CHAPTER 5
THE WALL
The wall is tall, surrounding all.
Towering tall, never to fall?
The wall is tall, surrounding all.
[Phil Scovell]
"Don't run," the teacher barked. "Walk!" We walked [fast
walked] but we walked. The fire doors loomed ahead like to bronze
eyes from some giant sculpture, closed, slumbering, undisturbed.
The noise of hundreds of tennis shoed students squeaked on
polished tiles like millions of summer crickets gone mad.
Suddenly...twin explosions shattered ear drums as the fire doors
banged open; splitting apart to release the super hyped kids
heading for the playground. The giant was awakened.
Leaping from the steps, we catapulted into the grassy playing
field. Lunch was over and it was time to play. two dozen Indy
race cars leaped from the starting line, engines roaring, tires
screaming, horns blaring, as the boys played car race. Horses
whinnied, hooves pawed the earth, long shiny mains snapping behind
slender necks, as the girls played while horse. Someone slapped
me on the back, "Your it, Scov," a voice called out and quickly
faded as he ran away. I sprinted toward him, narrowly missing a
wild horse whinnying in my path.
Tapping another kid on the arm, I bolted away calling over my
shoulder, "You're it!"
The playground wasn't anything special but it was large.
Perhaps a half acre of green grass. There were two tether ball
poles, a baseball and soccer diamonds, chinning bars, a bicycle
rack for parking our bikes, and lots of tennis shoe staining,
pants staining grass. We moved like fish in deep water; darting,
skipping, jumping, only to break surface to bounce over the green
surface like flat pebbles on a smooth pond. Kids laughed, yelled,
barked like dogs, growled like tractors, and soared like
airplanes; arms out stretched. We were free; free that is, for
about thirty minutes.
I stopped running, after all, I wasn't "IT." My breathing
was deep and slow. I loved to run and was on the track team;
holding the second highest time in the sixty yard dash. We had
just gone to the Drake relays for the first time, and although we
hadn't place, it had been an honor just to go. I scanned the
playground. Kids were everywhere. A couple of the teachers
stood on the sidewalks up by the building surveying the seen.
Balls were arching through the air, bodies crisscrossed the
freshly mowed surface of green, a bird perched on the high chain
link fence examining the picture below, head cocked; listening to
the cacophony. My eyes registered the multi colored clothes warn
by the other kids. The long haired girls ran like deer, their
light hair flowing behind them like long tailed comets glistening
in the velvet of space. Strong athletic boys ages ten to twelve
kicked balls across the well manicured lawn and players rotated
bases. Everybody was happy.
Feeling the sun on my face for the first time, I looked up.
The sky was partly cloudy and a white fluffy caterpillar the size
of a long poorly shaped airplane floated in the distance, its
plumose texture offering the appearance of a strange bird in
flight. "Something is wrong," I said. I looked again at the
white cloud. No," I thought, "they are there, I think!" I
dropped my eyes to the green grass under my feet. "I don't see
'em there," I said puzzled. I lifted my eyes again to the sky and
studied the white cloud. "What are those things," I questioned.
I allowed my eyes to drift to the blueness of the surrounding sky.
"No," not there, but when I look at the cloud... Yep, I see 'em."
Tiny brown spots, specks actually, were mingled with the
milkiness of the floating cloud. "Oh, well," i thought, and ran
off.
"I'm going to write your assignment," the teacher said
clearly, "on the board. Write it down and bring the finished work
in tomorrow morning. She began chocking the words on the
blackboard; the assignment nearly covering the entire front of
the room on the wide blackboard. I watched and began to write.
As I turned my eyes downward and focused on the white paper under
my hands, I saw the brown specks again. I glanced back to the
board. They were gone. Again to my paper. They returned. They
looked like small specks of dirt floating in a fish bowl. They
moved when I moved, dancing, swirling, bouncing in my vision. I
looked up. Next to the blackboard on which the teacher was
writing, I saw the bulletin board. Cream colored posters hung
with various announcements. Compared to the darkness of the
blackboard, the posters were striking. The brown spots danced
over their surfaces like tiny gyrating periods. I screwed my eyes
shut and opened them again. They were still there.
"Phil?" I snapped to attention at the sound of my name.
"Are you getting this down?" I bowed my head and began to
scribble.
I rounded the last corner by Pat's yard and headed up our
street. Corky, our little fox terrier, was standing in the
middle of our gravel driveway two hundred feet up the road. He
was the fastest dog I had ever seen. I often tried racing with
him on my bike. He would lope along beside me, his long skinny
legs stroking the pavement effortlessly, the sound of his toe
nails clicking loudly like a clock tightly wound, and suddenly he
would blur; leaving me helplessly behind.
Standing at the large picture window facing south, I spied a
rabbit grazing in the empty lot next door to our home. He, the
rabbit, was probably less than one hundred feet from the orchard
to the east. His nose wiggled as he sniffed, then tasted, the
fresh grass. His long ears sampling for sounds of danger. "here
Corky," I whispered. The little white dog with the large brown
circle on his back came galloping through the house and skidded to
a stop. His ears popped up like TV antenni; sampling, probing,
listening; His nose wrinkling, his tongue flicking, and his tail
wiggling frantically. "I wish dogs could talk," I said. "Wanna'
catch a rabbit, Boy?" I questioned, using just the right amount of
voice inflection to incite interest. Hoisting his little body to
the window, I pointed his nose in the direction of the grazing
rabbit and said, "See 'em, Corky?" The dog went wild. I quickly
carried the wiggling creature to the front door and dropped him
out. Slamming the door, I ran back to the picture window to
survey the seen. Corky had just rounded the corner of the house
and was darting across the field. The rabbit froze, his nose
flicking, sniffing the air. Their eyes locked momentarily as
Corky prepared for his attack. The rabbit spun like a top and
vanished so quickly, it was difficult to decide if he had ever
been there. Corky arrived at an empty spot and immediately darted
in the opposite direction, totally confused, running just as fast
as he had when chasing the rabbit. I fell, laughing, to the
floor. Retrieving my dog from the front yard, I patted his head.
