Learning to See in a World of Darkness

People often ask, can a blind man truly see in his world of darkness? I have faced this problem, and can truthfully answer, yes.

In this hospital of 3,000 beds we have many wonderful advantages –two greenhouses, 10,000 trees, flowers of all varieties, as well as the usual hospital divisions such as post office, library and chapel. I have enjoyed all of these things for the past six years, after spending two unhappy and useless years on the street. Physically, I look very healthy. I can tie my neckties in better and fancier knots than some men with perfect vision. While learning to see with my mind rather than my eyes, I have tried to retain my physical strength. After learning to walk into a room, find the light switch or the window and other things, I took up bowling for a recreation. I learned with my body, rather than with my eyes, to bowl a straight ball down the alley. In the gym I learned to ride a bicycle, row a boat, and lift weights – a sense of balance rather than vision was called upon.

Gradually I became accustomed to walking outside by myself, with the use of a cane. (We call them “feelers” .) Canes are steel, not wood, and very light weight. When you strike a curb with one of these canes, the sound is different than striking the street –a shallow sound. Walking by sense of hearing gave me a new confidence in myself. I soon learned to get on street cars or busses. I could travel like anyone else!

When going for my walk in the morning, I often meet children that play near the hospital. When they hear my “feeler” they jump up and run to meet me. They always sing me the songs they learn in school. The sympathetic warmth of these children is beyond words. They range in age from only six to nine years of age. They will tell me if it looks like rain, or the names of the flowers that are blooming along the walk, or about the leaves on the different trees. I can lay my hands on their heads and really see through their eyes. They asked me the other day why they had not seen me for some time, and I told them of my trip to Lake Geneva. I went by boat, and I explained to them how the captain told me of the locations we passed, and the kinds of boats on the lake. I told them how I spent the time in a little village, and how kind the people there were to me.

The youngest of the boys spent his vacation in Chicago, and asked me many questions about the city. They could not understand why I would not want to go to Chicago. It was rather hard for me to answer that, for I came from Chicago. It bothers me to have old friends in Chicago talk to me of my handicap and my misfortune. I would rather talk to the children of the Chicago I used to know. It was the greatest place in the world to make a living, as well as one of the most beautiful spots. I tell the children about the beautiful parks, Soldiers’ Field, the lovely mansions. It is better to see these things on foot or in automobile, than from a train. I can remember when some of the frame buildings in Grant Park were destroyed by fire in 1933, and how they were rebuilt. And I tell them of Wacker Drive –the great engineering achievement of today, but a street I used to know as South Water Street. The story of the Outer Drive is also fascinating to the children. I can see again in my mind all these things, without ever returning to my home for a visit.

Many times each day I have learned to see without my eyes. Although I can no longer distinguish the beauty of life and nature, I do not give up. My other senses have given me the intangible power to see again.