Race: Out Loud

I published a post here back in March after Chicago Public Radio let me know they wouldn’t be airing pre-recorded essays like the ones I used to do for them. But here’s some good news: reports of my radio-essay death were greatly exaggerated. An essay I wrote aired on WBEZ this morning!

At the WBEZ studios, recording my essay. (Photo by Bill Healy, courtesy WBEZ)

I like working with public radio, so after I got that disappointing note I headed over to the WBEZ studios to meet with the Managing Editor of Public Affairs to see if I had any other options. She told me that in their new format they’d be covering topics in-depth from time to time, and that this summer Aurora Aguilar would be producing pieces on literacy, and Cate Cahan would be focusing on race issues. I told her I’d worked with Aurora and Cate before. She suggested I try pitching ideas to them. I pitched. They responded. I wrote. We recorded.

The piece I did for Aurora hasn’t aired yet. The one that aired today is about how blindness can change the way you look, ahem, at race, and Its part of Cate’s Race: Out Loud series. Here’s how WBEZ describes Race: out Loud on its web site:

We’re asking: What would it sound like if people said what they really think and feel about race, about ethnicity? What if they really talked about how it shapes them, their lives, and attitudes? What would we hear, if we listened?

That part about what we might hear if we listened is what motivated me to pitch my essay. And speaking of blindness, I can read Braille, but I’m painfully slow at it. WBEZ radio producer Joe DeCeault has been recording my essays for years, and the two of us developed a system where he puts me in front of a microphone, asks what the first paragraph in my essay is about, then what the second paragraph is about, and I retell the story paragraph by paragraph in my own words. Essays produced by Joe make me sound like I’m just sitting down talking to you, and we’re both pretty proud of how this works.

Race: Out Loud is a special project, though, so they have a freelancer doing the sound work. Bill Healy consulted with Joe about how to pull this off, but knowing that Cate Cahan and I had gone back and forth via email editing and rewriting the essay, Bill thought we needed to record it exactly how it had been written.

And so, after setting me up at the mike and testing my sound levels, Bill whipped out a printed copy of my essay and began reading it out loud line by line. I parroted what Bill said, and once I’d repeated all my lines, he spliced the sentences together, added sound effects and music, and…voila! When my essay aired on Morning Edition in Chicago today, It sounded like I’d read the whole essay all at once.

If you missed hearing the piece this morning, you can read the transcript and hear it online. Young Bill Healy sure rose to the task. He took photos for the online version and wrote some promotional copy as well. And now he can add “recorded a blind woman reading an essay” to his resume, too.

This mixolydian life

I spent the past four days at a summer Jazz Camp here in Chicago. That was not a typo. I was at Jazz Camp.

This is the fourth year that the Jazz Institute of Chicago, Columbia College Chicago and the Chicago Jazz Ensemble combined to present the camp for adults, but it’s the first year they expanded it to a kind of humanities festival rather than simply a series of classes for amateur musicians. A story in the Chicago Tribune explains:

“We’ve extended it way beyond what it ever was … so that arts educators and anybody interested in jazz can see the connection between the music and other art forms,” says Lauren Deutsch, executive director of the non-profit Jazz Institute of Chicago.

The article quoted Deutsch saying that the idea of the Straight Ahead and Other Directions Jazz Summer Camp this year was “to show how jazz really touches everything.” Lectures on topics ranging from “Jazz and Social Justice” to “Jazz and the Stage/Silver Screen” helped them achieve their goal, and the star of the show was New Orleans saxophone master and Mardi Gras Indian Chief Donald Harrison, Jr., who opened each day with a lecture. I know Donald Harrison from watching him play himself on the HBO TV series “Tremé,” and in a talk about Hurricane Katrina he said it was the “worst and best thing” that could have happened to New Orleans. “It forced people to realize how important the culture here is. People from out of town are making a point to come, they are paying more attention to us, they realize now how important it is to continue with it. And the people from New Orleans who are really interested in keeping the culture alive realized that they could have lost it forever.”

My morning master’s classes were for the rhythm section, and I took an afternoon master’s class on beginning improvisation. Donald Harrison sat in on one of the improvisation classes and reiterated some of the musical terms that by that time were already spinning in my head: octotonic, mixolydian, tonic, dorian, altered. I was the only blind student at camp, and by far the least accomplished musician in the master classes.

