Golden Minutes Going into it Blind -- Tuesday, April 5, 2005
Because Jerry was going to be out for medical reasons (the doctors were concerned about his heart and wondered if he might have to have a bypass, but that didn't happen), he asked me at the last minute to host an interview program that runs at 1:00PM Tuesdays. It would be easy, he said. Two people were scheduled to come for the show, both from the Guide Dog Users of Oregon, who wanted to talk about a new bill in committee in the state legislature that would offer more penalties for dogs and other animals that harm service dogs (such as guide dogs). These two are very involved in this bill, Jerry said, and will easily talk for an hour with very little prodding. Just listen and ask obvious questions and you'll be fine.
So this morning I'm working the board and one of the administrative assistants comes into the area and hands me a piece of paper. I was looking over Jerry's email, she said, and I found this. John had told her to give it to me. It was a confirmation for today's 1:00 show. Only one problem, it was from someone else, not the Guide Dog Users. This note was from Diane from CADA (the Committee for Audio Description in the Arts), and she was confirming that she and two other people, the director of a new play appearing at the Artist's Repertory Theater and an audio describer who would be describing that play, would be there today for the show. (By the way, audio description is a process in which a sighted person describes the scenes, costumes, and action of a production during the breaks in speech that naturally occur in any such production. People use radio-type devices with earphones to hear the description. This allows them to follow the action as well as the normal spoken dialog.)
After a quick call to Jerry at home, who sounded a bit hoarse (I hope I didn't get him out of bed), I called both groups scheduled to appear and amazingly I was able to connect to both on the first try. Since we have an hour for the program (and who can really interview anyone for an HOUR, other than Barbara Walters) we agreed to split the program in half. The first half would be devoted to the new play (which, by the way, is called Humble Boy and is written by Charlotte Jones and sounds terrific). The second half would be a discussion with the Guide Dog folks.
Great. Now I no longer have to do one interview for which I'm not prepared, I have to do two. I apologize to both groups for my lack of preparation and explain that I'm "just going into this blind." To which Patricia from the Guide Dog Users says, "in our case, that sounds appropriate." Both of them are, in fact, blind. Oops. It's funny how many expression include references to sight, and how many of them you feel guilty about using when dealing with the blind. I'm sure most people don't mind, and many blind people say goodbye to me by saying "see you later." Still, the words tumble out of your mouth and only then do you realize that what you just expressed is something the other person probably can't literally do.
Anyway, the interviews went fine, as unprepared as I was. The guests were all gracious and full of interesting things to talk about. The Guide Dog Users brought their guide dogs, a lovely Lab and a huge, gorgeous shepherd, and they shared experiences about their own guide dogs being attacked by dogs left running loose by negligent owners. The director of the play talked about how much he loved the play (originally performed in London with a cast that included Diana Rigg) and how wonderful the scenery, costumes, and actors were. And I pretty much sat back and enjoyed it all. Look out Barbara Walters, here I come.
Eight Little Words -- Wednesday, April 20, 2005
When I'm in the Golden Hours offices, there are eight little words that I dread hearing. Well, dread is too strong a word, because I don't really dread anything about being there. I have fun, I help people, and they appreciate me. But every so often I hear these eight words shouting at me from around the corner somewhere: "Can I use your eyes for a minute?"
When I hear these words, it means that either Jerry or John is involved in something, and they've gotten stuck, and they need someone who can see to help them get unstuck. Sometimes getting them unstuck is as simple as finding something that has fallen on the floor, such as a screw; or rifling through a pile of papers on a desk to find a phone number; or reading a cover letter or information sheet out loud to them so they can sound intelligent when conducting an interview. But often there is an implicit lie embodied in three of the eight little words. The lie is "for a minute." And if there's a computer involved, you know right away that you might as well multiply that minute by 100.