"Well, Cork', I guess you'll never make a good huntin' dog but I
like ya' anyways."
The little white and brown dog didn't see me coming up the
street until I got to the very edge of our yard. He trotted to
the corner of the gravel driveway and slowly descended the small
hill to the lower side yard. I called to him but he stopped and
crouched as though the newly mowed lawn would hide him. "Come on
you silly dog," I coaxed. "You can't hide like that." He refused
to move. "I'm telling you crazy dog, I can see you in plain
sight." Head down, no movement, frozen. I stepped closer.
"What's a matter with you, ya' dumb dog?" Another step. He
sprang toward me like a wild mountain lion and shot past like a
miniature jet launched. "I wish dogs could talk," I laughed, "I
wonder what he'd say about that." Uncle Harold always said dogs
could smile and I think I saw Corky smile that day.
"How was school today?" Mom queried.
"Ok, I guess. Anythin' to eat?" I said, yanking on the
refrigerator door and illuminating its interior.
"Look in the bottom there," Mom said without looking up from
her sowing machine and pressing the peddle, "there's some oranges
down there." I loved oranges. Mom bought a case once and I ate
most of them myself within a couple of weeks.
Seated at the table in the dinning room and watching Mom sow,
I pealed my orange; my nose wrinkling from the pungent scented
skin.
"Something funny happened today," I said dropping a slice of
orange into my mouth.
"Funny?" Mom repeated, the sowing machine spinning loudly.
"What you mean, funny?"
"Well, I mumbled, "it's kinda' hard to explain."
"You in trouble at school again? I hope you didn't get into
a fight with that kid...what's his name," she hesitated.
"Naw, Mom," I sighed, "nothin' like that."
" Well, what then?" she prompted. I stripped away another
piece of orange and tossed it through the air; catching it in my
mouth. I'd seen Jim Dutton do that just last week; he missed
though. "I wonder what squirrels feel like when they hold food in
their cheeks?" I pondered, pressing the orange between teeth and
cheek, the juice running down the back of my throat.
"Well, ya' gonna' tell me," she said again, raising her head
from the sowing machine to stair.
Seeing her stern gaze, I said, "Well, I noticed seeing 'em
while on recess today."
"Saw what," Mom said, her voice rising in pitch.
"Oh, just these little tiny brown spots floating around."
"You mean, in your vision?"
"Yep," I grunted.
She frowned. "When do you see these [little brown spots,]"
she said emphasizing each word individually.
"Well," I said after sucking the juice from another slice of
orange and then swallowing the shriveled skin. "That's the funny
part." Her sowing machine remained silent, Her chair was pushed
back, and she listened intently. "When I look at darker stuff
like, oh, like grass or the sky...stuff like that, I don't see
'em. When I look at the clouds, though, then I see 'em. They
ain't very dark spots, Mom."
"Aren't," she corrected. Do you see them any other time?"
"Hum, yeah. When I went into the class after bein' on the
playground. We were writin' down our homework from the blackboard
and when I looked over to the bulletin board, I could seem 'em
again on the white posters. I could see 'em on my white notebook
paper, too, but not on anythin' else." Her frown deepened and her
eye lids dropped; making tiny slits. She didn't say anything but
I knew she didn't like what she'd heard.
"Well," she finally said, "we'll see about it later. Go out
and play some if you want. Supper won't be ready for an hour or
so." The next morning we went to see the eye specialist.
"I can hardly see a thing," I complained. "How long did the
doc' say this would last?"
"Mom honked the car horn at somebody I couldn't see.
"Don't take those sunglasses off," she warned, seeing me
trying to push them aside to see why she had honked. "The doctor
said your vision would be blurry for a couple of hours but not to
remove those sunglasses they gave you until then.
"Man, thinks look all watery," I reported, sliding the dark
glasses back down over my eyes. "The sun is really bright, too."
Well, that's what happens when they dilate your eyes."
Why they gotta' do that, Mom?"
"They dilate your eyes, you know the center part of your eye
called the pupal..." she hesitated momentarily and when she heard
me snort acknowledgement, she continued. "Well, that part of
your eye has to be enlarged so they can look in and see what's
going on inside your eye."
"Oh," I moaned, my eyes watering from the bright light even
with the sunglasses. "Hows come they gotta' do that?"
"Well, I was a little worried about those brown spots so I
wanted them to check you out."
"Am I Ok, then, Mom?"
"According to the doctor."
"Are you sure his retinas are all right," Mom said again.
"Mrs. Scovell," the doctor replied, "I cannot find anything
wrong with your son's retinas at all. They look perfectly fine
with the scope."
"Why is he seeing those brown spots then?"
"I don't think that's anything to be concerned about Mrs.
Scovell. I've prescribed these drops, however, so be sure to
follow the instructions carefully."
"Will they help?"
"Yes, and the spots should go away in a few days. There's
no reason for concern."
Two weeks later I lay on my back after more than six hours of
retinal surgery.
"Could we talk outside the room Mrs. Scovell," Dr. Watke, a
retinal specialist said. He took her arm and led her from the
room. "We'll be right back son," he said over his shoulder. I
lifted my head from the scope where my chin had been resting and
shook my head in acknowledgement.