But hey, jazz musicians are known for their ability to improvise. When I begged off taking the piano part for one tune, reminding the teacher that I couldn’t see to read the chart, a fellow student jumped in to join me on the piano bench and call out the chords. In-between sessions students offered to read the notes on the whiteboard out loud into my digital recorder, and others would lend an elbow to walk Whitney and me to the elevator to find the next session. I learned as much about jazz from the conversations we had during those walks as I did in class.

One of the photos Bill Healey took during our Thursday morning shoot. (Photo courtesy WBEZ.)

I hadn’t planned it this way, but Jazz Camp landed on my calendar days after my Easter Seals job had given me a new laptop with new software to learn. I’d started teaching a second weekly memoir-writing class the week before camp, too, and returned from a last-minute trip to see my oldest sister and her husband in South Carolina the day before jazz camp started. Add to all that, Chicago Public Radio had asked me to write an record a piece for them the day before I left for South Carolina.

My WBEZ piece is about how blindness can change the way you look at race, and it’s set to air in Chicago this Monday, July 30, during the Morning Edition segment of NPR. It’ll be available online after it airs, and when the producer contacted me this week to ask if they could come out to shoot some photos to use with the online segment, I told them the only time I’d be available was on my walk to jazz camp in the morning. We squeezed the photo session in.

All this activity didn’t leave me much opportunity to practice the piano in-between sessions, but in many ways, the timing was perfect. Figuring out chord structures and listening for changes and working out dorian scales helped balance everything else going on. It’s kind of like George Gershwin once said: “Life is a lot like Jazz… it’s best when you improvise.”

Unbroken

This week I wrote a post for the Easter Seals blog reporting my progress using a talking pedometer for their “Walk the Extra Mile” challenge. In that post I quoted from a post on the New York Times Well blog that said one mile of walking covers about 2,000 steps, and Americans, on average, take 5,117 steps a day. After reading those statistics, I knew Whitney and I were well on our way to prove my theory: blind people who use guide dogs — especially those of us who live in big cities — really do walk more than the average person does.

In a previous post I’d written for the Easter Seals blog about this challenge thing at work, I explained that when you live in a city you can’t simply open a sliding glass patio door to let your guide dog out. When Whitney needs to “empty,” I take her down the street, around the corner and to her favorite tree. That’s 1,000 steps per trip, and that trip takes place at least four times a day. The first two weeks of our experiment included one week of 100-degree temperatures in Chicago. We stayed inside with our air conditioner on more than usual, but hey, a girls gotta go. Even in that hot weather Whitney and I averaged 9,871 steps a day. My steps per day increased when temperatures cooled down the next week.

Just when I’d started planning which new equipment Whitney and I would try out when we won the Go The Extra Mile challenge grand prize (a free six-month fitness club membership), I pressed the button to hear the number of steps I’d taken so far that day, and … nothing. My talking pedometer stopped talking. I shook the thing and pressed the button. Nothing. I turned it upside-down and rightside-up again. Nothing. I stuck it in a bag of rice for a day. Nothing.

And so, what happened with the challenge? Well, human resources offered to buy me a new talking pedometer, but I told them not to bother. I have a new theory now: blind people who use guide dogs — especially those of us who live in big cities — walk so many steps that a talking pedometer can’t keep up with us.

Artful friendships

Hi all–I’m traveling, visiting with sisters, so  I asked my husband Mike to chip in a guest post — I’ll be back soon, in the meantime, I give you Mike. 

Me and Brad and Roy

by Mike Knezovich

Our favorite neighborhood watering hole and restaurant – Hackney’s Printers Row – draws us frequently (probably too frequently) because it also draws an eclectic, articulate, smart, accomplished and just-plain-nice group of folks from the neighborhood. Attorneys, artists, architects, research scientists, computer programmers, linguists, stock market mavens … you can learn a lot sipping a beer at Hack’s.

Two of my favorite people: Brad and, well, I think you recognize the other one.