Take yesterday, for example. When I stuck my head around the corner after hearing those words, I knew I'd be there for a while. John had lugged in an old computer he had gotten from who knows where. Now, these folks are not at all rich, the department they work in has very little money, and the IT department is not very responsive in helping them with computer problems. But, they are very good at scrounging old computers, and they are very persistent in trying to coax these junkers into some sort of working condition, because they can always use one for something. In this case, the computer was at least five years old (that's what they said, but since it was limping along on Windows 98, and from the looks of it, I'd say it was more like six or seven years old).
Anyway, Jerry and John were sitting in front of this thing trying to reinstall Windows 98 on this beast. And they couldn't quite do it because they are blind. Now, blind people can and do use computers all the time. Some with limited vision use large text and high contrast colors to help them see the screen better. And those who can't see the screen at all use text-to-speech programs to help them figure out what's being displayed on the screen. All this is well and good, but none of these aids work when you install the operating system. You get default colors and character sizes, and you're text-to-speech program doesn't work. So they needed some eyes to get them past a few dialog boxes, and I was happy to oblige.
However, the real problem with the computer was that the audio wasn't working. This is crucial for a blind person (remember, they need the text-to-speech program). So, even though we got the operating system reinstalled, there was still no audio. So, I was not done yet. ABOUT 10 MINUTES HAVE ELAPSED.
Next, we were going to try to install Windows ME over the top of Win 98, and they had a CD with Win ME on it. But, John was afraid that installing it would wipe out his D: drive, so he first had to open the case and disconnect that drive (and he did that easily, despite total blindness). ABOUT 15 MINUTES HAVE ELAPSED.
But, when we tried to install Win ME, we didn't have the CD key (a bunch of characters to type in that proved we owned the product and didn't just copy the disk from somebody -- which in fact they probably did). ABOUT 20 MINUTES HAVE ELAPSED.
Oh, but John did have the key. It was stored on a file on the hard disk, except it was on drive D:, the one we just disconnected. So, back into the guts of the machine he went again and reconnected the drive. ABOUT 25 MINUTES HAVE ELAPSED.
Great, now we could access drive D:, and we found the file, and I carefully copied out the CD key. One more time we get ready to install, but now the CD drive wasn't accessible -- the computer didn't think it was there. Several more reboots ensued until we thought to go back into the machine again and check the cables. Apparently, John had accidentally disconnected the data cable to the CD when he reconnected the one to the hard drive. So, he reconnects the cable to the CD. ABOUT 40 MINUTES HAVE ELAPSED.
One more time we try again. And hooray, the CD is recognized, the CD key works, and installation proceeds. Win ME installation is really stupid and it requires several reboots, and we do all that. But even though the installation is successful, there still is no audio, and the controls are grayed out, so we know something is still wrong. I go into the control panel and we attempt to reinstall drivers for the audio and multimedia devices. This is eventually successful, and the audio controls are now active. However, even though the computer claims it is playing audio, no sound comes out of the speakers. ABOUT 65 MINUTES HAVE ELAPSED.
We now suspect the speakers. Do they really work? Who knows, but we can't find any other easily accessible speakers to try. Nor can we find a set of headphones with the appropriate size plug. Frustrated, I say I've got to go home. ABOUT 80 MINUTES HAVE ELAPSED.
Will this computer ever work? If sound actually comes out, will the text-to-speech program actually work on this old thing? What will the computer be used for if everything does work? Stay tuned and I'll tell you "in a minute."
The I Series Dog -- Sunday, May 29, 2005
A couple of weeks ago, Jerry and his wife Holly (who is also blind) took their guide dogs, Iris and Wrangler, on a trip to New England (Massachusetts, I think) for a reunion. The reunion took place at the guide dog school where both Iris and Wrangler were raised. When Jerry got back, I asked him about his trip. First, he reported on how much he enjoyed the reunion. The place where they got their dogs is relatively small, and everyone knows everyone else by name. So it was like meeting old friends. And, because the reunion was attended not only by guide dog recipients, such as Jerry and Holly, and by the staff of the school, but also by the "foster parents" of the guide dogs -- families who raised the dogs from puppies and participated in their training -- it gave a sense of closure or accomplishment for those families who had relinquished dogs who had become beloved family members so they could be working guide dogs for people who truly needed them. Those families could truly see the culmination of their effort when the dogs they had raised returned in harness, a valued companion of a blind person.
