by Michael Moran
When I moved back to Jersey City, N.J. in 1966, things had changed. Many of my high-school friends had moved on. Some were in college, others were in the military, becoming adults, or venturing off on their life journeys. I had been living in Baltimore, Md. since September of 1964, attending the Maryland School for the Blind (MSB) and Baltimore Junior College (BJC). I was nearing a crossroads in my life. I knew some things needed to change. I felt lost with no direction. After one year as a student in BJC, I was academically dismissed with a low grade-point average. What to do and where to go was a challenge for me.
Having ended the relationship with June, whom I fell in love with at MSB, I felt heartbroken, lost, and confused. My friends were guys I met in local bars. Many of them had families, jobs, girlfriends, and wives. I was living with my parents and had no idea how to achieve any objectives for my life. It was a very depressing time for me. In looking back, I can honestly say I was frightened. What was I going to do for money? Where would I work? How could I ever hope to have a family? I remember thinking, “Is this it? Get up, hang in the bar, go home, and start it all over again the next day?”
Fifty-plus years later I still have nightmares of living with my mother and father in our house on Lexington Avenue in Jersey City with no job and no money. I don’t know who to call or where to find employment. In these dreams I feel unloved and looked down upon by my family. I fear my parents are about to throw me out of their home. I have lost my status as the favorite son and I am a big disappointment to my parents, especially my mother.
My abandonment issues are very real and disturbing. I feel frightened and alone. I am petrified at the prospect of being homeless. I tell myself this is only a dream. When I wake up I am relieved. The relief is followed by a sense of gratitude for who I am and where I am today in my sober life. After I offer a prayer of thankfulness to the Lord and ask him to guide my steps through the day, I kick off the covers and start the morning with some meditation and prayers, asking Jesus to fill my heart and guide my steps for the day to come.
Eddie Lucas was an older friend of mine whom I met when I was five years old in the sight conservation class at P.S. 22 in the Lafayette section of Jersey City. I was in kindergarten, while Ed was an eighth grader. The students who were visually impaired, although they were in different grades, shared the same classroom most of the school day. It was the year before I began the first grade at Saint Joseph School for the Blind.
I looked up to Eddie, and, thankfully, he took an interest in me. Our parents became friendly and we visited his home on Corbon Street in the Lafayette projects. My mother and father clearly admired Ed and saw him as a role model. He had recently been blinded at 12 years old as the result of being struck in the eye by a baseball. Although he had turned 13, Eddie did not let his newly acquired disability get him down. His family was extraordinarily strong in their Catholic faith. They observed all the holy days and recited the rosary together every evening. I am sure this added to Eddie’s indominable spirit.
He was a New York Giants fan whose love of baseball was infectious. I loved the Brooklyn Dodgers, and that friendly rivalry led us to spirited discussions. He had an extensive knowledge of the game and explained many things about it I didn’t understand. Eddie is one of the reasons why I still love the game.
In high school I had some hang-ups about using a cane as a mobility aid. I suppose it was one of those teenage things. When I was not with a sighted person, I tried to use what little light perception I had to navigate my environment.
One of the skills I was required to master at MSB was cane travel. My orientation and mobility instructor, Miss Beatrice Baird, was a strict, no-nonsense woman. She was exactly what I needed to give me a good kick in the seat of the pants. I wanted no part of the cane travel class. I thought I knew it all and that I got around better than most other people who were blind.
Miss Baird didn’t tolerate my Jersey City street kid arrogance. She knew it was time to give me a lesson in humility. My rear had no sooner hit the chair in her classroom when I was presented with a ball of clay, wooden blocks, and a flat board. My first assignment was to reconstruct the MSB campus out of the materials on my desk. When that gruesome task was laid on me, a know-it-all teenager, I thought to myself, “Lady, you have got to be kidding.”
Reluctantly, I followed her directions, and gradually, my limited concept of the world grew larger. For example, understanding spatial relationships, how streets, buildings, and objects were angled to one another and on a straight line, broadened the photos in my mind’s eye. Finally, after going through that assignment, it hit me that many of my perceptions about my physical environment were skewed and often wrong. To make sense of the world in my head, I pictured everything constructed in straight alignment to each other. This was because most of the Jersey City streets were laid out in a grid design. I had difficulty grasping the idea that some sidewalks made slight turns, and street corners were not always perfectly lined up across from each other. Once I understood what formerly abstract concepts were, a whole world opened for me. I had a new enthusiasm to investigate and explore my environment.
When Miss Baird explained that if I learned to use my cane properly, with good posture and my head held up, I would be a man who walked with dignity. I believed her. She had faith in me and broke through my resistance. I will never forget her. I am eternally grateful for her strict, no-nonsense yet kind way of teaching me the essential orientation and mobility skills I needed for life.
Upon returning from my stint in Baltimore, I lived with my parents in our home on Lexington Avenue in Jersey City. One day Eddie Lucas came to visit with his Seeing Eye Dog, Kay, a German shepherd. He was so proud of Kay, and wanted to share his newfound source of travel and independence with me. When we went for what turned out to be a brisk five-block walk, I followed Ed and Kay with my white cane as we proceeded up the street. Before I realized it, the two of them were flying up Lexington Avenue at a breakneck pace. It took me a while to catch up to them. I was fascinated to see how smoothly they worked around obstacles on the sidewalk, cars parked in driveways, children’s bicycles, and whatever else was lying in our path. My cane hit many of those objects as Ed and Kay floated seamlessly around them.