One of the Hackney’s denizens Beth and I have learned a great deal from is Stephen Bradley Gillaugh, who goes simply by “Brad.” Brad moved to Printers Row – from Los Angeles – to retire after a long, illustrious career in the art world. He worked for decades in NYC – at the Museum of Modern Art and at the famed Leo Castelli Gallery. Later, in LA, he managed a big corporate art collection (when corporations used to have such things). Brad doesn’t brag, but over time (and libations) Beth and I have gotten lots of inside chatter about the likes of Rauschenberg and Warhol and even Truman Capote. (I’m not telling, so don’t even ask.)

We also learned that Brad has a fantastic art collection, displayed in his apartment, and that he has so much art that some of it has been left in boxes and shipping tubes because there is no room to display it. One evening Brad said he didn’t even remember what he had stored. Beth took exception to this and suggested he go through his stuff, get it framed, and then loan it to friends to hang.

As we know, Beth can be, err, persistent. And so Brad, one day, decided to go through his forgotten works. He found prints and drawings by Roy Lichtenstein, Roger Brown, and other notables. But instead of framing them, he’s gone on a generous donation campaign, giving them outright to friends in the neighborhood.

Thanks to Brad’s generosity, this hangs in our living room.

Including us. He had us over one evening to select from his overage. I took a fancy to the one he’d guessed I’d like — a print of a poster Lichtenstein did for the 1967 Aspen Winter Jazz Festival. It now hangs in our living room.

And I love it. So much so that it inspired me to visit the Art Institute of Chicago to take in the Lichtenstein Retrospective that runs through September 3. It turned out to be a terrific show—but it was all the better because I walked the gallery with Brad.

Along the way, I learned that Lichtenstein was a kind, even-tempered man, not the stereotypical high-maintenance hell-raising artist. He did drawings – studies – that became the basis of his paintings. He didn’t sell the drawings (many of which are in the retrospective), but “around the holidays,” Brad says, “he’d come into the gallery (Castelli) and give them to staff as gifts.” One of them – a study of entablatures – he gave to Brad, signed with a personal note.

I learned that Lichtenstein was easy to work with — as opposed to another prominent artist, who, Brad says “traveled with an entourage and would go through two bottles of Jack Daniels every time we set up a show.”

I learned that Brad had actually handled one of the sculptures in the Lichtenstein exhibit ( it’s a big, metal art-deco-ish piece called “Modern Sculpture with Glass Wave” if you take in the show). Brad pointed at it and groaned, saying only that it was “god-awful heavy” to move around.

The show is spectacular, especially if you – like I did – think only of the famous Pop-Art pieces for which Lichtenstein is known. He did a remarkably wide range of

She’s talking about a different Brad.

work, most all of which I found engaging and fascinating.  If you’re in Chicago, I hope you’ll go.

And for those of you who know Lichtenstein and may be thinking Brad…Brad…no our Brad is not THAT Brad. But I’m glad he’s our Brad, and I marvel at the people Beth and I are lucky enough to call our friends.

And now, a word from a puppy raiser

When I published that post about the Ann Taylor store telling Becky Andrews she couldn’t come in with her guide dog, a lot of you commented and wondered how a business could be so ignorant. Donna Sword, a volunteer puppy raiser for Canine Companions for Independence, left a response that suggested sometimes it’s negative experiences with fake service dogs that make business owners more wary. I asked her to expand that thought into a guest blog, and she graciously said yes.

Masquerading as an assistance dog

by Donna Sword

The Americans with Disabilities Act protects the rights of a person with a disability to bring their service animal with them in public, and it defines a service animal as “any dog that is individually trained to do work or perform tasks for the benefit of an individual with a disability.” I do not have a disability, so I rely on the good faith of businesses to welcome my pup-in-training in their stores to support our socialization efforts.

Donna Sword with her current Canine Companions for Independence pup-in-training, Yaxley (Photo courtesy of Donna Sword).

On the rare occasions when we’re met with resistance by a business, we sometimes find it’s because of a past negative experience with a fake service dog. These folk that bring their beloved, but ill mannered, pets into stores perhaps don’t realize the barriers they’re creating for those who rely on guide dogs or assistance dogs for independence. And we’ve seen these pets on our own outings.

