Reading with a Personal Touch
by Shelbi Johnson

Join Us in Louisville for Our 2005 National Convention
by Crystal McClain

The Best of Times and the Worst of Times
by Barbara Pierce

Start Planning for the State Convention Now
by Mary Pool

Underestimated
by Eric Duffy

You’re in the Army Now
by Kevan Worley

Now What Am I Going to Do?
by Karl Smith

Out of Sight
by Dennis McCafferty

Buckeye Briefs

Activities Calendar

What Color Is the Sun?
The Freedom Bell
As the Twig Is Bent
Making Hay
Standing on One Foot
When the Blizzard Blows
Toothpaste and Railroad Tracks
Tapping the Charcoal
The Journey
Old Dogs and New Tricks
Beginnings and Blueprints
Like Cats and Dogs
Wall-to-Wall Thanksgiving
Gray Pancakes and Gold Horses
To Touch the Untouchable Dream
Remember to Feed the Kittens
Reflecting the Flame
Oh, Wow!
I Can Feel Blue on Monday
Reaching for the Top in the Land
Down Under
Safari
Not Much of a Muchness
The Car, the Sled, and the Butch Wax
To Reach for the Stars
The Lessons of the Earth
Imagine

Arts, press 10; Autos, press 11; Business Briefs, press 12; Browns, press 13; Business, press 14; Cavs, press 15; Clippers, press 16; Crew, press 17, Destroyers, press 18; Editorials, press 19; Flip Side, press 20; Football, press 21; Golf, press 22; Health, press 23; Indians, press 24; Life, press 25; Men’s Ball, press 26; National, press 27; News, press 28; OSU Sports, press 29; Outdoors, press 30; Reds, press 31; Sports, press 32; Weekender, press 33: this is the menu of choices I heard when reading Thursday’s issue of the Columbus Dispatch. Thirteen articles appeared in Business and twenty-two in News. We now have fourteen Ohio papers on NFB-NEWSLINE®. We have more than 170 papers (two in Spanish) and three magazines on the system. This much access to information was unimaginable five years ago.
NFB-NEWSLINE is portable, and it is as easy to use as pressing buttons on your telephone. You can read anything on the system at your convenience any time of the day or night. Callers may access NFB-NEWSLINE by using a toll-free number or by calling an out-of-state number when using an unlimited-long-distance telephone plan. In fact, we encourage anyone who has such a plan to use it instead of the toll-free number. If you have a cell phone plan with free nights and weekends, we also encourage you to avoid using the toll-free number in order to make our precious funding go as far as possible. But, however you choose to access the service, we want it to be convenient and free for you.
For the past two years NFB-NEWSLINE has been funded through the Ohio Educational Telecommunications Network. The Ohio general assembly saw the value of a dial-up newspaper reading service and put money in the current biannual budget. The National Federation of the Blind won the competitive bid process, so we in this state have been fortunate to have NFB-NEWSLINE.
In addition to this invaluable reading service, Ohioans have been able to use Jobline, a voice version of America’s Job Bank. This service makes it possible to search for jobs over the telephone. It is also possible to create an electronic resume and apply for most jobs over the phone. We believe this system can help reduce the high unemployment rate among blind people, currently between seventy and eighty percent. Anyone who needs assistance learning to use this service may contact me at 1-866-391-0841. But in the meantime, if you are interested in seeing what jobs are available in your area in fields of interest to you, try calling Jobline at (800) 414-5748.
The Ohio house of representatives has again allocated money for a dial-up newspaper-reading service. We will again have to go through the competitive bid process, but we hope we have paved the way for it to go much more smoothly and quickly this time. We are of course grateful to the members of the Ohio house for their support. We especially thank Representative Shawn Webster for all that he has done on our behalf. He is certainly a friend to blind Ohioans and a strong advocate for equal access to news.
NFB-NEWSLINE and Jobline are of course vitally important services in their own right, but the National Federation of the Blind of Ohio offers even more to users of these services. We have established a toll-free help line, which I operate. For example, a recent caller explained that he was unable to use NFB-NEWSLINE and assumed the problem was with the system. It turned out that his phone was set to transmit pulses, not tones, so his calls were not going through. I have told a number of users about the Library for the Blind program and put others in touch with the Bureau of Services for the Visually Impaired. This is where the personal touch comes in. We know that senior citizens are losing vision daily. We want to reach out to them and let them know about NFB-NEWSLINE, but we also want them to know that we care about them and help them learn that they can be happy and productive citizens even after losing vision. The best way to do this is to let them know that blind people have come together to develop NFB-NEWSLINE and that we will help them get the services they need to make a healthy adjustment to blindness.
If you are signed up with NFB-NEWSLINE but have forgotten your identity and security codes, give me a call, and I will give them to you again. When you have keyed them in once, you never have to do it again when you call from that phone number. Remember that the toll-free NEWSLINE number is (888) 882-1629. The number to use if you have free long-distance service is (202) 448-3007. The three-digit portal code you will be asked for is 632. Try NFB-NEWSLINE; it’s a habit worth forming.

