As a foreword to this lecture, I shall quote from a paper entitled "Blind Children And How To Care For Them," written by Dr. F. Park Lewis, an eminent oculist of New York City, and a man who has devoted much time and thought to the blind and their needs.

Dr. Lewis says: "It is the mind and the spirit which control, and when these are great, they dominate and rise superior to mere physical deficiencies. The inspiration of great ideals must be held out to the blind, even more than to the seeing, from the very beginning. It is not enough that the blind man or woman shall have physical strength, but his training must be so well balanced as to give him poise as well as vigor. It does not suffice that the blind man shall be as well educated as his fellow who sees. Handicapped by the loss of the most important of his special senses, he must supplement this deficiency by a better training of his mind and body. It is not enough that he should have the good character of the average man. His word and his reputation should be beyond question. He should be independent, and proudly unwilling, except when absolutely necessary, to accept that for which he can not, in some way, return an equivalent. He must be taught to reason with clearness and logical precision, for he must succeed by the aid of his mentality and character, rather than by his manual exertions. These facts are emphasized here, because if such qualities are to be secured, the training which produces them should begin in the cradle." If I could bring it about, a copy of the foregoing lines should be framed and placed on the desk of every teacher of blind children, and such teachers requested to read these words at least once each day.

In considering the development of the blind child, we must recognize the fact that, in mental attainment, at least, he is the peer of the child who sees. But in order to bring this about, the early years of the child must be carefully supervised, and his training calculated to fit him for the tremendous task awaiting him, a task requiring the courage of a Spartan, the wisdom of Solomon, and the patience of Job. Unfortunately, the parents of blind children rarely understand the importance of this early training. They are too often too absorbed in their own sorrow at having a child so afflicted, too sure that loss of eyesight means loss of mental vigor, to realize that their own attitude, their own self-pity, may prove a greater handicap to the child than blindness itself. If a child lives in a house where he is waited upon, and made to feel that mere existence and the ability to eat and sleep are all that may reasonably be expected of him, and that he must depend upon his family for everything, he will grow up helpless, selfish and awkward, and no amount of later training will entirely counteract the pernicious effect produced in these early, formative years. When placed in school with other children, he will be very sensitive to correction, and may become morbid and unhappy, thus giving a wrong impression of the blind in general. If, on the other hand, the child is taught to be self-helpful, permitted to join in the work and play of other children, made to feel that, with greater effort, he may do just what they do, he will soon become cheerfully alert and hopefully alive to all the possibilities of his peculiar position. It is true that natural disposition has much to do with one's outlook on life, but cheerfulness and a certain form of stoicism may be cultivated, and to the blind child these qualities are absolutely essential if he is to attain any measure of success in later life. It would be foolish for me to ignore the difficulties and limitations in the path of everyone deprived of eyesight, either in infancy or adult life, but I know that these very limitations and difficulties may aid in forming a character whose quiet strength and unfaltering courage can not fail to win the admiration and co-operation of all who witness its tireless efforts for success. But in order to achieve success, let me repeat that such training must begin at the earliest possible date.

You may never have thought of it, but the blind child has no model, no pattern. It must acquire everything. It learns nothing by imitation. The normal child copies the gestures and mannerisms of its parents, and so learns many things unconsciously, and with little or no instruction. But the blind child must be taught to smile, to shake hands, to hold up its head, to walk properly, to present and receive objects, and the thousand and one details of daily living so naturally acquired under ordinary conditions. Long before it has reached school age, the blind child should be permitted to romp with other children, to take bumps and bruises as part of the game, and should be encouraged to run, jump rope, and join in all harmless sports, thus acquiring that freedom of movement, muscular co-ordination, and fearless bearing, so necessary if he is to cope successfully with the difficulties awaiting him. His toys should be chosen to instruct as well as amuse, and in this way he should be made familiar with the different forms, the square, the circle, the oblong, the triangle and the pyramid. The Goddard form board and Montessori insets are invaluable at this period. He should be trained to recognize the difference between smooth and rough, soft and hard, light and heavy, thick and thin. He should be given plasticine or clay with which to model, and be urged to reproduce his toys, thus assisting in the muscular development and intelligent use of his fingers—another essential equipment. As soon as possible, the process of dressing should be taught. The child may learn this more readily if a doll is used as a model, and he is required to put on its clothes each morning, and remove them just before his own bedtime. This important process should be made as interesting as possible, and each successful effort greeted enthusiastically, each failure carefully pointed out, its cause discovered, and its repetition prevented, when possible. In this way he acquires system, learns to put his clothes away in a certain place, and to locate them again without assistance. His little fingers should be kept constantly employed stringing beads, putting pegs in a wooden board, cutting paper with kindergarten scissors, and modelling with plasticine. If thus occupied, he will escape the mannerisms peculiar to the blind child whose only amusement has been to put his fingers in his eyes, shake his hand before his face to see the shadow, rock his body back and forth, and whirl around in dizzy circles. I found just such a child, a girl of eight years, who had never done anything for herself, and whose parents refused to send her to school. It took me some time to win the child's confidence, but when I did, I had no trouble to correct many of her habits, and I soon taught her to dress herself and learn to read. When I asked her what she did all day before I brought her the beads and the little scissors, and she answered, "Oh, I just sat in my rocker, and rocked back and forth, shaking my hands." And when I asked why she did not play and act like other children, she began to cry, and said, "Nobody never told me nothin' else to do till you came."