Jerry also told me the story of how his dog Iris almost didn't become a guide dog. When they arrived at the opening night banquet, they ran into Iris's trainer, who gushed all over Iris, proclaiming, "Is this really Iris? I can't believe this is the same Iris I knew, actually a working dog."
It seems that even up until the last couple of weeks of her training, Iris was ready to be washed out of guide dog school. "All of the I series dogs were rambunctious and playful," Jerry said, but Iris was the worst.
"What do you mean, "I series,"" I said.
"The I series dogs are all the dogs in Iris's litter," Jerry said. "They keep track of the litters by using letters of the alphabet, like hurricanes, with each dog in the litter having a name with the same first letter. Iris was in the I series, and one of her littermates was Ike. Other dogs in her litter also have names starting with I. Holly's dog Wrangler is in the W series." And here I thought Iris was simply the greatest name I'd ever heard of for a guide dog, sort of like naming one "Retina" only better. Now I learn that not only is it a great name, it also means something else too.
Anyway, in addition to having the I series rambunctiousness, Iris was very playful and easily distracted. When guide dogs work, they are supposed to ignore kids who try to play with them or hold out food for them, or a thousand other distractions that dogs are subject to, not to mention squirrels and cats and other dogs. Iris would do fine for a while, but then she would decide she wanted to play, and she would go off and do what she wanted instead of what her trainers wanted her to do. This went on all through her training, and the school thought they wouldn't be able to graduate her to guide dog status.
However, Iris was a friendly dog, and everyone liked her. One of her trainers thought that even though Iris wouldn't make it as a guide dog, she had worked hard. So he decided to reward her by taking her on a trip to New York City with him. She loved to play in the park, so he took her to Central Park to play fetch, one of her favorite things. They had a great time in the park, and Iris loved playing there with him. On the way out of the park, the trainer decided to put her in harness one last time, just for old times sake. This time, unlike other times when Iris would get distracted easily, Iris was the perfect guide dog. The trainer purposely took her past kids dangling hot dogs, past other dogs, even past a guy dressed up as a bear suit. And Iris never flinched. She just did her job. And the trainer was amazed.
Back home, he told the other trainers about the change in Iris, and they kept on working her hard testing her. And Iris kept on being perfect. It was as if a switch went on. She finally got it. She graduated with her class, went on to live and work with Jerry, and is a great guide dog today. She is still a playful dog -- she loves to play with her bones and toys, roughhouse with other dogs, and she loves the attention of people. But when she's in harness with Jerry, she's all business.
I Might Take a Plane -- Monday, June 22, 2005
I am delinquent in writing about my trip to Kansas this month. Jerry and Holly planned to go to the IAAIS conference (International Association of Audio Information Services, if you haven't figured it out, and here's their website for more info about them) in Kansas the first weekend in June. Folks who attend this conference usually run their own reading services and often work for public broadcasting stations around the country. There are experts who run sessions on topics that range from soundproofing a studio, to the types of audio editing software to use, to recruiting volunteers, to raising funds through endowments. There are also vendors who showcase the products they have for sale. Anyway, Jerry and his wife Holly were planning to go, and they had planned to take the Golden Hours volunteer coordinator along with them. Unfortunately, the coordinator's wife had health problems (or maybe it was that she just recovered from health problems and they were going to finally go on vacation together -- anyway, he couldn't go), so Jerry asked me if I would go with him. Oregon Public Broadcasting agreed to pay may way, and I thought it might be interesting, so I and two blind people and their two large german shepherd guide dogs headed to Lawrence, Kansas for four days in early June.