I have not had many of what I would consider life-changing experiences. Of course the day I married my husband Mark (known as Cowboy to some) and the births of my four girls come to mind. But just behind these would have to be my first annual convention of the National Federation of the Blind. And I am far from alone in feeling this way about an NFB convention. Thousands of blind people making their way through and actively participating in a week-long convention go a long way toward changing one’s attitude about blindness. I’ve met other parents of blind children at every convention. I have been able to help some of them, and many of them have helped my family and me.
At a convention you can find something for everyone. There are activities for children, both blind and sighted. There are workshops, committee meetings, and agenda items for blind and sighted adults. Each year I enjoy meeting the NFB scholarship winners. I like to find out what they’re majoring in and what their future plans are. This helps me when thinking about Macy’s future.
There are meetings for blind students, lawyers, teachers, engineers and scientists, social workers, vendors, writers, and many others. The exhibit hall is huge. If you have been waiting to check out technology or some other item having to do with blindness, chances are you will see it at the NFB convention. Even if it doesn’t have anything to do with blindness, you might still find it in the exhibit hall.
The 2005 convention of the National Federation of the Blind will take place in Louisville, Kentucky, from July 2 through 8, at the Galt House and Galt House East Tower. The Galt House West is at 140 N. Fourth Street, and the Galt House East Tower, or Galt House East, is at 141 N. Fourth Street, Louisville, Kentucky 40202. Our overflow hotel is the Hyatt Regency at 320 W. Jefferson Street, Louisville, Kentucky 40202.
The 2005 room rate for singles, doubles, and twins is $59; and triples and quads are $64 a night, plus tax. The hotel is accepting reservations now. A $60 per room deposit is required to make a reservation. Fifty per cent of the deposit will be refunded if notice is given to the hotel of a reservation cancellation before June 1, 2005. The other fifty per cent is not refundable. For reservations call the Galt House at (502) 589-5200 or the Hyatt Regency at (502) 587-3434.
A covered pedestrian walkway connects the two hotels, and guest room amenities in both include hair dryer, coffee pot, iron and ironing board, and data port. Those who attended the 2003 convention can testify to the gracious hospitality of both the Hyatt and the Galt House. Our headquarters hotel has excellent restaurants, first-rate meeting space, and other top-notch facilities. It is in downtown Louisville, close to the Ohio River and only seven miles from the Louisville airport. We are going to have a busy week, but you will also have time for touring the area. The Kentucky affiliate has planned great tours: two on Saturday, July 2, and five on Wednesday, July 6. Please make tour reservations by June 15. The Saturday tours are to Churchill Downs and to Caesars gambling boat in Elizabeth, Indiana. See the March 2005 edition of the Braille Monitor for complete information about tours.
If you want to bring children, you should know that NFB Camp isn’t just child’s play. During convention week children six weeks through ten years of age are invited to join in the fun and festivities of NFB Camp, which offers an opportunity for our blind and sighted children to meet and develop lifelong friendships. Our activity schedule is filled with games, crafts, and special performances designed to entertain and delight. If you are interested in this year’s program, please complete and return the registration form provided at the end of this article. Preregistration with payment on or before June 15 is mandatory for participation in NFB Camp. Space is limited, and each year some families have to be turned away.
Activities and Special Events: The children are divided into groups according to age: infants and toddlers, preschoolers, and school-aged children. Each camp is equipped with a variety of age-appropriate toys, games, and books, and we will have daily art projects. In addition, school-aged children will have the opportunity to sign up for half-day trips to area attractions. Some of the planned events include a trip to the Louisville Slugger Museum and a tour of Slugger Field. We will also take a field trip along the Ohio River Walk. Dates, times, additional fees, and sign-up sheets for field trips will be available at NFB Camp. Space for special events is limited to enrolled NFB Campers, on a first-come, first-served basis.
I hope to see you in Louisville. The convention will change your life. It certainly changed mine. On the next page is the registration form for NFB Camp. Please see the April Issue of the Braille Monitor for complete details.