"Your son has retinal detachment in his left eye Mrs.
Scovell. We need to do surgery immediately."
Mom leaned back against the wall; The weight of the past few
months pressing heavily against her. Dad had died just six months
earlier. Mom had gotten a job working in a flower shop downtown;
her first job since she had been a teenager. She was involved at
church, of course, but it just wasn't the same any more without
him. Saundra, my oldest sister, was in Bible college in Omaha,
Nebraska and had been trying to encourage Mom to come and work for
the college as a counselor. Mom had been to talk with Dr.
Nettleton, now the new school president, and he promised her a
job. She hated the idea of leaving Des Moines, because it was
like leaving everything and everyone she had known. Now with her
back literally against the wall, she sighed heavily and said,
"I've got to go back home and get things ready. Can we come back
next week Doctor?"
"Mrs Scovell, Noreen," he urged, "Philip is in bad shape.
His retina is literally falling apart as we stand her talking.
This is an emergency. I need to get him into surgery. I'd rush
him in right now if you'd stay and admit him."
"It's really that bad?" Mom asked.
"That bad," he confirmed.
"Ok," she sighed again. "I'll be back first thing in the
morning."
Driving the hundred and ten miles back to Des Moines, Mom
told me I needed eye surgery.
How they do that kinda' thing, Mom?"
"Well, your dad had the same kind of surgery. Remember?"
"yeah, I guess so. I remember coming up during Christmas
last year to see Dad in this here hospital. I need my eye fixed
like Dad's?"
"Yes." She was beginning to cry now.
"I'm going to put some drops in your eyes, Philip. You've
had it done before, right?" I stared up into the face of the
young doctor.
"Sure," I admitted.
"Ok, then; here we go." The cool droplets touched my open
eyes; causing me to blink rapidly. "I'll be back shortly. It
takes a little time for your eyes to dilate."
He returned as he promised, and showed me a round magnifying
glass. "Phil, I'm going to use this to look into your eye. He
began pulling on a device which he strapped to the top of his
head. It had a light attachment which hung just over the edge of
his forehead. "I know it'll be uncomfortable for you; shining
this light into your eye and all, but I have to draw a picture of
the inside of your eye before your surgery tomorrow."
"Why ya' gotta' do that?" I inquired.
"Well, we use the picture during the surgery to make sure we
are where we should be inside your eye. Don't worry," he added
hastily, "you'll be asleep and won't feel a thing. He bent over
my small body and the light sliced into my dilated eye like an
exploding sun.
Two hours later I was helped from the gurney on which I had
been laying. Everything appeared dark and in shadow, although
the lights were all brilliantly lighted. Everything had a blue
and deep purplish hew; like seeing through liquid purple.
"Here Philip," the nurse said, "use this special soap and
wash around your entire left side of your face. She had just
shaved off my eyebrow and clipped my eyelashes.
"Why we gotta' do all this?" I said quizzically.
"Well, we've got to make good and sure everything is
perfectly clean before surgery early tomorrow morning."
"How they do this surgery? I heard they have to take my eye
out."
Hearing the apprehension in my voice, she said, "Hey, you'll
be asleep when they do that."
"Asleep?"
"Yep," she said, helping me scrub my face with the funny
smelling cleanser. "We'll come and give you a shot real early
tomorrow morning and by the time we come and get you a couple
hours later for the surgery, you'll be good and sleepy. You'll
hardly know a thing." She was wrong, of course, but she had
tried.
I was in a ward of nearly sixty men. Not a kid in the place.
Everybody there, of course, had something wrong with his eyes. I
was sleepy, sort of, when they came to get me for the surgery but
I wasn't looking forward to the whole thing. They put me to sleep
with an IV after rolling me into the surgical room. The rush of
sodium pentothal rolled over me as a heavy steam roller, squashing
me thin as paper, and pounding me into the ground. I fell
through thick darkness; the roaring of water thundering in my
dream as I plunged down...down...down into the dreamless void.
"I think we did pretty well, Mrs. Scovell," the retinal
specialist said.
"Please," Mom said, "call me Noreen."
"Ok, Noreen. Anyway, I think we did pretty well," he
repeated. "I'm not completely satisfied with what we saw but
we'll know more in a few days when we take the bandages off."
I lay on my back, sand packed sleeves rolled along side my
head keeping me from movement. I tried rolling over. "You can't
roll over like that," a nurse said, her voice sounding far away.
"You've got to stay on your back."
"I feel sick," I mumble, my voice sounding strangely.
"What," she said.
I answered by vomiting. I continued to do so time and time
again after each operation over the next six months.
"How are you feeling, son," Mom coaxed.
"Not too hot," I confessed dreamily.
"Does anything hurt?"
"No, not really." I gingerly felt my face. A huge eye
patch puffed out over the entire left side of my head made of
thick tape. "Has come I gotta' lay on my back, Mom? I hate
laying on my back," I protested.
"I know, Philip, but the doctor says your retina is in its
normal position when your flat on your back and you gotta stay
that way till he says otherwise."
I groaned. The thick sand filled rolls pressed firmly
against my head; restricting movement.
"We're going to take off this big bandage today, Phil," the
doctor said quietly. "It's stuck down pretty good to your skin
but I'm going to be real careful taking it off. You let me know
if I'm hurting you in any way, ok?"
The patch came away, pulling ferociously at my facial skin. The
gauze was pulled away slowly. The doctor dabbed some antiseptic
smelling liquid around my eyelid and the eye lids then were
tenderly forced open. Light was blurry and I saw nothing but
shapes and shadows.
"I'll be back each day to check how things are going," the
doctor said. "Don't worry about not being able to see much this
first time. It always takes some time for an eye to recover."
