ALL WE WANTED WAS TO DANCE 
                              by Karl Smith 

From the Editor: In the November, 1989, Braille Monitor we carried an
article entitled "Louisiana Center for the Blind Students Attend Class in
the School of Hard Knocks." Karl Smith of Utah, who was a student at the
Louisiana Center for the Blind at the time, was one of those involved. His
account of what occurred parallels to some degree what we have already
reported. Nevertheless, it is worth carrying, for it provides in firsthand
graphic detail the feelings and thoughts of one who was there. 

Although we often deal with the broad sweep of events, we must 
never forget that history is made by individual human beings. While 
the incident (whatever it may be) is occurring, the individual involved 
feels and hopes and fears in the immediate present. Karl Smith's account 
of what it was like that night in West Monroe gives us new insight 
concerning our struggle for equal treatment and first-class status. 
For that reason his story is an important milestone on our road to 
freedom, serving as a reminder for those who have had similar experiences 
and as a spur to preparation for those whose tomorrows are yet to 
come. Here is how Karl remembers it: 
 
The night of Friday, June 2, 1989, began as an evening of pleasant 
and cordial relaxation as our group of sixteen students and staff 
from the Louisiana Center for the Blind in Ruston, Louisiana, headed 
to West Monroe, about an hour away, for dinner and dancing. Such activities
are common at the Center. As a matter of course, large and small groups 
of students and/or staff are encouraged to participate in activities 
in the community--such as movies, concerts, parades, ball games, 
fairs, horse back riding, etc. This is, in fact, an integral part 
of the training at the Center since many blind people have never had 
the opportunity to do these things. Also, many newly blind people 
do not believe they can enjoy the same kinds of things they did when 
they could see. In addition, seeing blind people participating in 
these kinds of normal activities is a very effective way for the public 
to be educated to the fact that we are normal people who happen to 
be blind and that we can participate fully and equally in the life 
of the community where we live.  

Little did any of us know that this evening, which began with such 
happy anticipation of a good time, would end in one of the most shocking 
and dramatic examples of the misconceptions about blindness and the 
most blatant case of discrimination any of us had ever experienced. 
And on a personal level it forced us also to confront our own beliefs 
about our blindness; to plumb the depths of our souls, where such 
decisions are made; and to choose whether to deny what we believed 
and turn away, or to stand up for what we knew to be right and face 
the unpleasant consequences. 

The evening began with a leisurely dinner at The Warehouse, a steak 
and seafood restaurant on the banks of the Washita River. It was a 
pleasant time of conversation, laughter, and good food. Around 9:30 
we left the restaurant for Sugie's, a local night spot with a live 
country and popular music band, for some dancing. One reason we chose 
Sugie's was to hear Talmage Wells, a locally prominent blind singer 
and keyboard player. This is partly because he is good and partly 
because we hoped perhaps to show him and those who work with him an 
example of alternative techniques which might be helpful to him. Mr 
Wells has never had training and does not use a cane. In fact, he 
never travels anywhere without a sighted person in attendance. 
The band struck up "I'm No Stranger To The Rain" as our group 
entered and paid the $2 cover charge, which was accepted without 
comment. As the waitresses pushed tables together to accommodate our 
large party, several of us began taking seats. Suddenly I heard Joanne 
Fernandes, Director of the Louisiana Center for the Blind, say that 
the owner did not want us in the club because it was crowded and he 
didn't want us bumping into people and possibly knocking over tables 
and spilling drinks and perhaps being hurt by one of the patrons. 
The owner, Mr. Ron Lunsford, then stated that we were welcome to remain 
if we wouldn't dance because the dance floor was crowded. He said 
that we must sign an agreement that if any drinks were spilled, we 
would pay for them and a waiver that in the event any of us were injured, 
we would not sue him. Further, we would also have to agree to allow 
one of the club's staff or one of the sighted members of our party 
to lead us to the bathroom or to the bar. Despite our attempts to 
explain that we used our canes to navigate independently and that 
we did not go around knocking things over, he went on to tell us that 
he was only concerned for our safety. 

At this point we decided to move back outside in order to take stock 
of the situation and consider what, if anything, we should do about 
it. I was shocked at this sudden and unexpected turn of events since 
this was not the first time we had come to the club. In March of 1989 
a group of students (including me) had come to Sugie's and had had 
a very nice time. It was the first time I had ever had the confidence 
to dance in public. The waitresses and other staff members we met 
on that occasion were friendly and helpful. The band welcomed us, 
announcing to the audience that we were there and even dedicating 
a song to us. 