2005 Convention Schedule

Saturday, July 2 Seminar Day
Sunday, July 3 Registration Day
Monday, July 4 Board Meeting & Division Day
Tuesday, July 5 Opening Session
Wednesday, July 6 Tour Day
Thursday, July 7 Banquet Day
Friday, July 8 Business Session

NFB CAMP REGISTRATION FORM

Parent’s Name ________________________________________________________________

Address _____________________________________________________________________

City__________________ State______ Zip__________ Phone ___________________

Child(ren)’sName(s)

______________________________________ Age_______ Date of Birth_________
______________________________________ Age_______ Date of Birth_________
______________________________________ Age_______ Date of Birth_________

Include description of any disabilities/allergies we should know about:

Who, other than parents, is allowed to pick up your child(ren)?

Per week: $80 first child, $60 siblings

Number of Children_______ $________________ (Does not include banquet)

Per day: $20 per child Number of Days_________ x $20 $_________
Banquet: $15 per child Number of children_______ x $15 $_________

Total Due $_________

Make checks payable to NFB Camp. Return form to
National Federation of the Blind of Oregon
5005 Main Street, Springfield, Oregon 97478.
Phone (541) 726-6924

Born prematurely in 1963, I am totally blind and have mild cerebral palsy. This dual disability often leads to low expectations of me by others.
Although it was many years ago now, I remember clearly the day I went for an educational evaluation at the Ohio State School for the Blind. I tried to convince my mother that I was sick and that I should stay home that day. I don’t remember what else I tried in my effort to avoid school, but I do know that all my tricks failed.
I remember a hearing test in which the administrator whispered the words “baseball,” “hotdog,” and “apple pie.” He told my mother that I had superb hearing. I also remember making sure that school officials knew that, although I might start school there, I was probably moving to Baltimore, Maryland. My dad had taken a job there, and my parents were talking about moving. I thought I had to make it clear to everyone (especially the people at the school) that, if my parents moved, I had no intention of staying at the school. Of course my explanation was unnecessary, but I didn’t know that at the time.
The other thing I remember about that day has had a profound effect on the rest of my life. Following a number of tests, the experts told my mother that I would not be able to learn Braille. Because of my cerebral palsy they explained that I did not have the necessary hand strength or coordination. I, of course, did not understand everything said, but I understood enough to be upset. I was not excited about going to school, but my one motivation for doing so was to learn to read and write Braille. Yet people were now saying I was not going to be allowed to. Later I overheard my mother repeating this pronouncement.
