< Previous page

But increasingly, the center's other goal -- helping blind people live independently -- becomes more important, as elderly people whose working lives are behind them are accepted into the program. Whether the aim is employment or independence, however, neither will be realized unless a blind person can get around.

Take it away, Ken Swaringen.

Getting the rhythm

"I want to teach you the proper rhythm," Swaringen says as Broadnax hefts a cane in his hand. It's early in Broadnax's residency at the center, when he's still focused on basic tasks, and he's about to learn that something so seemingly simple as tapping a cane on the sidewalk involves more choreography than people understand.

Moments before, Broadnax learned an even more basic lesson. Swaringen explained that it's best to hold the cane palm-up, rather than palm-down. The reason, Swaringen said, is that sometimes the cane's tip will come against an immovable object such as a curb, with the result being that the cane slides through the hand and into the body. If you hold the cane palm-up, its handle is directed upward. If you hold it palm-down, it could hit you in a spot particularly painful to men.

The light bulb went off over Broadnax's head: "I got the message there."

But cane-tapping isn't quite as easy to grasp as cane-holding. It takes practice. Swaringen tells him to swing the cane side to side about an inch off the ground and that each swing should extend only a little beyond Broadnax's shoulders. Furthermore, he should tap the ground at the end of each swing, and each tap should occur in unison with the step of Broadnax's opposite foot. That's the rhythm part, which is important for stride and balance.

Lest you think this is easy, ponder just the most obvious difficulty: When you can't see the ground, how do you keep the cane's tip only an inch above it?

As Broadnax discovers, it's easy to swing the cane in too wide an arc. But when he concentrates on the swing, he tends to get out of rhythm. It takes him a number of trips down the center's main corridor before everything starts to click. Still, Broadnax does better than many pupils.

Swaringen: "Excellent coordination. You're a bit of a musician, right?"

Broadnax: "Uh-huh. Bass [guitar]."

Swaringen: "Yeah, that helps."

Before the day is done, Swaringen has drilled Broadnax in other techniques. There's "squaring off," for instance, in which Broadnax presses his heels against a wall or curb so that he can launch himself at a 90-degree angle to cross the street. "Shorelining" means he taps the cane against the wall of a building as he walks until it taps no more -- Broadnax's clue that he has approached an intersection at the end of a block. Swaringen also tells him about the importance of feel and sound, how a change in the texture of the pavement or the noise of an approaching vehicle can alert him to danger.

It's a lot to absorb in one day, which is why Swaringen decides that the challenge of staircases can wait for another time.

Hits and misses

Over the course of 16 weeks, Broadnax is instructed in the many other ways in which he can compensate for his failing eyesight. He spends time with Patricia Sikes, a vision specialist whose job it is to determine whether various technologies will help Broadnax be able to read printed words -- actually see them, not feel them through Braille. He spends time with Laura O'Neal, who instructs Broadnax in how to use special software that allows him to operate a computer.

The results are mixed. O'Neal reports that Broadnax "has done really well," particularly with a program that recites every keystroke when used for writing and recites every word when used for reading. "He's much ahead of the game because he came in here with computer [skills]," she says.

But an afternoon in the low-vision clinic revealed that reading the old-fashioned way -- eye to page or screen -- is perhaps an insurmountable task for Broadnax. Even with the use of special glasses and a video magnifier to enlarge the words, it takes Broadnax several tortured minutes to make out a single sentence: "My sister will not go to school until next year."

As the weeks pass, Broadnax also spends time in various kitchens and labs, learning the basics of life as a blind man: preparing food, tidying a room and discerning whether a shirt is clean enough to wear. But it's not as though Broadnax isn't already getting real-life experience in these matters. One recent weekend, his wife, Mary, asked him to wipe the kitchen counter and mop the floor, and she waved away anticipated objections by pointing out that there isn't a particular trick to it: Just keep wiping and wiping. He'll get all the grime up eventually.

"That honey-do list is always going to be there," Broadnax says.

He's not the only person making an adjustment. The whole Broadnax family has to get accustomed to this new shift in life.

Ronald Broadnax

AGE: 53.

HOMETOWN: Eden.

CURRENT HOME: Durham County, near the Oak Grove crossroads.

FAMILY: wife Mary, sons Ronald Jr. and James.

COLLEGE: N.C. A&T State University.

OCCUPATION: electrical engineer with IBM, retired.

AILMENT: retinitis pigmentosa, a progressive, incurable condition that typically leads to blindness.

RANDOM FACT: Broadnax was the youngest of nine children.

< Previous page