THE WORLD UNDER MY FINGERS
Personal Reflections on Braille

Edited by Barbara Pierce 

Published by 
NATIONAL FEDERATION OF THE BLIND 
Marc Maurer, President
1800 Johnson Street
Baltimore, Maryland 21230 

Copyright 1995 by the National Federation of the Blind 

All Rights Reserved.

Table of Contents
	An Open Letter to Parents       		1
	Who Should Learn Braille        		11
	Keeping Within the Lines        		23
	The Everyday Usefulness of Braille      	33
	Blueprint for Learning? 			43
	Braille Made the Difference     		55
	The Value of Learning Braille as a Child        57
	Braille is an Essential Part of My Life 
		Because...      			63
	Braille or Print: Why the Debate        	73
	The Chance to Read      			93
	Reflections of a Lifelong Braille Reader        101
	Braille Today and Tomorrow      		117
	Braille: What Is It? What Does It Mean to the 
		Blind?  				135
	A Lucky Beginning, A Happy Ending       	143


INTRODUCTION

All parents yearn for their children to be happy and healthy and to
grow up to live satisfying and productive lives. If it were
possible to do so, we would arrange for them to be attractive,
intelligent, ambitious, sensible, and funny_all the traits, in
short, we wish we could boast and never have enough of, no matter
how talented we are. Obviously our children do not grow up to
exhibit all these traits, but most of them do well enough with the
skills and attributes we do manage to impart to them.
Sometimes, however, a child must come to terms with very real
difficulties: frequent or serious illness, mental handicaps of one
kind or another, or physical disability. The parents, too, must
then face the limitations or alterations that such problems place
on our children and on our dreams for them. The natural instinct is
to feel that the more closely the child can be taught to mimic the
behavior of so-called normal youngsters, the better off he or she
will be in the long run, because the differences will be less
obvious. If we are honest with ourselves, we usually find that a
part of this reaction also comes from the feeling that we will not
have to confront the problem as directly and painfully if the
trappings of disability are kept to a minimum.
However, successful adults who have coped with various disabilities
for many years have a somewhat different notion. We have found that
striving for the independence and richness of normal adult
experience is far more satisfying and constructive  than trying to
use the methods of those who have no obvious disabilities, even
though such striving requires mastery of alternative techniques and
skills.
In the case of people whose vision is so poor as to make it
difficult or impossible to read regular print for extended periods
of time and to write accurately and legibly, it is extremely useful
to learn to read and write using Braille. When learned early and
taught by a knowledgeable teacher, Braille is an invaluable tool
for those who cannot use print comfortably for extended periods of
time or in all kinds of light.
Most of the following stories and articles are firsthand accounts
of people who have depended on Braille all their lives or who were
denied Braille instruction and have paid the price of that neglect
for years. As you consider whether or not to ask that your child be
taught Braille, we invite you to consider the experience and views
of these competent blind adults.

		AN OPEN LETTER TO PARENTS
		   By Barbara Pierce

Editor's note: Barbara Pierce is the President of the National
Federation of the Blind of Ohio and Editor of the Braille Monitor
magazine.

Can you remember the intoxication of learning to read? I can. When
I began first grade, the Scott-Foresman primers about the
adventures of Dick, Jane, and Sally were in use, and I still
remember the picture of Dick standing on his shoulders in a pile of
leaves, feet kicking in the air, while one of his sisters intoned
the page's text, _Look at Dick! Funny, funny Dick!_ 
Had I but known it, those early weeks of first grade were the high
point of my reading career. We gathered around the teacher in
reading groups to sound out the words and falter our way through
each page. I was good at it. I understood the principles of picking
out the sound of each letter and shoving them together rapidly
enough to guess at the meaning. The result was that I was in the
first reading group.
My success didn't last long. By second semester each page bore many
more lines of print, and my mother was forced to work with me at
home after school or before bed to help me keep up. For I was what
they called a low-vision child. I could see the print with only one
eye, and I am certain that I was legally blind, though no one ever
used that word in my hearing. Mother placed a little lamp close to
the page so that I could see as well as possible, but the letters
were still blurred, and I could never get the hang of reading an
entire word at once.
By second grade I was in the second reading group, and by third
grade I had slipped to the third group, despite the lamp now
clipped to the side of my desk. I had to face the truth: I was
dumb. I lay awake at night worrying about the increasing number of
spelling workbook exercises left undone because my reading and
writing were too slow to complete them in class. I still maintained
an unbroken string of perfect spelling tests because my parents
drilled me on the spelling lists every week. The tests were
nothing, but the workbook! I fantasized about what it would be like
to go to bed at night and not stare open-eyed into the black
prospect of mortification when the truth about me and my incomplete
work eventually came to my parents' notice.
It happened at the close of the third marking period, and it came,
as such things do, like a bolt from the blue. I had actually
brought home what I thought was a good report card_all A's and
B's except for art, penmanship, and gym, in which I always got C's.
Everybody knew that I was terrible at those things because
Barbara's blind as a bat._ But the dreaded unmasking of my
shameful secret in the spelling workbook seemed to me to have
remained hidden beneath an A for yet one more grading period. I
handed my mother my report card and ran out to play. But when my
brother and I were called in for dinner (Dad was out of town at the
time), I knew that something was wrong; Mother had been crying, and
she did not sit down to dinner with us. She said that she had a
headache. It soon became apparent that I was the headache. My
report card had betrayed me after all. In all that hard-to-read
small print at the bottom the teacher had given me a U
(unsatisfactory) in the puts-forth-best-effort category, where I
was used to getting E's(Excellent) or at least S's (satisfactory). 
Mother went to school the next day and learned the horrible truth
about me. I was astonished to learn afterward that the relief of
having my shameful secret out in the open actually reduced my
burden. True, I had to make up all the work I had been avoiding
because the reading had become too difficult. Play time was much
reduced, and I had to learn all over again how to go to sleep
without worrying, but things were never again as bad.
In the following years we tried magnifying glasses for my good
right eye, and the summer after fourth grade I had to be tutored in
an effort to learn to read with high magnification. In September of
fifth grade my new teacher called on me to read a paragraph in the
geography book during the class lesson. I read like a second
grader, and I was mortified. The teacher never called on me again.
By sixth grade I was hardly using the glasses at all. I was quick
to learn as long as I didn't have to struggle to make sense of the
print, and it was easier on everyone for the teacher to assign a
rapid reader to work with me on in-class reading projects. 
Finally, at the close of seventh grade, my parents faced the
painful truth: if I were to have any hope of literacy, I would have
to learn Braille. Print was no longer an option. I mastered the
Braille code in a summer of weekly lessons taught by a woman who
used Braille herself, though she admitted that she was not a good
Braille reader. She assured me that her husband could read Braille
rapidly, but I never heard him or anyone else use the code
efficiently. People told me it was important to use my Braille and
that practice would increase my speed. But by that point in my
education I had already worked out alternative ways of getting my
reading and writing done, and I was no longer eager to crawl down
a page of text as we had done in early elementary school. I
practiced writing Braille with my slate and stylus because I knew
that in college I would need a good way of taking notes in
lectures, but I never made time to learn to read Braille properly.
Now that I am a member of the National Federation of the Blind, I
know hundreds of people who read Braille easily and well. Some of
them could not see print when they were beginning school, so
Braille was the only option for them. But many more could make out
print when they were learning to read, even though as adults they
cannot see it. They were lucky enough to be taught Braille along
with print, and they simply and naturally learned to decide which
method would be most useful for each reading task. As a result they
now read Braille at several hundred words a minute.
I have never regretted learning to read print. Everyone should know
the shapes of print letters, but I will always bitterly regret that
I was not taught Braille as a small child. Today I am struggling to
gain the speed and accuracy in reading Braille that I should have
had by the time I was ten. I have now been working at it for six
years, and my reading speed has tripled, but I must face the fact
that I will probably never read as well as a bright ten-year-old.
Setting aside the fact that the adult brain does not master new
skills as rapidly as does a child's, I cannot bring myself to
practice reading aloud to my long-suffering family. The time for
taking advantage of such an opportunity is childhood, and I cannot
inflict my stumbling reading on my husband.
If my mother could speak to you who are facing the dilemma of
whether or not to demand that your children learn Braille, she
would urge you to decide in favor of Braille. No matter how clearly
a youngster can see print at the moment, if the vision is fragile
or problematic in any way, Braille will often become invaluable in
the future, even if print too continues to be useful. I urge you to
keep your child's options open and your expectations high. All
young things need space to stretch and grow within their God-given
abilities. Please insist that your child be given a chance.

		WHO SHOULD LEARN BRAILLE

Editor's note: The following is an excerpt from a document written
by members of the National Federation of the Blind of Maryland and
staffers from the Maryland Department of Education, which is titled
Selection of Reading and Writing Media for Students with Visual
impairments: Braille, Print, or Both? 

