I Can See

I Can See!

Not only do movies create magic for the audience, but for the actor as well. It conjures up a brew for an otherwise shy person to become a romantic lead, a mild-mannered reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper to become a superhero and, in my case, enables a blind actor to see.

My previous gig was playing a blind villain in a short horror film, and this go-around I was an inventor / scientist introduced in the opening sequence of a feature length screenplay. My enigmatic character, Cornelius Proctor, has invented a device that will allow him to transfer his “being” into it just before shuffling off his mortal coil. I’m dressed in a Henley style collarless shirt, suspenders, some pinstriped trousers and wearing some cool wire rimmed glasses. Yep, I can see.

Proctor gazing out the window

Confined to an authentic 1930s wheelchair, the sequence shows my character pondering the final deed whilst gazing through my window at a storm raging outside. Resolved, I approach and activate my device just before dispatching myself, transferring my essence into this nifty retro sci-fi apparatus the size of a breadbox.

So, how does the blind man “see” to wheel from his window to his radio for one last listen before heading over to his work-station where sits his device and his destiny?

Magic my dear Watson. Actually, watching an off-set monitor, my director prompted me as the action unfolded in real time. I spin my wheelchair away from the window, the director shouts “Stop!” – my cue to now wheel straight across the room to the old-fashioned Zenith. The tricky part was to land on a dime 12-feet away from the window, just left of the radio, in order to reach down and switch it off before wheeling over to my makeshift worktable in the center of the living room. With the director’s cues and a little practice, I roll to the radio, stop, listen briefly to the music, bullseye the knob and switch it off and, taking one last look around my room at tacked up blueprints and a mysterious photo of a woman on the wall, I wheel away to the workbench. Nailed it. 

Director Fareed Al-Mashat watching monitor behind set

Taking direction

Proctor close up listening to radio in the dark

Like all shoots, there were long, medium, close-ups, as well as overhead shots of the same action, lensed separately, so there would be enough coverage to give the director and editor optional ways to cut the film.

Director of Photography Frank Martin lining up device shot

What I didn’t actually see, but what dressed the stage, was the storm raging outside, accomplished by a behind-the-set rain-rake drizzling water down the window and an offstage fan blowing palm fronds as if they were fluttering in the wind. Inside on the set was a copy of a vintage Life magazine resting on a straw couch, an old-school oscillating fan, a dozen blueprints tacked up on the walls, and living room furniture moved off to the side to accommodate my workspace. On the floor were boxes of various parts and covering the workbench were old-fashioned tools, vacuum tubes, a soldering iron with a small burning flame, a jar of acetone...and, of course, the device. 

The device and random tools

The device had a hand-crank, two switches, two separate dials, and a grab-handle which I had to execute in sequence to fire it up. However, before disappearing into it, I made one last entry in my journal. (I was told that my handwriting was pretty good.) Then I cranked, flipped, twisted, grabbed, trembled violently, and zap…I was a goner! Nailed it.

After two days of shooting, which will ultimately be edited to 2-minutes, we wrapped the prologue sequence, setting up the device and the action about to unfold. 

So, whenever I want to see, I simply head over to a film set – just one more magical benefit of making movies.

It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s a blind dude who can see!

Proctor at workbench with device and set in background

Steve Gladstone

The Blind Dude

Blind Dude Turns Villain

Not quite the Phantom of the Opera, but nevertheless psychologically seducing the ingénue was my game last weekend.

When a blind actor is offered the role of a menacing villain in a short horror film, he signs on.

Though the “girl” subscribes to the paranormal and reads tarot cards, she is innocent and wholesome until falling under the spell of the bad guy. The “boy” hasn’t a chance against this formidable foe. As she slowly becomes unhinged and angles to dispatch her fiancée with a large blade, the creepy blind man blissfully witnesses the event.

With a vintage top hat, long leather coat, Doc Martens boots and some nifty scar makeup, my character didn’t have to say much to get his point across. The film was framed so the viewer will be able to see what I am thinking, and my actions will be enough to psychologically manipulate the girl to attack her soon-to-be husband. Ah! The magic of movie-making!

It does take a special sort of producer and director to hire an actor with a disability, even when the actor is otherwise right for the role. It's a production team with imagination who can see that hiring a performer with a disability can add an extra layer to the character, making him or her that much more interesting. 

On the set, it all boils down to director and actor collaborating and adapting so the script can be served and the actor accommodated.

Being on a film set is actually a nice environment for a blind actor. Once in position, you usually don’t have to move very much and, as opposed to acting on the stage, you generally keep your expressions and gestures small. You always have the benefit of a rehearsal and if the scene doesn’t go well, you just shoot it again.

Before each sequence, I ask to “walk” the set to get a sense of the space I’m working in. Then I ask the director how I’m to be framed – full on, from the waist up, chest up, or just the face. I'll also ask the DP (director of photography) to clap his hands in front of the lens so I can locate it. After that simple prep, not unlike any non-disabled actor, it’s just a matter of disappearing into your character, listening and reacting to the other characters, and delivering your lines honestly.

Of course, there is the occasional outtake that catches you in a more playful moment.

Like any competent actor, I strive for a well-drawn and nuanced performance while trying not to blink and keeping my mouth closed when I’m not speaking.

Steve Gladstone

The Blind Dude

Where Is There? Part 2

A friend sent me this account by an anonymous blind fellow. This prompted me to go digging around for a poem I wrote many years ago on the subject. It tries to explore that elusive land, not so far away as Neverland, yet equally as mysterious.

Over There.

At last we can know the location of "Over There."

As my guide dog and I stood in line at the checkout counter of the River City Market, I asked the cashier what I thought was a simple question, "Where are the napkins please?" Her response was hurried but sincere, "Over There."

The next day I was at a new bus stop and I managed to catch the attention of a passer-by. "Please sir, can you tell me where I might catch bus 63?" A kind voice offered a pleasant response before disappearing into the cacophony of the early afternoon. "You can catch it Over There," he said.

So many things reside Over There: napkins, bus stops, pencils, pens, clothing racks, department stores and even my shoes! A never-ending supply of important and indispensable items and locales all reside in this place, which is shrouded in mystery and intrigue. I stand in perplexed silence after learning that something or someone is “Over There.” It is a place I have never been to and have no hope of finding on my own.

My guide dog is quite skilled in finding chairs, stairs, counters, curbs, elevators, escalators, helping me cross streets, and can even find me the pepperoni display at Food Town. However, when I tell him to find Over There, his little bottom hits the floor and a small whimper tells me that he is as confused as I am.

We will not be going Over There today.

Over There has caused me a bit of vexation, a lot of confusion and, on occasion, made my heart race. I have discovered that Over There can be a dangerous place.

One day while crossing a street, I heard a driver's irritated voice shout out a warning of a truck bearing down on me from Over There. My guide dog artfully dodged the oncoming vehicle and pulled me to safety at the curb. Our hearts were both racing as we took a few moments to compose ourselves. Close encounters with Over There can be frightening experiences.

Although many blind people have wondered as to the exact whereabouts of Over There, few have dared to venture forth in an actual exploration of the ghostly place.

Recently I entered a drugstore, and after my guide dog found the counter, I asked the clerk where I might find the aspirin. With a cheery smile in her voice, she informed me that the aspirin was located (all together now!), "Over There."

With a bold sigh, I decided that I would finally take the extra step that would unravel the mystery which had vexed my compatriots since the beginning of time. Taking a deep breath, and attempting to look nonchalant, I smiled at the clerk and asked, "Where exactly is Over There?"

I felt her concerned look. The silence grew palpable as she mulled over the possibility of allowing a blind person access to the forbidden land. The die was cast. She had no choice. She would have to tell me how to find it.

I had won! Exhilaration swept through me as I waited in breathless anticipation. A victorious smile crept to my lips, my hand tightened on the handle of my guide dog's harness. We were at the ready – we would soon be going Over There!

The clerk's voice reeked with resignation as she began to speak. She said (drum roll please): "It’s that way."

And now for my poem.

Where Is There?

Without eyes, entered a room,
a tired man, his head was strewn
with worldly words, often unsaid,
he asked where he might rest his head.

A clerk then pointed, “over there.”
“Where is there?” the blind man’s query.
“Right there, it's there, it's over there.”
The familiar strain made the old man weary.

