Service Tails Page 8

  While George was thriving in the challenges of expanding his rural pupils’ cutting-edge skills in computer science, his vision loss began to accelerate. Soon he was forced to give up driving. Hitchhiking from his home to school in the early morning and then back each night is how he now commuted. His long treks became so well known in the area that he came to be good friends with most of those who picked him up along his way. Some even changed their schedules to give the outgoing, positive teacher a lift. For George, the experience pushed him to appreciate the way others were allowing him to keep a piece of his independence. Without them trusting and watching out for him, he would have been much like the disabled people he had seen as a child who struggled just to survive each new day.

  While the hitchhiking added a couple of hours to his daily work schedule, it would not deter him from continuing to challenge his students. He thrived by getting the chance to expand their creativity and point of view. Yet when his eyesight grew so bad he could no longer read their papers, even with a magnifying glass, he was forced to leave something he dearly loved. Walking away from a career that he viewed as a calling, George wondered if he would ever have the chance to again make any kind of lasting impact.

  Looking for a miracle, in 1985, George traveled to Boston to consult with the top experts in the field of RP. They sadly informed the thirty-five-year-old man that there was no hope. Not ready to become com-pletely isolated from life and looking for a way to continue his career, he opted to go to graduate school. At that time there was no Americans with Disabilities Act, and thus he was going to have to qualify for school as any other person would. That meant passing the standard version of the Graduate Record Exam. As he took the test, a person read the questions to him. Although he knew he had knocked the top out of science and math, he didn’t even attempt the history portion of the exam because of the essays required. Realizing he would not be accepted to school without confirmation of his knowledge in this discipline, he composed a letter suggesting his undergraduate English degree and history courses should serve as proof of his knowledge. After a few meetings, he won over those in charge of computer programming at the University of Montana and was allowed to enter school. He didn’t get to celebrate for long. While his fellow students were buying books and checking class schedules, he was still facing a myriad of problems.

  Most of the books he needed for his course work were not accessible in audio form, thus he had to rely on assigned volunteer readers. He could study only when these volunteers were available to help him, which quickly became frustrating. Still he pushed ahead. When George met the author of a book on MS-DOS computer language, he asked if he could have the electronic files generated for the publication. This should have given him a way to “read” using his computer, but the results were completely unsatisfactory. So, using the creativity he inherited from his sausage-maker father, he began to write a program to address his needs as a blind person. In just three weeks, he created the first digital version of a publication that could be read by anyone using assistive technology.

  Word quickly spread through the blind community of George’s breakthrough computer innovation. Others wanted the chance to use it. Sensing an opportunity, the grad student worked on a business model. Within a few months, Computerized Books for the Blind (CBFB), a nonprofit organization for the distribution of books in ASCII files on floppy disks, was born.

  Microsoft Press was the first publisher to sign up, and others quickly joined. The university gave George an office, and with support from the school’s Institute on Disability, he produced over seven hundred titles in three years. The man who had once believed his chance to make an impact might have ended with his teaching career was now opening up the world for thousands. He was even credited with coining a new educational term—print disabled—and in 1998 was even named the innovator of the year by U.S. News and World Report. That recognition led to a challenge George never believed he would have to face. He was receiving invitations to address conventions, speak to schools, and meet with others involved in opening the world of education and innovation for persons with disabilities. His first trip was to a higher educational conference in New Orleans. Armed with his cane, he took off. For the next decade, whenever he left his Montana home, it would be that cane that led him. But just like having people read his textbooks for him, traveling alone without eyes quickly grew frustrating.

  It was on a trip to the East Coast when he met up with a blind colleague at a conference that his world changed. With a dog guiding them, the men had no problem navigating the complex hotel and convention center. They also easily found the elevators, restaurants, restrooms, and even trashcans. For the first time in years, George felt as if he was operating at a normal speed.

  Once at home he contacted the leading guide-dog schools. Some felt that George’s unique lifestyle would be too hard on a dog. They pointed out that he spent too much time on planes and in hotels. Others wondered if his constant traveling into urban areas while living in a rural setting in Montana might create issues for a service dog. It was Guide Dogs for the Blind in San Rafael, California, that finally gave him a shot. Little did the organization realize the dog they were to match with one of the country’s best-known blind innovators would emerge in the new century as an industry star.

  George spent February of 1999 in Class 591 at Guide Dogs for the Blind. He was partnered with a twenty-one-month-old yellow Labrador retriever named Nesbit. While no marriage of dog and human is ever seamless, George and Nesbit’s bond came eas-ily, as did their ability to work and move as one. When Gail visited her husband during the training, the dog immediately fell in love with the other member of the household, too. Upon graduation, the Kerschers had no doubt that seeking a guide dog was going to greatly enhance their home lives. After all, Nesbit already seemed like he had always been a part of the family. Yet it would be during the first trip away from Montana that the dog’s real value was displayed.