Decision-Making Process
The decision to teach Braille, print, or both will take into
consideration all of the information gathered during the
assessment. The assessment information will help the team select
from among the following options. Students may be taught to use:
1. Braille
2. Print
3. Braille, complemented with print
4. Print, complemented with Braille
The remainder of this section provides examples of the kinds of
assessment data that will assist a team in choosing one of the four
options. Of course, assessment descriptions provided below are
somewhat generic, i.e., not all parts of the descriptions will
apply to each student. Since students are individuals, not everyone
will fit neatly into one of the four categories. In reviewing these
descriptions, team members should ask which factors best describe
the individual student.
It is also important to remember that, when the selected option
includes both Braille and print, the amount of use of one or the
other will vary with each student. Student input should be obtained
so that the team decision is sensitive to student preference and
concerns. Additionally, as a student's vision or visual demands
change over time, the use of one medium over another may change.
However, even though a student may use one medium more than another
at a given time, it is critical that the student develop proficient
use of both. For the preschool student this will mean that
opportunities for visual and tactual activities are provided
equally. Later, the amount of time teaching or practicing with a
certain medium will depend on all assessment data and the current
needs of the student. The team must continually focus on the
ultimate outcome so that the student will be able to choose and use
the medium of preference or the medium most functional for a given
situation.
Which Students Should Learn Braille?
Medical Factors: Student is totally blind, nearly so, or expected
to experience rapid loss of vision.
Physical Factors: An additional disability does not interfere with
the ability to learn Braille.
Environmental Factors: Adjustments in natural and artificial
lighting do not enhance student ability to read print.
Print Reading Factors: If the student can read print at all,
reading is extremely slow and laborious, even when all print
factors have been adjusted for maximum efficiency.
Handwriting Factors: Student cannot read own handwriting to carry
out functional handwriting demands.
Low Vision Technological Factors: Student cannot read print at any
comfort level, even using a CCTV or other non-portable devices.
Which Students Should Learn Print?
Medical Factors: Student has a stable eye condition or has a
prognosis of continued improvement.
Physical Factors: Student experiences no fatigue or discomfort from
reading. The nature of an additional disability prohibits tactual
reading. Student, when systematically assessed, exhibits inability
to process tactual information with any accuracy and facility.
Environmental Factors: Student does not require extensive
modifications in natural or artificial lighting in order to read
comfortably for extended periods of time.
Print Reading Factors: Student reads regular print comfortably and
efficiently in most settings and circumstances. Reading rate
accuracy is commensurate with student's expected grade level.
Performance level is commensurate with overall ability. Student can
use print easily for all academic, nonacademic, and vocational
needs.
Handwriting Factors: Student has legible handwriting and can easily
read own and others' notes at a comfortable distance, even after
some time has elapsed.
Low Vision Technological Factors:
Student reads regular print without low vision devices and
comfortably uses pocket-size magnification for reading fine print,
such as the telephone book, medicine labels, dictionary, and
encyclopedia.
Which Students Should Learn Braille Complemented with Print?
Medical Factors: Student has diagnosis or prognosis of severe
visual impairment, has a degenerative eye condition, or has
severely restricted visual fields.
Physical Factors: Student holds book close to face, can read only
large print, or regularly suffers from headaches, fatigue, or
visual discomfort after reading. Student exhibits strong preference
for tactual exploration and learning. Student can read using an
electronic low vision aid, but only with effort; cannot read with
hand-held magnifiers with any reasonable speed or comprehension.
Student is unable to complete assigned school work in a timely
manner consistently and independently.
Environmental factors: Glare and/or lighting variations make
reading difficult or impossible in many settings.
Print Reading Factors: Student's print reading speed is far below
that of other students of the same developmental level. Student
consistently demonstrates inaccuracy when reading. Student has
difficulty in reading a variety of print styles or print on colored
background.
Handwriting Factors: Student can only read notes when written with
a broad tip pen one to two inches high and may have difficulty
accurately reading what was written or can only read notes using a
CCTV or other non-portable device.
Which Students Should Learn Print Complemented with Braille?
Medical Factors: Student has a currently stable eye condition but
is at risk of eventual deterioration, has a slowly progressive eye
condition, has restricted visual field, or has fluctuating vision.
Physical Factors: Student's posture during reading results in back
and neck strain or headaches. Student complains of watering eyes,
blurring, or other visual discomfort after extensive reading or
writing tasks. Student cannot complete assignments without relying
on other individuals or technology for reading and/or note taking.
Environmental Factors: Glare and/or lighting variations make
reading difficult or impossible in some settings.
Print Reading Factors: Student cannot read regular print easily and
accurately for an appropriate length of time in order to complete
tasks throughout the day. Student may read material in both regular
and large print formats. Student reads primarily in large print
format combined with optical or electronic low-vision devices.
Student is unable to maintain a reading rate commensurate with
grade level work demands. Student depends on extraordinarily large
print for accessing practical information such as oral report
notes, grocery lists, names and addresses, etc. In preschool
observations should include how a student approaches learning,
i.e., a visual versus tactual approach.
Handwriting Factors: Student has difficulty producing and reading
own or others' handwriting.
Low Vision Technological Factors: Student may use CCTV or other
non-portable devices for visual materials such as maps and
diagrams.

			KEEPING WITHIN THE LINES
			    by Marc Maurer

Editor's Note: Marc Maurer is President of the National Federation
of the Blind. He is a graduate of Notre Dame and the University of
Indiana Law School and a member of the bar of several states and
the United States Supreme Court. He is also the father of two young
children. Braille is an important tool for him in his career and in
his home. Here is what he has to say about some of his early
experiences with Braille:

The kindergarten in the public school that I attended when I was
five left me with a feeling of alienation and frustration_though I
didn't know the words to describe the problem. My teacher was a
kind and gentle lady, who tried to help me, but I presented
difficulties which she felt unable to solve. Many of the
kindergarten activities were done visually. Learning colors,
drawing, recognizing letters and numbers, naming the geometric
shapes_all of these were presented visually. Some kindergarten
tasks could be done quite effectively without sight_counting,
reciting the alphabet, remembering your own address and telephone
number, listing in order the days of the week or the months of the
year. But in the drawing classes I was unable to keep within the
lines, and keeping within the lines was important.
I learned the shapes of the print capital letters from the building
blocks we had, and I came to know the forms of numbers in the same
way. By the time kindergarten had come to an end, I had learned to
print my name, M-A-R-C, but I usually got it backwards C-R-A-M. As
I viewed it, the experiment with kindergarten was only marginally
successful. Although it was never stated, the lesson of
kindergarten was unmistakable blind people are different from
others; they require kindness; they can't do the ordinary things
that other people do; they can't keep within the lines.
My parents decided that I would attend the school for the blind
even though doing so meant that I would be away from home during
most of the school year. Of course, I could return home for
holidays and during some weekends, but the rest of the time I would
live in a dormitory with my classmates at the school. At the age of
six I left home. The school for the blind was over a hundred miles
from our house. It was the beginning of a different kind of life.
Because I was at that time almost totally blind, I was expected to
learn Braille. We started the learning process with flash cards.
There was a straight line of Braille dots across the top of each
card and a single word in the center. I still remember the first
flash card I ever read; it contained the word go.
Each of us was given our first reading book the primer about Dick
and Jane and Spot. It was the first Braille book I ever had in my
hands. My book seemed to be about a foot square and about a half an
inch thick. The teacher told us to open our books to page one. My
desk was in the first row, about the sixth or seventh from the
front. The first child in the row was asked to read page one. When
there were mistakes, the teacher corrected them.
Then the second student was asked to read the same page. Again,
when there were mistakes, the teacher corrected them. The lesson
continued in the same manner. Each student in the first row was
asked to read page one. By the time the teacher got to me, my job
was clear, and my performance flawless. With my fingers on the
page, I spoke the words of page one with never an error or
hesitation. The teacher praised me highly and asked me to come to
the front of the room. She produced a gold star from her desk
drawer and pasted it to page one of my book. She told me to take my
book home and show it to my mother. This is exactly what I did. On
Friday night after the journey home I proudly produced my primer,
opened it to page one, and recited the words which appeared on the
page.
My mother is a properly suspicious woman. She had learned Braille
in the years before I attended school because she thought it might
be helpful to me. She asked me if she could borrow the book, and of
course I gave it to her. Later during the weekend she brought me a
page of Braille and asked me to read it. Without much concern I
confessed that I could not. My mother told me that it was an exact
copy of page one of my book. I had memorized the words, but I was
not able to read them. 
During the summer between my first and second grade years, my
mother took matters in hand. She told me that I must learn to read,
and she said that she would teach me. For an hour every morning I
was going to study Braille. I complained. The other kids got to go
outside to play, but I could not. Nobody else had summer school at
home_only me. But none of my griping did any good. My mother had
made up her mind; I was going to learn to read.
When I returned to the school for the blind for second grade, I
discovered the library of Braille books that collection of
sweet-smelling Braille volumes almost a foot square and about two
and a half inches thick. During the next four years I read every
book that the librarian would let me have. I developed the habit of
reading at night. Blindness has some advantages. I would slide the
book under the bed sometime during the evening. Bedtime was 8:00.
The house parent made his rounds between 8:30 and 8:45. I could
hear his shoes coming down the hall and then receding in the
distance. When the footsteps had faded, the book came out. No light
is needed for Braille. Sometimes it was cold, but the Braille book
would fit under the covers.
I tried the same system at home, and it worked most of the time.
When I got caught, which happened occasionally, my mother spanked
me. The punishments were fair, but the reading was worth it.
Although I complained bitterly about learning Braille, I am deeply
grateful to my mother for insisting that I learn it. How fortunate
I am that she understood the necessity for me to read. How
fortunate I am that she was persistent and demanding. How fortunate
I am that she had learned Braille herself and was able to teach me.
Today we in the National Federation of the Blind do much to help
make Braille available to blind students and to encourage the
teaching of Braille both to children and adults who are blind. But
this is not how it has always been. There was a time when Braille
was regarded as inferior, and all too often today it does not get
the attention it deserves. Much of my work as a lawyer could not
have been done without Braille. I now read to my children most
evenings. They enjoy the stories, and I enjoy the reading as much
as they do. How different my life would have been without the
ability to read Braille. How different it can be for the children
of this generation if we give them the chance to learn. The message
should not be that blind people are different and unable to take
part. Even though I might not be able to draw, my mother felt
certain that I could keep within the lines. We in the National
Federation of the Blind are doing what we can to make it come true.

