clung to the belief that some day help would come, and I should be
permitted to enlarge my scope of usefulness, and reach all who needed
re-education. And this hope was realized in July, 1914, when the State
Library asked me to accept the position of Home Teacher of the Blind of
the state.
As early as 1890 Pennsylvania started home teaching in this country, but
its work was privately maintained. Since then other states have
established such departments, Massachusetts, New York, Ohio, Illinois,
but these have special appropriations for carrying on the work. Our
State Library is doing it out of its general appropriation, and as a
phase of its extension. It is the only state library maintaining such a
department in connection with regular library work. Some of the large
cities have reading rooms in their public libraries, where books are
loaned on application, and where reading is taught to those who can go
there for lessons.
The duties of the State Library home teachers are manifold. This
department has steadily grown in importance until now it is recognized
as the very bone and sinew of work for the blind in this state. Some of
the teacher's duties are, first, to teach raised type to all who can not
see to read ordinary print, (a person need not be totally blind in order
to read in this way, as many learn who can see to go about alone):
second, to search for, and when possible, place either in the school at
Berkeley, or the special class in Los Angeles, all blind children who
have reached the age of six years; third, to conduct a campaign for the
prevention of blindness and conservation of vision in adults and
children; and, lastly, to set forth the needs of the blind, convince the
public that its attitude toward them is often an added affliction, and
correct a few of the many mistaken ideas concerning those deprived of
eyesight, who are, necessarily, somewhat handicapped in the race of
life. The importance of this last duty can not be overestimated, and so
my next lecture will present this subject in its many phases, with the
hope of creating a better understanding between the blind and the
seeing--an understanding which will not only help the blind adult now in
our midst, but aid materially in the re-education of the blinded
soldier. My task is not an easy one, but I love my work and my pupils,
and I have come to know that the public needs, not so much to be
instructed, as to be reminded.
Our first borrower was a lady of ninety years, and so we realized at
once that there was practically no age limit in this work, thus proving
the truth of the well-known saying, "we are never too old to learn." A
man of ninety, with hands toil-worn and crippled from rheumatism, was
able, after a few weeks of study, to read with pleasure, his only regret
being that he had not learned twenty years before, when blindness first
came upon him. When it is considered that, during all those years, the
man had not read a single word, his progress is truly remarkable, and
the fact that he is reading has stimulated others who, on account of
their advanced age, hesitated to study the raised types. The
requirements for study are simple--a love for reading, persistent
application, and a determination to succeed. If a person did not care to
read with his eyes, he will certainly not be willing to learn with his
fingers. This is a fact not well understood, and it is very generally
supposed that all blind people want to learn to read. Among our elderly
borrowers are doctors, judges, ministers, teachers and authors, and to
them the reading has given a new lease of life. There are invalids among
our elderly people--men and women in wheel chairs, with crippled limbs,
sometimes deprived of the use of one hand--but they are reading, and
their pleasure is beautiful to see. One woman of eighty-seven, who has
not walked for four years, and blind one year, learned to read last
January, and since that time she has read twenty books, besides knitting
squares for the Red Cross.
The type read by the elderly borrowers, and those with toil-hardened
hands, or suffering from some nervous affection, was formulated by a
blind man, Dr. William Moon, of London, about 1845, and is called Moon
type. The characters are large and distinct, many of them being shaped
like the ordinary printed letters. They are easily learned, and this
type is invaluable, not only for old people, but in cases where, in
order to restore lost confidence, a quick return is imperative. Dr. Moon
lost his eyesight in early manhood, and spent the remaining years of his
life perfecting his system, printing books and pamphlets, and going
about teaching the poor of London, thus inaugurating home teaching for
the blind. Moon type books have been printed in many languages, and
thousands of men and women have been blessed and brightened by the
unique philanthropy of this blind man. His son, Robert Moon, brought the
type to Pennsylvania, and that state and ours lead in the number of Moon
books in circulation. Often when a borrower has read Moon for six months
or a year, he is able to learn the Braille, his fingers being trained by
the Moon to remain in a proscribed space, and his confidence in their
ability fully established. This is a potent factor in mastering a dotted
system, as the progress is generally slow and laborious, especially for
elderly people.
The fact that an adult can learn to read with the fingers seems very
wonderful to the uninitiated, and, indeed, it is a long step forward,
but the ability to substitute fingers for eyes is only one of the
marvels wrought. Helen Keller has truly said that "idleness is the
greatest burden of the blind," and this is why our work with them is so
acceptable, though the reading is, after all, only the means to an end.
While training the fingers to perform their new functions, I strive to
renew hope and courage in the hearts of the pupils, assuring them that
they may still do many things that were possible before their blindness.
Self-reliance and helpfulness--minus self-pity--this is the formula I
use when urging the pupils to make the most of life; for when a man is
sorry for himself, he is on the road to despair, and his condition is
well nigh hopeless. When the pupils are able to read and write once
more, after having given up all hope of ever doing so, their confidence
is restored, and a way is opened to new and hitherto undreamed-of
possibilities. Old aims and pursuits, relinquished when the eyesight
failed, are once more remembered and discussed, and, in many instances,
resumed, thus bringing back the light, not to the eyes, but to the mind,
through work. John Newton says: "You can not shove the darkness out of a
room, but you _can_ shine it out." I see this miracle performed every
day, yet to me it is ever new, ever wonderful, stimulating me to greater
efforts for my people--because the blind _are_ my people, and their joys
and sorrows, triumphs and defeats, find an echo in my heart.
When the raised alphabet is mastered, books are sent from the State
Library to the homes, through the mail, free of cost, and thus there is
no expense incurred, and as this service is tax-supported, there is no
element of charity connected with it. At present, the State Library
employs two home teachers, and the number will be increased as the need
arises. One of these, Miss Catharine J. Morrison, is stationed at Los
Angeles, having been appointed to take my place there when I was
transferred to San Francisco last October. The arrangement for this
transfer was one of the last official acts of the late State Librarian,
my well-loved chief. Mr. Gillis was devoted to the blind, and extended
the service to this section at the earliest possible moment.
The State Library selected me as home teacher, not only because of my
years of experience with the blind, but because, blind from early
infancy, I was familiar with the handicaps and discouragements that
overwhelm the adult but recently deprived of eyesight. The pupils have
confidence in a blind teacher, because they know that every step in
their difficult path is familiar to her feet. The qualifications for a
home teacher are, briefly, these: personality, adaptability, tact, a
sense of humor, a broad, comprehending sympathy, a strongly hoping
heart, unlimited patience, and a determination to do what is best for
her pupils, no matter what the opposition, or how hard the task may be.
"He who can plant courage in the human soul is the best physician," and
this is one of the chief duties of the home teacher. Some knowledge of
nervous diseases is also essential, and it is often necessary to
exercise the greatest care and patience in giving the first few lessons,
as an unwise word, or a failure to understand conditions, may lead to
untold misery. This is especially true in cases of sudden blindness, as
the pupil is often afraid to move about his own room, confused by the
altered conditions, and bewildered by a multitude of sounds hitherto
unnoticed. It is absolutely necessary to have the co-operation of the
family, and I am often obliged to insist that changes be made in the
household arrangements, in order to help a pupil through the trying
period of readjustment. This is sometimes fraught with difficulties for
both pupil and teacher, but the latter should never lose sight of the
comfort and benefit of her charge, and should care nothing for
unreasonable objections or selfish protests.