The dog under a restaurant table that first growled, then stood and barked aggressively, as the pup and I walked past. The small dog in the front seat of a grocery cart, standing to alert with a tense mouth when children approached too closely. A Chihuahua in a handbag at a concert, invisible except when barking. And the large dog at the mall that took two hands to control as he lunged to sniff passersby.

Each one of these dogs was wearing a vest that identified them as a type of assistance dog. But were they assistance dogs — or instead pets masquerading as such? To a business owner, there’s not a big difference. Whether it’s due to inadequate training or a personality not suited for service dog work, it’s the same. These dogs are seen as potential liabilities. Will these dogs cause customer complaints, a loss of business? Will they have a toileting accident in the restaurant? And rather worrisome, will these particular dogs inflict damage, personal or otherwise?

I find it interesting, and more than a bit distressing, that an assistance dog cape can be purchased online, complete with certification documents. A Google search will net you several companies that require only a credit card and a dog; no proof of training required. And rather ironically, the ADA does not require working dogs to display any identification nor is an individual required to have their dog certified as an assistance animal. This opens the door to abuse of the law, it seems. Unless challenged, anyone may claim their pet as an assistance dog.

This is wrong.

And so of course, businesses are cautious. And maybe just a bit confused. While the ADA laws are clearly written on the access rights of individuals, some businesses just aren’t educating themselves or their employees. They don’t know that an ill-behaved dog (whether it is a service dog or not)) can be asked to leave their place of business. Or that there are some questions they can legally ask, such as “is the service dog required because of a disability?” or even “what task has the dog been trained to perform?” One question businesses can not ask an individual is “what is your disability?”

A highly trained assistance dog or guide dog is not a pet. They are constant companions and loved by their handlers, that’s for sure, but these dogs are also necessary, a sort of “assistive technology” allowing a higher level of independence.

I’m afraid we’ve allowed the bad behavior of a few to build these barriers for those who rely on these dogs. I agree that many businesses have a need for more education on ADA, but there is also a need to crack down on these fake service dogs. And on the companies out there selling service dog capes and certifications making it too easy to allow public access to pets.

I said I’d do what?

My great-niece Anita turns 17 this week, and her mom, my niece Janet, had a birthday last Saturday. I must love those two: I offered to take Janet’s youngest daughter out of their hair overnight as a gift.

That’s AnnMarie and me. Of course, it’s all about Hanni.

AnnMarie Florence Czerwinski heads to Chicago Tuesday to spend the night with her Great Aunt Betha. AnnMarie is the only offspring in our entire family to be blessed with my mom’s beautiful name. She’s six years old now, but I still refer to her as “Baby Flo.” Our slumber party Tuesday will give Baby Flo a chance to get acquainted with my exuberant new dog Whitney – I’m eager to find out which energetic creature will outlast the other.

And how does a doddering old blind great aunt occupy a six-year-old? I do have a few ideas up my sleeve:

• Clean the silver jewelry: we’ll use old toothbrushes to brush my silver with a baking soda paste, then dunk them in vinegar and be awestruck by the bubbles.
• Play fetch with Whitney.
• Rock ‘n’ roll. Warn the neighbors! Baby Flo plays piano, and I have an accordion. When we get tired of those, there’s always the collection of percussion instruments.
• Play fetch with Whitney.
• Watch a video with video description. My nephew Robbie was just a kid when I did this with him, and after just one minute he was begging me to turn the narrator’s voice off. “It’s driving me crazy!” Let’s hope it goes longer with Baby Flo.
• Play fetch with Whitney.
• Scavenger hunt. Baby Flo peruses the apartment to find things to place in my hands. If I guess what the object is, I score. If she fools me, she wins.
• Play fetch with Whitney.
• Watch the lobby via closed-circuit TV. It’s just like Harriet the Spy.
• Play fetch with Whitney.

Somehow in-between all that fun we’ll have to take Whitney out to empty from time to time, too, and here’s where Whitney’s bell comes in handy. When I was away training with Whitney last December, the Seeing Eye gave us a bell to hang on our dog’s collar during feeding times. When the trainer came around with a bowl of food, Whitney had to stay in her assigned place by my bedpost as I answered the door. The bell on Whitney’s collar gave her away if she moved off her place, and she’d have to go back if she wanted me to place the bowl of food in front of her. Whitney can’t have her food until she stays in her place.