		THE EVERYDAY USEFULNESS OF BRAILLE
			by Lauren L. Eckery

Editor's note: We can hope that the time will come, sooner rather
than later, when an article like the following will no longer be an
appropriate candidate for inclusion in the pages of a publication
like this. No one needs to persuade sighted people about the
pervasive usefulness of print; the case has been made so
effectively that even those for whom it is inconvenient, awkward,
or painful struggle to use it. But would-be Braille-users and
parents of children for whom print is not an efficient tool still
need down-to-earth examples of the value of Braille in the conduct
of everyday life. So here are some practical reminders about
Braille from a busy, organized working woman and mother who uses
Braille as efficiently and automatically as her sighted
counterparts use print.
Lauren Eckery is an active working woman and mother. She frequently
writes about her experiences as a blind person. 
It is the early 1970's, and my family is traveling by car to
Minnesota for a vacation. Both my mother and I like to read and
crochet on long trips.
The dimness of the evening sky envelops us gradually, and my mother
stops reading. She also decides she can no longer crochet. She
wants to check the time but cannot see her watch without turning on
the dome light. She chooses to listen to the radio or take a nap.
Meanwhile, in the back seat of the car, I continue my activities.
I read my Braille magazine for a while. Then I crochet several rows
on my afghan. Braille labels help me keep the different colors of
yarn in order. Now and then I check the time on my Braille watch,
the excitement mounting as we near our final destination.
It is the later 1970's or early 1980's. I am singing in my church
choir. During our Thursday evening service prior to Good Friday,
the lights are extinguished one by one until it is nearly dark in
the sanctuary. While the choir sings, I notice a discreet scramble
for notes and lyrics. I continue singing the alto part I have
memorized and reading the lyrics in Braille. Rather than becoming
anxious and embarrassed by struggling to continue the music, I go
on as before, experiencing the special tone of the service.
It is any day. I am speaking to a group of school children, who are
interested in what I am saying about blindness: _Given the proper
training and opportunity, blind people can lead normal lives._ But
their favorite part of the presentation is the show- and-tell
segment, during which I demonstrate various aids and appliances
enabling the blind to be independent. Their greatest curiosity
seems to revolve around Braille. _What is it? What do you do with
it? How do you read and write it? Is it hard to learn? 
Simply telling the children that Braille is a blind person's
equivalent to print is seldom enough. They seem to understand that
Braille can be used in school for reading and taking notes, but for
what else can one use it? Again, to oversimplify, saying that we
use Braille for the same purposes one uses print for often goes
uncomprehended. The children want concrete examples.
At our 1991 annual convention of the National Federation of the
Blind, held in New Orleans, Louisiana, the usefulness of Braille
was one of the underlying themes of our discussions. In the course
of attending convention activities, I was observed and approached
by several new Federation members who were losing some of their
vision. They were grappling with the fact that they needed to learn
Braille. Two young women who spoke with me knew that it made sense.
They had been told that Braille could be useful to them, but they
were reluctant to commit the full amount of time and effort
necessary to learn Braille well enough to use it on a daily basis.
Their lack of motivation seemed to stem from a lack of everyday
examples in which using Braille could be useful and necessary for
them. They, like the children I have spoken of previously,
understood that Braille was useful for academic and employment
pursuits, but what about blind people who are neither in school nor
working? How could they make Braille such a part of their lives
that they couldn't resist learning and using it efficiently? I was
pleased to give these convention delegates concrete examples and
encouragement in the use of Braille.
With the advent of our efforts to obtain a Braille bill in
Nebraska, readers of News from Blind Nebraskans and other
interested parties might appreciate some further examples of the
everyday usefulness of Braille in the lives of everyday independent
blind persons. Although the list is endless, here are some examples
which have occurred to me during the writing of this article:
Taking telephone and other messages; making grocery and other
lists; keeping telephone numbers, addresses, and other
informational index files; placing Brailled clear plastic sheet
overlays into printed children's books so that blind parents,
teachers, and others can read to blind or sighted children; keeping
recipes, crochet or knitting patterns, and instructions of various
types in Braille for efficient and independent access- -and the
list goes on.
One can label almost anything in Braille: photographs; phonograph
records; cassette tapes; video tapes; games; puzzle pieces; food
items; medications; printed materials for later filing; checks;
receipts; bills and other documents for independent handling of
finances; household and other appliances; newsletter mailers;
coupons; greeting cards; post cards; gift tags; yarn, thread, and
other needlework equipment; etc.
At this point one might decide that such labeling mania is
overwhelmingly time-consuming. Abbreviations to the rescue! For
instance, when I label a spool of thread, I abbreviate the color so
that the small label will fit on the end of the spool "bl" for
blue, br for brown, bk for black, gy for gray, pk for pink.
Most blind people use a combination of memory, recognition by
touch, sighted assistance, and Braille labeling for identification.
An especially interesting example of labeling comes from my
storehouse of childhood memories. One of my favorite pastimes for
most of my youth was cutting out and coloring paper dolls freehand.
For several years I could see blobs of color well enough to use a
color-coded system for naming my paper dolls (Laurie was blue
skirt and white top, for example). As my vision waned and the
diversity in the names I chose for these paper dolls increased, I
eventually changed my naming system to one in which I wrote each
doll's name in Braille on it. To this day, I have a collection of
some of those paper dolls. My ten- year-old daughter, Lynden, has
enjoyed looking at Mommy's collection. She has asked me the names
of many of the dolls. Although I do still remember the names of
some of the dolls with colored clothing by recognizing some other
characteristic about them, reading the Braille names is foolproof.
If I had wanted to continue coloring the dolls' clothing, I could
have devised a labeling system for my crayons and paints, but at
the time Braille was my preferred choice, whether I colored the
dolls or not.
Years later, as a young adult, I took a cue from my creative
childhood's adaptive technique. When I lost the slight amount of
vision I had, it was simple and natural for me to separate my yarn
colors into individual bags and place a Braille label in each one
for identification. This method works well for multicolored crochet
projects.
One who is just beginning to learn Braille might feel exhausted by
this incomplete list of examples. But believe me, if one has no
opportunity to learn or use Braille or if one is limited in his or
her creative capacity in devising multiple practical applications
of Braille, he or she can indeed be illiterate and unnecessarily
dependent on others for assistance.
On the other hand, if we use Braille pervasively in our lives, we
will become experts at reading and writing it just as print users
do with print. One of Lynden's earliest and best methods for
beginning to learn print, besides watching Sesame Street, was
reading labels and signs in her environment. Why not make Braille
as normal a part of our environment? 
The main purpose for passing a Braille bill in every state of the
Union is to maximize the independence and equality of blind
persons, be they children or adults. Now, who could in good
conscience oppose adoption of a Braille bill once they truly
understood the everyday usefulness of Braille?

			BLUEPRINT FOR LEARNING?
			  by Stephen O. Benson

Editor's note: In many ways a great deal of progress has been made
by blind people in recent times_more jobs, better special tools and
equipment, increased understanding. But in at least one critical
area blind children growing up today are being badly shortchanged
in a way that was very nearly unheard of fifty years ago. In recent
decades most blind children have not routinely been taught how to
read and write Braille. Many of these children have now reached
adulthood. I talk to them by the hundreds. Almost without exception
they feel they were betrayed by their teachers and the other
experts their parents trusted to plan their education. We as blind
people should not have to fight for blind children to have the
chance to learn to read and write Braille.
Parents expect schools to teach sighted children how to read and
write, and there are laws requiring that it be done. We want the
laws to protect blind children, too. But the experts often fight
against such laws. They seem to think deciding whether to teach a
blind child to read Braille is very complicated. The truth is that
it is very simple. If a child can't see well enough to read print
easily, Braille should be taught. But that is not what usually
happens, and the blind child pays a heavy price for the rest of his
or her life.
Steve Benson does public relations and public education for the
Chicago Public Library. He was trained as a high school English
teacher and taught for a number of years before becoming a Braille
instructor and then an administrator of a private agency serving
blind people. He has much personal and professional experience with
Braille. This is what he has to say:
At one and a half years of age my eye condition was diagnosed as
retinitis pigmentosa, which often results in total blindness. As I
approached first grade, my doctors and teachers (the team of
professionals) asserted that I should use my limited vision to its
maximum for as long as possible. My family was directed to enroll
me in what was then called _sight saving._ Print was to be the
medium by which I was to learn to read.
The sight saving classroom was equipped with the best technology of
the day (1948): dark green chalkboards with yellow chalk, yellow
paper with heavy green lines, indirect lighting, desks with
adjustable work surfaces that allowed the student to bring reading
and writing materials closer to the face, and typewriters with
large print. Each student wore prescription lenses and had access
to hand-held magnifiers. In addition we used large-print textbooks.
In third grade we learned to type by the touch typing method.
In my case and in countless others, neither equipment nor teaching
techniques would or could work. The techniques and the teachers'
efforts were misapplied. The prescription for sight saving class
was in error. From the first day of class my limited vision
prevented me from reading effectively. Over the course of the next
four and a half years my visual acuity decreased while the print I
was expected to read became smaller.
I remember alternately gazing out the window and puzzling over a
printed page. By fourth grade my teachers had to print out my
classwork by hand, using large letters and india ink. With all of
that I still felt as though I was reading grey print on grey paper.
Yet I remained in sight saving class until the middle of fifth
grade.
The toll I paid for the professionals' decisions was high. I
dreaded reading; my confidence eroded; I feared blindness; I
acquired bad reading habits that carried over into adulthood. I
never checked a book out of the library. Why should I?  I couldn't
read it.
During the summer of 1952 the professionals finally admitted that
print might not be the right way for me to be getting an education.
In September of that year I was transferred to what we referred to
as the blind school, where I began to learn Braille. It wasn't
difficult. My teacher was competent. She knew Braille. She gave me
positive encouragement. My reading and writing speeds were slow at
first; however, as I gained proficiency and confidence, speeds
increased. In January of 1953, at age eleven, I checked out and
read a library book for the first time in my life. It was in
Braille.
Over the last forty years teams of professionals have continued to
make the same foolish and costly decisions, probably with greater
frequency as the years have passed. As a member of the National
Federation of the Blind Scholarship Committee, I have met an
astounding number of high school and college students who, because
they had some vision, were deprived of Braille or were discouraged
from learning it without regard to whether the student could read
print well enough to compete with sighted peers.
One scholarship applicant, not unusual, uses taped books and a
closed circuit television magnifier. Under the best conditions she
is able to read for only a minute at a time, and that with great
discomfort. She is enrolled as a part-time student in a community
college, partly because her vision doesn't allow her to meet the
reading and writing demands of full-time status. She has asked to
be taught Braille, but her family and the teams of professionals
with whom she has worked have actively discouraged it.
Too many parents assume that the experts must know what's best, and
will necessarily do what's best for the child. Those assumptions
are often wrong and prove to be quite costly to the blind child. 
What's best for the child_ is a catch phrase that too often
translates into decisions that are convenient for the teacher,
school, or district and into efforts to make the blind child's
educational needs conform to budget priorities.
Were my experience forty years ago and that of the college student
I described mere coincidence?  I don't believe they were. Nor do I
believe that de-emphasis on literacy (Braille) was or is
accidental.
De-emphasis on Braille is disgraceful, just as de-emphasis on print
would be. People who have a good command of reading and writing
skills tend to do better in math, science, history, languages,
music, and all the rest. People who can read and write successfully
have a better chance at competitive employment and every other
situation in life, for that matter.
The anti-literacy/anti-Braille position taken by so many educators
of blind children and adults has had wider negative impact than
they might imagine. Several years ago I worked at an agency for the
blind in Chicago. In support of a program to teach Braille, I
submitted a grant request to the Chicago Tribune Foundation. The
grant request was turned down. The reasons, according to a
foundation spokesman, were that Braille has nothing to do with
literacy, it is obsolete, and reading can be done by recordings.
I was disappointed that the program did not receive that support.
I was disgusted by the ignorance of the foundation personnel, but
I was not surprised.
For fifteen years I taught Braille for the Veterans Administration
at Hines Hospital. One of my assigned duties was to supervise
Western Michigan University interns (student teachers) studying to
become rehabilitation teachers.
An alarming number of these interns didn't know Grade II Braille,
could not write with a slate and stylus, and had to be instructed
in the use of an ordinary Braille writer. One intern didn't know
Grade I Braille, though he had taken and passed a  Braille course.
Though I wrote negative reports regarding their poor skills, all of
these interns passed the internship, and presumably all were
certified by the Association for the Education and Rehabilitation
of the Blind and Visually Impaired (AER).
If future generations of blind people, children and adults, are to
be literate, if future generations of blind people hope to be
competitive in society, they must have access to the printed word
by a method that will allow writing as well as reading. It is time
for educators to grit their teeth and admit that a colossal error
has been made.
Then they must bring themselves up to speed on Braille and all of
its tools, mechanical and electronic. It is time for educators to
join us in our effort to require that Braille be made available to
any child who wants it and to participate in making sure that
sufficient funding is available to make mandates and good
intentions mean something.