  While Nesbit had been all but perfect in his guide duties at home, in the woods, and the city of Missoula, a meeting in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, offered him his first real test. As they left for their first trip, George was filled with excitement and a touch of apprehension, while the dog was calm and focused. What George quickly discovered was that the Lab was not just a guide; he was also going to improve the man’s health. When using his cane, George often ran into things, which, from time to time, left bruises. With Nesbit leading the way through airports, along streets, and at the meetings, it was clear sailing. He also discovered that he didn’t need to build in extra time in his schedule for travel. No longer was he edging along slowly; with the dog leading the way, the former college athlete was once again in the fast lane. Thanks to Nesbit, for the first time since he went blind, George moved with speed and grace.

  That initial trip to Milwaukee revealed another benefit the man hadn’t anticipated. Nesbit was an icebreaker. Because of the dog’s professional skills coupled to his outgoing personality, people approached George. While his blindness had made him somewhat of a social outcast, Nesbit made the man the center of attention. On the plane, in restaurants, at his hotel, and at the meetings, the spotlight was always on the pair. Nesbit was the bridge George needed to have others fully relate to and value him as a professional. By their viewing him on equal terms as a businessman, he was given the opportunity to open the door for others who were vision impaired.

  During this trip, the full value of trust between dog and a man was forged as well. At one point George asked Nesbit to go forward, but the dog balked. He tried it several more times, but the canine held its ground. Finally George discovered that if he had made a step forward he wouldn’t have been on a level, safe floor, but heading down steep, slippery steps. From this moment on, if the dog didn’t move, George didn’t question Nesbit’s judgment. Over the next nine years, this trust likely saved the man from injury on hundreds of occasions.

  Now recognized as one of the world’s foremost experts on communication
and publication for those with visual impairments, George was traveling hundreds of thousands of miles a year. His trips took him not just to every corner of the United States but also to Europe and Asia. On most of these trips, Nesbit was by his side. In his role as a guide, the dog took George through the chaotic streets of Rome and scores of other cities. No matter the location or environment, the dog was never perturbed or distracted by the mass of humanity or the wall-to-wall traffic. Always focused on his mission, he got George to where he was going as well as kept him safe along the way. Once there, Nesbit became the magnet that drew people forward so that George could tell and demonstrate the abilities and potential of the blind.

  When George was named the 2001 Dayton Forman Award cowinner for groundbreaking work on Digital Talking Books, Nesbit led the man onto the stage. The same was true in 2004 when George won the Harry J. Murphy Catalyst Award, a biennial award presented by the Trace Center to honor those who bring people together and facilitate the efforts of others in the field of technology and disability. The dog was by his side in 2005 when he was selected as the chair on one of the most important blind communication programs in the world, and in 2007 when the University of Montana awarded the businessman an honorary doctorate of humane letters. Nesbit was with him for scores of other honors and awards, and though it was George’s groundbreaking work in developing tools for the blind that created these accolades, the man always gave the dog credit for being the most valuable player on the team. Ironically, the next year it would be the dog giving the man the credit.

  In 2008, Delta Airlines recognized Nesbit as a “Million Miler.” He thus became the first dog to reach that unique milestone. What this award really signified was not the world the dog has seen but the world the guide dog had opened up for the man. During those million miles, George had traveled around the globe educating, inspiring, and motivating countless people. Without Nesbit, all of those miles would have been much too difficult to travel, and many of those trips would have not been made. George knew his imprint was possible because he followed in Nesbit’s footsteps.

  Beyond his work as a guide and constant companion in George’s travels, the dog also had the knack of remembering those the pair had met before. The vigorous wagging of Nesbit’s tale was the sign an old friend was approaching. This unique trait meant George was warned when a business associate was headed his way. Thus, Nesbit being by his side gave the man time to be prepared to share the latest advances and innovations his company was offering and developing. It seemed the dog guided the businessman’s every step while also serving as his social manager and top salesman. In other words, they were partners in business and life.

  After almost nine years of service, Nesbit was elevated to being the family pet, and another Labrador, Mikey, took his place. Much like his forerunner, Mikey traveled more than a million miles, leading George not just around the globe but also into the White House to discuss issues concerning the blind. George was then appointed by President Obama to the board of the Institute of Museum and Library Services. When Mikey was forced into retirement, Kroner took over and now is the top dog.

  Like almost all who have been led by a guide dog, George can point to various times when Nesbit, Mikey, and Kroner have literally saved his life by preventing a misstep or blocking him from danger. But more than being lifesavers, the trio of dogs has given George the same kind of independence he knew as a child riding his bike in Chicago and has allowed him to stimulate the minds of children with learning disabilities. His guides have allowed him to go to new places, meet fascinating people, experience the wonders of varied cultures, and share exciting educational and business innovations. Without the dogs, far fewer would have been able to meet the man and hear his remarkable story. So while no one can argue that George Kerscher is a man of great vision, it is the eyes of three dogs that have allowed him to bring that vision to the world.