As we gathered on the sidewalk, Joanne asked us what we thought we 
should do. Some of the group wanted to leave, having lost any desire 
to go back in. Others of us felt that we should go in, believing that 
this was a clear violation of the Louisiana White Cane law. As the 
full realization of what was happening began to dawn on me, I felt 
a flood of different and conflicting emotions, from anger to humiliation 
to numb disbelief. Here was a man telling a group of normal, well 
dressed, and well behaved blind people that he didn't want us in his 
establishment simply because we were blind. I was reminded of Rosa 
Parks--the black woman who, in the 1950s, refused to move from 
her seat in the front of an Alabama bus to the back after being told 
to do so simply because she was black, precipitating the Birmingham 
bus boycott, which changed the civil rights movement in this country 
forever. 

After some discussion, we decided to call the editor of the Monroe 
News Star World, a friend of Joanne's, and tell him what was happening. 
A small group of us went back into the club and asked to use the phone. 
Meanwhile (so we learned later) shortly after our group re-entered 
the building, five police cars roared into the parking lot with sirens 
blaring and lights flashing. Unaware of this because of the noise 
inside we proceeded to the phone. No sooner had we reached it than 
we were approached by a police officer who told us to step outside 
and talk to him. Outside once more, the whole scene took on the
characteristics of a bad movie. I had a very hard time really believing it
was happening. 

The officer told us we could not go back into the club because the 
owner said he didn't want us there. He was worried about our safety 
and afraid of being liable if one of us got hurt. Our attempts to 
explain the White Cane Law were useless. He told us not to quote the 
law to him and that there were better ways to work for civil rights 
for the blind. 

By this time I do not believe any one of us wanted to go back into 
that club. The enthusiasm for music and dancing was certainly gone. 
But I, along with a number of others in our group, now felt that a 
point needed to be made and that the issue had clearly become a matter 
of civil rights. We must either try to re-enter the club or lose our 
self-respect. It was frightening. The choice was not easy. The officer 
said that if we didn't leave immediately, we would be arrested. The 
challenge was made. There was no turning back. Like a bully drawing 
a line in the sand and daring others to cross, he had ordered us to 
turn away and confess that we were second-class. We knew that here 
was the turning point, the point at which we must decide either to 
run and let the bully have his way or cross that line and break his 
hold on us. 

Gathering our resolve, a group of seven or eight of us headed toward 
the door. The officer moved into the doorway, blocking our path. He 
said that if we attempted to push past him, we were going to be arrested. 
We gathered close around him and tried to get past. Words were exchanged 
about our civil right to enter a public establishment without restriction. 
Looking back on it now, the scene seems almost unbelievable even to 
me. A group of normal people, who happened to be blind and who simply 
wanted to enjoy a relaxing evening out, were confronted by an armed 
policeman, refusing us access to a public establishment in direct 
violation of the law, as patrons looked on over his shoulder from 
inside and others sat on the hoods of their cars or stood on the sidewalk 
nearby. Over the turmoil could be heard the sound of the band inside, 
pounding out "Pink Cadillac" and the crackling static of the 
police car radios. And adding to the unreality of it all were the 
red and blue revolving lights atop the police cars, casting an erie, 
undulating glow. I remember thinking that this reminded me of the 
1960s when police blocked entrances to theaters and restaurants to 
prevent blacks from entering. The similarity was even more striking 
because of the blind keyboard player entertaining, oblivious, inside 
as blind people wishing to hear him were refused entrance. 

Suddenly things seemed to happen all at once. Our group around the 
door broke up as the police officer moved forward, saying to the others, 
"All right, let's arrest them." I heard another officer reading 
us our rights and the ratcheting sound of hand cuffs. As it turned 
out, Michael Baillif, a Center student, was the only one of us to 
be handcuffed. Joanne Fernandes (the Director of the Center), Harold 
Wilson, and I (both students) were placed in one squad car and Michael 
was placed in another. For reasons we never determined, we were the 
only ones to be arrested. We were taken to the West Monroe police 
station--and after approximately two hours of questioning, filling 
out of forms, and having our finger prints and mug shots taken, Joanne 
and I were charged with violating City Code Sections 11-306 (remaining 
on land after having been forbidden) and 11-307 (aiding and abetting 
others to remain on land after having been forbidden). Michael Baillif 
and Harold Wilson were charged only with remaining on land after having 
been forbidden. We were all released on our own recognizance, and 
arraignment was set for June 28, 1989.  

