By Agnes F. Allen
Excerpted from the book, Life Without Sight:
My Journey into the Worlds of the Sighted and the Blind

On Labor Day, 1952, I left home to begin my new profession as a home teacher. I had planned to transport myself from Pittsburgh to Harrisburg by bus. Remember now, it was the day before I was expected to be on the job and I didn't have a place to live. But taking off on my own did not materialize because I was literally forced to change my previous decision of going it alone by my sister, Marie, who presented stiff opposition to my plan. Marie was determined to accompany me to the strange city and to find some form of housing. How much more realistic was she than I in the long run, for at the end of the day how in the world would I get around by myself when I knew nothing about my new environment?

It was hard to swallow my pride and submit to her determination to go with me. Then, too, my mother and Marie were ill-disposed to the idea also of my accepting a job 200 miles from home. But I wanted it this way because I was unhappy living in a sheltered and over-protective environment. I was already 28 years old and the chance to be on my own had finally objectified. I simply had to take advantage of this great opportunity.

When Marie and I departed I'm certain we left behind a worried and grieving mother. It was a sad parting. It was sad because I was leaving a home where love and protection resided, but it had to be.

We arrived in Harrisburg some time that afternoon and began our search for a suitable place for me to live. I cannot recall all the places we checked out, but St. Parick's Catholic rectory was probably the first stop. I don't remember how we came upon a Mrs. Pancake, but she flatly refused to rent to a blind woman. She would not be responsible. What if I should fall down the stairs? Then Marie's retort brought a smile to my face. "Well, suppose the whole world felt like that, blind people would not have a chance to become independent and strike out on their own."

Eventually we landed at 203 Front Street, not far from the Susquehanna River. The landlady's name was Kit, and a rather strange and peculiar individual was she, but most kind and willing to take in this wandering wayfarer. The hunt was over and I could finally settle down to make ready for the big day. Marie remained to help me unpack and get things in order, but continued to plead with me to come back home. On her way back to Pittsburgh she probably shed some tears and tried to form a mental picture as to just what she was going to tell mom when she got home. I later talked to them on the phone to reassure my family that I was all right. They thought I would be back in two weeks, but ever since that time I never returned to reside permanently in Pittsburgh.

The house where I would make my home for the next three years was large and accommodated lodging for about 30 girls. Some of the girls worked for the state and in this respect I found kindred spirits. The girls were permitted the use of the kitchen and shared a large living room in addition to our own individual rooms. It was fun mingling with so many young women some of whom I formed close relationships

My friend Terry Miller was one to whom I was particularly close. We ate many meals together and enjoyed many good times. I have lost track of Terry after I moved from Front Street and she went on to become the bride of George Stevens. She was such a wonderful friend and I am sorry that I have lost complete knowledge of her whereabouts.

I don't remember how I got to work that Tuesday morning, whether by bus or by foot. I met my new supervisor at the office. She was Miss Sophie Forward, blind herself, and I was to discover had a keen mind, a charming personality, and a genuine interest in her position and a real knack for challenging her teachers. She supervised a staff of 7 or 8, both men and women, all scattered throughout the state of Pennsylvania. Each teacher was assigned a certain number of counties in a particular area of the state. I was to work with blind men and women in 5 counties in Central Pennsylvania. It was simply remarkable how Miss Forward kept track of all her teachers, where they were, and what they were doing. I was so impressed with that woman and how she instilled in us the importance of self-reliance and personal responsibility. She was a true role model for those of us in her employ.

Now, you are probably wondering how I managed to get where I was assigned to work each day. Back in those days, the Council for the Blind did not provide drivers for the teachers. My chief means of transportation was the bus, and I used a cane for walking. I would take a bus and arrange to be met at the town in which I was scheduled to work on a particular day and as you can imagine, there were often interesting and amusing incidents encountered in my travels.

One day I got off the bus in York, Pennsylvania, and had no one to meet me. I was to find my client on my own. But lo and behold, a kind but curious lady approached me in the bus station as I was moving along with my cane, and inquired as to where I was going. I told her I had to find 403 Queen Street. Of course, I had no idea where to find this address and was intending to locate my client's house by taxi. But the woman beckoned me to come along with her. I had no idea where she was leading me but I walked with her to what, I think might have been a desk at the station. My new-found friend informed the person at the desk that this "dear little soul" wants to go to 403 Queen Street. And the next thing I knew I was riding in a police car transporting me to my destination.

Just think of it! A state employee arriving at a client's home in a police car! All I can say is that if the person who answered the door could see he or she had to be totally mystified, or maybe that person was blind and wouldn't know the difference as to the manner in which I got to the house. I shall never forget that address or the circumstances surrounding it.

Rehabilitation teachers today are fortunate in that they are chauffeured from place to place by paid drivers, at least in some states such as New Jersey and Connecticut. In the old days we were sometimes lucky enough to engage the service of a volunteer driver. Hard as it was to get about back then, no one can deny that working out our itinerary was a real test of our resourcefulness and ingenuity.

There was one elderly man who met me at the door one day and upon learning that I was blind remarked that it was all right for an old man like him, but not for a young girl like me. Another client of interest was Skip, a 21 year old who became blind as a result of a shooting accident. The accident was caused by Skip's brother, as I recall, fortuitously shot Skip in the temple. As I think back to Skip I remember that Skip's great desire was to have a girlfriend and he looked upon me as a potential candidate. It was hard to make him understand that I was there to help him accept and adjust to his blindness so that at some point he may be able to meet a nice girl. But Skip's reaction was understandable in that he viewed me as one who could relate to his problems and empathize with his predicament. However, in such a case, one must remain professional and objective. Besides, I was at that time 10 years Skip's senior. My job was to help him get on with his life.