When six years old, a blind child should be sent to the nearest state school for the blind, or to a special class, if there is such a department in the public schools of the city in which it lives. The necessity of sending the child to school thus early can not be too strongly emphasized, and education of blind children should be made compulsory, just as in the case of ordinary children. This is a measure which should be considered by all those interested in child welfare. The unwillingness of parents to send their children away to boarding school at so early an age is one of the strongest arguments in favor of the special classes in public schools. But it is not possible to have such classes in the small cities and towns, and very often the home conditions are often unsuitable for the proper development of a blind child, and so, in every state, a residential school is an absolute necessity.

Such a school should consist of a kindergarten, primary, intermediate and high school department, and the life of the children should conform as closely as possible to that of a large family in a well-ordered home. Those in charge of the children should be impressed with the responsibility of the task they have undertaken and should do their utmost to assist in the work of fitting the little ones for the preliminary skirmish in the battle of life. All children should have constant supervision during the formative period, but more especially does the blind child need watchful guidance in his work and at his play. Little habits must be broken, awkward movements discouraged, self confidence fostered, and every effort made to develop the child along sane and normal lines, so that, in later life, he may have the poise and bearing so often lacking in those who are blind from early childhood.

It is sometimes claimed that it is not essential that a teacher of the blind be possessed of more than an ordinary education, and this is why so many schools for the blind fail to turn out capable, cultured, self-reliant boys and girls. Dr. Illingworth, the noted English educator, gives the following qualifications for a teacher of the blind: "a sound education, self-control in a high degree, a boundless enthusiasm, a determination to succeed, should be kind and sympathetic, and at the same time firm, and should be true to his word." These are qualifications which should be possessed alike by the blind teacher and sighted teacher, and only teachers so qualified should be entrusted with the divine privilege of bringing light to the minds of these helpless little ones. I wish to add a few more qualifications to Dr. Illingworth's list, and they are these: a broad, comprehending sympathy, a sense of humor, and a heart brimming with love for all children—a heart capable of sharing the joy and grief of every child heart. And I wish to emphasize, in a special manner, one of the doctor's qualifications—namely, "a boundless enthusiasm," and to add yet another, a living, breathing faith that teaching is a divine calling, and that the opportunities for good or ill are limitless. To be successful, a teacher should be able to bring himself to the level of his pupil. I once heard a man say of a great teacher, "he had the heart of a boy, and understood our every thought and feeling."

In many schools for the blind the inspirational value of a blind teacher is overlooked or ignored. In this connection Dr. Illingworth says: "it is almost as impossible for a seeing teacher to realize what it is to be blind, and know all the difficulties of his blind pupil, as for a congenitally blind person to enter into and share with one who can see, the beauty of a glorious picture or landscape." Dr. Illingworth continues, "it takes a seeing teacher to become what might be called a naturalized blind person, that is, one able to see things from the blind point of view; though he is never in the favorable position of a blind teacher who can say to a child, 'do it so; I can do it—I am blind like you.'" In the residential schools Dr. Illingworth recommends that the ratio of blind teachers to seeing should be one to two. He says, "their very presence is a continual inspiration and incentive to the pupils," and he adds, "the education of blind children in those subjects in which the methods of instruction are necessarily and essentially totally different from those of the seeing, is best in the hands of a properly qualified blind teacher." The wisdom of this recommendation is recognized in the largest schools of England and France, and some of them have blind superintendents as well. America is slower to recognize the ability of the blind, but this period of reconstruction and readjustment through which we are passing may quicken their sense of the importance of employing blind teachers and superintendents, whenever possible. Superintendents are no longer required to perform clerical work. All these details are left to stenographers and bookkeepers. Neither is the superintendent expected to teach. But he should be a scholar, a man of culture, with broad vision and high ideals, and with a sympathetic knowledge of the difficulties to be met and overcome by the students in his care. It should be the aim of the residential school to train its pupils along lines best suited to their individual needs, and, when possible, to fit them to become partially self-supporting, if not wholly so.