This same scenario would be repeated again and again with the same
results. Sight dwindling until there was none.
"Mrs. Scovell," the doctor began, "we want to take a look in
your son's other eye this time and do some exploratory surgery."
"Why?" Mom questioned, worry in her tone. "Do you think his
other eye might be bad, too?"
"We're just not sure. That's the reason for the exploratory.
He won't feel any different, of course, except when he comes out
of his third surgery on his left eye, both his eyes will be
covered. I'll talk to him about it if you like."
"Yes, I think you should but I'll tell him, too."
"He's doing remarkably well, Mrs. Scovell, I mean," the
doctor hesitated, "in handling everything."
"Yes, he seems to be doing well" she responded
perfunctorily.
We descended the high stone stairway to the floor of the
park. The deep valley was cut low into the tall hills on either
side. So steep they were that i found it impossible to climb
their sides even on hands and knees. The ground was covered with
a blanket of millions of brown acorns. It was August. We had
just moved to Omaha. Mom had a job with the Bible college and
Ruth and I would be starting school in a couple of weeks. I
wasn't looking forward to going to a new school. I didn't know
anybody in Omaha. "Would I like it?" I wondered kicking acorns as
I walked and hands jammed into pockets. Dad had been dead nine
months and I had been through surgery three, or was it four,
times. The stone sidewalk sloped slowly down through the trees
perched high up on the hills on either side. "Kinda' pretty," I
thought. "I wonder how long it'll take to make some friends
here?"
The sidewalk ended, emptying at a pond. "All right!" i
said, my voice nearly cracking. Kids and adults stood about the
pond fishing, tossing pebbles, picnicking, and just strolling.
Our house was just four blocks from the park and this beautiful
pond, and a big one at that. I knew I was going to like this
place now. Picking up a rock, I heaved it far out across the
water. I never dreamed in less than three months, I would not be
able to see the beauty of the park or the pond ever again. The
rock smacked the water and sent up a tiny geyser of spray.
"Now Philip," the doctor said, "can you see this light?" I
said I could but it wasn't very bright. "How about now?" The
light moved.
"Yeah," I see it," I confirmed, "it moved to the left. The
light died.
"Can you see it now, Phil?"
"Yes," I replied but not very good," with some concern
touching my voice. The light faded completely.
"How about this?"
"Nope," I said, "nothin' now."
"I'm sorry Mrs. Scovell," the retinal specialist said with a
sigh, "there's absolutely nothing more we can do. He has some
light perception but not much."
"Will any of his vision clear up?" Mom said.
"No," he replied carefully, "there's no chance. In fact, he
will eventually get cataracts which will impede even what little
light perception he currently has." Waving his hand silently, he
motioned to the door and they stepped beyond my hearing. He
continued, "He may even get glaucoma, in which case, the eyes will
have to be removed."
"Removed!" she said with alarm.
"Yes," he confirmed, "but they make artificial eyes today and
you can't even tell they are prosthesis. Don't worry about that
right now, however. The best thing for you to do is to get Philip
into a school, a school for the blind, I mean."
"Oh, yes," Mom said, her voice halting, "I guess that would
be the best."
"Check with the services for the blind in Nebraska to find
out where the state school for the blind is there and they'll
help you make arrangements to get your son enrolled."
I screwed my eyes tightly shut as we walked from the darkened
hospital building into the dazzling Iowa sunshine. "The sun hurts
my eyes," I complained, holding my mother's arm tightly as we
walked to the car.
"We'll get you some sun glasses," she said softly; I couldn't
see the tears touching her cheeks, "just as soon as we can get to
a drugstore."
My newly developing sensory web registered the new sounds and
feelings all around me. I felt the hard sidewalk beneath my
shoes, I heard the swish as others passed, walking the opposite
direction. Birds chirped nearby..."I wondered if they're in the
trees or on the buildings." Cars hummed passed, and something
which sounded like a bicycle whizzed by. "What was that?" I said
a little too quickly.
"Someone on a bicycle road by," Mom confirmed.
"Oh," I responded, "I thought so."
The gravel crunched loudly beneath our feet as we stepped
into the parking lot.
"Here's the car Honey," Mom said placing my hand on the door
handle. I felt it's firmness, my fingers curled around it,
feeling for the button to press. It was warm from direct
sunlight. "I'll go around and unlock the door." I listened as
the keys rattled and the correct one was inserted. The engine
fired and I slid in.
"How do these fit?" Mom asked, adjusting the sunglasses on my
nose."
"OK," I guess."
"Well," Mom said a little flustered, "are they ok or not?"
"Yeah," I confirmed, "they'll do fine." I could hear the
exhaustion in her voice. I knew something was wrong and I knew
what that something was, but I refused to consider it. I was
gonna' get my sight back again. Sure! There wasn't anythin' to
worry about.
"Let's head home," she said, her words knifing through my
thoughts.
"OK," I agreed, "but can we stop and eat? I'm starved!"
"here's your sandwich," she said placing the hot burger in my
hand, "and a napkin." I felt the paper and its design but didn't
care what the design might be. We ate in silence, the car closed
up. It was November 13, 1964, and November in Iowa was generally
chill and windy.
"Dad died a year ago today," I said, realizing the
significance, my voice mouthing the words perfunctorily, and
wishing I hadn't spoken them.
"I know." Mom's voice was low, barely audible. Her plain
response carried the weight of hundreds of hours of suffering,
loneliness, and grief from the past twelve months. I felt the hot
tears burn my eyes, my blind eyes, as I sat in the car. I knew
what the doctor had said. I knew I was afraid. The car became a
tomb for mourners.