		   BRAILLE MADE THE DIFFERENCE

Editor's note: Because I edit a monthly magazine, the Braille
Monitor, all kinds of material about blindness comes across my
desk. But I recently read two articles within a two-hour period
that, taken together, make the case for Braille more powerfully
than anything I have yet seen or written. The pieces came from
totally different sources, but the authors have a number of things
in common. Both are working women, single, educated, committed to
helping other people. Both live in the Midwest and were educated in
regular schools. One, however, was taught Braille early and with
wise insistence that she use it in her classes and at home. Her
parents expected her to read well and did all the things that good
parents do to encourage effective reading skills in their
youngsters. The other was forced to use print even when it was slow
and painful. The cost academically and personally was immense. Not
until she lost the remainder of her sight as an adult was she able
to learn the Braille that she depends upon today and that could
have made all the difference to her in school.
Mary Hartle lives in Iowa, though she grew up in Minnesota.
Jana Schroeder lives in Ohio. She was a 1984 NFB scholarship
winner, and she has served as President of the National Federation
of the Blind of the Miami Valley. She submitted her reflections on
Braille as an essay in a Braille-writing contest conducted by the
NFB of Ohio. Contest entries were to be written using a slate and
stylus, and the winner received a Braille 'n Speak 640, a hand-held
Braille computer. Jana's six-page essay was done in flawless
Braille code without a single slate error. It was the winning entry
in the adult category. Viewed together, these two short
autobiographies provide a powerful illustration in support of the
contention  that Braille is a vital tool for anyone who can't read
print easily but who wishes to succeed in life. Here is Mary
Hartle's article:

The Value of Learning Braille as a Child
by Mary Hartle
Although visually impaired, I attended regular school in the 1950's
and 1960's. I  attended a parochial school in Minneapolis  and was
the only child with a vision impairment. I was taught to read print
and progressed through the grades along with other children my age.
No effort was ever made to teach me Braille. But, in retrospect, I
wish I had been taught Braille as a small child.
Although I could read standard print, I could not read it  as fast
as sighted students could. My grades ranged from a few B's to
several C's, and some D's. (My brothers and sisters got A's and
B's.) I was tracked into the lowest-ability group in junior high,
although I was promoted to the middle group halfway through both
the seventh and eighth grades. I could not read as much material as
others could and thus had to spend more time on homework. I also
had to hold books much closer to my face. Due to prolonged periods
of bending over to read books at close range, I developed posture
problems which, to this day, require chiropractic treatment.
Learning became difficult and painful rather than joyful and
exciting. As reading and learning became more difficult, I came to
feel less intelligent. I began to feel shame and thus had more
difficulty concentrating on learning. I became more anxious because
of my increased difficulty. This was manifested in my struggles
with arithmetic in fifth grade. I can still recall my extreme
frustration and tears as I attempted to do my homework with my
family's tutorial help.
As a child I read fewer books than my classmates, especially
novels, although I did read magazines and a few quick-read books.
I also had, and still have, trouble spelling many words because I
was not able to see the letters within words correctly. For
instance, spelling double-consonant words has been particularly
difficult because my eyes did not focus normally when I first
learned to spell these words.
Since I did not use Braille as a child, I was truly handicapped in
my educational progress, and my self-confidence was low because I
was unable to read fluently at a normal speed. I was embarrassed
about both my slow reading speed and the fact that I had to look
closer in order to read. Had I learned Braille  earlier, I would
have been able to read at a speed similar to that of sighted
students.
As I progressed through high school and college, the reading
requirements became much greater, and the size of the print became
much smaller. In college I avoided classes with heavy reading
demands, such as history and literature.
Over the past ten years I have lost the rest of my vision, thus
necessitating my learning Braille. I am not unique. Many legally
blind children with a little useful residual vision become blind
adults with little or no ability to read print. Although I use
Braille in my day-to-day life and on the job, I do not read with
the speed I could have if I had learned Braille in the primary
grades. There is nothing shameful about reading Braille or using
any other non-visual technique. Today's blind children deserve a
better education and a better chance to succeed in our highly
competitive information age than I had. In fact, the need to read
as efficiently as possible is more crucial today than ever before.
Without Braille the chances of these children's getting through
high school, much less going beyond it, will be minimal. 
When I think of how much Braille would have enhanced my education
even though I could read standard print at the time, I know how
important Braille is for children today who can barely read
standard print or who rely on large print. School does not  have to
be and should not be torture. I believe visually impaired children
must be given the opportunity to learn Braille if:
1. they cannot read print at speeds comparable to that of their
classmates;
2. they cannot hold reading material at a normal distance from
their eyes; or
3. they cannot read print for long periods.
Braille is as effective a reading method as print is, and blind and
visually impaired children have the right to become as literate as
their sighted classmates.
That was Mary Hartle's description of growing up and being educated
without an efficient tool for reading and writing. Contrast her
experience with that of Jana Schroeder:

Braille is an Essential Part of My Life Because...
by Jana Schroeder
I was born with extremely limited vision to a family with no prior
experience of blindness. It was the early 1960's, and we lived near
Dayton, Ohio. Looking back, I recognize that I was lucky to have
been born in that place and time and into a sensible, loving
family. Without that fortunate combination of factors, my life
might have been very different.
My family did a lot of reading aloud. From my earliest days  I
assumed that I would learn to read when I went to school, just as
my sighted brothers had.
I began my education in a public school that included a resource
room for blind students. These students were assigned to a regular
classroom where we spent most of our time, but we went to the
resource room for part of the day to learn the skills of blindness.
I understand that Dayton was one of the first cities in Ohio with
a public school program for blind children, beginning in the
1950's.
In the first grade, when reading lessons began in earnest, I was
encouraged to read print. Various magnifiers were tried, but the
only thing that worked for me was to put my nose against the paper
and hope the print was big and dark enough. This worked fine with
first grade primers. However, I quickly read all the big print
picture books at the local library. My mom and I soon discovered
that in second- and third-level books the print quickly diminished
in size to the point where I could not distinguish the letters.
My mother believed, like most sighted people (at least those who
are not blindness professionals), that blind people read Braille.
So, sensibly, she insisted that I be taught Braille. Fortunately
the resource room teachers agreed. I cannot be certain that it
would be as easy if I were in school today. I believe that very few
blind students in the Dayton area today are taught Braille.
I had heard my mom and other adults read quickly and fluently, and
I assumed that I would read like that myself. I was never told that
Braille was slower or harder than reading print. I simply accepted
that I was learning to read with my fingers while my sighted
classmates learned to read with their eyes.
One of the best things about the school I attended was that it had
a Braille library. Never since then have I had access to a library
where I could browse to my heart's content. I took home a different
book almost every night. My favorites were biographies and the
Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. On the
forty-five-minute drive to and from school I would often read aloud
to Mom. She endured a lot of stumbling and mispronunciation with
patience and good humor. From those earliest days I received a lot
of praise from my parents, grandparents, and other people for my
reading and writing ability. I knew that I read as well as or
better than most of my classmates, and this knowledge helped lay a
solid foundation of self-esteem that has served me well in the
years since, when faced with new challenges.
In the fifth grade a significant challenge came along in the form
of the slate and stylus. By this time I was attending school in my
own district with an itinerant teacher who came to work with me a
couple of times a week.  She told me that I needed to learn to use
the slate and stylus because I would soon be going to junior high
and I couldn't lug a heavy, noisy Brailler with me from class to
class.
I absolutely hated the slate. My e's and i's were inevitably
transposed, and I invariably put the paper in crooked. I pretty
much refused to practice, so my itinerant and classroom teachers
got together and decided that I would be required to take spelling
tests using the state and stylus. I always did well on my spelling
tests, so I wasn't very happy with this new development. Gradually,
however, I didn't have to reverse each letter consciously before
writing it. My speed picked up, and my diagonal lines became
horizontal. Since then I have written thousands of pages with the
slate and stylus.
When I was in high school, closed circuit televisions began to
become affordable and popular. It was very exciting to be able to
read things that were only available in print, like the covers of
my record albums. I spent one whole summer reading a 500-page novel
that I could have read in about three days in Braille, because that
was what all my friends were reading.
I knew, however, that the CCTV was no substitute for Braille. I'm
almost glad that the CCTV was not available when I was in first
grade because I don't know if Braille would then have been
emphasized in my education. During my first two years in college my
sight gradually decreased to the light perception I have today.
Although I had to make some adjustments, already having
well-developed Braille skills helped immensely.
In high school nearly all of my textbooks, including advanced math
and French, were in Braille. In contrast, all of my college texts
were on tape. By this time, though, I was familiar with spelling,
punctuation, and the Braille literary and math codes. I took
copious notes while listening to the texts and studied these at
exam time rather than having to re-skim the entire book.
I have read that ninety-one percent of employed blind people know
Braille. I am not at all surprised by this statistic. I am only
surprised that so few educators and counselors of the blind seem to
recognize the importance of Braille to employment. I cannot imagine
being competitive without Braille.
Today I direct the Dayton criminal justice program of the American
Friends Service Committee, a Quaker organization. My activities
range from leading workshops and presentations in prison and the
community to advocating for criminal justice reform. I use Braille
every day to keep track of phone numbers, file away relevant
statistics, make outlines for talks, draft articles, and much more.
Like most non-profits, we have a very small staff in our office.
For the most part we do our own filing, typing, and minute-taking.
My independence is greatly enhanced by the use of a scanner and
other adaptive computer technology, but I don't think it would be
possible for me to do my job at all without Braille. At meetings,
workshops, and presentations I always have my slate and stylus
ready. Although prison officials sometimes worry that my stylus
could be turned into a weapon, I always have my Braille notes with
me and have given several impromptu Braille lessons to interested
prisoners.
Since those early days Braille has opened many doors for me.
Reading is a source of great pleasure as well as information and
education. Braille writing allows me not only to keep track of
personal information but also to articulate and craft my thoughts
into written communication that can be shared with others. I cannot
imagine my life without Braille.
I am currently studying to become certified as a Braille
transcriber and proofreader. I am deeply concerned by the lack of
Braille skills among the blind today and the shortage of qualified
Braille teachers, both for blind children and for people who become
blind later in life. Perhaps someday I will have the opportunity to
put my love of Braille to good use by teaching others to read it.