When I began school in April of what should have been my first-grade year, I ignored these predictions. Apparently my teacher, Mary Butler, did as well, and she taught me to read and write Braille with my classmates. For that I will always be grateful. I cannot imagine life without Braille. I have drawn on what I learned from this experience through the intervening years whenever I have been told that I couldn’t do something. When I was in second grade, I was given the role of narrator in a series of short plays our class was going to perform for the entire school. We spent a good bit of time practicing in class, and for several weeks our homework was to practice our parts. I did not want to spend my evenings practicing. So I would tell my parents that I didn’t have homework or that I had finished it already. Two days before our scheduled performance, we rehearsed in front of our parents at a school open-house. It was clear that I was not prepared. I had to confess to my parents that I had not been telling them the truth. My teacher said that, if I could not come to school the next day knowing my part well, I would be out of the play. That night I went home and spent several hours working on my part. My oldest sister worked with me, and I was ready the next day. No one, including my parents, believed I could pull it off. This time no one had underestimated me in the beginning, but because I failed to practice, no one thought I could be ready with so little time left to prepare. I knew I could, and I was right. Except for the handful of people in on the secret, no one ever knew what had happened.
Occasionally, of course, I enjoy—or at least benefit from—being underestimated. I wrestled in high school, and very often, whether I won or lost a match, my opponent said to me afterward, “My coach said to take it easy on you, but I’m glad I didn’t.” Sometimes I have walked into a meeting room representing the National Federation of the Blind of Ohio in negotiations and have had my abilities underestimated. I definitely enjoy taking advantage of such situations.
Even so it can certainly be harmful when others underestimate blind people. But I wonder how frequently we underestimate ourselves. I have two young children, who act like all kids when told not to do something or to stop doing it. They say, “We didn’t do it, or we’re not doing it.” I have heard this so often that I began to suspect my children were trying to take advantage of my blindness. In fact I have a sighted friend who maintains that my boys know they can’t misbehave when she is in charge. On the other hand, a blind friend married to a sighted man once told my sister, “Eric’s kids do stuff and then say they didn’t, even when my husband has seen them do it.” Not long ago, however, I was with a sighted person who told her young son not to repeat a particular behavior again. He stood in front of her and adamantly denied that he had ever done what she had just seen him do. The situation was so familiar to me that I turned to her and said with some relief, “I’m glad that happens to you.” Intellectually I knew that all kids do this to their parents, but emotionally I had had my doubts, so it was good to see it happen to a sighted parent.
I have been involved in the National Federation of the Blind of Ohio for more than twenty years. I have gained a lot of self-confidence as a direct result of this involvement. As I have said, sometimes I take advantage of being underestimated, but I really don’t want others to doubt me because of my blindness. I certainly don’t want to do it to myself. That is why I urge everyone to work with us in the National Federation of the Blind to continue to change what it means to be blind.