"We're on the edge of Des Moines," Mom said, the turn signals
clicking rhythmically. "I want to stop at Betty and Carl's
before heading back to Omaha."
"Ok," I said. "What ya' wanna do there? It's pretty late,
ain't it?"
"Don't say ain't," she corrected. "It isn't that late.
"It's dark; I can tell that" I protested.
"Well, we won't be there long. I just want to see them. I
don't know when we'll be back this way again. We'll be home
probably by eleven or so."
I heard the gravel crunch under the wheels as we entered
Betty and Carl's driveway. The car rose sharply like an
escalator as the car mounted their steep driveway. I had spent
many happy hours roller skating down their steep driveway with
Craig over the years. Their front yard was perfect for sledding
during winters. It was always so green, I recalled, as the car
jerked to a stop. "Let's go in," Mom said. "They've got someone
here it looks like because there was a car parked at the bottom of
their drive." Slamming my door, I took my mother's arm. We
climbed the front steps and knocked.
"Well, Noreen," Betty Falk's cheerful voice rang out, "come
on in, come on in."
"I didn't know you were having company," Mom said, "but I
just had to see you before leaving town."
"Oh, don't worry about that. Besides, you know these folks
anyway."
Familiar voices from Grandview Baptist Church could be heard
exchanging greetings. "Here's the couch Philip," Mom said. I
sat. My mind drifted as I heard the adults visiting. I thought
about the Falk's home. I could clearly see every room. "Funny,"
I thought, "how I can remember so many things so clearly like
that. I wish we could get home though. I haven't been home for
over a month. I want to get on my bike and ride for awhile."
Suddenly I was jerked back to the present like a tetherball.
"Mom's crying," I thought; "why?" I listened as she sobbed and
explained to her friends what the results of my final retinal
surgery had been. "The doctor says he'll never see again," she
sobbed. It was like I wasn't there. I felt far away; out in
space alone. "How could what she said be true?" I wondered.
"I'll see again. Sure! Just like always. I'll go home and in a
couple of weeks the bandage will come off and I'll see again.
Sure, Mom, you'll see. I'll be able to see just like normal
again. Don't worry."
"There's one more place I wanna' stop," Mom announced upon
returning to the car.
"Oh, Mom," I argued,"I wanna' get home. It's late."
"I know it," she replied apologetically while blowing her
nose, "but I want to see Bessie McDuffey."
"Oh," i said cheerfully, "that's different." I loved to
visit Bessie and Frank McDuffey. Frank, of course, was dead now
but I remember going to their farm many times to visit. They sure
were nice people and they liked kids. Besides, Bessie always had
dogs with which to play.
"Hello Noreen! Come on in and sit. Oh, and ya' brung Philip
with ya'. I'm so glad to see both ya'"
"Well, Bessie," Mom said with a sigh, "it's late and we need
to get back to Omaha."
"I'm sorry to see ya' leave so soon Noreen," Bessie said as
we walked out to her front yard, the screen door banging behind
us."
A little dog barked nearby.
"What was that?" I said enthusiastically.
"Oh, that's just a little dog friend of mine. Wanna' see
'em?"
"Sure," I said, "let's see 'im." Bessie brought her little
dog over to me and held him up for me to pet. "Oh," I said, "he
kinda' looks like old Corky."
"Ya', Mom confirmed, "he kinda' does."
"How is old Corky," Bessie asked.
"Oh," I said, "Corky ran away one day when we let him out
after movin' to Omaha. We aint never seen him since."
"Haven't," Mom corrected.
"So what ya' got for a dog then?" Bessie inquired.
"We aint...haven't got a dog now," I confessed.
"No Dog? What kinda' mother you got who don't let ya' have a
dog?" Bessie said laughing. Ya' gonna' let him get a dog Noreen?"
she said firmly.
"You have any he can take home with him now Bessie?"
"Well," she said, "I'm sorry, I just don't have any pups any
more. Wish I did 'cuz' I'd sure get ya' one right now if I did.
But say, why not take this here old dog. He's getting kinda old.
In fact," she said triumphantly, "this here dog was Corky's father
now that I think of it."
"Really," I said with astonishment. "This here dog was
Cork's dad?"
"You bet," Bessie confirmed. "You're sure welcome to take
him home right now if ya' wanna'."
"Can I Mom? Can we take him with us," I squeaked; completely
forgetting my blindness.
"I don't know why not," she replied. "Does he ride well
Bessie."
"Oh, sure. He gets along fine in the car...no problem
there."
Walking to the car, I slid in and held out my hands. "Let
me have him Bessie." He fit perfectly into my hands and as I
stroked his back I said, "Hey Bessie?"
"Yes, Honey"
"What's his name? I forgot to ask ya' his name."
"Oh, that's right. I forgot to tell ya' his name didn't I?
His name is Bingo and he's a fox terrier just like Corky."
"We're home Philip," Mom said with a yawn. I had felt the
car slow and then stop but didn't want to wake up. Bingo was
asleep next to me on the seat; my hand resting lightly on his
back. "Come on," she urged, "pick up your dog and lets go in."
It was after midnight when we mounted the stone steps and then up
unto the front porch. The house was quiet. "Do you need some
help finding your room?"
"No," i half whisper, "Bingo and I can make it alone." I
climbed the winding wooden stairs, listening to their creaking,
and found the door to my tiny room and placed my new dog on the
bed. "This is my room," I announced in a whisper. "Tomorra' I'll
show ya' around."
The next day was a new experience. I had never traversed our
new home in Omaha without sight. I could remember every room,
every step down the winding rickety stairway, the basement, the
yard, and even the houses and buildings surrounding our home. I
explored the house, slowly at first, but eventually moving through
it with confidence.