“I cannot see, please show me where.”
The clerk then said much louder,
“I'm sorry friend, please sit right here.”
From there to here he’d flounder.

The clerk’s voice now moved a wall,
“Right here! It's here!” insisted.
The blind man said, “And by the way,
my ears need not be twisted.”

And so explained, the blind old man,
his journeys' end a wooden chair,
that “Over there, has no meaning.”
“Put it where?” the clerk was screaming.
“Where the moon don't shine,” he shared.

by Steve Gladstone, blind dude

I’ve Got My Eyes in My Pocket

Specialty smartphone apps have flowed downstream to the blind community for some time. Apps that can read the value of your paper money or tell you the color of your t-shirt have been around for a while.

"Be My Eyes" app screenshot.

And now blind folks are using the camera on their device, not as a parlor trick to snap photos of their pals, but as remote eyeballs.

For the past year or so I have been facetiming (Apple’s real time 2-way video calling feature) with my daughter to help me distinguish between my meds, neckties and the hardboiled egg that dropped and rolled across my kitchen floor. But she’s not always available. And what happens at 3 o’clock in the morning when I need some sighted assistance? So, downloading the Be My Eyes app was a no-brainer for me.

Be My Eyes is an app that claims that it “brings sight to the blind and visually impaired.”

The app engages the video capabilities of smartphones to turn them into virtual eyes. It allows blind folks to make video calls to volunteers who are ready to help them see stuff.

The good folks behind Be My Eyes explain that the sighted helpers are “friendly citizens who are willing to lend their sight as they go about their daily lives.”

The nifty network boasts that there are over half a million sighted helpers and over 35 thousand blind and visually impaired users in the Be My Eyes community. The volunteers are ready and willing to assist blind folks in every time zone and in over 90 languages. This makes it available to the user – that’s me – 24/7.

It’s an around the clock deal. Whenever you call, it keeps buzzing around the globe until it finds an available volunteer who speaks your language and who’s living in a zone where it’s daytime. If it’s the middle of the night in the U.S., for example, you might be connecting with someone in Europe or Australia.

Just yesterday at around 2:30 a.m., I reached into my freezer and pulled out a half melted (half frozen if you’re an optimist) strawberry fruit bar. So I activated the Be My Eyes app and connected with a student in Turkey. She helped me figure out that I had accidentally bumped the temperature setting on my digital fridge panel and she helped me to reset it. We then had a lively conversation about who had the more “colorful” president.

Last week I went to clean my dining room table and just before spraying the lemon furniture polish on it, I called BME to be certain I had the right stuff. I found out just in time that it was roach killer I was about to spray all over my beautiful oak-wood table. A few days later, my roboeyes helped me find the avocado I dropped on the kitchen floor. (I drop a lot of stuff on the kitchen floor.) Then the BME volunteer helped me read a message on my computer screen when my screen reader was misbehaving and stopped speaking.

"avocado, down!"

Turns out the program is good for the volunteers as well as blind folks.

Sighted helpers have reported: “…feelings of usefulness when answering a call and successfully helping a blind person,” how “awesome it felt to be able to be someone’s eyes in a time of need” and “being eager for the next call.”

And out of the mouths of users: “I do not know what I would do without this app. It has been a lifesaver for me.” … “Volunteers have looked through catalogs with me and have also helped me sort out my CD collection.” … “I had a man tell me the kind of tea and another woman tell me it was a can of tomatoes. It sounds like a small thing but I can tell you it is not! Remember it is the small things in a person’s life that make a big difference.”

The Be My Eyes team reminds us that it’s summertime. You might be going on vacation and into unfamiliar surroundings and that now “…you can feel secure and even more independent knowing that you are never really alone as you tackle new activities and places… You’ve got Volunteers in your pocket, waiting to assist you whenever and wherever you need them… Once you try it, you will never leave home, the state, or the country without it.”

I recall once being at a hotel and washing my hair with body lotion since the bottles containing shampoo, conditioner and lotion were all identical in size and all smelled like the same flower. Thermostats are always a guessing game as to which button is cool and which is heat and if the up down temp buttons move in half or whole degree steps. And the TV remote controls? Yikes! I’ll be calling BME from now on when I’m obsessing over the small stuff in my hotel room.

I was reading about Gayle Yarnall, the blind former director of adaptive technology at Perkins Products, who also experienced some anxiety when she traveled.

“I normally always read about a place before going there,” Gayle mused. “There are many cultural differences to be aware of. Like in Japan, you will find that a toilet has 8 buttons. So it’s just a matter of trial and error before hitting the right one.” Now she knows what button to push. Of course, it’s more than just bathroom management for Gayle. “A whole new world has opened for me, and I will bring the app everywhere.”

The folks at Be My Eyes stress that “with over half a million volunteers you can, and should, feel free to make calls as frequently as you wish without ever disturbing anyone.” In fact, they have many volunteers who are still waiting to receive their first help request. You can use Be My Eyes as much as you possibly want – and the service is free, no matter how much you use it.

So, until tech comes up with bionic orbs they can plug into my eye sockets, I’ll carry my eyes around in my pocket.

For info on Be My Eyes, check out Info@bemyeyes.com.

Steve Gladstone, The Blind Dude

The Blind Job Application

- All Men Are Created Equal

So this black transgender female over 40 in a wheelchair rolls into a mosque…you get the picture. Turn on NPR or your tribal TV news outlet or boot up your smartphone at any time and you’ll catch a story on the “ism” du jour: sexism, racism, ageism, identityism or ableism.

It seems that every day there is some news item or a story about “diversity” – a word that has become a semantic tsunami that washes over us daily and, at least in this country, represents anyone and everyone who isn’t a non-disabled straight white man.

I recently caught a story about the people who did the important math calculations for NASA during the early days of the space program, from the late 50s through the Apollo missions to the moon. This was at a time when “computers” were people, not machines. They used slide rules, solved differential equations and did the calculus that sent Alan Shepard up and down and John Glenn orbiting the earth and enabled Neil Armstrong to step onto the lunar surface.

- Neil Armstrong

These computers were black women. You saw newsreel images of white men with crewcuts and chunky glasses in NASA control rooms while these women were hidden in segregated buildings with segregated bathrooms and drinking from separate water fountains. These women were crunching the numbers for the trajectories, orbits and splashdowns that made our space program possible while steeped in a Jim Crow system that told them they were free but not equal.

Why are we so surprised to find out that these complicated calculations were being made by black women? After all, it’s ability that counts, right?

Any contrary language, belief or action that targets a “group” is the product of small-minded people (hello, Donald, are you listening?) and shines a powerful spotlight on the disturbing ambiguity of the human mind. And there appears to be no shortage of those minds sloshing and squishing around in the heads of many these days.

If our inherent nature wasn’t to discriminate against others there would have been no need for civil rights legislation and the passing of the Americans with Disabilities Act and heck, even the need to write down “…all men are created equal…”, the Founding Fathers ironically displaying their prejudice against women! Proof positive of who we are.

As once a sighted person and now totally blind, I can report that blindness has kept some of my prejudicial tendencies at bay. I stopped making those snap judgements that skin color or cultural clothing or body shape prompted in my behavior. All I get are the words coming out of a person’s mouth.

Yes. I do discriminate on the essence of a person – what they can bring to my table or what I might bring to their plate – and accept or dismiss them accordingly. We do need to judge what and who is good or bad for us, but we are all served well to make those decisions based on essence and keep all the isms in check. There is hardly an advantage in dismissing the better candidate.

Hiring and promoting based on ability and performance. What a concept!

Imagine a blind job application. If any and every person applying for a position could apply with their gender, ethnicity, age, identity and disability somehow hidden, what would our workplaces look like? And more importantly, what would be the level of productivity?

Of course, employers should not be asked to hire a person before meeting them. But imagine a completely objective metric being assigned to an application for employment before the boss meets the job-seeker face to face. And if that metric included not only work experience but a measure of intuition by some means as well, it would offer employers a competitive edge by hiring someone who intuits with the best of ‘em.

If we could strip away all the superficial stuff that taints the decision making process, who would we hire? Who would we promote? Alas! Who would we love?

There’s a short overweight Latin woman cleaning houses who would make an excellent CEO if we could just find her…or if she could find us.

And equal pay for equal work? Besides being a no-brainer, another stunning example of how deep discrimination runs like rich red blood through our veins. Certainly as ridiculous as drinking from separate water fountains.

