WHERE AM I?
                         by Peggy Pinder

     From the Editor: The most recent of the little paperbacks in
the Kernel Books series of publications produced by the National
Federation of the Blind is titled The Journey. The following
article is taken from the book. It was written shortly before
Peggy Pinder became Peggy Elliott. In both guises she is Second
Vice President of the National Federation of the Blind and
President of the NFB of Iowa. This is what she has to say. It
begins with Dr. Jernigan's introduction: 
     Peggy Pinder is no stranger to readers of previous Kernel
Books. Here she tells of experiences she had as a teenager--
experiences which laid the foundation for her career as a
successful blind lawyer:
     I am a lawyer, living in Iowa with a Yale Law School degree,
five years of prosecutorial experience behind me, and a private
practice. I am also blind.
     In the course of my practice I have appeared in courts in
states other than my own. When this is done, the out-of-town
lawyer needs to have a local lawyer to help with local
procedures. I was representing a blind woman several years ago in
a case in a different state. As we had worked things out between
us, I was serving as lead counsel, and he was second chair. As
the terms imply, the lead counsel sits in the first chair,
nearest to the judge.
     When we walked into the courtroom, I happened to be in front
of Allan, the local person, when we reached the bar. I walked
through the gate first, around the table to the plaintiff's side,
and up to the first chair. Allan followed and stood behind the
second chair. I could tell he was bemused by something as he made
the introductions, but I didn't learn until later just what had
happened.
     As I came around the table and stopped behind the first
chair, the judge nearly fell off the bench, motioning to Allan to
enforce usual courtroom procedure. It never occurred to the judge
that I might be a lawyer. He knew the plaintiff was a blind
woman, and he assumed I was she. He presumed I did not know where
I was or where I was going and that I was inadvertently breaking
courtroom etiquette which dictates that the plaintiff sit in the
seat farthest from the judge. He hoped to remedy the situation by
silent hand and facial motions between himself and my lawyer so
that court could proceed with everyone in their proper places.
     Without ever indicating to the judge that he understood the
signals, Allan as a good local lawyer quickly and efficiently
made introductions, identifying me as lead counsel. He also
mentioned that the plaintiff (as is permissible) was not there
for argument on the motion. The judge subsided.
     I only wish the judge had spoken directly to me and
straightened out the misunderstanding with me instead of
attempting to do it silently and without my knowledge. I think I
would have felt better about it if he had. But I also would have
understood very well how he reached the conclusion that I did not
know where I was, because for years I thought the same thing.
     When I first lost my sight, I was suddenly the only blind
person I knew. There were no role models of successful, capable
blind persons in my life. I only knew what I thought blind people
could do: not much. I thought that college would be impossible
for me now, that a job was out of the question, that these
considerations were far too abstract to worry about because I now
had a much bigger problem on my hands: how would I know where I
was if I was blind? 
     I had always known where I was with visual cues--street
signs, the appearance of buildings, store names above the doors,
tables and chairs in a room. Now, as a blind person, none of this
was available to me. How would I know where I was? The best way
to handle this problem was never to go anywhere. So I mostly
didn't.
     My family urged me to get out and do things like everybody
else. I did every now and then, just to please them. But I didn't
like it, and I did as little as I could. I didn't have any skills
in getting information as a blind person, and I didn't have any
way of finding any. I didn't know any other blind people who
could get around on their own. I figured it couldn't be done. 
     And, when my family insisted that a blind person could do
things, I would say to myself: "Yeah, sure. That's easy for you
to say. But you don't have to do it and feel stupid and clumsy
and not know where you are. You have your sight. That makes all
the difference." I knew they meant well, but they couldn't teach
me the skills. They didn't know them, and they didn't use them.
     All this occurred during high school, a hard time anyway for
people to live through. My adolescence completely disappeared
behind a wall of lack of confidence and certainty of failure. You
put up a brave front and say words like independence and
employment, but you just don't believe it.
     Then I found other blind people. It was quite by accident,
and I am still grateful for that turn of fate. I encountered a
blind person walking normally, setting his own course, deciding
where he was going, and knowing where he was. We didn't speak. I
just observed him as he passed by. And from that observation I
was sure that he knew where he was, not only in the building we
were in, but in his life as well. I wanted to be able to do that.