On Thursday, June 8, we met with Mr. Frank Snelling, a prominent Monroe 
attorney and husband of Mary Landrew (Louisiana's state treasurer), 
and with the West Monroe City Attorney, Mr. Harvey Blackwell. After 
considerable discussion with frequent references to the Louisiana 
White Cane Law, Mr. Blackwell agreed to drop all charges against us. 
Unfortunately, however, it was not due to a real understanding of 
our point of view but rather Mr. Blackwell's desire to extract from 
us a promise that we would not sue the city of West Monroe or the 
police department for false arrest and for their violation of the 
White Cane Law. In fact he said that the mayor of West Monroe had 
told him not to prosecute any of us and to make sure the city got 
no more bad publicity over the matter. In return for our agreement 
not to take any action against West Monroe or the police, Mr. Blackwell 
agreed to disseminate copies of the White Cane Law to all members 
of the West Monroe police department and to do staff training of his 
officers to make sure that in the event something like this ever happens 
again in any business establishment, it will be the proprietor who 
is arrested rather than blind people. 

In the months which have passed since June 2, 1989, the furor which 
has raged in newspapers and on radio and TV throughout Louisiana and 
nationwide (with an Associated Press story appearing in USA Today 
on June 5) has ranged from positive understanding to some of the most 
vicious and obtuse examples of sensationalism that I have ever known. 
It would be hard to believe if I had not lived through it. Certainly 
this dramatically illustrates the public attitudes and misconceptions 
about blindness which we must change. It brings into sharp focus the 
opposing philosophies about blindness which are contending for supremacy. 
So where does all of this leave us? Now that the immediate heat and 
emotion have faded somewhat, the entire incident can be viewed in 
perspective. Sitting in the back of that police car I experienced 
feelings of anger, fear, frustration and disbelief. These emotions 
boiled up in me as never before in my life. Since then, these feelings 
have somewhat dimmed, being replaced with sober reflection on what 
the NFB really means and how important the support of its members 
is to me and others trying to become independent, responsible blind 
people able to compete on terms of equality in a predominately sighted 
society.  

For me, it has been much like passing through the refiner's fire. 
I came to the Louisiana Center for the Blind after becoming totally 
blind last year because I wanted to learn the skills of blindness--such 
as Braille, cane travel, and daily living skills. But even more than 
that, I wanted to be in a place where positive attitudes about blindness 
permeate the very atmosphere--a place where I could really learn 
at the gut level what I had only known intellectually before, that 
I am a normal person who happens to be blind, with as much to contribute 
to society as anyone else with my level of intellect and talent.
Confronting a businessman (a perfect stranger, who has so much fear, anger,
or dislike for me that he is willing to have me and my friends arrested 
for simply wanting to enter his establishment--and who is willing 
to lie to the police and the press, describing potentially dangerous 
events which never occurred) brought me face to face with the disturbing 
realization that there is an element of the public who would rather 
not have us around. No wonder there is seventy percent unemployment 
among the workable blind. If other blind people and I are not continually 
vigilant in helping and supporting one another, we will fall into 
the trap which has captured Talmage Wells, Sugie's blind singer. When 
he was contacted the day after the arrests, Mr. Wells said that he 
had worked at that club for seven months and that he did not know 
his way to the bathroom and would never consider trying to find his 
way around the club without a sighted person. He said he could not 
understand why we were unwilling to accept the courtesy of others 
as he does. I believe it is likely that Mr. Lunsford's view of Talmage 
Wells's inability to travel independently has colored his views of 
all blind people and is partly responsible for the events of June 
2, 1989. 

In his 1979 banquet speech, "Blindness: That's How It Is At The 
Top Of The Stairs," Dr. Kenneth Jernigan notes that no minority 
ever passes from second-class citizenship to first-class status without 
going through a period of hostility. Never has a statement rung so 
true for me. To anyone who has ever doubted that discrimination against 
the blind exists, these events demonstrate once again that it does--and 
not only the benevolent kind which is so subtle that it sometimes 
goes unnoticed but also the open and blatant kind, demonstrating the 
feelings many people have about us but are afraid or ashamed to express. 
The important thing is what we choose to do about it. 

We can sit back and let the Ron Lunsfords of the world keep us out, 
letting the police and other state officials violate their own laws--or 
we can stand up with all of the power and force of the NFB and let 
them know that we are no longer willing to be second-class citizens. 
The decision is ours--but there is only one choice we can reasonably 
make. We must either go forward or lose much of what we have gained--and 
the choice is not only for the blind as a group but for each one of 
us as individuals. I made my choice on June 2, 1989, and I hope never 
again to submit to being second-class or to think or feel that way.