For a while when I was a kid, my brother and I played army outside almost every day after school and throughout the long summers. We were constantly on the move, running from backyard to backyard. We’d sneak around the corner of a building to ambush the other army squad patrol, delta force, or Roman legion, using the trash cans as cover or crouching behind hedges, always on guard, listening, ready for action, ready to jump into the fray—whatever that was—or to dart across a field to safety, which probably meant into the house for lunch. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Kool-Aid, a nap and then back to the game.
Sometimes our war games were played by a few, but often they would grow into a full neighborhood squad of kids ages five to eleven or twelve. Sometimes we organized into elaborate formations, only to scatter again with frenetic energy to all corners of the neighborhood without rhyme or reason—an ongoing, free-form fantasy game driven only by imagination and energy. “Get’em. Get’em. Get up. Hit the dirt. Get down. Get down. Ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba ... Cch, cch, cch, cch, cch ... Got ya. No you didn’t. No you did not. Hey no fair, no fair,” would echo throughout the neighborhood, from the basements to the yards across the fields and over the woods.
Some Saturday mornings my brother Paul and I would get up earlier than our parents to build an elaborate army fort. We’d cobble it together out of chairs, shoes, hangers, blankets, parts of toys, books—whatever came to hand—directed only by our imaginations. Then, as soon as we got it built, we took great delight in crashing it all down, usually making enough noise to bring Mom and Dad out of the bedroom. Then we’d have breakfast, brush our teeth, and head out to play with friends—again, more army.
This was before political correctness, before the escalation in Vietnam. Combat and The Rat Patrol were mainstays on television, and we went to movies like The Longest Day and P.T. 109. Elvis had just served a hitch in the army, and in school we learned about General Washington crossing the Potomac on Christmas Day, Florence Nightingale, Valley Forge, the Little Big Horn, and D-Day. But it was all storybook drama to us—conflict without consequence, and, to round out this climate made for militaristic masquerading, my father was an army sergeant, right there, right then, right at the height of the Cold War.
When I was growing up, my home always had a room filled with Dad’s army stuff. He was always just back from or getting ready to go to the field on maneuvers. Paul and I were responsible for cleaning his army stuff. We were always getting Dad ready for the field or a parade or inspection. I still remember the feel and smell of canvas, tin, tents, ponchos, mess kits, and boot polish. Spit and polish, that was Dad, and Dad expected me to shine them boots. Blind or not, I was expected to be like the other kids in our family and in the neighborhood, shining his shoes, taking out the trash, or playing outside.
We lived in military housing in places like Fort Riley, Kansas, Fort Sheridan, Illinois, or Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri—nice suburban areas with plenty of fields and woods for kids to play in, or should I say patrol. During much of this time we were stationed in Frankfurt, Germany, living alongside the kids of other enlisted NCOs and officers. I’d listen to the American Forces Network Europe (AFN) on the radio, featuring the sounds of jeeps and trucks punctuated by constant appeals for top military readiness, “Reenlist now” and “buy bonds,” sandwiched between the top tunes of the day and old radio shows like Suspense, The Shadow, and Gunsmoke.
I played with Dad’s army stuff—I mean I helped Dad get ready for the field. And we’d play army, running through the housing areas with wild abandon, giving scope to our overactive imaginations and boundless childish exuberance, making up the rules as we went. Nothing was more stimulating to a pack of prepubescent boys than a rousing rendition of
You’re in the army now.
You’re not behind the plow.
You’re digging the ditch,
You son of a ... Well, you get the idea. And mostly I was a kid like any other kid.
Rarely was blindness an issue. When you were a rambunctious kid like me, your exuberance and natural glee just got you through. I mean, I’ve known that I was blind since, well, since I knew anything about me, but my family never dwelled on it much. And if you were a kid like me and if the people around you didn’t stop you, well you’d just go. If you tripped, you got back up. If you listened sharp, kept low to the ground, and accepted your share of the bumps and bruises, none of the other kids questioned your ability to be a soldier. After all, “Private, didn’t I just tell you I was General Worley? Now fall in, son,” You see, if you have some personality and imagination and leadership: “Ten, hut. Who goes there? Isn’t it true that you are a spy for the Von Stouiviners?”