		BRAILLE OR PRINT: WHY THE DEBATE?
			by Jody W. Ianuzzi

Editor's note: Let us begin by conceding that there really are some
legally blind children who are appropriately being taught to read
print. If the child can truly engage in sustained reading of normal
print in most light with comfort, and if the strong likelihood is
that the youngster's vision will remain stable, there is no
sensible argument for insisting that Braille be taught unless the
child or parents wish to have it done. But there are thousands of
blind adults today (and our numbers are growing) who deeply regret
that no one required us to learn Braille at a period in our lives
when mastering it would have been relatively easy.
Many parents and children, wrestling with the denial that is an
inevitable part of coming to terms with significant vision loss,
cling to the presence of whatever tiny amount of residual sight
there may be as an indication that their worst fears at least have
not come to pass. To the public mind blindness is synonymous with
helplessness, hopelessness, and incompetence. Facing their
children's blindness for the first time, parents, who are after all
members of the general public, can be forgiven for reacting out of
ignorance and on incorrect information.
The betrayal of blind children that is harder for knowledgeable
blind adults to forgive is that of many special education teachers
who should know better. But even here we must remember that they
too are the product of their past inadequate education and their
current environment. These educators are not the first
professionals to confuse correlation with causation: given a choice
between learning print and Braille, children with residual sight
will usually choose print. The conclusion to which virtually every
teacher incompletely trained in Braille is eager to jump is that
the cause of this behavior is the difficulty and complexity of
Braille. Or again, offered the chance to be excused from doing
assignments in Braille, blind children will almost always opt for
less work. The conclusion is that Braille is slow and inefficient.
The actual cause in both these examples is that blind youngsters
are normal kids, who like to be a part of the gang and who are
delighted to get out of homework whenever possible.
A little honest reflection about this situation suggests that the
real culprit here is the inadequate and inappropriate education of
the special education teachers, most of whom are not competent or
confident themselves in using Braille and who also believe that
their students should not be expected to compete successfully in
school or in life.
We of the National Federation of the Blind know just how damning
and demeaning such a wholesale dismissal of blind students really
is. There are too many studies of children's conforming exactly to
their teachers' expectations for us to observe this phenomenon with
unconcern. Recognition of what is happening to today's blind
students fuels the Federation's state-by-state effort to require
teacher competence in Braille reading and writing for those
educators devoting their careers to teaching blind and visually
impaired students. We must take every opportunity to educate and
encourage good teachers about what they can do to assist and
support their blind students, and we must confront those who would
dismiss our efforts to improve the educational possibilities for
these youngsters.
Jody Ianuzzi is the President of the Monadnock Chapter of the
National Federation of the Blind of New Hampshire. She knows
first-hand about limited opportunities and disappointed
expectations. She is articulate and outspoken, and her message is
compelling. Here is what she has to say about teaching Braille to
children with a little residual vision: 
Literacy has become a fashionable issue in the United States today.
So many people have slipped through the educational system unable
to read that it has become an embarrassment to their educators.
Most of these people hid their illiteracy from their teachers or
simply dropped out of school at an early age. This situation exists
all across the country, but what about the one student population
illiterate due to the decisions and actions of their teachers?
These students are the blind children of America.
I would like to address the resource and itinerant teachers with
the adult voice of their students:
I consider myself to have been functionally illiterate for most of
my life! When I was growing up as a blind child in the public
school system in Connecticut, I didn't have to learn Braille; I
could read print. I was a high partial, and with my nose in the
book I could read my first grade primer. It was work, but I could
make out the letters. By the fourth grade the print began to get
smaller, so I had to try even harder. In the seventh grade I was
assigned to remedial reading classes because my reading speed was
still at the third grade level. In high school I got all my work
done; it just took me four times as long as my classmates. I loved
learning, and I wove wonderful dreams for myself of academic
success after high school. 
I went off to college, but instead of succeeding, I fell flat on my
face! There was no way I could keep up with the work load using the
reading skills I had been taught. My totally blind friends had
little trouble taking notes, reading, organizing their readers,
etc. I told myself that I should have done better than they; after
all I had some vision. But the fact was that I couldn't study as a
sighted student, and I didn't have the skills to study as a blind
one.
When I was a child, I had an itinerant teacher. She came to visit
once or twice a week to help me with my class work and to evaluate
my progress. I remember that she spent the majority of her time
tutoring me when I fell behind. My mother was upset because the
totally blind students always had priority over the partials. We
got the teacher's left-over time. We weren't really blind, but we
weren't really sighted either.
I am thirty-eight years old, and I am now learning Braille. It
isn't a difficult task; memory is reinforced by using the signs. I
love Braille! My reading time and speed are not limited as they are
in print. I find Braille to be a refreshing experience with endless
possibilities.
Reading print has always been like trying to listen to music on a
distant radio station: the sound is so faint and there is so much
static that it is hard to appreciate the music itself because
listening is so much work. Reading Braille is more like sitting in
a symphony hall. The music fills you without your even having to
work. My well-meaning teachers thought they had made the right
decision for me. Oh how I wish I had learned Braille as a child.
My story is not unique or exceptional. Hundreds, perhaps thousands,
of blind adults now recognize that they missed out on a proper
education. Perhaps this is because the retrolental fibroplasia
generation (people born prematurely after World War II and exposed
to too much oxygen in incubators) was the first to attend public
school in numbers, and the methods of educating blind children who
did not attend residential schools had not been established.
Itinerant teachers of blind children were pursuing a brand new
specialty. Now the next generation of blind students is attending
public school, but the methods of teaching them haven't improved
over the years. Instead, some of the misguided attitudes and ideas
that were born in the infancy of this new profession have been
institutionalized as established methods. When I was a student,
fifty-two percent of blind students were learning Braille; now less
than ten percent of blind children are doing so. Clearly illiteracy
is increasing.
I was recently a speaker at a conference for itinerant teachers of
blind children, where I attended a seminar on the subject, Braille
or print for low vision students. I left this seminar feeling
bitter, not for my own experience (I am changing that), but for the
blind children of today. There are blind children with less vision
than I have who are being taught print only. Their teachers believe
that they are making the right decision. These children will be
able to get by using their vision, but they will never be able to
compete successfully with their peers.
The impression I got from listening to these teachers of blind
children is that they perceive Braille to be a difficult system to
learn. Imagine what would happen if music teachers decided not to
teach their students to read music because they had come to believe
that musical notation was too difficult to learn, much less to
teach. How much music would students learn to play if their music
teachers couldn't read the notes? Unfortunately, not very many
teachers of blind children are fluent in reading and writing
Braille themselves. No wonder so few blind youngsters are mastering
the code. 
Blind children are like all others; they don't want to appear
different. If they are given a choice, they prefer print because
their friends read print. But a low-vision child already looks
different while struggling to read with his or her nose inching
across the page, collecting printer's ink. Wouldn't teachers do
better helping to instill confidence in their blind students as
competent Braille readers instead of insisting that they become
poor print ones? Sighted children are delighted to learn about
Braille, but they have little understanding or compassion for the
poor print reader, who can't keep up with them. The sooner the
blind child realizes that it is no big deal to be different, the
easier his or her life will be. 
At this conference I was also told that the low-vision child might
not want to learn Braille and that it is impossible to teach these
kids what they don't want to learn. Suppose a sighted child didn't
want to learn print, or the music student didn't want to learn
musical notation; what would the teacher's response be? how much
can any children be expected to learn if they are permitted to
impose their own preferences on their early instruction in the
fundamentals?
I believe that unconsciously teachers of blind students give
children a choice posed like this: which will it be? the easy,
acceptable, right way to learn, using print, or the difficult,
different, old-fashioned way of reading, using Braille. Given any
choice in the matter at all, which would any child select?  Why
can't teachers make Braille special in a positive way? Braille was
originally based on a system devised by the French army to send
secret messages at night. The night writing was later perfected by
Louis Braille for use by the blind. Why not give children the
feeling that they are learning a secret code? The blind child can
read in many places where his or her sighted friends can't: under
the covers without the use of a flashlight, in the car traveling at
night. You can read Braille books without people reading over your
shoulder. You can even read your Braille book in your desk without
your teacher knowing it. Why not make Braille fun!
The debate at this conference included discussion of the question
whether or not a blind child could learn print and Braille at the
same time. Wouldn't the child become confused? But the two systems
don't compete for the same space in the brain. Can a child learn to
use a calculator and a touch telephone at the same time? The two
keyboards are reversed, but children don't find this confusing. The
child knows that one is a phone, the other a calculator. I know a
two-year-old who is learning English and German from her bilingual
parents. She is having no difficulty learning the differences. If
children can learn these things simultaneously, why should
educators draw the line at learning Braille and print at the same
time?
Many teachers believe that there are so many new high-tech aids
available for blind children that it is no longer necessary to
teach them the out-dated system of Braille. But how practical are
some of these  expensive, bulky devices like the closed circuit
television when a child has to use it in a very limited and special
environment? Will such devices be useful for obtaining all the
information the child needs? Braille is portable, lightweight, and
versatile.
The slate and stylus and the Brailler are simple, low-tech devices,
but if you want to consider high-tech, portable equipment, the
Braille 'n Speak and the Braille Mate are excellent note-taking and
computer interface devices. These aids were never mentioned at this
conference. The only aids discussed were those that depended on
some limited sight.
There are many tools available for use by blind people, and none
should be relied on exclusively or ignored. Each has its own place.
Just as a carpenter needs many tools to build a house, a blind
person can use many tools to acquire information. The Optacon, for
example, is a slow but useful device for reading mail, and there
are many other technical aids to assist a child who cannot use
print efficiently and comfortably. But just as a carpenter can't be
expected to build a house using only a hammer, no one tool should
be used as the single device to help a blind child. 
Conducting an evaluation to determine the reading method for a
child is usually done under ideal reading conditions and in short
periods of time. Is it reasonable to expect that a child will
always have ideal lighting for reading and writing? How long can
the child read before headaches or eye strain make it impossible to
continue? Does the eye strain of reading contribute to increased
eye problems? For example, when I was growing up, we didn't realize
that my straining to read was inducing acute glaucoma attacks which
have further decreased my vision. First and foremost a reading
method should be comfortable and enjoyable to the reader. How much
would you read if it always hurt or was always work?
When selecting a reading method, it is natural to think of the
primary use to which we put it, reading books. But there are many
other applications for reading and writing that have to be
considered in choosing the most efficient method. Taking notes in
class, doing research, labeling, maintaining recipes, filing
addresses: these are all examples of the way we use reading. Thus,
someone who can read print to a limited degree might not use print
for note taking because of the amount of time it takes to write
legibly or to decipher the notes later. In this example Braille
would be faster. Labeling in Braille is more practical in many
cases simply because it is impossible to get close to the labeled
items to see them or to shine enough light on the print to read
it the back of an appliance or an array of canned goods on a
storage shelf, for example. Blind children may not be dealing with
these problems now, but they will as adults. The very purpose of
education is to prepare youngsters for what they will face in the
future!
One can reasonably ask whether today's older blind students are
being taught how to order their own books from Recording for the
Blind and whether they are learning to hire, supervise, and use
readers for study and research in preparation for college. Blind
students must know how to balance their schedules to accommodate
their special study needs, whatever they happen to be. If blind
students are to compete successfully in college and in life, all
these are necessary skills.
I told conference participants about my experience as a low-vision
student and about how I was learning Braille as an adult. Without
thinking of the implications of her statement, one itinerant
teacher turned to me and said, _If you're learning Braille, then
good luck!_
Too many teachers of the visually impaired are limited by their own
visual perception of the world. If they woke up tomorrow with low
vision, many would try to funnel all the information they need
through woefully inefficient eyes rather than learning to maximize
their unimpaired senses. It is past time for them to think blind
and not be limited by their vision.
If I could speak directly to open-minded teachers, I would say to
them: when you evaluate your students, don't just think of how they
are coping at the present; think ahead. What will happen to your
students in college and as adults? Are you giving them all the
skills they need to prosper in life, or will they have to be
content with just getting by? Remember, if that is their fate, it
will not have been because of their blindness but because they
lacked the skills they needed to conduct their lives effectively as
blind people. Ask yourselves this question: in twenty years will
your students be grateful to you for teaching them the skills they
needed, or will they be learning them on their own and trying to
make up for lost time?