Indeed. All people are created equal. Now if we could just get that woven into the fabric of humanity somehow.

Steve Gladstone

The Blind Dude

Blind Lives Matter

The disproportionate discrimination heaped onto the Afro-American community has inspired the Black Lives Matter movement, campaigning against violence toward black people, and to the broader issues of racial discrimination. Certainly the color of skin prompting bias before you have even said “hello” or exchanged a minute of conversation is absurd, disturbing and diminishes who we are as a species. Yet there it is: if you’re a person of color in a white society, the judging kicks in with amazing speed.

Whether discrimination is learned or baked into our DNA, it seems clear that religious, ethnic, age and gender prejudice is thriving around the planet with no signs of easing up anytime soon. Discrimination, and the fear, rage and violence that broils up from it, continues to be a pox on all our houses.

Prejudgment also applies to the largest minority in our country. Over 64 million, or 1 out of every 5 Americans, live with a disability. However, the prejudice against disabled folks generally takes the form of assumption, dismissal and pity rather than rage.

The most mysterious thing about prejudice is that when it kicks in, it seems to assign a complete set of negative traits to the targeted person. Knee-jerk reactions take hold, and individual personality doesn’t stand a chance. Unless a brief conversation with the prejudger and the prejudged occurs, the whole prejudged person is marginalized and dismissed as unproductive or nefarious.

I felt it myself when I met Danny, a fellow, who at the age of 19, severed his spinal cord when he dove off the mast of a sailing ship into a coral reef. When we first met, I stuck out my hand to shake his. It was limp and without any strength. He was quadriplegic and I immediately figured he was pooched with no ability. Then he invited me out on his sailboat which was rigged so that he could manage the boat himself. Good thing – I’m useless when it comes to trimming sails. He moved to L.A. to pursue a career in acting, appeared in several films, and started up an enterprise helping businesses to become ADA compliant. Danny and I would sometimes step out together – I’d grab the handles of his wheelchair and he would tell me “left and right and stop.” We were a motley crew and remained lifelong friends.

People who casually meet me for the first time generally resort to some blind man stereotype or worse, pity. They will quickly grab my bag of groceries as if my hands are broken or tell me how sorry they are for me. People who do get to know me are at first surprised that I’m a professional actor, president of my local actor’s union, have been a VP of Sales and Human Resources, a playwright, a poet, a songwriter, have two kids and do my own grocery shopping. To them it’s “amazing.” To me, it’s just what I do.

It’s important to make a distinction between having a disability and being disabled. Having a disability means having only one broken something; being disabled suggests you are entirely broken. As I often say, “I’m not disabled, I’m just blind.” I get stuff done by other means.

Like most of the disabled folks I know, their particular disability tends to “disappear” to people who spend time with them, and their abilities emerge, dominate and defy the preconceptions.

Disability isn’t a tragedy. It’s just another way of living. And it matters.

Certainly a world without prejudgment is desired by most people, but people who experience discrimination of any kind don’t live in that sort of kumbaya bubble. I figure it will take several more turns of evolution before our species enlightens to a more inclusive mentality, where tendencies toward stereotype and bias are eliminated from the gene pool.

Until then, we must strive mightily to embrace the notion that there are better ways to deal with the ire that boils up from dated assumptions that marginalize the groups of people who breathe and dream outside our tribes.

For now, we might just try saying “hello” when we first meet someone who appears ‘different.’ And we may find out just how similarly we all dream.

Steve Gladstone

The Blind Dude

Gettin’ it done by other means.

Eating Ants

The other day my daughter came over for a visit. I was in my den when I heard her calling out to me from the kitchen: “Hey dad, there are ants all over your chocolate candy.”

Yikes! I had a flash memory from the night before, eating a couple of pieces from my box of Valentine chocolates which I had been rationing and now was almost empty…except for the ants.

I quickly got to thinking about any weird science I might have swallowed in the past and recalled how I thought the sliced ham I had for lunch earlier tasted a little tangy. When you’re a blind dude, bad strawberries and sour milk are simple to detect, but ant-covered chocolates, not so easy.

I started wondering why I was still alive.

I suppose at their most basic level, ants are protein.

Then I remembered Steve McQueen’s character in the film Papillon, mashing up and eating insects while detained in a French Guiana prison. It didn’t kill him but rather helped sustain him for two years while being held in solitary confinement. I was starting to feel better.

Certainly in some parts of the world, local cuisine includes beetles, grasshoppers and other insects which are dried, fried and covered with seasonings. Desserts include tasty tidbits like Chocolate Covered Scorpion and Chile-Lime Crickets.

According to one source: “…80% of the world views insects as normal food; it's only nations in Europe, Canada and the USA who balk at the idea.”

Was I ahead of the curve?

A quick surf on Google will bring you to organizations that promote the eating of those creepy little critters. One such association boasts: “Eat Bugs, Save the Planet.” There are ‘Bug Festivals’ dedicated to educating us about the nutritional benefits of edible insects.

Notwithstanding the challenges of world hunger, the rising demand for meat, overfishing, current farming practices damaging the environment, polluting the water and air and contributing to the rise in infectious diseases, it may be time to change the way we view food.

Back to what we eat.

I thought about a nice steak – cooked cow, really? Who’d want to eat such an odd looking animal? And sushi…? Hmm, raw fish. Then it hit me: maybe as long as what we eat is dead, it works. Or at least is more appetizing.

We don’t eat living stuff. But lots of other creatures do. Snakes eat live rats, lions eat zebra, lizards eat flies, cats eat lizards, and blind dudes eat ants. No big whoop, eh?

Good thing those big bug movies like “Them!” (a nest of gigantic irradiated ants storming L.A.) and “The Fly” (a scientist mutating into a human fly) are just Sci-Fi. Otherwise, we might also be on the menu.

Dead or alive, food is necessary for survival. And eating responsibly is a worthwhile consideration.

Perhaps someday we’ll hear public service announcements like: “Promote healthy eating and sustainable farming with tasty & edible insects. Eat a bug!”

Until then, I won’t be dusting my chocolates with little ants anytime soon, but won’t freak out if I munch a few along the way.

Steve Gladstone The Blind Dude

Blind Man Goes to the Ballet

Photos by Aida Zuniga

Perhaps the last form of theatrical entertainment to attract a blind person would be the ballet: no speaking, no singing, just dancing.

However, thanks to technology, I can now understand the fascination with sugar plum fairies dancing in your head.

Like so many Baby Boomers, I was first introduced to Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite, a truncated orchestral version of his Nutcracker ballet music, while watching Disney’s Fantasia. Of course, Tchaikovsky crafted the Suite as a purely symphonic piece where the ballet is a feast for both the eyes and ears.

inside a toy box

The first characters most Boomers actually tied to The Nutcracker were the animated fairies, fish, flowers, mushrooms, and leaves from Fantasia (1940). The Nutcracker ballet didn’t really become a popular annual tradition in this country until the 1960s, the result of George Balanchine's staging, adapted from E.T.A. Hoffmann's tale, “The Nutcracker and the Mouse King.”

The animated images from Fantasia probably remained with me longer than most people, since I actually saw the film but was totally blind by the time I first attended the ballet.

Those fluid, colorful and quirky animated characters from the movie morphed back to their original forms in the ballet: the dancing mushrooms in the “Chinese Dance” routine (credit the Three Stooges as the model for the animation) became a nimble Chinese danseur leaping out of a box 3 feet into the air; the mesmerizing goldfish who used her flowing tail as a veil became one beautiful barefoot Arabian babe in a gossamer skirt and cascading veil, using her sensuous and controlled movements – arching her back, turning around on one foot and moving in serpentine  patterns – to touch her head with one foot and stretch out like a cat; a plant with its stem body and leaves for arms and legs became an acrobatic Cossack who jumped through a red, white and green striped hula hoop.

So how does a blind man know all these details? Elementary, my dear Watson: audio description.

With a FM receiver around my neck and an earpiece in my ear, a live narrator at the Arsht Center’s Ziff Ballet Opera House in Miami described the action on stage, transmitting it to me in real time as the music played and the dancers danced.

It was also helpful to have a “touch tour” before the show, giving size and shape to many of the stage props and costumes. I did enjoy communing with the Mouse King’s head and body armor.

holding the Mouse King's tail off suit of armor

I never knew it was snowing at the top of the ballet and that several guests arrived with their children at Dr. Stahlbaum’s home. I didn’t know that a father picked up his little daughter to admire the Christmas tree lights or that the grandfather clock lit up when it struck eight.