Whitney doesn’t wear that bell much anymore, but during our slumber party Baby Flo will attach it to her collar anytime we go outside. We live in a busy Chicago neighborhood, and Baby Flo knows she has to hold my hand the entire time we are outside. But there’s that half-minute when I take Whitney’s harness off and on to “empty,” and I’m going to challenge Baby Flo to keep that bell absolutely quiet during that time.

Before we go to bed I’m hoping to play my favorite game with Baby Flo: Spa. Baby Flo’s wise mother taught her this one. Baby Flo sets up a towel at the foot of the bed, gets out the lotion and rubs your feet. She usually charges a quarter for the service, but she offered her Great Aunt Betha a deal. I get the spa treatment for free as long as I promise to take my fake eye out when we’re done.

Yeah, right, the dog wasn’t wearing a harness

Remember that post I published about fellow blind blogger Becky Andrews, the social worker who owns her own business in Salt Lake City? And remember how I described her as a fashion plate? Well, one week after I featured Becky here on the Safe & Sound blog, her name turned up on Jezebel, a blog that describes itself as “Celebrity, Sex, Fashion for Women. Without Airbrushing” The Jezebel” post wasn’t about Becky’s fashion sense, though. It was about Becky’s style! From the post:

A legally blind shopper was barred from shopping at a Salt Lake City area Ann Taylor last weekend because she had a dog with her, even after she explained that she was dependent on the service animal to get around.

That’s Becky with her guide dog Cricket.

The Jezebel blog picked up on the story after Becky wrote about the incident on her own Cruisin’ with Cricket blog. In Becky’s words:

I was greeted by a clerk with her first words indicating I needed to leave the store with my dog. I politely explained that she was a guide dog and allowed to be here. She indicated again dogs were not allowed and she would need to talk to her store manager. I began to feel like my exciting find of the Ann Taylor store was not going so well.

Work with a guide dog long enough and you’re sure to go through a situation like this. My Seeing Eye dogs and I have been stopped trying to get into Crate and Barrel on Michigan Avenue, at Andy’s Jazz Club on Hubbard, even at Wrigley Field. In every case I asked for a manager, and once they showed up we were allowed in. Unfortunately, this was not the case with Becky and Cricket. Again, from her blog post:

the manager also was not too helpful and indicated that dogs were not allowed. I knew there were other people there as well, and I felt really alone. No one stood up and said, this is a guide dog she can be in this store. I again explained she was a guide dog and allowed to be here. At this point, I found myself just wanting to leave and go to another store where I was welcome.

And that is exactly what Becky did. She took her business to The Limited next door. Later on a representative for Ann Taylor company claimed Becky’s dog didn’t have a harness on, and that’s why the pair was denied entrance to the store. Maybe that rep needs a guide dog herself. Or at least a check-up with an eye doctor!

Becky called the statement absurd. “To make it very clear, I walked into the store with my guide dog in harness, of course!” she wrote in a follow-up post. “Why would I enter the store without her in her harness?” The company could be fined up to $50,000 under the Americans with Disabilities Act, but Becky says she doesn’t plan on pursuing anything in court. She describes herself as a woman who usually prefers to stay quiet about things like this, but hearing the lie about Cricket’s harness compelled her to agree to an interview on KSL News that garnered a lot of support for her in Salt Lake City. “This wasn’t about me – this was about all of us,” she said. “Accessibility. Respect. Equality. It is for each of us.”

An Ann Taylor spokesperson emailed a statement to the Jezebel blog after Becky’s story came out:

We at Ann Taylor sincerely apologize to Mrs. Andrews for her experience at the City Creek store.
Service animals are always welcome in our stores and this incident is not representative of how we approach customer service.
In our previous statement we had said that her guide dog was unharnessed. This was not the case. We were misinformed, and we are sorry that this information was released.
We strive for 100 percent customer satisfaction. In this case we fell short.

Hint: It’s not a shade of grey

Cherie Colyer (author of teen novel Embrace) regularly interviews fellow children’s book authors on her blog. This week she interviewed…me!