Feeling my way, I moved toward the basement and finding the
door to the stairs, I descended the steep stairs to the cool
basement below. It wasn't much but neither had been our basement
in Des Moines. I had my own private room down here and I moved
slowly; feeling for the latch on the door. There it was! The
door creaked open and I passed through. It had been an old coal
room and was small. There was a board stretched across the length
of the room; probably not more than six feet. I had dusted out
the little room and set up my model cars. This was where I had
built my most recent models. I explored the wooden surface; my
fingers probing cautiously for the models. There was the shoe box
I had used to place the cars inside one-by-one for spray painting.
I had seen that suggested in a model building magazine once and
had tried it for the first time on my latest model. There was my
glue; cap screwed on tightly. "Well," I thought, "at least my
sister hadn't fiddled with that again." My fingers touched a can
of spray paint. It felt cool. I picked it up and shook it. It
rattled. "I wonder if the other cans are here?" Feeling; I found
them and discovered all three were there. I even found the other
paints I used with a brush for the tiny model parts.
Searching further I eventually located the models. Touching
one, I picked it up and explored it carefully. It was the open
rail quarter miler I realized. It seemed as though I could almost
see it. I suddenly remembered that this room had no window and I
had forgotten to turn on the light. "Well," I mused, "don't need
it anyway." I allowed my fingers to touch the car and its many
parts cautiously; not wanting to break any of its fragile parts.
I had spent many hours working on the model. Actually, the model
was three cars in one. I had purchased the car from a nearby
store and after bringing it home, I was elated to discover that
the builder could either make one big car or three smaller ones.
I opted to construct three. This time I would do it differently
though. Before I had always constructed models haphazardly;
gluing and snapping parts together without hardly even glancing at
the instructions. This time I was careful to read over all the
instructions before even removing the model from its carton. I
examined the decals and decided which I would use and which I
would save. I extracted each level of parts and looked them over
before replacing them in the box. Laying the instruction sheet
down, I picked up the box and carefully examined the colorful
picture on the cover. "Yes," I thought, "I'm going to build this
model just like what I see on the box."
When I had finished, I had allowed the three cars to dry in
the coal room for a couple of days. My upstairs bedroom had a
book shelve for a head board which made an excellent place for my
display of recent masterpieces. I arranged them on the headboard
and sat on the bed to examine them. They were perfect. I had
painted each white plastic part carefully before assembly both
inside and out. I had even painted the interior. Their pale red
bodies, jet black tires and shiny chrome engine parts made them
miniatures of the real thing.
Suddenly the room felt cold and damp. "What's wrong," I
wondered. The plastic in my hands felt suddenly meaningless and
amorphous. I slowly replaced it on the shelf. I left the little
room. Somehow it didn't seem like I belonged any more.
Retracing my steps, I climbed the stairs to the kitchen.
"What you doing down there Philip?" Mom called. I could hear
dishes rattling.
"Oh, nothing much. I'm just kind of lookin' around."
"Well, we're going to eat lunch pretty soon so don't go too far
off," she instructed.
"I won't," I agreed. "I think I'm gonna go outdoors and look
around."
"Be careful out there," she said; a little too much concern in her
voice." I didn't answer.
I was standing next to the outside door at the top of the
stairs and tripping the latch, I pushed the door open. I stepped
out and closed the door behind me. I could hear the traffic on
Levenworth below. Although the house we lived in was terribly
small, it was situated in the neatest place or so I thought as a
kid. We were at the top of a tall hill. There were perhaps two
dozen stairs leading from street level to our front yard and
another three steps to the front porch. It was a nightmare
trying to move all our furniture in. My sister and I had to take
our bikes out through the back of the house and down a neighbor's
driveway just to get to street level. The hill in front, however,
was perfect for wintertime fun.
I knew I was standing at the roof level of a small shopette
which lay just on the other side of our fence. Although I could
no longer see it with my eyes, I could smell it. A bar and
restaurant was the establishment closest to our house. There were
tall bushes just over the fence, a small concrete walkway and then
the roof of the building. Before going blind, I had climbed
through those bushes often playing army; climbing over the roof
and peering down to the parking lot below. I stood now, seeing
the surroundings in my mind's eye. I moved forward cautiously
till my fingers encountered our fence. I could picture exactly
where I was and began moving down the fence to the back of the
house. I made a complete reconnoiter of the house ending back at
the side door.
"Philip," Mom called, "it's time for lunch."
Pulling the door to, I entered the tiny kitchen and felt for
the doorway into the dinning room.
"How'd you do outside?" Mom asked.
"Oh," I muttered, my mouth full of a toasted cheese sandwich,
"pretty good. It's almost like I can still see," I announced
confidently.
"You and ruth want to go up to the Bible college with me in a
little bit?" mom asked.
"What fer?" my sister and I both said in unison.
"Oh, no reason in particular. Just thought you'd like
something to do today."
"Naw," I said. "I'd kinda like to stick 'round home and
check things out Mom if that's ok."
"Well," she said hesitantly, "I guess that would be all
right. Ruth," she said picking up our plates, "would you mind
staying around in case your brother needs something?"
"Nope," was her only response.
"Mom," I protested, "I don't need anybody hangin' 'round me.
I can take care of my self you know."
I spent the rest of my day exploring the house and the yard.
I even traced the sidewalk leading to the steps and walked down to
the sidewalk below a few times getting used to the feel of the
terrain. I had little trouble finding my way about my own yard
and home. "soon," I thought, "I'll be gettin' my sight back and
won't have to worry about all this though."
"What'd you and Ruth do while I was gone?"