Of course I refer to the dreaded kids who lived on Von Stouivin Strasse. We lived on Heugil Strasse during the time Dad was stationed in Frankfurt. The housing areas were comprised of big concrete block buildings built by the Germans circa World War Two. There were three stairwells in each four-story building with two apartments on either side of the hall. A basement stretched the length of the building with little storage rooms lining the hall and actual bomb shelters by the basement back stairs.
I don’t think we were supposed to get into the bomb shelters, but they weren’t locked, and, well, we were kids. We’d go rumbling through the front of the building, down the stairs, traipse the length of the basement, and dart through the back entrance and up the back stairs. Finding no opposition, we might creep back down the stairs. We’d listen for the enemy or the adults, and if neither was around, we’d ease open the metal bomb shelter door and hide for a while. Then we’d make a plan and be off again.
A big field, overgrown in some parts, stretched away behind our building over to Von Stouivin Strasse. One Saturday morning the word went out that the kids from Von Stouivin were actually coming. Some new kids had transferred in over there. Someone speculated that they were older kids; I was betting at least ten or eleven. They were set to lead a charge against us. Anyway, someone told my brother Paul that they had some big kids. A kid named Jackson from the next building told me he had heard that one of the new kids was a colonel’s son. The whole neighborhood was alive. There was to be a battle. Finally we would be facing off against those Von Stouiviners. What it all meant no one knew, of course, or cared. It was the anticipation, the planning, the drama, the play. It was part of being an army kid during the Cold War.
By mid morning kids were lining up on our side of the big field. We were milling and planning. There must have been hundreds—okay, twenty or thirty. Anyway, it was time, and Hudson, the older kid from C stairwell in our building, passed through the ranks. He and his adjutant, some kid whose voice was already changing, told us to find bigger tree limbs and be ready. We would form up in a V formation and move out sharply. I searched around out into the overgrown field and found myself a pretty good sized forked tree branch; choosing it as my weapon. I began waving it with nervous intensity.
Then I heard from back by the buildings: “Form up. Form up.” I scampered back to the line. I wondered where my brother Paul was. This was going to be the big one. I thought: “Should I cross the field by myself, or should I touch my brother’s shoulder so that I would have a better idea what was going on?” Then I heard Becky Dowdy’s voice: “Hudson says you need to be one of the V anchors. They don’t want you to get captured. Besides, I’m the unit nurse, so I’ll look for you, you know, because of the wounds on your eyes and all from the last battle.” I was in turmoil. I wanted to go into combat. This was going to be the big one. These were the Von Stouiviners. I was ready for the battle, but the game was the game. It was free form, and, well, if my role was to be wounded and evacuated, someone had to be.
The next thing you know we were falling in. I was at the base of the V, and we were moving out, marching forward across the field. It was really happening. We were going after the Von Stouiviners. And sure enough, almost unbelievably, there they were, the kids from Von Stouivin Strasse—a whole herd of them. They came running, screaming, scattering towards us, with seemingly no plan of attack. Colonel’s kid, my eye. In my mind we had already won. We had a formation; we were in a V.
Now the battle was on. We were all running, screaming, jumping, chasing, waving tree branches, pointing imaginary rifles, and scattering. Both sides were taking prisoners, then, quick as you could say, “Mom’s calling,” the retreat back to our side of the field for an exuberant debriefing all about how “We got ‘em, Yeah, we got ‘em. You should have seen it. They didn’t know what hit ‘em. Yeah, they sure didn’t.” Becky, our nurse, reported to our commander, Hudson, Jackson, and the rest: “Only one injury, sir.” I was pleased to hear that she was not talking about me. Me, I was thinking about heading in for lunch—all in a day’s work for a normal little blind kid playing army.