			THE CHANCE TO READ
			  by Eric Duffy

Editor's Note: Eric Duffy is Director of Field Services for the
National Federation of the Blind of Ohio. He and his wife Tracy
live in Columbus and are expecting their first child. Braille is
deeply important to both the Duffys, but there was a time when it
looked as though Eric would be denied the right to learn it. Here
is his story:

As a young child I enjoyed being read to. Whenever I could persuade
anyone to sit down with me and a book, I was delighted. I
particularly remember Peter Rabbit; The Cat in the Hat; and of
course the classic, Mother Goose. When we were very small, my
little sister Barb and I would pick up our books and pretend that
we were reading. Sometimes we read to ourselves, and sometimes we
read aloud to anyone who would listen.
I memorized things quickly, so pretending to read was easy for me.
Barb could pick up any book and, by looking at the pictures, tell
the story. I knew, however, that it wouldn't be long before Barb
would no longer be pretending. She would be able to read books,
newspapers, and everything else just as the rest of our family
could.
Eventually the day came when Barb began to read. She began to
recognize the letters of the alphabet and then to sound out words.
That is when I began to recognize that my blindness really might be
a problem. I was the big brother, and I should have started reading
before she did. I began asking my parents a lot of questions: how
am I going to read?  Am I going to go to school?
My parents explained that I was going to go to a special school for
blind children. They said that I would learn to read and write
Braille. Of course, I had no idea what Braille was. In order to
give me some notion of the code, my mom punched small holes into a
sheet of paper with a pencil. Obviously, these holes made no sense
to either of us, but at least I was comforted by the knowledge that
I was going to learn to read.
The time came when my mother took me to the Ohio State School for
the Blind. I was given a variety of tests, most of which I do not
remember. However, what my parents and the school officials did
with the results of these tests might well, under other
circumstances,  have had a dramatically negative effect on the rest
of my life. Because I have mild cerebral palsy, my parents were
told that I would probably never learn to read and write Braille.
But when I started school, I did not know that I was not supposed
to be able to read and write Braille. No one bothered to tell me
what I could not or would not want to do, and I can only assume
that my first-grade teacher chose to ignore the pronouncements of
the experts. She simply gave me the opportunity to learn to read
and write with the rest of my class. I started school in April, and
by June I was reading and writing as well as anyone else in my
class.
Today I use Braille in every aspect of my life. At home I label
food items, cassettes, and compact discs. Braille reading is
essential for playing board games such as Scrabble and card games
such as Euchre. On the job I use Braille for note taking, writing
down telephone numbers, and labeling file folders. I cannot even
begin to name all the ways in which I use Braille at home and on
the job.
Today I take my ability to read and write Braille for granted. But
it frightens me to realize that I was almost denied the opportunity
to learn it.  What follow are the comments of the clinic evaluation
team of the Ohio State School for the Blind:  _Eric was a very
cooperative boy who had difficulty walking. Although he has some
vision, it does not appear to be adequate for reading any fine
print. Developing usable Braille skills may be rather difficult for
Eric because of his poor manipulative skills. His chief channel of
learning will most likely be the auditory channel. Eric exhibits
readiness for a beginning program for visually handicapped
children.
				
Educational Specialist
This evaluation almost led to my not learning Braille. I know for
certain that there are blind students today who are not learning
Braille because of evaluation results like mine. My plea to parents
and educators alike is this:  give your children a chance to learn
Braille. It is better to err on the side of Braille instruction
than to deny any child the opportunity to read.

REFLECTIONS OF A LIFELONG BRAILLE READER
by Kenneth Jernigan
Editor's note: Kenneth Jernigan is the President Emeritus of the
National Federation of the Blind. He has dedicated his life to
improving the lives of blind people in this country and around the
world. He is also a voracious reader. I have seen him pace a room,
reading Braille aloud to his listeners. I have watched him scan
Braille material at an unbelievable speed and read silently far
faster than he could speak. In short, Braille is for him as useful
a tool as print is to his sighted wife. How did he develop such
excellent Braille skills? He read as a small child, read as much
and as often as he could, and he kept on reading as he grew up. In
short, he became a good reader in the same way that print readers
become proficient. The following are some of Dr. Jernigan's
recollections of his early days as a reader:
When I was a boy growing up in Tennessee, Braille was hard to come
by. At the Tennessee School for the Blind (where I spent nine
months of each year) Braille was rationed. In the first grade we
were allowed to read a book only during certain hours of the day,
and we were not permitted to take books to our rooms at night or on
weekends. Looking back, I suppose the school didn't have many
books, and they probably thought (perhaps correctly) that those
they did have would be used more as missiles than instruments of
learning if they let us take them out.
When we advanced to the second grade, we were allowed (yes,
allowed) to come down for thirty minutes each night to study hall.
This was what the _big boys_ did. In the first grade we had been
ignominiously sent to bed at seven o'clock while our elders (the
second and third graders and those beyond) were permitted to go to
that mysterious place called study hall. The first graders (the
_little boys_) had no such status or privilege.
When we got to the third grade, we were still not permitted to take
books to our rooms, but we were allowed to increase our study hall
time. We could actually spend a whole hour at it each night, Monday
through Friday. It was the pinnacle of status for the primary
grades.
When we got to the intermediate department (the fourth, fifth, and
sixth grades), we were really growing up, and our status and
prestige increased accordingly. We were allowed (I use the word
advisedly__allowed,_ not _forced_) to go for an hour each night
Monday through Friday to study hall, and during that time we could
read books and magazines to our hearts' content. True, the choice
was not great_but such as there was, we could read it. Of course we
could not take books to our rooms during the week, but on Friday
night each boy (I presume the girls had the same privilege) could
take one Braille volume to his room for the weekend.
Before I go further, perhaps I had better explain that comment
about the girls. The girls sat on one side of the room, and the
boys sat on the other; and woe to the member of one sex who tried
to speak or write notes to a member of the other. Girls, like
Braille books, were difficult to get at_and all the more desirable
for the imagining. But back to the main thread.
As I say, each boy in the intermediate department could check out
one Braille volume on Friday night. Now, as every good Braille
reader knows, Braille is bulkier than print; and at least four or
five Braille volumes (sometimes more) are required to make a book.
It is also a matter of common knowledge that people in general and
boys in particular (yes, and maybe girls, too) are constantly on
the lookout to beat the system. What system? Any system.
So on Friday nights we boys formed what would today be called a
consortium.  One of us would check out volume one of a book; the
next, volume two; the next, volume three; et cetera. With our
treasures hugged to our bosoms we would head to our rooms and begin
reading. If you got volume three (the middle of the book), that's
where you started. You would get to the beginning by and by. Now
girls and Braille books were not the only items that were strictly
regulated in the environment I am describing. The hours of the day
and night fell into the same category. Study hall ended at 8:00,
and you were expected to be in your room and in bed by 9:40, the
time when the silence bell rang. You were also expected to be
trying to go to sleep, not reading.
But as I have said, people like to beat the system; and to us boys,
starved for reading during the week, the hours between Friday night
and Monday morning were not to be wasted. (Incidentally, I should
say here that there were usually no radios around and that we were
strictly forbidden_on pain of expulsion and God knows what else_to
leave the campus except for a brief period on Saturday
afternoon_after we got big enough, that is, and assuming we had no
violations on our record which required erasure by penalty.) In
other words the campus of the Tennessee School for the Blind was
what one might call a closed ecology. We found our entertainment
where we could.
Well, back to Friday night and the problem of the books. Rules are
rules, but Braille can be read under the covers as well as anywhere
else; and when the lights are out and the sounds of approaching
footsteps are easy to detect, it is virtually impossible to
prohibit reading and make the prohibition stick. The night watchman
was regular in his rounds and methodical in his movements. He came
through the halls every sixty minutes on the hour, and we could
tell the time by his measured tread. (I suppose I need not add that
we had no clocks or watches.)
After the watchman had left our vicinity, we would meet in the
bathroom and discuss what we had been reading. We also used the
occasion to keep ourselves awake and exchange Braille volumes as we
finished them. It made for an interesting way to read a book, but
we got there_and instead of feeling deprived or abused, we felt
elated. We were beating the system; we had books to read, something
the little boys didn't have; and we were engaged in joint
clandestine activity. Sometimes as the night advanced, one of us
would go to sleep and fail to keep the hourly rendezvous, but these
were minor aberrations_and the weekend was only beginning.
After breakfast on Saturday morning some of us (not all) would
continue reading_usually aloud in a group. We kept at it as long as
we could, nodding off when we couldn't take it any more. Then we
went at it again. Let me be clear. I am talking about a general
pattern, not a rigid routine. It did not happen every weekend, and
even when it did, the pace was not uniform or the schedule precise.
We took time for such pleasantries as running, playing, and
occasional rock fights. We also engaged in certain organized games,
and as we grew older, we occasionally slipped off campus at night
and prowled the town. Nevertheless, the reading pattern was a
dominant theme.
Time, of course, is inexorable; and the day inevitably came when we
outgrew the intermediate department and advanced to high
school seventh through twelfth grades. Again it meant a change in
status a change in everything, of course, but especially reading.
Not only could we come to study hall for an hour each night Monday
through Friday and take a Braille volume to our room during
weekends, but we could also check out Braille books whenever we
liked, and (within reason) we could take as many as we wanted.
Let me now go back once more to the early childhood years. Before
I was six, I had an isolated existence. My mother and father, my
older brother, and I lived on a farm about fifty miles out of
Nashville. We had no radio, no telephone, and no substantial
contact with anybody except our immediate neighbors. My father had
very little formal education, and my mother had left school just
prior to graduating from the eighth grade. Books were not an
important part of our family routine. Most of the time we did not
have a newspaper. There were two reasons: our orientation was not
toward reading, and money was scarce. It was the early thirties.
Hogs (when we had any) brought two cents a pound; and anything else
we had to sell was priced proportionately.
I did a lot of thinking in those preschool days, and every time I
could, I got somebody to read to me. Read what? Anything_anything
I could get. I would nag and pester anybody I could find to read me
anything that was available_the Bible, an agriculture yearbook, a
part of a newspaper, or the Sears Roebuck catalog. It didn't
matter. Reading was magic. It opened up new worlds.
I remember the joy a joy which almost amounted to reverence and
awe_which I felt during those times I was allowed to visit an aunt
who had books in her home. It was from her daughter (my cousin)
that I first heard the fairy stories from The Book of Knowledge_a
treasure which many of today's children have unfortunately missed.
My cousin loved to read and was long suffering and kind, but I know
that I tried her patience with my insatiable appetite. It was not
possible for me to get enough, and I always dreaded going home,
finding every excuse I could to stay as long as my parents would
let me. I loved my aunt; I was fascinated by the radio she had; and
I delighted in her superb cooking about the key attraction was the
reading. My aunt is long since dead, and of course I never told
her. For that matter, maybe I never really sorted it out in my own
mind, but there it was no doubt about it.
As I have already said, I started school at six and when I say six,
I mean six. As you might imagine, I wanted to go as soon as I
could, and I made no secret about it. I was six in November of
1932. However, school started in September, and six meant six. I
was not allowed to begin until the next quarter January of 1933.
You can understand that, after I had been in school for a few
weeks, I contemplated with mixed feelings the summer vacation which
would be coming. I loved my family, but I had been away from home
and found stimulation and new experiences. I did not look forward
to three months of renewed confinement in the four-room farm house
with nothing to do.
Then I learned that I was going to be sent a Braille magazine
during the summer months. Each month's issue was sixty Braille
pages. I would get one in June, one in July, and one in August.
What joy! I was six, but I had learned what boredom meant_and I had
also learned to plan. So I rationed the Braille and read two pages
each day. This gave me something new for tomorrow. Of course I went
back and read and re-read it again, but the two new pages were
always there for tomorrow.
As the school years came and went, I got other magazines, learned
about the Library of Congress Braille and talking book collection,
and got a talking book machine. By the time I was in the seventh
grade, I was receiving a number of Braille magazines and ordering
books from three separate regional libraries during the summer.
Often I would read twenty hours a day_not every day, of course, but
often. I read Gone With the Wind, War and Peace, Zane Grey, Rafael
Sabatini, James Oliver Curwood, and hundreds of others. I read
whatever the libraries sent me, every word of it; and I often took
notes. By then it was clear to me that books would be my release
from the prison of the farm and inactivity. It was also clear to me
that college was part of that program and that somehow I was going
to get there. But it was not just escape from confinement or hope
for a broader horizon or something to be gained. It was also a
deep, ingrained love of reading.
The background I have described conditioned me. I did not feel
about reading the way I see most people viewing it today. Many of
today's children seem to have the attitude that they are forced,
not permitted, to go to school that they are required, not
given the privilege and honor, to study. They are inundated with
reading matter. It is not scarce but a veritable clutter, not
something to strive for but to take for granted. I don't want
children or the general public to be deprived of reading matter,
but I sometimes think that a scald is as bad as a freeze. Is it
worse to be deprived of books until you feel starved, for them or
to be so overwhelmed with them that you become blase about it? I
don't know, and I don't know that it will do me any good to
speculate. All I know is that I not only delight in reading but
believe it to be a much neglected joy and a principal passport to
success, perspective, civilization, and possibly the survival of
the species. I am of that group which deplores the illiteracy which
characterizes much of our society and distinguishes many of its
would-be leaders and role models. I am extremely glad I have had
the opportunity and incentive to read as broadly as I have, and I
believe my life is so much better for the experience that it
borders on the difference between living and existence.