"Oh, nothin' really. I had her walk me down to the corner
and back just to see what it was like," I confessed.
"Well?" Mom inquired.
"Well what?" I said.
"How was it?"
"Oh," I said, understanding, "it was ok I guess."
"Hey," Mom," I asked, "could we all go down to that park
where the pond is tomorrow? That's a real neat park and I'd kind
of like to go."
"Well, I don't know why not. We don't have anything else
going on since it's Saturday. Let's go late in the morning and
I'll take some sandwiches and we can eat down there. How's that
sound?"
"Great!" I said with enthusiasm.
Holding my Mom's arm, we made our way to the park. "What
street is this Mom?" I asked. "How far is it? How much further
is it? What was that noise? Haven't we gone far enough yet?
Shouldn't we be there by now?"
"Calm down, Philip. We're just entering the park now," my
mother soothed.
"Let's go down to the pond first," I said pushing her arm, "I
wanna toss some rocks into the water."
"Hey," I said excitedly, "I can smell the water. We must
almost be there."
"that's right," Mom said with disbelief, "we are almost there
but I don't smell anything."
"Well, I do," I replied, sniffing the air. "It's water all
right. Let's hurry up."
We stood at the edge of the pond and I listened to all the
sounds. I heard someone's reel spin and the sinker striking the
water with a tiny crack. He reversed the reel and tightened the
line. "Hey," I said, "I should of brought my fishin' rod down
with me...I never thought of that. I wonder if there's many fish
in this place?"
"Well," Mom said, "maybe you can come down here sometime and
try fishing."
I could hear children laughing, swings creaking nearby, birds
singing, and people walking by. "Hey, Ruthy, help me find some
rocks and we'll toss a few into the pond."
"Okay," she said agreeably.
I felt about my feet and found a couple of small stones. I
tossed them high into the air and heard the splash. "It sounded
like it went quite a ways," I said, confidence framing my words.
"Yeah," my little eight year old sister said, "It went about
half way over."
We spent the afternoon walking through the park, riding the
swings, negotiating the jungle gym, climbing the tall slides,
tossing rocks into the pond, and rocking on the titter-todders.
Retracing the few blocks to our home, Mom said, "How'd you
enjoy the park Philip?"
"Oh," I yawned, "I really liked it. I always thought it was
a pretty neat place anyway. I'll have to come down here this
winter and ice skate."
"Ice skate?" Mom said;her voice forming a question mark. "Do
you think you can still ice skate?"
"Sure," I said, "why not? I wanna get my bike out pretty
soon, too," but Mom thought it wise to remain silent.
Pulling on my pajamas, I called Bingo. He came lumbering
into my bedroom and I lifted him to the bed. "My bed's kind of
small Bingo," I said, "but it's big enough for us both." Sliding
beneath the covers, I thought of the next day. I hadn't been to
church before under these conditions. I was worried about getting
around. I knew the church building well and could get around it
by myself but I wouldn't want to try and do that yet. How would I
get to my class? What would I do during class if the teacher
asked me to read a Bible verse? How would I get back to the
auditorium for the main service? I pulled Bingo closer and
stroked his head. "If you were bigger Bingo, you could be one of
those guide dogs I've heard about. You'd lead me around wouldn't
you boy?" I stopped petting my new dog and lay on my back
listening to the sounds about me. A car past on the street far
below. Ruth was whining about Mom brushing her hair. Saundra was
listening to her radio in her bedroom. Kay would be home from her
job at the hospital before long. Though I was fearful about
Sunday school, I knew it was only temporary. "I was gonna get my
sight back before long. Sure!" Tears began to trickle from the
corners of my eyes.
Sunday school worked out because I decided to stay with Mom
instead of going to my own class. Dick Arant had spoken to me but
the other kids had stayed away it seemed. Several adults had
spoken, asking how I was, but otherwise I was anxious to get home
to familiar surroundings.
"Hey, Mom," I said that afternoon, "you remember that book
you was readin' me when I was layin' on my back in the hospital?"
"Oh," she said, "you mean the Hey BC book?"
"Yeah," I agreed, "that's the one. Where is it?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Oh, no special reason. I'd like to have it. Can I?"
"Well," I guess so," she said putting down her needle and
thread. "Let me get it for you."
I listened to her move about the room, turning papers, moving
objects and then returning to the table where she had been
sowing. "Here it is Philip but I still don't understand why you
want it."
"Oh, I just kinda want it. Thanks."
Climbing the winding steps, I found my room and closed the
door behind me. trailing the corners of my bed, I rounded the
room till I came to the only window in my room. The November Sun
was streaming in brightly. I sat on the edge of my bed and
listened closely to make sure no one was coming. Holding the book
up to my face, I opened my eyes wide and stared. I could see red
and black colors on the face of the book but they were watery and
the light from the window hurt my eyes. Mom had read from this
book by the hour to me and I had often laughed at the stories of
the little prehistoric man known as Hey BC. I often lay on my
back in the hospital during those four weeks wishing I could read
it myself. I was a poor reader and hated reading out loud in
school. Though I stumbled over even the easiest of words, I Now
wanted to read more than ever. I held the book closer and
squinted attempting to distinguish letters on the cover. I
couldn't see anything except the blurry red and black. I closed
my eyes, shutting out the harsh light, and held the book with both
hands. "I'd see again," I mused, "I'd see again and when I did,
I'd read this little paperback book. I'd read it for myself...I'd
see again."
"Hey, Ruth said, her voice high and excited, "It's snowing
outside."
"Really," I said, "let's go out and see.
Walking down the steps, my sister and I walked into the open
air. The snow was falling in big flakes and the wind gusty.
