By Patrick A. Barrett

(Editor’s Note:  Pat is a board member of the NFB of Minnesota, and a past president of our Metro Chapter in which he is very active.)

Twenty-seven years ago, I lost a dear friend and mentor.  Frank Smith was blind, and taught me to learn from my past mistakes, not to beat myself up, and look forward to the future.

Frank was born in 1935.  He wanted to be a firefighter, but became blind at 21 due to diabetes.  He became a teacher.  He was also a husband and proud father of six children.  One of those, Rixon, was adopted and blind as well.

I first met Frank when attending the Orientation and Adjustment to Blindness training program at the Idaho Commission for the Blind in June of 1975.  I had just graduated from high school, and was going to college in the fall on the scholarship I had won as a newspaper carrier.  I did not have any plans for the summer, and thought I could learn some things to help me be more independent as a blind person.

Frank always told the funniest, clean jokes.  For example:

Patient to doctor: “Doctor, I am feeling like an apple!”

Doctor to patient: “Vell, ve must get to zeh core of zeh matter.”

Or:

Why is it that your nose runs and your feet smell?

In later years when I got to know Dick Davis here in Minnesota, I looked forward to sparring pun-on-pun with Dick.  I draw the line on blonde jokes, though.

In our philosophy class, Frank posed more serious questions like:

“Can a blind person light a gas stove safely?”

“Do you believe blind parents can be successful?”

We would discuss our orientation training experiences.  Frank helped us talk through and feel better about the terrible travel route, and bolstered our small triumphs cooking delicious meals on the gas stove.

Frank tried to persuade me lovingly but firmly to continue my training into the fall.  My folks wanted me to start school.  In September, I started my degree at Boise State University.  Though I returned the following summer for more training, there is no substitute for several consecutive months of comprehensive skills of blindness training.  Idaho’s program at that time was patterned after Dr. Kenneth Jernigan’s great Iowa training center.  In 1993, with the good Lord’s blessings and Joyce Scanlan’s help, I got a second chance.  I graduated from Blindness:  Learning in New Dimensions (BLIND), Inc. in August of 1994.  The comprehensive training has helped me be a better husband, father, employee, church Toastmaster, and community volunteer.

Going back to June of 1976, I met my friend Paul Empey.  Like Frank, Paul had become blind from diabetes.  He was also a blind father of several children, and wanted to become a teacher.  Frank challenged Paul to put aside learned misconceptions about blindness.  He urged Paul to not dwell on what he had learned about what the blind could not do, and apply the ideas and training toward a successful teaching career.  That Paul could do.

Despite Frank’s best caring efforts of encouragement, Paul had trouble making the journey to realize his great worth as a person who happened to be blind.  Despair smothered his self-esteem.  Two months before Paul was to attend Trudy’s and my wedding, we learned that Paul had committed suicide.

Flash forward to March 2010.  At the 75^th anniversary convention of the National Federation of the Blind of Idaho, we met with Paul’s daughter, Susan Bradley, and granddaughter, Angela.  They enjoyed hearing Trudy’s and my stories, funny and sad, about Paul.  I felt I was paying it forward from Frank’s positive teachings to me.  Through their activity in the National Federation of the Blind, their outlooks on their futures were hopeful and vibrant.

Back in 1985, at Frank’s memorial service, I was broken up at his loss to me, yet treasured then and do so now what he taught me about being Pat, who happens to be blind.  One of the speakers recalled when Frank would hold his white cane behind him and ask, “What is that?”

“I don’t know, Frank.”

“It’s 20/20 hindsight.”

Later that day, Frank’s blind son, Rixon, was honored in a special ceremony of scouting.  Blind father and son had camped, fished, hiked, built racecars out of pinewood, and performed community service projects together.  This earned Rixon his Eagle badge, the highest award from the Boy Scout organization.

If we as blind and sighted people learn from our mistakes, don’t beat up on ourselves, and find time to laugh each day, we will go far in our own personal journeys.  Memories of mentors, those who died and those still living, will serve as comforting compasses. 

We must also mentor others through our positive examples and actions.  Working alongside one another shoulder-to-shoulder and heart-to-heart in the National Federation of the Blind of Minnesota will make, as Dr. Jernigan often said, our dreams come true!