I learned that the mysterious Drosselmeyer was dressed in a black cape and top hat, and brought with him several large toy boxes; his first gift being two wind-up dolls, Harlequin and Columbine, who soon performed a sprightly arabesque, which enlightened me as to why the audience was applauding.

I had a serious ‘duh’ moment when I found out that Drosselmeyer was cracking nuts with a wooden nutcracker and passing out the nuts to everyone. My inner voice clarified it for me: “It’s The Nutcracker ballet after all, you knucklehead!”

Marie’s brother Fritz grabbing and stomping on the nutcracker was another important piece of otherwise missing info. Drosselmeyer sneaking in as Marie slept, repairing the nutcracker with a magic tool which he “twisted this way and that,” placing it back gently in Marie’s arms, continued to add layers of dimension to Tchaikovsky’s wonderful music.

Subtle descriptions like “the guests hand their coats and wraps to the maid” and “Frau Stahlbaum kisses Marie on the forehead and takes her candle” and “the Prince places the Mouse King’s crown on Marie’s head” added nuance I would otherwise have missed.

Steve arghs with full face Mouse King

Of course, as the music swelled and a large group of mice surrounded Marie “while the lights flashed wildly on the Christmas tree as it started to grow and grow towards the ceiling,” I got the distinct impression the plot was thickening.

Yup, the Calvary came over the hill – the now full-sized Nutcracker rallied the troops of toy soldiers against the rat pack. Kudos to Marie for throwing her slipper at the Mouse King to distract him long enough for the Nutcracker to run him through…and it’s a good thing I found out that the Nutcracker turned into a Prince after the battle.

The only thing better than a snowflake dancing en pointe is sixteen snowflakes dancing en pointe “leaping, swirling and twirling across the stage, forming various patterns on the floor, then taking delicate steps with graceful arm movements and pirouetting into a V-shape.”

How else would I know that The Sugar Plum Fairy found out about the “terrible fight with the mice and their King and the Prince’s transformation from Nutcracker to Prince” if he didn’t “act it out to Sugar Plum with gestures?”

Certainly the "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" was a delight, “her movements exquisitely timed to the mysterious fairy music, imbued with a celesta, twirling upstage” before summoning all the sweets and friends to dance in celebration for Marie and the Prince. The festivities included ten foot tall Mother Ginger, in her enormous purple, green and scarlet costume, with her seven children, the Polichinelles, emerging from under her hoop skirt to dance for our heroine.

A highlight was the "Waltz of the Flowers" where, along with the corps de ballet, Dewdrop danced the extravagant waltz and, according to my narrator, “The large flowing movements and leaps were graceful, even though the music was robust.”

The Grand Pas de Deux between Sugar Plum and her Cavalier, Prince Coqueluche, with its divinely romantic underscore, apparently galvanized the audience. I now know that the Prince helped his “beautiful companion” spin en pointe and then she “leaped and he spun her around and sat her on his shoulder, lifted and held her by the waist straight into the air, and then held her straight on an angle with her feet barely touching the floor.”

After the grand finale, full of abundant color and activity, Marie and the Prince “appear in a sleigh, heading off to the land where the sun meets the moon.”

And I too was over the moon after knowing what the heck was going on.

If you would like to learn more about the audio descriptive service at the Arsht, go to: http://www.arshtcenter.org/

full-sized Nutcracker head

Insight for the Blind was thrilled to produce recorded audio description for the first time in 2015!  In collaboration with the Miami City Ballet, Lighthouse of Broward, and the Broward Center for the Performing Arts, Insight recorded and produced audio description which was made available each night that live audio description was not possible.  Through the partnership of these agencies, 100% of these Nutcracker performances were made accessible, through audio description, to the blind and visually impaired.  We look forward to many more such collaborations in 2016, and beyond!   -Matt Corey

Kinky Boots

Photo credit:  Aida Zuniga I’ve groused aplenty about how the world doesn’t have blind folks at the top of its A-List, so now it’s time to give credit where credits due.

More and more devices and services are coming online that enrich the lives and experiences of blind folks and those with low vision. Technology is moving well beyond computer screen readers and talking thermometers, especially in the world of entertainment.

Several years ago, the first round of “video described” movies made it possible for blind folks to know what was going on between the dialogue. The original Star Trek films and Pretty Woman were among the first few titles where narration, carefully synchronized with the actors' words and motions, was added to the soundtrack after the film was shot. This made blind movie fans aware of the nonverbal action on the screen. I recall a specific narrative in Pretty Woman when Richard Gere is first driving with Julia Roberts in his rented Lotus: “She reaches over and feels his crotch.”

There are now thousands of films and TV “described” shows available as MP3 downloads. (All you really need is an MP3 player and the sweetened audio track of the film unless, of course, you are watching the video with your sighted girlfriend.)

Methinks in a real sort of way, the added narration is a show unto itself. One can only imagine the colorful narrative to the Game of Thrones. Yup, it’s all there.

Even my local movie theater complex offers video description for those first run films that are released with the pre-recorded narration, though the technology can be a bit finicky and doesn’t always work.

Comcast now has its X1 Entertainment Operating System which speaks aloud the channel, current program, and reads the TV guide and controls for programming your DVR. For those TV shows offering video description, many from PBS, blind and low vision users get increased access to the action on present-day TV.

And now, like Santa, Broadway with audio description has come to town.

On any given Sunday matinee, Florida Grand Opera, the Miami City Ballet and many of the musical roadshows presented at the Arsht Center in Miami are audio described with a live narrator. Unlike recorded films and TV, describing live shows has some synchronization challenges since the pace of the action may vary from performance to performance. It requires the narration to be matched to the action in real time by a breathing person via a FM transmitter to a receiver headset worn by the patron.

I just attended the national tour of Kinky Boots, a Broadway musical based on the film of the same name, The inspiration for which came from a true story about a young man (Charlie Price) who inherits his family’s shoe factory and, in order to save the business from bankruptcy, converts it from making fine men’s footwear to producing red thigh high boots for drag queens and fashionistas.

So, how did I know the boots were red? Read on, Macduff.

First off, a pre-show backstage ‘touch tour’ of some of the props and set pieces offered up the first sense of dimension for the blind experience. Grabbing hold of a pair of kinky boots was, well, kinky.

Steve smiling with kinky boot

When there’s dialogue, you have the sense of what’s happening, but when there is silence between the actors, or the actors are singing or dancing, the action is totally lost on blind folks.

As a pumped up Charlie sang about the steps he needed to take to make the prototype boot to serve his underserved niche market, he pulled a piece of leather out of a bucket and began to fashion the first boot; there was a sewing station and a production area on stage around him. I knew all this because of the narration I heard through my earpiece as he sang. The driving tune suddenly became three-dimensional with the descriptive imagery planted squarely in my mind.

After a few false starts and some helpful design tips from the lead gender bender, Lola, singing “The Sex is in the Heel,” the factory workers later raised the roof as the first pair of "kinky boots" was finally completed. The sexy lyrics were even sexier knowing that one of Lola’s backup drag dancers, one of the “angels,” did a full split in heels and another did a backflip; the excitement was more exciting knowing that dancers shimmied and swiveled in “halter tops, short shorts and work boots” as the first completed boot was revealed. Everybody (me included) shouted “yeah, yeah!”

The spoken cues indicated more depth of character when factory worker Lauren “moved in close to Charlie’s face and was reluctant to remove her hand from his thigh” as she sang of her history of choosing the wrong guys, even while falling in love with Charlie. Descriptions of the subtle gestures and facial expressions between Charlie and Lola added an emotional dynamic as they discovered their similarly complex feelings toward their fathers. Knowing that Lola exited the nursing home “straight and proud” in her white dress, after singing to her estranged wheelchair-bound dying father to hold her in his heart, added the otherwise missing element of both love and defiance.

The graphic description of Lola’s provocative moves while proving that she was closer to a woman's ideal man than was Don, the foreman and her heavy-set macho antagonist, enhanced her song and dance with some tasty spice. After challenging her to a boxing match, the ‘slow-mo’ blows that Lola landed on Don in the boxing ring was the only way I knew who was winning the fight. Without the verbal cues before Lola and the angels arrived to save the day, I would never have known that Charlie stumbled more than a few times on the runway while modeling his boots during the Milan industry show.

