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by Jack Houghtlin
World War II blinded veteran Jack Houghtlin was an active member of the BVA Ohio Regional Group and was, with his wife, Irene, a major impetus behind the success of the Cleveland West Side Low Vision Veterans Support Group. Jack passed away in February. Although best known for his word puzzles, which he faithfully produced on his computer for the support group’s newsletter, LUVV NOTES, Jack was also a successful writer. The following is one of Jack’s classics that appeared in “Veterans Voices” (Summer, 1992) and was reprinted in the SCAN Newsletter of the Cleveland Sight Center.
Have you ever given any thought to a fall?
The sighted person will look to see what is in his way. He thinks: “Can I avoid that chair, that end table, that toy? Shall I fall on my knees or try to turn around to fall on my posterior?”
If you are sighted, you do this in the wink of an eye. Being blind puts a whole new feeling to falling. You wonder what is in front of you—is it sharp, is it glass, or is it a child, an embankment, or a set of stairs? As you are going down, it seems to take forever. If you are thinking logically, you let go of your cane. That does not seem to be a difficult thing to do, but you have learned to depend on that white stick as a replacement for your eyes.
You would be amazed, however, at the damage your “old friend” can cause. No matter what they have taught you about falling, you now have only one thing on your mind: Please let the ground be grass, or at least something soft. As you lie there thinking how lucky you have been, everyone wants to help. You wonder where they were as you were going down. Not that they could have helped, but just where were they?
At this point in time, you begin to wonder where your sighted guide is. Suddenly, you realize that the train you thought you heard coming is actually your guide screaming in your ear. At the end of the scream or shortly thereafter, you lie on the ground and check out your various parts. If you have no pain, you try to stand up. That accomplished, you check later for the possibility of bruises or crushed blood vessels.
Having accomplished all of this in one day, you are now ready to start all over again. Chin up, head to the front, white cane at the ready, and here we go. Remember, you are the only one who can take on all of life’s small disasters and come up smiling.
I had two bad falls in the early years of being blind. On the first one, I think I must have run a half-mile feeling for soft grass to land on before I actually went down. I must have been some pretty picture. The second fall was just straight down and then out. But, as I essentially mentioned before, there is little choice but to get up and go at it again.
I hope you sighted people now have a better idea as to what happens when “The Fall of a Blind Man” comes to pass.
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