		BRAILLE TODAY AND TOMORROW
		 by Fredric F. Schroeder

The following is an excerpt from an address delivered at the annual
conference of the California Transcribers and Educators of the
Visually Handicapped, March 14, 1992, by Fred Schroeder, then
Director of the New Mexico Commission for the Blind and President
of the International Council on English Braille and now
Commissioner of the U.S. Rehabilitation Services Administration.
Dr. Schroeder is one of the most knowledgeable and influential
figures in the field of work with the blind. Here in part is what
he said to teachers and Braille transcribers in the spring of 1992;
it is still relevant:
Much is happening nationally and internationally concerning
Braille. Certainly we live in a time when it is getting more
emphasis, which has resulted in greater availability and increased
attention to instruction. We must recognize what is cause and what
effect. When discussing Braille, it is easy to focus on the changes
that have taken place. But all of this increased attention is the
natural outgrowth of a growing conviction that literacy represents
perhaps the most necessary tool if blind people are to live full
and productive lives. In other words, the desire of and for blind
people to function on terms of equality has driven the move toward
recognizing Braille literacy as a vital step toward their
meaningful integration.
The activity surrounding Braille is in many respects dramatic and
encouraging. Here in the United States the Braille literacy
movement can be seen in many ways. Today ten states [the number has
now risen to twenty-five] have adopted Braille bills_a public
policy statement about the legitimate role of Braille as a literacy
tool for the blind. Five years ago, when the first Braille bill was
introduced, the idea was controversial and sparked suspicion;
resentment; and, in some cases, open hostility. At that time
Braille bills were regarded as a condemnation of the education
system for blind children and hence were viewed as an attack on
professionals in the field of work with the blind.
Today, only five years after passage of the first Braille bill, the
mood has changed. In many states parents, educators, and adult
blind people are coming together, not to debate whether a Braille
bill should be introduced, but to collaborate on the best way to
craft the bill. In addition to the requirement that Braille be
considered by the IEP team, two other elements have surfaced in
more recent Braille bills. One is a requirement for competency
testing for teachers of blind children, and the other, which was
included in the Texas bill adopted in the summer of '91, requires
textbook publishers to make materials available in a
machine-readable format for easy translation into Braille.
The stimulus for the introduction of Braille bills was a shared
conviction that our nation has produced a generation of virtually
illiterate blind children due to the lack of Braille instruction.
Many things contributed to this problem, not the least of which was
the mainstreaming movement itself. With a nationwide shortage of
trained teachers and with children more widely distributed
throughout local schools, teachers were faced with the very real
problem of choosing print or Braille instruction for a child they
were scheduled to see only an hour or two a week. The temptation to
favor the print medium, with which they were more familiar, was
compounded by a mindset that presumed print reading was superior to
Braille. In the 1970's educators came to regard Braille implicitly
or explicitly as an antiquated tool for reading. Many felt that new
technology would make Braille obsolete, so there was little
motivation for teachers to learn the code and even less to teach
it.
But a generation of illiterate children has stimulated a
counterforce bent on changing this direction before another
generation is lost. It is not surprising that we are now hearing a
call for better preparation of teachers as well as competency
testing to insure that those charged with the education of blind
children are themselves competent to provide instruction in Braille
reading and writing. Ironically, although fifteen years ago the
experts believed that technology would make Braille obsolete, in
fact the opposite has proven to be true. With an increased emphasis
on Braille, technology has been applied to the problem, the effect
being greater availability of Braille than ever before.
It is not surprising that increasing attention has been focused on
Braille literacy since literacy generally has become a central
topic in America today. The need for blind youngsters to be
literate is in many ways self-evident. Literacy for these children,
as for sighted ones, is vital to their competing successfully in an
increasingly demanding world market. A command of the English
language and the ability to read and write are essential to
everyone for effective communication. Yet as I prepared for this
afternoon's presentation, I had a sense that for me as a blind
person the importance of literacy took on a dimension which
transcended the readily recognizable importance of being literate.
I could not help feeling that the role of Braille in my personal
life and its absolute importance to me were somehow connected to
the cause-and-effect relationships outlined earlier, which have
resulted in the current emphasis on Braille.
I have a personal and deep-seated loyalty to Braille, not simply
because it affords me the ability to read and write. For me Braille
is part of my liberation from a debilitating mindset and a body of
beliefs premised on the assumption of limitation and hopelessness.
Braille allows me to organize my work, to jot down an address, or
to read a recipe; but it also represents the tangible expression of
the truth of the principle that, given training and opportunity,
blind people can function competitively in society.
When I was seven years old, I became legally blind. Over the next
nine years my vision gradually decreased. During this time I was
not taught Braille; however, this was also during the period which
has come to be known as the sightsaving era. This concept was based
on the belief that to use remaining vision would cause it to
decrease. For this reason I was not allowed to read print while
simultaneously being discouraged from reading Braille. The real
tragedy was that as a child I already had deeply ingrained negative
attitudes about blindness. I equated it with inferiority and
therefore wanted nothing to do with Braille or any other skills
which blind people use. As my vision decreased, I fell into a
pattern of believing that what I could not see, I could not do.
Blindness for me represented helplessness, and my fear of blindness
had prevented me from learning the skills which would have allowed
me to function. My lack of literacy meant that I had no means by
which to read and write, but additionally it contributed to my
fundamental feelings of inadequacy and isolation.
After becoming totally blind, I can remember a hospital social
worker bringing me a Braille watch. I vividly remember struggling
to distinguish the dots on the face of the watch and finding it
virtually impossible to distinguish between the hour hand and the
minute hand, but in a short time I had managed to learn how to read
my watch quickly and accurately and by so doing experienced a sense
of exhilaration. While I was not yet truly reading, that experience
sparked my recognition that as a blind person I was not entirely
helpless_dependent on those around me for even the most basic
information. Rather than representing my most negative fears about
blindness, Braille started to be a means of liberation. For the
first time I began to view my limitations as stemming from my lack
of training rather than from my lack of eyesight. For the first
time a technique associated with blindness became a source of
pride, and I began to understand that perhaps I could function
competitively as a blind person using alternative techniques. 
While I was in college, I had an experience which represented a
milestone in my life. In the Fall of 1974 here in Los Angeles, I
attended a convention of the National Federation of the Blind.
There I was first exposed to blind people who were living active,
normal lives. I met blind people who were holding professional
jobs, buying their own homes, and raising families, all of which I
had believed were unattainable for me as a blind person. Rather
than fitting my preconception of what life as a blind person must
be, these men and women were living rich and fulfilling lives,
competing effectively in society. These were people I could admire
and whom I wished to be like.
A man who stands out in my mind was Lawrence (Muzzy) Marcelino.
When I met him, he asked my name, and I can remember his reaching
into his pocket and pulling out a slate and stylus to take down my
address and phone number. This seemingly small act was nevertheless
significant in my life. Muzzy's use of the slate and stylus
represented literacy, but it also represented a shaking off of
societal stereotypes about blindness. Muzzy believed he could
function competitively and so quite naturally put his beliefs into
practice. I, on the other hand, was just awakening to the
realization that my fears and misconceptions about blindness were
driving my actions and hence were primarily responsible for my
inability to compete. Braille for me came to represent literacy in
my life with all the advantages normally associated with literacy.
The element that I regard as most crucial is that Braille also came
to symbolize tangible proof of my ability to live a normal life.
The decline in Braille use in our country over the past two decades
is nothing less than a tragedy. Children growing up during this
period have suffered lost opportunities by having inadequate
ability to read and write, compounded by lowered self-esteem and
diminished expectations. You in this room have contributed in an
important way to reversing this trend, helping blind children reach
their true potential through the teaching and producing of Braille.
Your efforts have helped many attain literacy and, through it,
increased opportunity. 
In this room this afternoon is a young woman who grew up in
California and received special education services through the
public schools. Although she was diagnosed with retinitis
pigmentosa, the conventional wisdom of the time indicated that she
had too much vision to be taught Braille. By the time she graduated
from high school, she was no longer able to read print; yet she had
no alternate means of reading and writing. Through ingenuity and
hard work she managed to get through college with good grades,
while paying a severe price in damaged self-confidence. Fortunately
for her, she recognized her need for training. After completing
college, she entered the Louisiana Center for the Blind for six
months of intensive training in Braille, cane travel, and the other
skills of blindness. I remember listening to a presentation she
made shortly after completing her training. After having read
Braille for only six months, she read Braille faster than she had
ever been able to read print. So Braille represented both literacy
and freedom to her.
The movement toward increased emphasis on Braille is gathering
momentum; and, as with all social change, events are driving other
events. To understand the cause-and-effect relationship which has
resulted in today's Braille movement, we must first understand that
Braille symbolizes both literacy and a change in our own attitudes
about blindness. At first glance it seems obvious that two decades
of diminished literacy has provided the driving force for today's
Braille renaissance. Yet exploring further discloses that the
fundamental shift in our attitudes about blindness has made
diminished literacy for blind people intolerable. If we expect very
little from blind people, then illiteracy, rather than a problem
requiring solution, is accepted as a natural situation, consistent
with our low expectations.
The Braille movement today is not simply a response to the
condition of illiteracy. It is also the outgrowth of the very
positive influence of changing social attitudes. With increased
expectations for ourselves as blind people, we expand our
potential. As we believe we can do more, we naturally look for the
tools necessary to translate our beliefs into action. As teachers
and producers of Braille, you have seen the effects of your labor
in the lives of those with whom you have worked. As your efforts
result in increased opportunities, your positive perception of
blindness and expectations for blind people are reinforced and
expanded.
This change in our conception of blindness gives meaning to the
Braille movement. It gives purpose to the new initiatives aimed at
greater literacy. The new spirit of cooperation resulting in the
adoption of Braille bills, the development of NLS competency
testing, and the initiation of ventures with textbook publishers to
make Braille more available to school children is directly
attributable to this fundamental change in our conceptions. In
North America it has led us to undertake a project to study the
idea of a unified literary and math code.
We can see the same spirit of cooperation internationally, and I
believe it can be explained by the same cause-and-effect
relationship between increased expectations and greater emphasis on
Braille literacy. The momentum which has developed may well result
in a single internationally recognized literary and math code. This
same momentum has already brought us to the threshold of an
internationally agreed-upon music code.
Throughout this process mistakes will inevitably be made. Bad
decisions will be reached which will need to be reviewed and
repaired. Some changes will make Braille more awkward and less
readable and will perhaps result in real harm to people. Yet the
momentum underway brings the promise of true progress. Many years
ago I remember being warned, If you are not making mistakes, then
you are not doing anything. There will be problems as progress is
made, yet progress is clearly in evidence.
Braille has allowed me to unlock many doors. It has helped me
attain literacy and enabled me to shake off doubt and uncertainty
in myself. For this reason I thank you for your role in helping
scores of blind children to acquire the tools to reach their full
potential. Collectively we are part of the cause and effect
relationship stimulating change. Self-confidence and a changing
perception of blindness must be nourished by the success which
comes from having the ability to put that confidence into action.
Your efforts and your dedication have touched countless lives,
sustaining the momentum in the cycle of cause and effect, leading
us closer to the promise of true integration for the blind.