Although Jerry told me that the reason he told OPB that he needed to take a volunteer along was so that that person (me) could help evaluate new automation software for the station (this is the software that keeps playing programs and public service announcements, etc. during the middle of the night so that someone doesn't have to be there 24 hours a day), I quickly realized that the unstated reason for me going along, a reason perhaps as large as the stated one, was to simply have a sighted person help guide them through unfamiliar territory, and to do other things that only sighted people can do, such as DRIVE THE RENTAL CAR.
Now, make no mistake about it, Jerry and Holly are NOT helpless by any means. They just recently went on a trip to New England and did quite well. But, after going with them to Kansas, I realize just how difficult it is for a blind person to navigate in strange places, even with a guide dog. Think about how hard it is for anybody to get off the airplane in a strange city and locate the baggage claim or the rental car counter. Now think about doing it with your eyes closed.
Luckily, we found a direct flight to from Portland to Kansas City, so we would limit the amount of airport adventures we had. The flight was on Southwest Airlines, which I had never flown before, but I knew they didn't reserve specific seats, so I wondered how Jerry and Holly would deal with their guide dogs on the airplane. Jerry said not to worry, that they would get bulkhead seats and the dogs would sit there with them at their feet. Sure enough, the Southwest people were great, and even though there were lots of people waiting in line to get on the plane as soon as possible, when boarding time came, they took us aside (me too as the companion) and let us get on the plane first, Jerry and Holly with backpacks and dogs, and me lugging carry-on bags.
You might think that two german shephards wouldn't fit in a row of airline seats with two people, but actually they did quite well, and the four of them didn't seem crammed together at all. The dogs behaved perfectly, no fidgeting or barking, and many people commented on how beautiful they were. The only problem with them at all was that Iris was just a touch big and sometimes her tail stuck out into the aisle, which hindered people from getting by on their way to the bathroom. But she pulled herself back when Jerry reprimanded her gently.
The flight there was not without excitement however. About half way through, an older man stepped out of the bathroom (which was right in front of us near the bulkhead), and slumped into one of the backwards facing flight attendant seats. When the attendant told him he couldn't sit there, he told her that he didn't think he could move any farther. From there, things just kept getting worse and worse. The attendants got out the oxygen, they got out the paddles to give him an electrical jolt, they had him on the floor with his shirt off, and they even called out to the passengers to see if anyone was a doctor. Luckily, there was both a doctor and an army medic on the plane, and they worked on him intensely throughout the rest of the flight, with his wife standing by sorrowfully. (At one point they had me rush back to get blankets and pillows.) When we landed, the emergency team from the KC fire department was on hand, and they got him on a stretcher and off to the hospital. A woman next to me asked a flight attendant how he was, and she said tearfully, "I think we saved his life."
Luckily, there were no more moments like that during the rest of the trip. But there was the testy walk from the gate to the rental car shuttle bus -- a Southwest Airline person in the lead, me following with a bunch of bags making sure to stay barely in front of Jerry and Iris and talking so he could hear me, and Holly with Wrangler on one arm and latched onto Jerry with the other. It was slow, slow going, this long parade.
At the rental car lot, the first thing we needed to do was to find a patch of grass (that would become a familiar request over the next few days) for the dogs. These dogs are wonderfully behaved and they'll hold it until they burst if they have to. So it's easy to forget that they are animals that need to relieve themselves occasionally. But they do. So we trot out to the only few square feet of grass that actually exists at the edge of the car lot and the dogs do their thing. One thing that I had never thought about before was -- how do you know if your dog has actually gone to the bathroom if you're blind? Jerry has got a little vision, so he can see what's going down. But Holly has to follow Wrangler around, bending over and listening. It's just not easy being blind.