I listen to his commands and heard Kay obey them to the letter. When we arrived back at my house safely, I felt exhilarated. It would be an understatement to say I was impressed by that short excursion. I always loved dogs. Now I wanted a Seeing Eye Dog. I knew it would open a whole new world of possibilities for me. My zest for life had been given a brand-new jump start.
I applied to The Seeing Eye in Morristown, N.J. I visited the campus for an interview and assessment of my orientation and mobility skills. Established in 1929, The Seeing Eye is America’s pioneer dog guide school. While there are other reputable schools in the United States and Canada, training dogs to guide people who are blind, The Seeing Eye is the only school that instructs students in the use of dogs officially known as Seeing Eye Dogs.
On Nov. 22, 1968, I began training with Rick, my first dog. He was a floppy-eared male German shepherd. When I was introduced to Rick, it was love at first sight. He jumped on me and started licking my face. It was as if he was giving me a message, “I love you and we belong together.” He was about 15 months old and full of his silly puppy behavior. I could almost read his thoughts. He had an attitude that said, “I’m a German shepherd and you are not.” He was so confident in his ability to guide me safely. My instructor, Garry Mattoon, who was also Rick’s trainer, was responsible for getting my wonderful partner in shape during the four months prior to our being matched as a team.
There were times during class when I had to curb Rick’s enthusiasm, because he was not sure at first who was the alpha in our team. The twenty-eight-day training class was both difficult and rewarding.
If we were going to be a safe unit, I had to learn to trust Rick. This was difficult at first because I was so accustomed to relying on my own resources and my skills as a cane traveler. Rick also needed to know I believed in him and would follow him through the challenges of working in a heavily charged metropolitan environment. I cannot say enough about how I admired my instructor. When relating to Rick, copying many of the ways Garry interacted with the dogs proved to be a great benefit for me. I listened to every word he gave in the class lectures. Despite some of my fears, I put everything I had into the training process. I tried to the best of my ability to follow his instructions when we were out on the training routes in and around Morristown, N.J.
Our initial route took us down Maple Avenue. When I picked up the harness handle for the first time on that chilly Sunday morning in November and said, “Rick, forward,” it was magical. Rick stepped out and so did I. In 1968 for some reason, there was a big tree growing up through the middle of the sidewalk. As we walked down Maple Avenue, Rick suddenly veered left and around the tree. We went down to the intersection where we stopped. I tapped the curb with my foot and told him he was a good boy. Seeing Eye dogs love being rewarded with praise. They live for the expression of love and approval for their work.
The Maple route was just the beginning of the confidence-building process necessary for us to become a safe unit. Rick was a strong dog who loved his work. When we were halfway through training, my instructor saw that I loved working with Rick, but he believed I needed a little adjustment in the trust department. It was a rainy morning in Morristown and we were working through the busy streets near the town square. I was wearing a hood to protect me from the rain. This impaired my hearing, but I was still able to hear enough. We stood at an intersection waiting for the traffic light to change. There were four lanes of traffic flying by. Depending where things were in the cycle of the signal, cars might have been turning or going straight. The rain was falling, and the swish of the traffic was loud.
While working dogs in class, our instructor is never far away. They are ready to assist and intervene when necessary. We waited at the down curb, and I waited to hear Garry give me the go ahead. When he did, I gave Rick the forward command and we stepped into the street as the traffic stopped for the red light. Suddenly the light changed to green. There I was in the road, the traffic was rolling and splashing the rain. I heard Garry say, “Follow your dog,” and then he was gone. I didn’t know where he disappeared to, but I didn’t have time to care. I had no choice but to follow my boy, so I held onto the harness as he guided me through the chaos. When we arrived safely at the curb on the other side of the square, I got down on my knees, hugged Rick and gave him lots of praise. My eyes filled with tears, and I knew from that point on I would always follow my dog. I have been following my Seeing Eye dogs for over 56 years. They have taught me so many life lessons about love and loyalty.
They have all put everything into whatever task we had to carry out. Their enthusiasm never waned. They were so resolute and ever ready to work. The more we worked together, the stronger our bonds grew. We were a team. I am so grateful to The Seeing Eye and of course to Rick, Pax, Duke Van Dyke, Kurt, Aldo, and my boy Carson who is with me today, for helping to change my life in more ways than I can express. Through our partnership, my independence, self-confidence, and dignity has grown astronomically.
Our travels have taken us through many adventures. We have utilized various forms of transportation — trains, boats, planes, and automobiles. In addition to traveling to and from work and school regularly, we walked all over New York City as well as Jersey City and Bayonne. All my dogs have been an integral part of my family life, including my wedding, and the birth of my children Kelly and Michael. Whenever I picked up the harness, they dove into it. They knew it was time to work and they were always ready, morning, noon and night.
Each of my guides left a wonderful tradition for their successors to follow. When it came time for one of my dogs to stop working, due to age or sickness, I never delayed my decision to obtain a successor guide.
Retiring or parting with my Seeing Eye dogs has always been painful. It hurts my heart every time. It doesn’t get easier. Following their retirement, I have been blessed to be able to keep my dogs with me until it was time for them to cross over the rainbow bridge. Thankfully, all of them have adjusted and lovingly bonded with my successor dogs.
I have always believed it would be disrespectful to a previous dog if I didn’t continue the legacy they gave me, opening doors of freedom, independence, and dignity as the result of their dedication and love.