Editor's Note: The following article appeared in the November 30, 2008 Danbury News-Times. It was originally submitted in early October, with hopes of getting it published on White Cane Safety Day, but the best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray.

A few Sundays ago it was sunny and mild, so I decided to walk the three-quarters of a mile to church. After crossing Foster on the South side of West Street, I went another ten feet or so to where I knew there was a crosswalk, and stuck out my long white cane. Three cars whizzed by without even slowing before the fourth car came to a stop to let me cross. Halfway across West Street, I had to wait for two more cars to pass before I managed to finish crossing and made my way into Saint James.

After twenty-six years of uncontrolled blood sugars, I lost my sight. I also lost my career, my confidence, and my self-respect. To me, the white cane represented a neon sign, my scarlet letter, proclaiming to the world that I was blind, and I wanted nothing to do with it. Fortunately, my wife had the good sense to disagree.

Following several months of denial, I began a new phase in my life. I received Mobility and Orientation instruction from the Board of Education and Services for the Blind (BESB), our state agency for the blind. Once a week an instructor visited my house and taught me cane travel techniques. He showed me how to get around my neighborhood, and how to use public transportation. The cane gave me a physical connection to the places I traveled, and helped me to develop mental pictures of where I'd been. For practice, I'd go for walks downtown, to local stores, or the library to check out a book on tape. This was when the real lessons occurred, because sometimes I'd get lost. I'm yet to find a panic equal to being blind and completely confused about where you are. You have to utilize the sounds and your physical surroundings to figure out your exact location, and how you went wrong.

I joined the National Federation of the Blind and talked with other blind people to find out how they did things. I began to believe in myself, and with support and encouragement from my family, I mastered some of the alternative techniques blind people use to get along in life.

With a newer, and lighter, fiberglass cane, I walked my children to and from school. As I gained understanding about the true nature of blindness, I started doing advocacy work on behalf of the blind and visually impaired.

Three years after losing my sight, I traveled solo to Atlanta. Two years after that, I traveled to West Virginia and attended a Writer's conference-by myself. Since then, I've traveled to our state capitol to lobby our Senators and Representatives to improve training and opportunities for blind people. I've co-chaired a legislative council overseeing our state agency for the blind, and tapped my way to meetings with the governor and the Secretary of State.

The long white cane is not only a tool--it symbolizes the achievements and independence of people who are blind or visually impaired. In early October 1964, President Lyndon Johnson signed a joint resolution of the U.S. Congress, declaring October 15 as "White Cane Safety Day". Despite the annual proclamation, very few people are aware of the importance of the white cane, or the legal ramifications for ignoring it.

Connecticut law states that all vehicles must yield to pedestrians in a crosswalk. Given that I might have been slightly outside the crosswalk on my walk to church, Connecticut Statute P.A. 08-150 still says that vehicles must yield to pedestrians with a white cane or guide dog, or risk paying a hefty fine. Unfortunately, since white cane and guide dog users are legally blind, very few offenders are ever reported. And, the results of not yielding could be a lot worse than a fine.

Despite my earlier reluctance, I now have a wide collection of white canes. Some are one piece, others telescope or fold. Some have roller tips, others have a plastic ball or a thin aluminum disk. Now my cane is a part of me, and I always have a spare in my suitcase when I travel. My cane does announce to the world that I'm blind, but I'm okay with that. When I'm walking down the street, it signals to cars and pedestrians alike that I'm going places.

Hopefully, they're paying attention.

For more information, E-mail us at: info@nfbct.org