"Hey," I exclaimed, "it really is snowing. Man, I hope it's a big
storm Ruthy cuz then we can play on this here big hill."
"Yeah," she agreed, "it'd make a pretty neat place to play
wouldn't it."
"Hey you kids," Mom said from the door, "get back in here.
You don't even have a coat on."
Returning to the warmth of the house I said, "Mom, it's gonna
be a big one...I can tell."
"Well, maybe," she agreed, "but I hope not."
"Oh, yeah," I said, "it's gonna be a big one and Ruthy and I
are gonna play out on that big hill of ours in the front. We can
play king on the mountain and build a snow fort and have a
snowball fight and we can get our sled out, you do know where our
sled is don't you, and we can build a big huge snowman, and we can
roll a big old snow ball, and..."
"Well, I don't know about that Philip," she said, "that's a
mighty steep hill out there and it empties right out on the
street."
Hearing the worry in her voice I said, "Oh, yeah, well, we'll
moved down the yard a ways where the hill is smaller and it won't
be no problem at all."
"Maybe," Mom said again, "we'll have to see how much snow
there's going to be." My little sister and I went to bed that
night praying the snow would continue to fall.
"Did it snow a lot?" I questioned first thing that next
morning.
"Yes," Mom affirmed with a sigh, "I'm afraid it did snow
several inches."
"Oh, great...that's just great. When we getta go out and
play," I said demandingly.
"Well," let's eat some breakfast and then we'll get your
clothes ready and you and Ruth can go out for awhile."
My sister and I spent most of the day playing in the fresh
snow. We came in several times to warm, drink hot chocolate, and
change into warm clothes. It all was a new experience for me and
I tried everything as though testing myself to see if it was all
the same. I had to keep my eyes closed tightly much of the time
because the bright light reflecting off the newly fallen snow
felt like needles penetrating my watery vision.
"Mom, Ruthy and I are gonna play a little longer on the
hill."
"It's getting dark though Philip," my mother said hesitantly.
"I really don't like you playing out there in the dark. Besides,
it's really getting cold out there."
"ah, Mom," I said, "It ain't that cold and besides, our
clothes are warm. You can turn on the porch light and there's
street lights out there, too...I remember seein' 'em. Let us play
some more...please?"
"Well, all right. I guess you can for awhile."
Pulling on gloves and boots again, Ruth and I bounded out the
door. "Let's go down in front of our neighbor's house," I
suggested, "cuz their hill ain't as steep as ours and we can play
king of the mountain. We ain't done that yet today."
"Okay," Ruth agreed guiding me across the yard.
We played on the hill for several minutes, sliding down and
then attempting to climb up again. "It's too steep still," I said
to my sister. I can't climb back up cuz I keep sliding down." We
decided to play near the steps so that when we wanted to return to
the top of the hill, we only needed to walk up the stairs to
achieve the top.
"Hello," a girl said.
"Whose that?" I questioned.
"My names Jenny," she said. I live a block up the street in
the green house."
"Oh, well, that's good," I said a little hesitantly, not
wanting anyone to intrude.
"What's your name?"
"I'm Ruthy and this here is my older brother Philip," my
sister said before I could answer.
"Oh, that's nice," the new comer said. "Can I play with you
guys?"
"Well, I guess so," I replied, "we're plain' king on the
mountain."
"How is that played?" she wanted to know.
"Well," I said clearing my throat, "one person stands at the
top of the hill and tries to push the other people back down the
hill when they come up. Who is ever standing at the top at the
last is the king and we just keep doing that over and over again."
"That sounds fun," she said, "let's do it."
We played for some time in the gathering darkness; the porch
and street lights our only illumination. It was getting cold and
the snow felt icy. Our clothes and gloves were getting damp. I
would roll to the bottom of the hill and then feel my way along
the sidewalk till my out stretched arm came in contact with the
hand rail of the steps. Sometimes, when I was too far down the
sidewalk, my sister would guide me to the rail and I would once
again ascend alone. The little neighborhood girl took part in the
game and often showed me the rail herself. Our laughter drifted
across the snow covered yards as we played; our breath condensing
in the frozen winter air.
Finally, rolling to the bottom of the hill once again, I got
to my feet and felt for the rail. It wasn't there. I walked
several more feet and still couldn't find it. "Hey," I said,
"where's the rail...am I going the right direction?"
The new friend my sister and I had made came near and as she
breathed heavily through her scarf, she said, "What's matter with
you? Why we got to always show you where that rail is?"
"The world suddenly began to loose its spin; slowing on its
axes. The frigid air seized my body in a death grip and my heart
stopped. I could feel the blood pumping in my ears. "She doesn't
know, I thought, she doesn't know I'm blind."
"Well," she prodded.
"Cuz I'm blind," I said sharply, my voice sounding like a
pistol crack in the cold air. Hot tears spilled from my eyes.
Ruth was crying now, too, and she guided me down the frozen empty
street to our house. We mounted the stairs, crossed the snowy
sidewalk to our porch, and stumbled into the house; our sobbing
clearly heard.
"What's the matter," Mom said apprehensively as she helped us
pull off our frozen clothes. "Did you get hurt out there?"
"No, No," I said barely able to speak. "Ruth?" Mom
questioned, "what happen?"
"He," she began haltingly, "he..." and sobbed loudly; unable
to continue.
I sat in my mothers lap in the living room crying
uncontrollably attempting to explain what had happened.
Eventually I was able to tell my mother that I suddenly realized I
was blind and that I was never going to see again. The wall had
closed in around me. She held me close, rocking and silently
crying with me till I fell asleep, wondering how her little boy,
her only son, would adjust to his blindness; wondering how she
would adjust herself.