While attending a play or musical, it’s often a big mystery to me when scenes change. When the scene shifted from the shoe factory to London to a pub to a boxing ring to the runway in Milan, I was knocked out with a greater sense on what the heck was happening on stage!

Steve with astonished kinky dancer with boot in the air

Without the narration, how else would I have known that the hefty Don, now Lola’s ally, showed up on the runway in Milan wearing a feminine blue outfit and boots?

Oh yeah, also while in Milan, one of the angels who saves the day was “dressed in a British flag, wearing 2 and ½ feet thigh high red kinky boots.”

That’s how I knew they were red.

Timing is Everything!

Photos by Aida Zuniga So I was in Nicaragua on Wednesday soundseeing and heard a faint but distinctive grumbling coming from the belly of this volcano.

I checked it out and smoke started to rise behind me and I figured it was time to get out of Dodge and rustle up some barbeque. Good thing I did or it might have been me on the menu.

Steve Gladstone

The ‘alive and well’ Blind Dude

Why Does a Blind Man Visit the Grand Canyon?

Why does a blind man visit the Grand Canyon?

To hear the sights of course.

I recently signed up for a tour from Phoenix to the Grand Canyon and to my delight it included non-stop narration over the 6 hour trek to the big abyss. Picked up some useful information and some pretty good food along the way (though I did not try the cactus fries).

Becoming the 48th state in 1912, most of Arizona’s land remains unspoiled; you pass through the desert dotted with cactus and head north through forests of pine, fir, and spruce trees. Large swaths of undeveloped land belong to many Native American tribes including the Navajo Nation. I was impressed to find that so much of Arizona’s reservation land remains casino free – unlike so many reservation hosted casinos around the country that give new meaning to “pay back.”

On our way to the canyon, we stopped in Sedona – a funky little town with metaphysical shops, talismans, vortexes, and celebrity vacation homes – a sort of Key West of the desert.

I’ll attempt to shrink the Grand Canyon’s long history into a short sentence: The Colorado River is a chisel that carved out the Grand Canyon over the past 6 million years, steadily cutting layer after layer of sediment into a channel that is 277 miles long, ranging in width from 4 to 18 miles with a vertical depth of more than 1 mile.

The outcome is a splendid example of erosion. The immense gorge is one of the seven natural wonders of the world, is visible from outer space, and boasts 5 million visitors annually. It is a wilderness of rock, light and shadow.

Bottom line: I didn’t see much.

I couldn’t see the massive wingspan of the condor, nor glimpse deer, elk, mountain lion, raven or antelope, nor any of the 2,000 varieties of plants that populate the canyon. And, of course, I missed seeing the depths below.

However, though the sights were vast, so were the sounds. I cottoned to the many languages I continuously heard floating in the air within 5 feet around me – a mashup of accents from foreign countries like Japan, Germany, France, Australia, Russia and Kansas.

I visited the eastern and southern parts of the South Rim of the canyon. The soft cool wind kept surrounding me like a garment as I moved from point to point, wearing the breeze like a linen jacket at the Desert View Watchtower and then like a spooky cape at Yaki Point. I intoned a sublime meditation at Yaki as the environs took over my body and brain.

[video width="320" height="240" mp4="http://www.insightfortheblind.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Yaki-Point.mp4"][/video]

I loved the blustering gusts at Mather Point even though I missed the sunset doing its slow dance with the vast cavern. I missed the sunrise too because I was asleep back in my hotel room.

Many visitors asked me if I felt anything awesome. I know they wanted the blind man to sense something grand. I did not want to disappoint them, so I channeled some down home Native American ideals I had just learned and waxed on about an “expansive spiritual space governed by Mother Earth and Father Sky and how we must work not ‘off’ the earth but ‘with’ the earth and how we must govern our behavior in a deep sort of way by asking how what we do to the land today will impact seven generations from now.” Some folks were mystified with my answer. So was I.

I felt a little bit like Kokopelli, the mythical formidable story teller and prankster who wanders around the Southwestern states playing his flute. (In full disclosure, while visiting a Navajo reservation I did buy a flute made of handcrafted birch wood, which sounds pretty nice.)

A friend looking at some of the pictures my girlfriend posted on Facebook said, “Holy c--p! Don’t look down.” I did look down but didn’t see anything. I’ll try again tomorrow.

And that’s just it – many nights after I crawl into bed, I wonder if I’ll wake up in the morning being able to see. And if that should happen, I plan on racing back to the Grand Canyon, though I might just shut my eyes when I get there.

Steve Gladstone The Blind Dude

All photos and video by Aida Zuniga

Where is There?

Today there are only about 39 million people in the world who are completely blind, which is about ½ of 1% of the world’s total population. We are not talking about visually impaired people who use corrective lenses or cock their heads this way or that to pull something into view; we are talking gold standard blind – people unable to see zip… nada, nothing.

Since 99.5% of the world’s population can see, most people never come face-to-face with a completely blind individual and consequently get no practice interacting with totally blind folks.

I used to be amazed at how inept or awkward people were around me after I lost all my sight. It’s like I had an exotic skin disease when people went to guide me. Typically they’d grab my hand or wrist and proceed to drag me along as if I was a large stuffed animal.

When I ask where the pitcher of lemonade is or where I should sit while waiting for the doctor, I’m frequently told, “Over there.” Where is there, exactly? The similar phrase, “Sit over here,” isn’t much help either. “Go that way” also isn’t a useful direction for a sightless person.

The key problem for blind people (besides not being able to see) is that most of the world isn’t blind.

The disadvantages of being sightless in a sighted world are many, most likely due to the fact that people who invent things are not blind and don’t think about building products and providing services with the blind in mind.

Even buttons to press or knobs to turn that can be helpful to sightless users are disappearing from appliances and credit card swipers. My local supermarket just replaced their keypad pay stations with touchscreens, making it impossible for me to complete the checkout process myself. Ovens, microwaves, thermostats, countless other appliances, even vending machine operational buttons and knobs have slowly been replaced with digital displays, making most of them inaccessible for sightless people. (Gotta give a shout out to Apple Inc., the exception here, for designing their goods for blind users with lots of accessibility built into their products.)

This refrigerator has a lot of options...for a sighted person.

When I’m listening to the TV and hear, “Just call the number at the bottom of your screen for your 30 day supply and we’ll pay the shipping,” or the message says, “Just call 1-800-GOFEDEX,” you know these knuckleheads aren’t thinking of their blind customers.

Ironically, some banks do provide Braille instructions on their ATMs, but in the drive-through? Really? So, they want the operator of the vehicle to throw it into reverse and back up into the drive-through lane so that their blind passenger can reach out and touch the nicely brailed panel of instructions? Or maybe the bank execs intend this accommodation for the blind folks who are out and about on their roller blades with their guide dogs.

Braille in the drive-thru? Hmm.

Since most people don’t have a family member or a friend who is a real-deal blind person, they get no practice with what sightless individuals consider to be the no-brainer rules of engagement: don’t grab and drag, don’t say “over there,” announce all the digits of the phone number, etc.

The other day I went to the podiatrist with a pain in my big left toe. When the receptionist (who learned I was blind when I signed in) called my name, my friend led me to the door leading to the examination rooms. I was standing there quietly in the doorway when the receptionist told me to go down the hall and enter the second door on the left. I smugly replied, “Which way?” She said, “Over there.” (cricket…cricket…) I grinned wryly and she said, “Oh, walk down that way about 20 feet (Ha! I’ll bet she was pointing too!) and take a left into the second door.” My friend realized what was happening (or not happening), offered me his elbow and led me to the examining room.

I later realized my own prejudice – I assumed medical professionals would know better. Then again, most, maybe all, of their patients aren’t blind. No practice dealing with blind folks, like the rest of the world.

I made my follow-up appointment and the receptionist announced to my friend that I needed to return in 2 weeks. Did she think I wasn’t going to tell him? Really? This is similar to the server in a restaurant who will ask my girlfriend if I would prefer the broccoli or string beans with my chicken and rice. She points to me and says, “Ask him. He’ll know.”

Curiously, when I’m speaking on the phone with somebody I’ve never met and my blindness comes up during the natural course of the conversation, they often say, “You don’t sound blind.”

