Section D. General Rules for Helpers
i. Ask if help is needed.
This may seem obvious, but it can save a lot of trouble. Here’s an example.
When I was in the Boy Scouts, I was posed with a problem in a class in first aid. You’re walking in the park on a sunny day, and see a man laying on the ground next to a tree. What life saving steps should you immediately do?
What would you do? Start checking for wounds, bleeding, or broken bones? Do you start mouth to mouth, or CPR? Should you call for help? What should be the first step in saving this man’s life?
Did you guess any of the options I listed in the above paragraph? You just blew the test, and might even have a law suit against you.
What’s the name of this section? “Ask if help is needed. Ask if the blind person needs help.”
Even if the man in my illustration was in real danger, the first thing you do is give him a firm shake, and ask in a loud voice, “Are you alright? Do you need help?”
Either the man will remain unconscious, and you can begin life saving steps, or he’ll be awake, and will tell you if he needs help. Trying to jump right in with mouth to mouth could win you a black eye, if all the man was doing was napping. .
If you start ripping off his shirt, because you dive right into doing cPR, there could be real trouble for you.
The same can be said for helping a blind person. Ask first. Ask if they need help. Ask what kind of help they might need.
ii. No, means no.
I was out for a walk around the block while visiting in Chicago. The little bit of exercise went well until approaching the last corner before returning to my building. My cane swept across the sidewalk ahead of me, reporting the cracks and seams were all in the right direction. The side walk was wide, I wasn’t stumbling, and there were no apparent hazards in sight. I knew a slight driveway was coming up, where the dumpster was in back of the building. Just a few dozen more steps to the street, one more turn, then a straight shot to my door. Almost home.
Suddenly, from across the street, on the opposite side, and from beyond the upcoming street, someone yelled out, “Stop! Watch out!” The sound of feet came racing from the bus stop that I knew was diagonal, across the intersection. Before the first syllable was uttered, the runner took a direct path, diagonal through the intersection, and was jay walking… make that jay running right for me. “What kind of crazy man is this?” I asked myself. “Racing across 4 lanes of traffic, and diagonal through the intersection.”
Just about the time he reached me, he started shouting, “I’ll take you! I’ll take you.”
It was about that time my cane tapped the sign that I knew was at the other side of the dumpster driveway. Mr Helper let out a sound like he was gut punched as the cane slapped against the metal post, making a clang. I didn’t know it was somehow illegal, or offensive to hit a post with a stick but it made him cringe as if he were the one struck.
“What?” I asked him. Wondering what he meant by, “I’ll take you.” This is the city. For all I knew he was in a gang, and I picked the wrong colors to wear today. . He must have read my mind, and started over. “I’ll take you where you’re going”
This caught me by surprise. How does he know where I’m going? “Do you know me? How do you know…” My question and my next foot step was cut short. He grabbed my coat sleeve and started tugging on it. “Come on, come on, let’s go.” There was urgency in his voice. “What was he up to,” I thought. “Is he afraid of missing his bus? Why the hurry, and urgency? Why is he so willing to walk me somewhere that he doesn’t know where it is, and doesn’t have time to waste in getting me there? Or take the time to ask me where I was going?”
Did I mention? I’m 6 foot, 5 inches, and weigh over 260 pounds. Little guys like this don’t come around harassing big guys like me unless they have some kind of equalizer. Is he trying to rob me? I decided to stop talking to him until he made more sense. I planted my feet, reached out to the sign post, and wrapped an elbow around it to anchor myself to the spot.
“I don’t need help,” I told him, although he didn’t stop his litany of, “Come on, I’ll help you. I’ll take you.” His tugging on my coat sleeve was persistent the whole time.
“Stop.” I told him. “Tell me how you know me, and tell me where you plan on taking me.” He only tugged with more urgency, repeating, “I’ll take you, come on.”
I was growing tired of this little game, and I fell back into my Marine Corps training. I slowly, and deliberately folded the segments of my white cane to the size of a night stick, and with my elbow still refusing to budge from its anchor on the sign post, I looked right into where I knew his face to be.
“Let go of my arm.” I said in a flat voice that gave all the dispassion I had at the moment, and with the dispassion I was about to demonstrate the techniques learned in years of hand to hand combat training.
“Let go of my arm,” I repeated. I wasn’t going to say it again. My next move, in the time of my evenly spaced warnings was going to be a thrust with my pseudo nightstick.
He stopped with about half the time left on his countdown clock. Either he recognized my stance, and the folded cane, or he just got tired of grabbing me.
I think it might have been the first option. Though he let go, he kept his distance as he walked a few paces ahead of me to the corner, jabbering about… I don’t know what… He hadn’t made any sense through his entire tirade.
The upcoming corner is one without any grass next to it to indicate the edges, or sidewalk intersection. just flat concrete in all directions that leads to the blend in the crosswalk that wheelchairs use. A little tricky, but it does have a mail box to use as a landmark though. Because of this, yu end up needing to go a step past the sidewalk intersection. All it means is that once the mailbox is located, just take a half step back then make the turn right up the walk, and back home.