Cherie asked a lot of good questions, and I especially appreciated having the opportunity to answer one
about who my hero is:

My mother is my hero. I am the youngest of seven, my father had a heart attack and died at home a week after my third birthday. Flo had not graduated from high school and worked to get her GED degree and then held a job as an office clerk until she was 70 in order to raise us on her own. The heroic part is that she never complained to us about her lot in life. She took naps when she could, though, always telling us she was “just resting her eyes.” I follow her lead: naps are good when you can get ‘em!

Flo on her birthday. Those naps did her a world of good: she’s a young 96 years old.

You can link to Cherie’s blog to read the entire interview. Cherie was thorough –she even asked me what my favorite color is, and I know you Safe & Sound blog readers are just itching to find out.

Thanks for all the attention, Cheri– you make me feel like a celebrity!

Happy Inter-dependence Day!

A lot of the conversation during The Q&A after my talk with Skokie Public Library’s Talking Books Book Club last week centered around independence.

Jim and Kathy Zartman.

After we shared tips for keeping track of our prescriptions, identifying colors of clothing, using talking computers to read and write, one senior citizen with macular degeneration piped up and said she loves to cook, but when her daughter offered to buy her a bag of frozen, chopped onions at the grocery store, she agreed to finally quit insisting on dicing them herself. “I’m learning to stop being so goddamned independent and accept help,” she said. “But it hasn’t been easy.” Her words were refreshing, and she didn’t have to be able to see to know we were all nodding in support.

Our hour at the library went by quickly, and once I’d thanked the Talking Books Book Club for having us, the dapper Jim Zartman guided Whitney and me to his car to take us home. I’ve known Jim for nearly a year now – his wife Kathy is in the memoir-writing class I teach at Lincoln Park Village. He drives Whitney and me to that class every Thursday, and when he found out I’d be speaking at Skokie Public Library last Wednesday, he volunteered to take me there, too.

Jim has the wisdom of age and the spirit of youth. During our rides the past year I’ve had the privilege of hearing his stories about growing up in a small town in Illinois, the mother who gave him his first violin, and getting free room and board in exchange for working as a houseboy for John Kenneth Galbraith’s family at Harvard. “They said they named their son Jamie after me,” he blushes. “But I’m not sure that’s true.”

Jim is not exactly forthcoming, but when I ask questions, he answers. In our 20-minute rides to class he’s shared the agony and ecstasy of raising children with Katherine, his appreciation for his talented grandchildren, his work writing the Illinois Power of Attorney Act and then getting it through the state legislature during his career as partner in the Chicago firm of Chapman and Cutler, and his current role as president of the board of the Chicago School of Violin Making.

The Chicago School of Violin making is one of only a handful of such schools in the world, and it happens to be located very close to the Skokie Public Library. “Would you like to stop at the school along the way for a tour? I would. We did. It was amazing.

Jessie Gilbert, a graduate of the school who specializes in bow-making now, led my one-on-one tour. Her sweet, strong hands guided me along blocks of maple and spruce that were to become instruments, and I met teachers and students who had come from all over the world to participate in the schools three-year program. Students aspire to the quality craftsmanship of the 17th and 18th century classical masters and are ready to enter the violin making and repair field as professionals once they graduate.

We couldn’t stay long — it wasn’t fair to distract the students from their work. While we were there, though, I was taken by how quiet the workspace was –no music to work by, just the intense sound of careful carving and fine sanding.

And so, after my rides and field trips with Jim, and hearing Kathy read her memoirs in class, I’m getting to know the Zartmans. Time to meet the grandchildren, now too! Skyler, Sonia and Aaron had all read my children’s book Hanni and Beth: Safe & Sound so they were eager to follow Whitney as she led me around their grandparent’s block. “You’re like the pied piper!” one of them exclaimed.

We sat in Zartman’s lovely back yard after our walk. I showed the kids how Braille works, then took Whitney’s harness off so she could play fetch with them. We all sat down together for a supper of Kathy’s home-cooked beef brisket afterwards. It was sublime.

On my Thursday rides to memoir-writing class with Jim, I often remind him that he doesn’t have to come each and every week. Whitney and I are capable of taking a bus to Lincoln park. He pretends he doesn’t hear, and you know what? That’s okay with me. Just like my new friend in the Talking Books Book Club, I’m learning to stop being so goddamned independent.