I’m still not sure what sounding blind is supposed to sound like.

Steve Gladstone

The Blind Dude

Blind Is the New Sight

When you were a child, did you ever close your eyes and imagine flying like a bird, or picture what was at the end of a rainbow, or shut your eyes to make a wish while you were blowing out your birthday candles?

As adults, we take a workshop with Tony the empowerment guru who has us close our eyes and visualize where-we-want-to-be-in-five-years, or we complete our yoga class with our eyes closed as the yogi leads us on a guided meditation.

Why with our eyes closed? Can’t we get there with them open? Does sight somehow prevent us from fulfilling our wishes or reaching the higher plane of our inner-universe?

While we’re asleep our eyes are closed and those vivid dreams appear, sending meaningful messages to ourselves. Sight is turned off even with our eyes wide open via a daydream, where we are transported to the outback thousands of miles away from the boardroom.

When we listen to a book on tape or read a novel, sight isn’t a factor. Instead, the spoken and written words spark our imagination, our mind’s eye surveying the colorful images and landscapes in our head. Our imaginings can sometimes be so potent that they leave us disappointed in the movie made from the book. Perhaps what we see is trumped by what we think.

You also get more out of your other senses when you’re sightless. We may hear more of what someone says because we don’t get distracted by something we see going on around them; you tune into the tone, tempo and rhythm of what they’re saying and pick up the meaning between their words. Touch becomes more satisfying as you check out the shape, weight and texture of items (and people too if you get lucky!). Your sense of smell is heightened into a fragrant blossom when you’re not distracted by the beauty of the flower.

Certainly we all want to see, but sight does come with its limitations. It shapes our immediate thinking and can create a barrier to our deeper self. If we don’t see the fancy car they drive, or the short skirt, or the missing teeth, we may indeed become a little less timid or shy or snobbish and a little more relaxed and real with the people we meet.

If pictures were eliminated from online dating websites, what would be the outcome? Pandemonium that leads to better results?

Going on a ‘blind date’ implies risky business. Sight unseen may lead to disappointment. However, let’s face it, when you’re on that first date, you’re looking your best and on your best behavior; sight may actually be misleading if we don’t begin to get beyond that scrubbed and shining first impression. Half of all marriages wind up in divorce, usually for reasons that don’t meet the eye. When you’re blind, you focus on the voice which can be a better lens to the soul. For the record, all my dates are blind ones.

Sight can certainly promote discrimination, triggering those biases we carry in our heads when the people around us look and move differently than we do. When you’re blind, you don’t prejudge the abilities of the guy you just met in the wheelchair.

If most of the world was blind, things might be more peaceful. There’d be less discrimination since color of skin wouldn’t trigger aggressive actions. War would be reduced and possibly eliminated since we wouldn’t be able to see the enemy, or at least take accurate aim.

Perhaps the world would be a little less hostile if we all were a little more blind.

When you do without sight, there are plenty of advantages. Everybody speaking on the phone is virtually blind: how convenient it is for those who have home-based businesses to strike deals while sitting in their Jockey shorts.

You save a lot of money when you’re blind. You tend to buy only what you need. You’re not tempted to grab the stuff around the checkout counter of the grocery store, or the items down the aisles of the drugstore as you head back to the pharmacy, or the attractive sweater you don’t need but have to pass by in order to get the pants which you do need.

So we dutifully and happily shut our eyes and let out a long sigh as we hunker down into our yoga mats, improving our mood, muscles and digestive systems.

The Seven Steps

Blind folks and old folks have something in common: they prefer their own bathrooms. One exception is the airplane lavatory. It’s very efficient for a blind person. Everything you need is nailed down – soap pump to the left of the sink, paper towels to the right, trash shoot below the paper towels. And all within reach.

Going out and about in public is something we all need to do from time to time, say, to take in a movie, travel to Boise or hit the pool hall. Generally, unfamiliar bathrooms can be tricky for blind folks.

First off, if you’re a blind guy out with your girlfriend or wife, which bathroom do you choose? Today, many large theaters and buildings have a family restroom. No-brainer here. In you go. But, in loo (mandatory pun!) of the family bathroom, you usually have a choice of either the men’s room or women’s room.

I have found that most men don’t care if a woman is in their restroom. However, if your female companion is wary of entering the men’s john, she’ll plant you inside the door where you promptly announce: “I’m a blind dude. Can someone guide me to the urinal?” Guys are usually happy to do so, then lead you to the sink, Johnny-on-the-spot with the paper towels, and then offer a helping hand to the exit.

I actually prefer entering the women’s bathroom with my girlfriend – it’s easier to navigate when you’re with somebody familiar. Of course, there are times when a lady inside the restroom protests my presence there. To stem the ‘outrage,’ I usually ask her where she studied Criminology and then congratulate her on recognizing me as a nefarious rascal.

If you wind up alone in an unfamiliar restroom, say in a restaurant or office, there are seven steps to follow before you get down to business: you must first locate 1) the toilet, 2) the flusher, 3) the toilet paper, 4) the sink, 5) the soap, 6) the paper towels and 7) the trashcan. (Oops – the eighth step is remembering your way out.) If you’re in a hotel room, add the bath towels, the floor mat, the shampoo and then work your way to the bed, the thermostat, outlets for your adaptors, the room phone, the TV remote on/off and volume/channel buttons, the do-not-disturb sign and where to unplug the clock radio which was set to go off at 4:30 a.m. by the previous guest.

Flushers keep it interesting. In the airplane lav, the 4-inch square flush panel is a relatively easy target to tap with the toe of your sneaker while you’re washing up. The joystick or handle flushers on your standard commodes are a matter of which side their situated on. The newer toilets with the push buttons are a little trickier – especially when there’s two buttons.

Automatic flushers can be problematic. While standing in relief mode, you search for the flush handle with your other hand. Finding none, you back away hoping to hear that familiar ‘click-whoosh’ sound. Similarly, the auto sink and soap dispenser can be a bit frustrating, especially when one doesn’t work or you can’t find the sweet spot for engaging the auto-response mechanism. (I am told this often isn’t easy even for sighted folks.) You cup your hands under the water spigot. Nothing. So you search for the water handles or push on the soap nozzle, and nothing. You unwittingly repeat this process several times – similar to the way you retrace the same steps 18 times at home when you can’t find your wallet or keys. Finally, it dawns on you to work your way to the next sink where you repeat the dance and hopefully wash up. You also figure out it’s an automatic towel dispenser as a little paper towel finally comes buzzing out after frisking the entire metal box for its nonexistent lever.

Of course, none of these strategies are perfect. Once, I was in a high school bathroom and (as I always do) first measured the target urinal to center myself for optimum aim. Starting with my palms together about waist high, I slowly widen them until the backs of my hands touch the outer edges of the porcelain. This helps to measure the width of the urinal for proper centering. As I was emptying my bladder, I slightly moved my feet and heard the faint splashing of a shallow puddle of water beneath my sneakers. Yep. I had positioned myself in front of the wall between two urinals.

Steve Gladstone, The Blind Dude

I am Orange

Here’s how a certain color, orange in particular, manifests itself in the brain of the blind dude…as a poem. I Am Orange

I am orange. Not an orange, though I like the way it tastes.

I am the blossom of clouds on the horizon at sunset and the first beam of sunlight blessing the morning.

I am the sun passing from portal to portal, dividing the sky and defining time.

I pull the best from the colors that flank me: the romance out of red and the risk out of yellow.

I am the complexion of fire, warming as much as possible, burning when I need to burn.

I am the thoughts of a newborn child who has yet to know language, with little to mediate his surroundings, longing to know his world.

Halloween runs through my veins and keeps me in a nice dark place where I can get a thrill, a chill and a shrill, reminding me that dark isn't deadly.

On those rare days when all’s well – the weather is a breezy 72 degrees, everyone is helpful and friendly, two old problems are solved and the bills are paid – orange is what I am.

Sight Becomes Imagination

Sighted people who read a novel are essentially blind. They don’t see the actual characters they’re reading about. They are also blind when they listen to the radio. However, the words they read or hear may trigger vivid pictures in their head.

As they read, sighted folks will unconsciously cast the good guy, the bad guy and the girl with specific features and expressions (especially from those sexy passages) based on previous images stored in their memory banks.