As I found my mark, Mr Helpful was still rambling on about taking me somewhere. He noticed I didn’t follow him into the street to cross over. As I made my turn, he tried to help me across the street. “Hey, come on. It’s safe to cross. Why are you waiting. Hurry up. Come on. Hey! You’re going the wrong way!” And all this last bit of helpfulness while standing out in the middle of the street.
“No thank you.” I reminded him. “I still don’t know how you know me, or where you plan to take me.” I cut off any further protests by walking to my door, and I think he was still insisting to take me where I wanted to go as I entered the door to my building, and went to my destination.
Moral of the story: No, means no. Although, I would gladly had Mr Helpful escort me right to my door if he wanted to. All he would have had to do was listen to me. I would have told him exactly what kind of help to benefit me the best. He might have learned something, and so would I.
iii. Yes doesn’t mean free license.
I was in Chicago to do some training. Every day I rode the train from my residence, to where I was working downtown. The train station was conveniently on the same block as my building. All I had to do was exit the turnstiles, and walk straight up a flight of stairs. The stairway came out right in the middle of the sidewalk, so I only needed to keep going straight to the corner, turn left, cross an alley, and listen for the revolving door as people entered in the morning. Simple.
In the afternoon, the process is reversed. About the only worry is finding that stairway in the middle of the sidewalk. Still, all you need to do is listen for your fellow pedestrians, and follow them to the entrance.
One afternoon, a lady stopped me to offer to help me find my train. I politely refused her assistance day after day. Finally, I decided to quit arguing with her. If she wanted to feel warm and fuzzy because she helped a poor little old blind guy… a poor little old blind guy who was probably a foot and a half taller, and a hundred pounds heavier than her… I thought I’d let her.
She offered her usual help. I told her yes. I just needed her to get me to the top of the stairs. That’s all. I even reviewed the route we should take, and the position of the stairs in the sidewalk, as we began our little journey.
As we walked, the next thing I knew, there was a busy intersection behind us. There was no need to cross that intersection. She had apparently hit the corner just as the light changed, and didn’t break stride as she blew past it.
What would you do? Let her take you to a station you’ve never been to before, and hope you could figure it out… and make the connection from that line to yours? At that time of day, there was only a few more trains that ran in the direction to get me back home. Despite my insistence on returning to the intersection to get back on course, she only grew into a confused state.
If you would happily go along for the ride with this lady, good for you, but that’s not what I wanted Even though I explained exactly the help I wanted, she chose to give the help she wanted to offer.
I broke away from her, and made it back to the street while traffic was still stopped. Breaking a few safe mobility rules, I dashed across, and headed for my stairway. All the while, the lady kept calling out that I was going the wrong way. Right up to the point I stepped down the stairs to disappear from her sight. I could hear her fading voice in the distance finally saying something like, “Oh, that’s the station you wanted.”
Moral of the story: If you get the green light to offer help, make sure the help is what was asked for. Don’t assume that any old help will do, just because it looks convenient to you.
iv. It’s OK to explore.
Staying on the beaten path is fine, but it doesn’t mean a blind person is lost if he strays from it a little bit. In a dorm I used to stay in it wouldn’t be uncommon to visit down the hall, or by the security guard desk at the entrance, or just sit in the lobby, sipping on a beverage. As sometimes happens when in one of these distant places, the urge to visit the restroom might arise. I’d have to excuse myself, and make the walk back to my room.
Another blind person was with me during one of those instances, and asked why I always went back to my room to do my business. “Where else is there?” I asked.
“Right here,” he said. “There’s a rest room right down the hall, the second door on the right.”
“Really?” I asked, “Nobody ever told me there was one there.”
“It’s because people who can see the sign forget us blind guys can’t see it, even though we walk right past it every day.” he said. “They just assume we know it’s there.”
We headed down the hall, right past the security guard who apparently watched us as we made our way to check out this most sacred of places that no sighted person felt it was could somehow improper to clue in a blind guy of its existence. As I recall, I Was in the lead. My cane tip hit the second door. I opened the door, stepped inside, then heard the security guard’s voice from behind us.
“Hey, you’re going the wrong way.” It was highly unusual for him to see a blind guy not making a beeline, straight down the hallway, and sticking to the tried and true paths of routine.
I heard my friend comment as I ducked inside, “He has to go to the restroom. Is that OK?” OK, I could have done without my friend’s remark, but discovering this new territory was like standing on holy ground. maybe I should have taken my shoes off while I was in there.
Another time, I was walking with someone, and they suddenly disappeared. I stopped and asked where they were. There wasn’t any response for a moment, then they remarked they were just stopping to get a drink from the water fountain. Another example of having a resource close by, but having nobody point it out, and if you were to explore the hallway, sighted people might think either you’re lost, or maybe crazy or weird for exploring the things that are clearly obvious to them. everybody knows that halls are for walking in, not stopping to check out obstacles, or have a drink of water.