I am the owner and operator of Axis, a small company in the business of selling all types of assistive technology and training for people who are blind or have low vision. During the course of my work I travel throughout Utah and into Wyoming and Idaho. I employ a fulltime driver and lease a twelve-passenger van to carry large pieces of equipment. But it hasn’t always been this way. Ten years ago, when I first started my business, I couldn’t afford a full-time driver or a vehicle, so I used alternatives like busses, taxis, and part-time drivers using their own vehicles when the load was too large.>BR> In the summer of 1995 I scheduled a trip to St. George, Utah, a town 360 miles south of Salt Lake City, where I live. To get there, I planned to take the Greyhound bus, carrying several large low-vision reading machines as luggage. Once in St. George I had arranged for a local resident with a van large enough to carry my equipment to drive for me for the three days I would be in the area.
Arriving in St. George in the early afternoon, I hauled my suitcase and several large boxes the short distance from the bus stop to the hotel and finally checked into my room. Once settled in, I called Scott, my part-time driver, to let him know I had arrived safely and to arrange for pickup the next morning. “Oh I’m really sorry; I have a problem,” said Scott as soon as I had identified myself. “My van is broken down and will be in the shop for several days. I tried to call you but only got your answering machine.”
“You don’t have any other vehicle we could use?” I asked, desperately trying to salvage the trip somehow.
“Only my wife’s little Honda, but she drives it to work every day. I’m really sorry about this.” I hung up the phone, disheartened. Now what am I going to do? I thought to myself. I had money and time invested in this trip. I had appointments scheduled for the next three days and no way to get to them. Who could I call? I had contacted Scott through a newspaper ad, but there was obviously no time to try that again. Since it was about dinner time, I called to order a pizza. When the young delivery man arrived a half hour later, I paid him. Then, just as he was about to leave, I said, “Say, what are you doing tomorrow?”
Somewhat perplexed, he replied a bit nervously, “Well, I’m working. Why?” I explained my sudden need for a driver, but he repeated that he had to work. I asked if he knew anyone else who might want a job for a couple of days. He thought for a minute and then said that he did not.
As I ate my pizza, I considered my situation carefully. I didn’t know anyone in town, so I had no one I could call. After a few minutes I picked up the phone and called the front desk. I asked the desk clerk if she knew of anyone who might be available to drive for me. She said she did not. She asked a couple of the other hotel employees with no success.
Finally I called the local taxi company. I thought that perhaps they might have an off-duty driver who might like to make some extra money. At first the dispatcher said she didn’t know anyone who could help. Then she mentioned that her father was visiting for a few days and that he had nothing to do during the day. Perhaps he might be able to help. She promised he would call back in a few minutes.
A short while later my phone rang, and, when I picked it up, an elderly man told me that he was the father of Jan, the taxi company dispatcher. His name was Roger, and he said he could help me for the next couple of days. I told him that I paid by the hour plus mileage, and we agreed to meet the next morning at 9:00.
Roger arrived promptly the next morning. The pick-up truck he was driving had definitely seen better days and, among other things, had no air conditioning, which in this desert town only two hours out of Las Vegas could be quite uncomfortable this time of year. It also had no odometer, so Roger and I agreed just to estimate the miles traveled to calculate his pay. Roger turned out to be a friendly and helpful sort. He knew the area well, having grown up there, and he had many interesting stories to tell.
For the next three days Roger and I hauled equipment in the dusty back of his truck all over the St. George area. I kept my appointments, demonstrated equipment, and made a couple of sales. When it was time to go, I paid Roger and thanked him for helping me out at such short notice. He said that he had enjoyed having something to do and that I should call if I ever needed him again. I boarded the Greyhound back to Salt Lake City, content in the knowledge that my trip had been successful even with the problems at the beginning. I also felt good that I had not let unforeseen events disrupt my plans.
Operating a business, whether you are blind or not, is risky, particularly early on. The solution to the problem I faced in St. George was not so much a matter of my blindness as it was a challenge to my ability to think of and try different solutions until I found one that worked. Businesspeople continually face problems, changes in plans, and other unforeseen circumstances which require them to review their actions and make necessary changes to meet their goals. How successful they are often depends on how well they meet these challenges.