BRAILLE-WHAT IS IT? WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO THE BLIND?
Braille is a system of reading and writing by touch used by the
blind. It consists of arrangements of dots which make up letters of
the alphabet, numbers, and punctuation marks. The basic Braille
symbol, called the Braille cell, consists of six dots arranged in
the formation of a rectangle, three dots high and two across. Other
symbols consist of only some of these six dots. The six dots are
commonly referred to by number according to their position in the
cell:
	1--4 
	2--5 
	3--6
There are no different symbols for capital letters in Braille.
Capitalization is accomplished by placing a dot 6 in the cell just
before the letter that is capitalized. The first ten letters of the
alphabet are used to make numbers. These are preceded by a number
sign which is dots 3-4-5-6:
	.       - 
	.       - 
	-       -
Thus, 1 is number sign a; 2 is number sign b; 10 is number sign a-j
and 193 is number sign a-i-c:
	.       -       -       .       .       -       -       - 
	.       -       .       .       -       .       .       . 
	-       -       .       .       .       .       .       .
Some abbreviations are used in standard American Braille in order
to reduce its bulk. These must be memorized, but most Braille
readers and writers find them convenient, rather than a problem.
Braille is written on heavy paper, and the raised dots prevent the
pages from lying smoothly together as they would in a print book.
Therefore, Braille books are quite bulky.
Today there are three methods of writing Braille, just as there are
two methods of writing print. A Braille writing machine (comparable
to a typewriter) has a keyboard of only six keys and a space bar,
instead of one key for each letter of the alphabet. These keys can
be pushed separately or altogether. If they are all pushed at the
same time, they will cause six dots to be raised on the paper in
the formation of a Braille cell. Pushing various combinations of
the keys on the Braille writer produces different letters of the
alphabet and other Braille symbols.
Writing Braille with a slate and stylus compares to writing print
with a pen or pencil. The stylus is used to push dots down through
the paper, while the slate serves as a guide. The Braille slate can
be made of metal or plastic and is hinged so that there is a guide
under the paper as well as on top of it. A person writing Braille
with the slate and stylus begins at the right side of the paper and
ends the line on the left, since the dots are being produced on the
underside of the paper. Of course, the Braille reader reads from
left to right, for the dots are then on the top side of the paper.
Although this may seem a bit confusing, it need not be at all
troublesome, since both reading and writing progress through words
and sentences from beginning to end in the same manner. The speed
of writing Braille with the slate and stylus is about the same as
the speed of writing print with pen or pencil.
Just as the personal computer has revolutionized writing in print
today, it is also possible to produce Braille more easily and
quickly than ever before. Assuming that the proper equipment is
available, a computer user can now send a document to a standard
printer to produce a paper copy in print or to a Braille embosser
to produce the document in Braille. And one need not even know
Braille to create this miracle.
Braille was first developed in the late 1820's by a young Frenchman
named Louis Braille. He created Braille by modifying a system of
night writing which was intended for military use. He did this work
as a very young man and had it complete by the time he was about
eighteen. He and his friends at the school for the blind found that
reading and writing dots was much faster than reading raised print
letters, which could not be written by hand at all. The development
of this system by young Louis Braille is now recognized as the most
important single development in making it possible for the blind to
get a good education.
It took more than a century, however, before people would accept
Braille as an excellent way for the blind to read and write. Even
today many people underestimate the effectiveness of Braille. While
tapes and records are enjoyable, Braille is essential for
note-taking and helpful for studying such things as math, spelling,
and foreign languages. It is a matter of great concern to members
of the National Federation of the Blind that fewer blind people now
have the opportunity to become good Braille users than did
twenty-five years ago.
Why is this?  Many professionals in work with the blind stress
recorded media with blind children. Many people who become blind do
so in old age and are not encouraged to spend the time and make the
effort needed to develop the new reading and writing skills that
depend on feeling rather than seeing. There are even Braille
teachers who do not expect speed and accuracy of their blind
students. As a result, the students learn Braille as a chore and a
drudgery.
Experienced Braille readers, however, read Braille at speeds
comparable to print readers_200 to 400 words a minute. Such Braille
readers say that the only limitation of Braille is that there isn't
enough material available. They want more books produced by Braille
presses, more books produced by volunteer Braillists in their
homes, and wider availability of computerized Braille production. 
One of the goals of the National Federation of the Blind is to help
people appreciate Braille for the efficient system it is. The main
difference between print and Braille is simply that print is meant
to be read with the eyes, while Braille is meant to be read with
the fingertips. Fingers feel dots quickly and accurately; eyes see
loops and lines of ink. In both cases it is the brain that
processes and reacts to the raw data sent to it by the fingers or
the eyes.
This article was first written in Braille and transcribed into
print to answer the questions of sighted people who cannot read
Braille.

If you have further questions about Braille or blindness, write to
the National Federation of the Blind, 1800 Johnson Street,
Baltimore, Maryland  21230.

A LUCKY BEGINNING,
A HAPPY ENDING

     When Betty Niceley was a child in Kentucky, any youngster who could not read print easily for a long time was sent as a matter of course to the Kentucky School for the Blind.  Betty's visual acuity was twenty over sixty and was supposed to be stable.  She had no trouble reading print, but she could do so for only brief periods without the words blurring.
     So it was the residential school for her, and the rule there was that every student was taught Braille, regardless of ability to decode print.  Betty remembers that, when Braille books ran short, she was often given print, which worked fine for one class or one assignment.  But, if she had to read much, she depended on Braille.
     The importance of Braille in her life took on new significance when she was twenty-two.  Suddenly and without warning she lost her remaining vision.  She had adjustments to make, of course, but learning to read and write over again was not one of them.  Betty has made a career for herself teaching the skills of blindness to those just beginning to deal with the disability and administering such programs.  She knows firsthand how lucky she was to be taught Braille early because every day she helps people who are dealing with the consequences of not doing so.
     Her enthusiastic belief in Braille is the reason she works so hard as the President of the National Association to Promote the Use of Braille (NAPUB).  Despite home, family, career, and other work in the National Federation of the Blind, Betty has led NAPUB for more than ten years now -- ten years of educating and advocating for improved Braille instruction for blind children today. 
     In conjunction with the National Organization of Parents of Blind Children, NAPUB sponsors the Braille Readers Are Leaders reading contest annually to encourage blind youngsters to read Braille, and NAPUB members mentor new Braille users and work to inspire them to improve their skills.  This work is beginning to bear fruit.  Increasingly blind people are advocating for good Braille instruction and using the code themselves, even when they find it slow because they did not learn it as children.  A song sung to the tune of "Jingle Bells" expresses what they have come to believe:

Ode to the Code 

Going to the school to write an IEP--
The experts say "Choose print because your child can see," 
But the equipment is too big, and large print is too rare,
And fifteen words a minute will not get you anywhere.

Refrain

Braille is here, Braille is here, Braille is here to stay.
We will keep on using it; we don't care what you say.
Braille is here, Braille is here, we will sing its praise. 
It's the system for the blind to get a job that pays!

They say that Braille's too tough to teach the newly blind.
Its codes and its contractions discombobulate the mind.
But contractions we've learned all, and codes we've mastered too,
For blindness has no negative effect on our I.Q.

Refrain 

They say that Braille's complex; they say that it's too slow.
They say the new technology's the only way to go,
But we'll keep using Braille because it is the key 
To making sure that blind folks will be literate and free.

Refrain 


You can help us spread the word ...

     ... about our Braille Readers Are Leaders contest for blind schoolchildren, a project which cncourages blind children to achieve literacy through Braille.
     ... about our scholarships for deserving blind college students.
     ... about Job Opportunities for the Blind, a program that matches capable blind people with employers who need their skills.
     ... about where to turn for accurate information about blindness and the abilities of the blind.

     Most importantly, you can help us by sharing what you've learned about blindness in these pages with your family and friends.  If you know anyone who needs assistance with the problems of blindness, please wriite:

Marc Maurer, President 
National Federation of the Blind 
1800 Johnson Street, Suite 300 
Baltimore, Maryland 21230-4998 

Other Ways You Can Help the 
National Federation of the Blind  

     Write to us for taxl-saving information on bequests and planned giving programs.

or

     Include the following language in your will:

     "I give, devise, and bequeath unto National Federation of the Blind, 1800 Johnson Street, Suite 300, Baltimore, Maryland 21230, a District of Columbia nonprofit corporation, the sum of $---- (or "---- percent of my net estate") to be used for its worthy purposes on behalf of blind persons."

     Your contributions are tax-deductible.