Another client had lost his sight through the cruel disease of diabetes. He had been a chemistry teacher in the past and wished so ardently to learn Braille. But because of diabetes he had lost the sensitivity in his fingers and so was unable to distinguish one dot from another.

Another client was a lady in her 80's who lost her sight and leg to diabetes. Her major complaint was that of boredom. She said that she had nothing to do all day. By the time we finished our series of instruction, this dear woman had learned to type, to crochet and enjoyed listening to recorded books. She was able to write to her friends, make gifts for her relatives and listen to her wonderful books. In a word, she had no time for boredom. Her days were full and productive and best of all, she was happy.

One of my clients, an elderly woman, had been a seamstress in her younger years, and wanted to learn to use a needle. When I taught her to thread a self-threading needle, she was able to continue hand sewing and to pursue it as a hobby, if she so desired. Sometimes it happens that a person's need looms large in their eyes, but a simple suggestion and a lesson in how to do something can do wonders for their self-esteem and can ward off depression as well. When one becomes blind late in life he or she needs encouragement and help to get back to doing things that interested them when they could see. When they discover that another blind individual has accomplished much without sight, in many cases they become hopeful and motivated and they try hard to accomplish the thing they love to do. This is one of the reasons a home teacher had to be blind or visually impaired in addition to all the other qualifications.

But the highlight of the 4 years I worked for the State Council for the Blind was my involvement with an 18 year-old man named Keith, a deaf-blind mute. Keith had little or no education and therefore was unable to read or write. When Miss Forward asked me to take on Keith as a client I informed her that I had never worked with someone who could neither see, nor hear, nor speak. But I agreed to go to his home and at least evaluate Keith, hoping that my own ingenuity and resourcefulness would lead me to bear some fruit in his life. It was indeed a challenge.

Keith lived with his family in a little town near Gettysburg called Fairfield. Every Wednesday I would board the bus and ride down to Fairfield to meet Keith's father at the bus station. Our first classroom was the kitchen. I had decided that I would begin working with Keith in his own environment to teach him the all-important concept that everything has a name. Remember, I was merely feeling my way insofar as tutoring Keith was concerned. From the start I found him to be a most interesting and interested, intelligent and alert young man. To establish some form of communication using Braille was vital. I had devised a way, however, to impart information to him so that it would be meaningful.

Teaching Keith words that related to his immediate environment was paramount. We were working at the kitchen table so that it was only practicable to attempt to get across to him the word table. I wrote on an index card the word table in Braille and then ran his fingers over it so that he could become familiar with the dots and their position. After Keith reached the table I placed his hand on the table so that he would understand that what he was reading and the object he was touching both meant table. He understood. I was getting through to him. It was so exciting!

Keith and I went about the house reading table and relating the word to other kinds of tables, different from the one in the kitchen, but learning that tables were made in different configurations and sizes.

I used the foregoing method with the words chair, floor, door, stove, sink, etc. By the time I had to terminate my lessons with him he must have built up a vocabulary of about 50 words. Whenever Keith matched a word with its corresponding household object correctly, I would tap him lightly on the shoulder. When incorrect, I would tap his wrist lightly.

Teaching Keith some music and rhythms was another area where I called upon my ingenuity. Since Keith was not able to hear the sound emitted from the piano, he had to learn the various rhythms by distinguishing them through vibrations. I taught him the simple marching routine, so that when he felt the vibrations he could identify the rhythm of the march and begin to move his feet. We went through the same process with the waltz and the polka. For Keith to have learned the various musical rhythms merely with his hand on the piano and feeling the different rhythms resonating from it was nothing short of remarkable.

Most importantly I wanted to teach Keith the concept of self. So once again, I would write his name in Braille and then touch various parts of his body. For his birthday, I sent him a musical birthday card so that he could feel the vibrations. And again, I wrote his name on it. Later his mother reported that when he read Keith he smiled and was delighted.

I heard of a program being offered for deaf-blind adults, a kind of rehabilitation agenda, I suppose. This would be a wonderful opportunity for Keith since it would have probably taught him daily living skills as well as possible training for a job. But when I proposed the idea to the parents they were reluctant to send him away, especially his mother. Eventually the father was somewhat won over to my side, but I could not persuade his mother. She did not want to let him go. When I asked her what would happen to her son if anything happened to her and her husband she replied that her other children would take care of him. I tried to make her understand that if Keith could be rehabilitated that he would not be a burden to his siblings, that he would gain some independence. But she would have none of it.

It is so true that a mind is a terrible thing to waste, and certainly in Keith's case it was a tragedy. It certainly is a deprivation to rob a person of the chance to become independent, self-reliant, and personally responsible. If Keith had been fortunate enough to have received an education like Helen Keller, I am almost sure that he could have become her male counterpart, perhaps even surpassing her in achievement.

After about a year and a half of instruction, I had to terminate my work with Keith because I was leaving the Pennsylvania State Council for the Blind to take a position with the New Jersey Commission for the Blind. This meant the state property, such as the Braille writer, was to be returned to the office, and sadly, I had no way to explain to him the significance of this loss. I only hope that another teacher would take up where I left off and that Keith would develop some of the marvelous potential with which God had blessed him. He was indeed so bright, so eager to learn, and his personality was most ingratiating.

I left the Council in the spring of 1956, and on May 14th, Miss Josephine Taylor, Director of the education department of the Commission for the Blind in New Jersey, interviewed me for the challenging position of itinerant teacher and education consultant. Confident of my independence, I once again moved further from my home.

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