When Traci Parks takes a photograph of a stream, she huddles so close to the water that she appears to be in danger of falling in. When she captures an orchid on film, her lens practically nestles into the blossoms themselves. Inevitably passersby see Parks at work and ask what she’s doing.
“Take a look,” she says, inviting them to peek through her viewfinder. To their astonished delight they can observe textures and hues they may have never seen from this perspective before. One elderly woman, while gazing at Park’s floral work, exclaimed, “Oh my! It’s like living inside the flower!”
These admirers often walk away never realizing the most compelling part of this scene: Parks, thirty-eight, is legally blind. The Columbus, Ohio, resident can distinguish objects clearly only if they’re ten feet from her or closer. But precisely because of her disability she has discovered a more unusual vision: the ability to see natural wonders that others miss. “I’m often drawn to one specific detail of something—a flower, the lines on a person’s face—and I believe that it’s my eyes’ way of blocking out everything else,” she says. This is why she brings her camera so close, so she can capture that special but elusive texture of a petal, a fallen oak leaf, or the haunting ripples in a nearby stream.
Parks fell in love with photography when she was twenty-four. Before then her experience with the craft amounted to taking snapshots at family gatherings. As a young adult she found herself saddled with a job she hated, student-loan debt, and a failed relationship. She took up photography as a therapeutic hobby and found it so rewarding that she pursued it as a career. She started taking photography classes after college, enrolling at the Ohio Institute of Photography and Technology, in Dayton. As her passion grew she hatched a plan: after graduation she would work as a commercial photographer. Then, as time allowed, she would pursue more artistically fulfilling photography projects.
But three months after she graduated from the school’s commercial photography program in 1994, Parks experienced an eye hemorrhage (caused when the retina—the projection screen at the back of the eye—is stretched too tight and cracks open, causing bleeding). “I simply blinked, and suddenly I had a big black spot in the center of my vision,” Parks says. “It was as if I had been temporarily blinded by the sun.”
The hemorrhage left her legally blind at twenty-six, dropping her corrected vision to 20/400. Over the next two years she had at least a dozen more hemorrhages, each one damaging more nerve cells in the retina. This is considered rare, and there is no known medical treatment to cure or stop it. Doctors told Parks that she might maintain her current vision for weeks, months, or years. Or she could go completely blind at any time.
Still Parks refused to be deterred from her dream. She started her own commercial photography business, Miracle Images (www.miracleimages,com), for which she photographed buildings for architects and construction companies. Buildings, after all, are big and stationary and made up of lines, textures, and patterns that she could see well enough. She just needed an assistant to double-check the focus for her. Friends and family helped by driving her to shoots.
Then in September 2002 her vision deteriorated to the point where she could no longer pursue commercial shoots. At first Parks was devastated, but after the shock wore off, she felt a new emotion. It was strange and scary, but ultimately wonderful. “I realized how relieved I was,” she says. “I had no idea how stressful the commercial work was until I was forced to quit. Photography was still my first love, so I set off to shoot as much new work as I could.”
Parks, whose corrected vision is now 20/600, has become a popular local artist. She is represented by the Mac Worthington Galerie in Columbus, and her work has been exhibited across Ohio. Since 2003 she has sold more than 100 of her nature photographs, mostly to local residents.
“I was struck by the sensitivity of her art,” says Columbus resident Andrea Graves, who has bought four images from Parks, including a rendition of a bearded iris, a field of tulips, and a close-up of praying hands. “They capture so much of the beauty and light and patterns that other prints don’t.”
To pursue her craft, Parks uses a handheld magnifier to blow up her image from a Polaroid, allowing her to see her subject and composition more clearly before using regular film. She also uses a large, closed-circuit TV to help her proof and crop photos; the TV allows her to magnify images up to twenty-five times their actual size.
Still what takes the average photographer a few minutes often takes Parks hours. Such work, as rewarding as it is, can also prove frustrating because it demands so much patience. For moral support she turns to her husband Eric, fifty-six, who is completely blind. He lost his sight at age eight after being struck in the face by the handlebars of a bike ridden by another child. Thanks to a computer-chip implant that is being developed for the visually impaired, Eric may be able to regain his vision. How special would it be for him to finally see his wife’s work? “That would be a miracle,” he says. “It would be magic.”

May 15-22 White Cane Recognition Week

June 1 NFB-O scholarship deadline

June 17-19 Parents of Blind Children Family Campout Weekend

July 2-8 NFB convention, Louisville, Kentucky

August 15 Material for fall newsletter deadline

October Meet-the-Blind Month

October 13 Room release date for NFB-O convention

October 15 White Cane Safety Day

November 1 Beginning Braille Readers Are Leaders contest

November 3-7 NFB-O convention, Cuyahoga Falls

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