People, color, places and things come alive in our minds; we mentally assemble a person or animal or bus or autumn tree or white picket fence as our unconscious pulls from our stockpiled memories.

Of course, the imagined characters in your head don’t match the real ones. You go to see the movie adapted from the novel and say, “Yikes! I didn’t picture Portnoy looking like that!” Or you hear the jazz musician’s deep raspy voice on the radio and conjure up a large, big-cheeked bald headed dude and then see him on some late night talk show a month later and he’s a little man with brown curly hair and narrow eyes.

At times, imagination can be more satisfying than the real thing.

Perhaps you’ve been speaking to a business associate for months on the phone and when you finally meet for the first time, the nice smile you imagined is loaded with bad teeth or the long skinny fingers you pictured suddenly become fat clammy hands.

Having now lived the first half of my life sighted and the second half as a blind man, I often reflect on the transition from being sighted to being blind – what I saw and didn’t see during those transition years. When you gradually go blind, there is that grey period when you wonder if you saw things or if it was, as the song says, “just my imagination running away with me.”

Since imagination and the real world are two different places, in which world was I living? And which had the better view?

That five year period of time when I was losing the remainder of my sight started around the release of the first Star Wars movie. I still wonder if it was in my eyes or my imagination where I first saw C-3PO and R2-D2. In my recollection is a tall metallic guy next to an industrial looking vacuum cleaner, the sci-fi equivalent of Laurel and Hardy.

So now my day-to-day world is pretty much like a big radio that’s always on – disembodied people becoming three-dimensional in my head. I speak with somebody and their voice takes physical shape – my imagined image often quite a bit more colorful than the actuality. I recall working with Donna many years ago. She had a rough voice and smelled of cigarettes and drove our service truck. Yep, now you’ve got the picture. So when she gave me her smooth and petite hand to shake one day, I was flummoxed – she instantly transformed from someone with half a Y chromosome into a princess in distress.

Even though the reality doesn’t match the imagination, I often find people expecting me to be spot on when describing some person I just met, as if they are in the presence of a sorcerer. I must admit, I have resorted to artifice at times, asking a friend to secretly describe the new person to me first so when I’m later asked to give their description, I nail it and amaze the chumps gathered around to hear me wax on like some wizard.

Heck, even in college when I couldn’t see so well, I’d ask a pal for the specifications of the coed I was chatting up so that at the opportune time, I could tell her what she looked like, Impress her with my paranormal powers, and maybe get lucky.

So while you sighted folks read your novels, we blind guys listen to our talking books and converge on our imaginations, where sight has no advantage for either of us.

Inclusion

Cast Photographs by Mitchell Zachs Photo of Geordi La Forge courtesy of www.stagefisher.com

I think about the crew of the starship Enterprise – Asian, African, Russian, Scottish, Vulcan, American – and the perhaps elegantly unintentional message it sent: Diversity can run one of the most powerful starships in the universe.

Then I recalled a Star Trek episode with the paralyzed Captain Pike – dependent on a brainwave-operated wheelchair. And in Star Trek: The Next Generation, there’s blind Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge, with a super-bad visor that allows him to see.

The series got it right. Ability is what counts, not race, nationality, gender, age or disability.

That was the 23rd century. Fast backward to the 13^th century.

The year is 1236 AD and the place is Cordoba, Spain. Christians, Muslims and Jews have been living in this town for hundreds of years, coexisting peacefully, tolerant, respectful and appreciative of their differences.

This medieval world is illuminated in a new play, Everybody Drinks the Same Water, having its premier at the Miami Theater Center in Miami Shores. It is historical fiction centered in Cordoba, “The Ornament of the World.” There are aqueducts (built by the Romans) bringing clean water into public baths, fountains and homes. Serious advancement is occurring in philosophy, medicine, architecture, science and law by the multi-racial and multi-cultural inhabitants of this progressive medieval city.

The terribly handsome guy in the turban is yours truly, playing the Qadi, a Muslim judge. The Qadi is also blind. Kudos to artistic director Stephanie Ansin for creating such diverse characters and casting diverse actors to play these roles.

As a performer with a disability, I’m abundantly aware of the lack of characters with disabilities on our stages and big and small screens. For example, there is a massive gap between the 13% of Americans with an obvious disability, and the less than 1% of prime time disabled series regulars on broadcast TV.

The crazy next-door neighbor, the DNA expert, the girlfriend, the eccentric grandpa, the guy eating beef stew, the lawyer, and the hundreds of other roles that are being cast every day around this country, don’t specify a disability. But they could be played as a character with a disability since there are many disabled folks who are these people in the real world.

A major problem is that the mindset of most story-makers is that if a character with a disability is featured, the story must somehow be about their impairment. Not! The most interesting stuff happens when there is no attention paid to the disability and the dialogue remains focused on the character. Once the focus is taken off the disability, the character is no longer a super hero or victim, but a fully realized being, with an extra dimension.

What is cool in our play is that there is no reference to my character being blind. He is a central Muslim figure in a city of 500,000 people, going toe to toe with the new Christian ruler, Queen Berenguela.

I perambulate around a movable rectangular platform that sits atop the stage. It is also positioned on a 30 degree angle. Many directors would be leery about having a blind actor on this surface. Not Stephanie. She is focused entirely on the total character. She gets it right.

Inclusion, diversity and tolerance – that’s the way of the world. And our theaters, films, television and other media serve us well when the people on the stage and screen look and sound like the people who are watching the show.

Broken Glass

photo by George Schiavone

I just finished stuffing some tuna fish into a green pepper, when I bumped my dish strainer and a glass plate came crashing down on the tile floor in my kitchen. I could hear it shatter into a zillion pieces. “Don’t panic, don’t move,” I thought, “and eat your lunch.”

I did and it was tasty. The problem was that the thousand shards of glass were still there after I finished eating.

I employ magical thinking at every opportunity, and when that doesn’t work, I turn to wishful thinking. I believe these sorts of sophisticated thought strategies are practiced by most everyone. A fine example of this is the decision we all make everyday whether or not to wash the dishes right after eating, or wait till tomorrow. If we wait till morning, the dish-fairy might just get them done for us.

Usually both the magical and wishful tactics come up short in solving real problems, and then I find myself resorting to reality, which is not as flexible as the magical approach. So, the myriad slivers of glass didn’t all by themselves suddenly wind up in the garbage can, migrate to a neat little pile to be sucked up easily into a vacuum hose, nor did they find their way back together again into a useful saucer.

What to do. Blind and barefoot in a kitchen with broken glass frosting your floor is a difficult situation.

Rule 1: Obtain a layer of protection. Rule 2: Move slowly. Rule 3: First, finish your lunch.

Fortunately, within arm’s reach were some paper towels. I grabbed several, crouched low and slowly ran the paper towels along the floor, moving the sharp little slivers aside and creating safe passage out of the kitchen. All 3 of my “call-me-anytime-if-you-need-any-help” neighbors were unavailable. I put up a blockade at the entrance of the kitchen so my guide dog Billy wouldn’t wander in. Six hours later, a friend swept and vacuumed my kitchen floor. I suppose she was a fairy of sorts.

So, when you’re blind and live alone and your dog throws-up, what do you do? Yep, magical thinking aside, obtain a layer of protection and move slowly (with some Lysol spray in tow). But first, finish your lunch.

Arriving a Day Early

(photos courtesy of George Schiavone) I’m traveling for an organization which recently issued a bulletin indicating the specific travel dates to all participants. This prompted the following email thread. The names have been altered to preserve the identity of the questionable.

Sarah is an administrative Executive for the organization. She knows I am blind.

From: Steve Gladstone

Sent: Thu September 26, 2013 1:52 AM

To: Sarah Wood

Subject: Atlanta travel

Hi Sarah,

I’ve been authorized in the past to travel a day earlier than posted. I wanted to verify this with and through you that I will be traveling to Atlanta on Thursday October 24 instead of Friday October 25, 2013. Please confirm.

Thanks,

Steve Gladstone

From: Sarah Wood

Sent: Thu September 26, 2013 7:50 AM

To: Steve Gladstone

Subject: Re: Atlanta travel

Hi, Steve. Your first engagement is 7:00 pm on Friday and you are traveling in the same time zone on a relatively short flight. For this and future reference, do you mind providing detail as to necessity for coming in a day early? Thanks.