After everybody (the dogs, anyway) did number 1 and number 2, we all got into our minivan and made the one-hour drive to Lawrence, which is southwest of Kansas City. I had to do a little bit of play-by-play, especially to let people know that we were crossing over the Missouri River and had left Missouri and entered Kansas, and also to tell them how flat the whole place was. In Lawrence, we found our hotel -- a nice place on the south bank of the Kansas river (which the natives also refer to as the Kaw river, after an Indian tribe, I think) -- and after finding yet another patch of grass, got checked in.
Lawrence is actually a pretty town. It's home to the University of Kansas, which has around 20,000 students, so there are a lot of shops and restaurants. Massachusetts Avenue, just a couple of blocks from our hotel, is like an old fashioned main drag, with lots of restaurants of many ethnic varieties and, inexplicably, lots of barber shops and beauty spas (they must be a clean cut lot, those Kansas folk). After we got checked in and unpacked, I convinced them to go with me to Free State Brewing, the first brewpub in Kansas since prohibition. We had a good meal and surprisingly enough, they even had a Braille menu for Holly.
The conference was fine and the people friendly. They gave us all packets of goodies and promotional materials from Kansas. (Did you know that Kansas is the Sunflower state? I do, because I received sunflower cookies, sunflower candy, and a packet of sunflower seeds.) I attended the technical sessions where I learned about soundproofing, microphones, audio editing software (some of the good stuff is really inexpensive -- check out a program called GoldWave if you're interested in mixing your own audio), and audio program libraries. One night we had a tour of the Kansas Reader (the audio information service that was hosting the conference) and a barbecue dinner with entertainment (one such entertainer was a guy who played various mouth harps and different parts of his body -- cheeks, and head, and knees, etc.)
The last night that we were there was a stormy one, however. During the day, there were tremendous cloudbursts, so heavy that you couldn't see out the window. There were tornado watches and tornado warnings, and just a lot of weather. It was on that night that Barry Schreur, a guy who's working with Jerry to make available dedicated internet radios to our listeners, had asked all of us out to dinner at a steakhouse on the other end of town. We had the car, of course, so I drove. That would be me, two guide dogs, and four blind people out to dinner. In the pouring rain, with thunder and lightning. Of course I let them off at the front of the restaurant. Of course I helped everyone out and guided them to the door. Of course I got sopping wet. But I had a great time.
The conference ended on Saturday, but we needed to stay late enough that we couldn't fly out that day. And the only direct flight on Sunday left at about 8:30PM, so we had the whole day to kill. Knowing that ahead of time, I had ventured to Jerry that there was a baseball game in Kansas City on Sunday afternoon. I didn't know whether attending a game was more of a sighted person's thing, but I thought I'd bring it up. To my surprise, Jerry was thrilled and Holly was too. In fact, during the whole trip, she kept talking about how she was looking forward to going to her first major league game. So on Sunday, we went to beautiful Kaufman Stadium and saw the Kansas City Royals play the Texas Rangers. I had gotten seats ahead of time and negotiated with the ticket people to give us seats in the handicapped section so that the dogs would have room to sit. When we got there, I learned that our seats were down in front (about 20 rows back), and just to the first base side of home plate. There was lots of empty space around (so wheelchairs could negotiate), so we and the dogs were quite comfortable. These were the best seats that I had ever purchased for a major league game. And we all enjoyed it tremendously. It was a little warm and sunny, but the beer vendors kept bringing us ice and water for the dogs, and Jerry said they did fine despite being in the sun. Holly found the radio station broadcasting the game and listened to the game. But Jerry said he had fond memories of going to Dodger games with his dad and having his dad tell him what was happening. So I sat on the floor next to him and Iris and did my own play-by-play for him. The Royals played terribly, making errors and striking out a lot, and the Rangers thumped them pretty badly. But the sun was shining, and the waterfall in center field was gushing, and the dogs were crunching on ice. What could be better than that.