Exploring can look weird. To find out how big a room is, or to see what kind of furnishings it has, you just have to walk down a wall, feeling for windows, doors, bookshelves, chairs, artwork, light switches, fire extinguishers, and anything that could be interesting. It’s not how sighted people survey their surroundings. They can just sit there, and give the place a sweep with their eyes and they’re good. It looks strange to go around checking things out with your hands. It freaks sighted people out, and they think you’re lost.
Well, maybe sometimes you might be lost, but only because nobody let you explore around to see what’s really there.
Moral of the story: Exploring is OK. As strange as it looks, let blind people do it. Sure, ask them if they’re lost, or need help finding something. Just don’t be freaked out when they tell you they’re just looking around.
v. word to motorist. don’t offer a ride.
Don’t expect the blind person to know who you are, identify yourself. You should expect your offer to be turned down, but offering is OK
Picture yourself driving down the road, and you see someone tapping along with a white cane. Your Good Samaritan instincts kick in, and you want to offer a ride.
You pull up, and announce out your car window, “Get in. I’ll take you where you want to go.” You get ignored, and depending on how much you persist, maybe even a rude comment.
What’s wrong with this picture? Let’s look at it from the other side.
You’re a blind person walking down the sidewalk, fully aware of where you are, where you’re headed, and how much time it’s going to take to get there. A car slows down and trails alongside at your walking speed. You’re thinking, “Creepy. I hope he’s just getting ready to pull into a driveway.”
You don’t know anybody in this neighborhood, when you hear the driver invite you into his car. Your mind runs the possibilities. It’s a stalker, a kidnapper, a rapist, a predator who robs and abuses blind or disadvantaged people. Is there a cop around here? How far is it to my next street crossing, or to a safe doorway to step into? I don’t know what this guy looks like to report him if something bad should happen.
What should the helpful driver do? Keep right on driving. Don’t offer help, or ask where the blind person is going. Don’t offer directions. What makes a blind person will automatically hop into the car of a stranger?
Thank you for the concern, good citizen, but you don’t realize the distraction, and fear factor of the unknown you just kicked up. Is there eminent danger, like torn up sidewalk, or an obstacle? Go ahead, and alert the pedestrian, and let them find their own way around it. It may look as if they’re ignoring you, but trust me. Once they get within 2 steps of it, the distance the white cane typically extends, they’ll stop and go around.
Moral of the story: The blind person is in more control of what they’re doing than you might think. Even if it may look like they’re not.
vi. What’s obvious to you, may not be to a blind person.
This seems like a no brainer. Hey, blind people can’t see, so of course they can’t tell what you can by looking at it. Still, it’s amazing how many people forget this.
Misplaced Cake.
I was sitting at a table during a Sunday School class. I have my lesson material in digital form, and use my laptop to read and follow along. It’s a laptop. I use it on my lap, so the table in front of me tends to be open. All the better to set my cup of coffee on, and not spill it on anything.
When there are snacks, I might have it placed next to my cup. Easy access. Simple.
One day, a piece of cake was served, and the one serving it told me, “It’s right here, next to your coffee cup.” Cool, how can this story go wrong?
Since it takes two hands to eat sticky cake with a fork, and since I wanted to focus on class, I opted to hold off on the cake until the time between class, and going to the meeting hall.
I picked up my coffee. took a sip. I sat it down. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Then a helpful lady across the table reminded me, “You have cake here too.” Cool, no problem. People are watching out for me. Not likely I’d forget a thing like cake, but strange things have been known to happen.
I picked up my cup. Took a sip. I sat it down… or tried to… Something’s on the table. Maybe my muscle memory is off. I move my cup to the left a little. Still something there. I try the right. Still something there. I start to find the edge of the table, and gently slide my cup into position, nudging the obstacle aside.
Before I got that far, a commotion was raised over the abomination of a ruined cake.
I still didn’t quite get it, but it seems that the helpful lady made the astute observation that my cake was yet untouched.
She did the obvious.
Certainly I would partake of the yummy cake if it were right in front of me where I could… see it better? Noticing the empty spot, front and center, while I was sipping from my cup, and unknown to me, the nice lady moved the cake to the spot where my coffee cup obviously had been dethroned from the prized patch of table top real estate. .
Needless to say, the mess was cleaned up, and all got a embarrassed chuckle out of it.
The moral of the story: It was obvious to me where my coffee belonged. It was obvious to the lady the cake should take center stage. She saw my missing cup as the tip off to fix the obvious problem. I didn’t pick up on her obvious clue that she rearranged the priorities.
I get it that you’re reminding me about having cake. It just isn’t obvious to me that you actually moved it.
Bottom line… thanks for the concern, and the desire to help. All I ask is that you ask if I need help before you give it. Ask what kind of help would be most helpful, and give only that. If you give help, explain what you just did, so I know what to expect.
PS: If you enjoyed this little excerpt, be sure to let me know. Share it on your social medias. It will encourage me to continue writing more of the chapters in my personal journey through blindness. if you think it’s just dumb, tell me that too, and I can put my energies into other projects.