Sarah

Sent from my iPhone 

From: Steve Gladstone

Sent: Thu September 26, 2013 5:28 PM

To: Sarah Wood

Subject: RE: Atlanta travel

Sure. When I'm traveling to a new environment, there is a process I go through to orient myself. For example, when a person can't see, finding a shuttle or taxi from an unfamiliar airport to an unfamiliar hotel, takes time. Gotta talk to a lot of strangers, who are always most helpful, even though there is always a fair amount of backtracking to do.

Once at the hotel, I go through the following routine:

1. Find a hotel person who can escort me to my room and show me:

1. How to unlock the door – if The card key goes into the slot vertically or horizontally, the rhythm of how slow or fast to pull it out of that slot... then I have to mark the bottom left corner of the card with a piece of tape so I know where the top is so I can position it correctly. Gotta practice this a few times.
2. Tour the bathroom to find the soap and distinguish between the little bottles (once I washed my hair with body lotion), learn how the shower works, where to find the toilet, the toilet paper, the sink, the towels and the trash cans, then onto the bed, the drawers, the closet and the do not disturb sign.
3. Where the thermostat is and how to work it. Some of them can be very tricky as they might move in 1/2 degree steps (I think that was Detroit), some are digital, some have knobs, some have all the controls inside a panel, etc.
4. Next is the desk, how to operate the hotel phone, where outlets are so I can plug in my devices, how to work the TV remote control (that alone takes a good 10 minutes and I don't even watch much TV but I use it to fall asleep at night and that sleep mode is tricky to operate).

2. Once I have memorized all the above, I then ask my hotel employee helper to show me the way from my room door to the elevator so I can count the number of steps it is from those 2 points. Unfortunately I must do this a few times with my helper to set it in my guide dog’s mind. What is cool though is that my dog Billy, once he learns this route, gets me from my room to the elevator fairly quickly on subsequent trips. He’s pretty impressive!

3. Now I must learn the elevator. Oops, I forgot, I first have to learn where to find the up and down elevator buttons. If there is a plant or framed picture near the buttons, that helps. Invariably they are on a wall and may be between the first and second or the second and third elevator, and when there are 2 banks of 3 elevators facing each other, it gets real tricky. I need to mark whether or not I turn left or right depending on which elevator I exit to get back to my room. (I think it was also Detroit where the elevator buttons weren’t even on the wall but on a pillar in the middle of the room in front of a bank of elevators. I'm certain the person who designed this lobby didn't have any blind relatives or friends, though maybe possessed an abnormal sense of humor.)

Now to the elevators. When there are 6 elevators operating, you gotta listen real closely to catch the one that is opening. Some of them are pretty quiet. Billy does a good job getting me inside once I give him the command to “find the door.” Each panel in each elevator in each different hotel takes time to learn. It sometimes annoys folks because I ask the hotel employee helper to push the "hold door" button while I learn the panel. But I do learn it fairly quickly. BTW, some panels have Braille on them but the panels tend to be waist high and I’m a tall guy so I prefer not dropping to a knee to read the Braille and I just count buttons. It’s a little quicker that way.

4. Once I'm on the ground floor…  Oops, I forgot to mention that the last hotel in New York where I had to take 2 elevators to get to the ground floor took extra time... we count steps again to get outside and now we have to find an area where I can relieve my dog. In Chicago it was very tricky as there was no grass anywhere. We had to use an alleyway. Again we have to walk this route several times so my dog and I could do it alone. Of course, we need to identify a strategic trash-can along the way for Billy’s scooper bags.

5. The rest of the orientation like finding the hotel restaurant, snack store, etc. requires the step counting thing. You might be saying, “Wow! There are several routes that all have different step configurations to memorize,” and while this is true, after walking them all a few times it gets easier. It's the initial patterning and learning that take the time up front and that is why I appreciate coming in a day early. Oh yeah, when I get back to my room, it takes a little time to plug my stuff into the electrical outlets. I have to use my fingers to find the slots where the prongs go and... well, this is a very slow process as you can imagine.

Could I do this all on same day to attend an evening meeting? Sure. It is taxing to do it same day and I appreciate the low stress option of coming in a day early to orient myself.

No one has ever questioned the necessity for me to come in the day before. They always just said o-k when I requested it. Thanks for taking the interest. And if you need any further clarification, don't hesitate to ask me.

Steve

 From: Sarah Wood

Sent: Fri September 27, 2013 6:12 PM

To: Steve Gladstone

Subject: RE: Atlanta travel 

I hope I didn’t offend you with the question and really I was not looking for such a thorough explanation, just something to put in a file so that next year we remember to budget for this since it’s the first time I’ve learned of the extra night request for you.  Now that I have the information and it will be in the file, my hope is to not pester you with further questions about it.

 And yes, the buttons in Detroit were quite frustrating, even for one with decent eyesight – I turned circles before I figured out those darn pedestals had the up and down buttons on them.   

Have a good weekend.

Sarah

Sent from my iPhone

When “The Best, Nothing Less” Ain’t the Best

ice cream

Photo by George Schiavone

Blind folks run a little bit late just like sighted folks.

Yesterday I received an important call at 10:45 a.m. for which I had been waiting for 3 days. It was a productive call. It was 11:15 a.m. when I hung up.

My county transportation was scheduled to pick me up between 11:28 and 11:58 for my dentist appointment so I hopped like a bunny into the shower, hopped out with bunny-like intensity, and started dressing at an impressive clip. The doorbell rang and still in bunny mode, I opened the door and there was my driver announcing that he was here to pick me up. I told him I needed 5 minutes; he growled but said, “Ok.” I asked him what time he had and he replied, “11:31.” Stay with me on this one. I finished up, grabbed my dog and my backpack, and on my way out the door I punched the button on my talking watch and the voice announced, “It’s 11:36.” Yep, you’re one step ahead of me – he was gone.

The Rules

When you rely on public transportation, you gotta make your reservation by 5 p.m. the day before you ride. No same day reservations. This does help you get organized but kills spontaneity. Like, you get a headache tonight and have no aspirin. You’re pooched for a day and a half before you can get to the aspirin store.

When you do make your reservation for the next day, Central Office Command gives you a half hour pickup window. This means that in a perfect world the driver will pick you up anytime within that window and deliver you to your destination on time. The driver is required to wait for you for 5 minutes from the time he arrives before he can leave without you.

The Facts Your Honor

My pickup window today was 11:28 to 11:58. The driver arrived at 11:28, rings my doorbell at 11:31. I say I’ll be out in 5 minutes. He says ok. I’m out at 11:36 and he’s gone.

The Verdict

The driver didn’t break any rule. He was allowed to leave at 11:33.

I called the county transportation company to have a meaningful conversation about the real world, The Golden Rule, and reasonable flexibility, which are generally meaningless except when you are adversely affected. I reached 3 different message machines of various official company people, all of whom say in their voice message that “we are committed to providing our best, nothing less.”

When a county rep called me back, I suggested that the company’s “best” needed some rehab and introduced the concept that “I’m not a PIN, I’m a person.” He appeared to listen, mentioned processes in the works to avoid problems like mine in the future, and wanted me to have a nice day. The last part was hard to do with a throbbing tooth.

Summation

There was actually one rule (besides The Golden One) that the driver did break. It was the rule that states: Be a standup guy and when you know a client is inside their house and is definitely coming out very very soon, don’t leave without them you big serious major-league a**hole.

Conclusion

When sighted folks run late, they hop into their car and take off. When blind folks run late, they go nowhere – stuck, stranded, grounded, trapped, marooned.

In all fairness, many drivers go that extra mile and bend the rules where they can be bent. But it always seems for that one real important appointment, you get that driver with GRIS (Golden Rule Impairment Syndrome).

When a company adopts a motto, they ought to take great care to see if it can be followed in the real world. Otherwise they start to look silly to their customers. This public transportation company is more accurately committed to: “The Best Most of the Time, Nothing Less We Hope.”

Getting around town without a car can be a bit inconvenient – hells bells, actually a lot inconvenient. Say you want to pick up some fish to cook for dinner tonight. Without a pal to schlep you to the nearby super market you're pooched.

Speaking of pooches, after 7 years living across a very busy street from Publix, I’m now attempting to cross it with Billy the Dog. He’s reliable. I’ve learned not to buy ice-cream when I take public transportation because they are too often late picking me up. But they’re allowed to be. Where’s the justice!