  Maintaining Balance

  Man maintains his balance, poise, and sense of security only as he is moving forward.

  Maxwell Maltz

  When a person is prevented from moving forward and experiencing life, the world shrinks. A shrinking world steals hope and happiness. It robs a person of enthusiasm, brings on bitterness, and throws a life completely out of balance. Even if you require help, you must continue to move forward as well as look forward to regain your balance.

  Even in the days of Vietnam War protests and social unrest, at a time when millions saw the military in a negative light, two recent high school graduates from completely different parts of the nation answered the call to serve their country. Scott was from Michigan and signed up with the United States Navy while Philadelphia native Jenny opted for the Coast Guard. Their various duties took them around the globe, with Scott even serving in combat operations in the Far East. During those mosquito-filled moments, when snipers seemed to hide behind every tree and life always hung in the balance, all that mattered was living one more day. He had no idea that decades after his last tour in Vietnam and moving back into civilian life the war would come back to turn his world upside down.

  After leaving the service in the mid-1970s, Scott and Jenny both attended college in Michigan. They met on campus and, after discovering how much they had in common, began dating. Songs such as “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” “You’re No Good,” “That’s The Way (I Like It),” and “Let’s Do It Again” provided a soundtrack to their days, and the two fell in love. With college degrees in hand, they married, so very anxious to start a life of their own.

  Their occupations in the field of technology took them to Washington state. Living the American dream, they bought a home, became active church members, joined a few clubs, and started a family. Their friends described the Cawleys as having the hearts of servants. They gave their time, energy, love, and devotion to those who were forgotten, dismissed, misunderstood, or ignored. It seemed they never gave up on anyone. Their lives seemed to mirror that of the ideal 1950s and 1960s television families in every respect except one. Jenny and Scott’s home had room for more than just their birth children; they also took in kids others had given up on. Over the next twenty years, eight children would come to call them Mom and Dad.

  Though there were trials and challenges to having so many children in their lives, and though they had to give up many material possessions others around them took for granted, the Cawleys had such an optimistic outlook that it didn’t seem to matter. They viewed their life work as giving selfless love in order to build others up. Thus, they constantly took steps on faith. Time after time those steps were rewarded.

  In 1995, in the midst of soccer matches and school events, in the middle of helping kids with homework and going to PTA meetings, a ghost from the past revisited the home and brought the outgoing, upbeat head of the household to his knees. Doctors determined the stroke that felled Scott was tied to his exposure to Agent Orange during his service in Vietnam. So while he had successfully dodged the bullets, mines, and bombs, another deadly product of that war had finally caught up with him. Suddenly the man, whose stamina and power were the envy of all the other fathers in the neighborhood, could not control the left side of his body. The stroke had also silenced Scott’s booming voice and engaging laugh.

  Any sports star that has ever been forced into physical therapy by a major injury will tell you that there is nothing harder than trying to work your way back to where you had been. Tasks that were once easy to do seem impossible, and progress is measured in small, painful steps. Those paralyzed by a stroke face even higher mountains. They are not dealing with just a knee or shoulder; they are trying to teach their minds to once more send messages to their arms and legs. The effort needed to even attempt this task requires Herculean sacrifice and fortitude. The recovery is often measured in years, if it can be measured at all.

  With Jenny by his side and their children urging him on, Scott regained his voice. While his diction was no longer as clear or strong as it had once been, he could at least communicat
e. In time he also taught himself to walk again. But the doctors told him that he would never recover to the point where he could work or live independently. Essentially, without the help of those around him, he would remain homebound for the rest of his life.

  Scott fully understood the diagnosis. He realized that his once powerful body was now crippled in such a way his life would never be the same, but he wasn’t going to give up on living. Putting on a happy face, he demanded that Jenny and the children not feel sorry for him or cater to him but rather put their own lives first. He would find a way to manage. Even as Jenny tried to look after his needs, Scott pushed her back into the world. He urged her to stay involved in church, clubs, and meetings. She needed to be with the kids during school programs. She had to continue to have time with her friends.

  Jenny was able to support the family through her job as a medical technology sales representative, but that required her to be gone from home. When the kids were at school and she was at work, there was no one to help Scott. No matter the assurances he gave her about his ability to cope with any issues, she was worried. She was well aware that there were times when he would lose his balance, fall to the floor, and have to struggle just to pull himself up onto a chair. As the falls became more common, Jenny’s concern grew. She needed help. As she searched for alternatives from changing jobs to finding someone for home health care, she was told of an Oregon woman who trained dogs for mobility service.