     I found out where he had learned to move about so
confidently. There was a training program, run by blind people
with blind people as teachers. But that wasn't all. They were
self-confident, successful, good at getting around. They knew
where they were, and they were willing to teach me the skills. I
was initially hesitant. Then I jumped in with both feet.
     My sister has recently told me a story from that era. I
don't remember this at all, but it is a very clear childhood
memory of hers. She is my baby sister, the one born eight years
after me, for whom I was the attentive big sister. When I lost my
sight, it didn't matter to her. I was still her big sister, the
one who had always taken care of her.
     My sister and my mom came to visit me, she says, when I had
been at the training program only a few weeks. While Mom talked
with the teachers, I grandly announced that Martha and I were
going for a walk. We come from a town of 8,000, and the program
was in a town of 250,000. Lots of noise, lots of traffic, lots of
ways to get hurt if you don't know what you are doing or where
you are. My sister says that she remembers very clearly that my
mom didn't hesitate. If I said I could take Martha for a walk,
then Mom believed that I could. Martha, of course, never
questioned whether I could. I was the big sister who had always
taken care of her.
     As I say, I remember none of this. Martha says now that the
idea of our going for a walk must have been more than a simple
matter to Mom. Here was her blind daughter, barely into the
training program, planning to take the eight-year-old baby of the
family out into the streets of a big city. But Martha says that
Mom didn't hesitate. We left.
     I promptly got lost. Martha says that, as we walked (always
safely on the sidewalk and crossing with the lights, of course),
it slowly dawned on her that I didn't know where we were. But she
says that this didn't bother her since she knew her big sister
would figure out what needed to be done. Martha says that I
started asking her what she saw and, when I got vague answers,
would insist on her being precise about the location and angle
from us that the objects were. As I got some more information, I
figured out where we were and how to return to Mom. Martha says
that, looking back, she does not remember any sense of worry or
panic. She knew I would take care of her.
     As I practiced under the guidance of fellow blind people to
learn new ways of gathering information and using it to travel
about safely and efficiently, the incidents of my not knowing
where I was grew fewer and fewer. This was because my skill and
my confidence were both being increased under practice and with
the guidance of experienced blind persons. I was learning to know
where I was.
     The other thing that happened was that, when I did lose
track of where I was, I learned how to find my way again. Using
information as I was being taught by other blind people, I was
learning what my little sister already knew--that I could find my
way even when I had temporarily lost it. In fact, the final test
in my training was for the teacher to get me disoriented
deliberately and then to drop me off several miles from the
training center. Using my own common sense and my developing
skills, I had to find my way back. I did. That was the final
proof to me that, even when I didn't know where I was, I could
find out.
     My family believed in me and encouraged me. But they didn't
know the skills, and they couldn't be role models. I could always
dismiss them as "not really understanding." But other blind
people, doing what I thought I couldn't, had taught me by their
example, by their explicit instruction, by their generosity, that
I could know where I am, both geographically and in the shaping
of my own life. The lesson of learning to travel safely and
efficiently, while it was vital in itself, spilled over into the
rest of my view of myself. I found the self-confidence that I had
once so envied in that other self-confident blind person as he
walked by.
     My blind teachers, my blind friends, my blind colleagues:
all learned their self-confidence through the National Federation
of the Blind, and I have learned also that the Federation is
vital to my life. Not only did the Federation through its
thousands of members around the country teach me how to believe
in myself, the Federation also taught me something more. 
     It doesn't have to be the way it was for me. If blind
children can be reached, if their parents can be reached, if
persons who lose their sight can be reached at an early point
with the same message and the same examples and the same
opportunities to learn where they are, then these blind men and
women, boys and girls can learn right away what it took me so
very long to learn: that as a blind person you can know where you
are and you can know where you are going and you can make those
decisions for yourself.
     That is my hope for the Federation, that we can reach blind
people and sighted citizens as well with our message. My little
sister had it right all along. It took me a little longer to get
there. The judge hasn't quite figured it out yet. But, if we in
the Federation keep spreading the message, he will.
     Where am I? In the National Federation of the Blind and
grateful to be there, grateful for the chance I received from
Federation members and grateful for the chance to pass it on to
others.