The child in a residential school knows very little of life outside the buildings, knows little of the trials and struggles going on in its own home, perhaps. Its days are well ordered. It is clothed and fed, and is not expected to practice self-denial or to exercise any of the qualities of courage or fortitude which the exigencies of later life demand. Clarence Hawkes says: "courage a blind person should have above everything else. He must be literally steeped in it. It will not do to have just the ordinary, temporary supply allotted to the average seeing man—he will run out in a single day. But he must have courage that is perennial, a ceaseless fount of it—courage for the morning, courage for the noonday, and courage for the evening. Life is a battle and a struggle which never ends. He must fight for hope and cheer, laughter and happiness, every inch of the way along life's path." Another writer has said, "courage is the standing army of the soul, keeping it from conquest, pillage and slavery." But the child in the residential school knows little of all this, has little occasion to know. Dr. Park Lewis says: "The added importance of having blind children educated with those who see is, that they may realize more keenly the real difficulties of life which are to be met, and which have to be overcome. They will not always find kindness and courtesy, and they must be prepared to adjust themselves to the harder conditions when they arise."

When the child finishes the required curriculum of the residential school, and goes forth to his place in the world, he is often unprepared for the struggle, unable to adjust himself to the altered conditions, lacking in patience, perseverance and pluck; the "three P's" of which Clarence Hawkes so often speaks, and without which he claims no blind person can successfully overcome his handicap. The need for this preparation is better known to a blind teacher or superintendent, and for that reason, if for no other, his presence in the school is desirable. He knows the value of higher education to the blind, and he will urge the pupils to fit themselves for college, reminding them that blindness is a physical, not a mental, handicap. And who is better qualified to fire the youthful mind, to strengthen the wavering ambition, and arouse the latent enthusiasm, than one who has made the effort, has fought the fight, and won gloriously!

Although Dr. Warring Wilkinson, who was Superintendent of the California School for the Blind for over forty years, and his brother Charles, who taught for the same period—although neither of these men was blind, they were true teachers and college men, and understood the value of scholastic attainment to the blind. As far back as I can remember, they urged us all to prepare for college, and, to stimulate this desire, they kept in close touch with the work of the university, and often brought essays written by the advanced students, to encourage us in our literary efforts, assuring us with a little practice we could write as well. Often, too, they would take classes to hear a lecture on some subject under discussion, thus forging the first link between the school and the university, in whose shadow our young lives were spent. In preparing us for competition with seeing students, Mr. Charles Wilkinson used to say: "never ask for quarter because of your blindness. Do your work so well that people will say not, 'how wonderful this is considering your affliction,' but 'how perfect in spite of it!'" This thought has remained constantly with me, strengthening and encouraging me, enabling me to overcome difficulties that would otherwise have been impossible to surmount.

It is of vital importance that the blind should have pleasant, well-modulated voices, and for this reason elocution should be included in the course of study. In recent years a number of blind students in eastern schools have been trained as readers and public entertainers, a line of work in which eyesight is not an essential factor. Reading aloud should be encouraged among the pupils, and frequent speed tests given, thus stimulating in them a desire for reading.

The school at Berkeley has included business methods in its course of study, and this is an excellent thing, because the day is not far distant when the ability of the blind to fill positions as typewriters, stenographers, telephone and dictaphone operators, and salesmen, will be recognized. And when this time comes, let us hope that our young people may be ready and eager to prove their worth in these lines of endeavor. If the students are made to feel that they are blazing a trail, and making it less difficult for others to follow, their ultimate success is assured.

Having outlined the aim and purpose of the residential school, and shown it to be a necessary factor in the education of the blind in every state, I wish to call attention to some of the advantages to be derived from coeducation of blind and seeing children.

As early as 1900 Chicago started a special class for blind children as a part of its public school system, thus inaugurating the movement in this country, if not in the world. Since that time many large cities, including Boston, New York, Jersey City, Rochester, Milwaukee, Detroit, Cleveland, Toledo, Cincinnati and Los Angeles, have started similar classes, carrying the children from the kindergarten, through elementary and high school, and preparing them for college. The class in Chicago was started through the efforts of John B. Curtis, a blind teacher, and the Superintendent of Public School classes of Cleveland, Toledo and Cincinnati. Mr. R. B. Irwin, is a blind man, and so it is not strange that a blind teacher of Los Angeles should be the first to recognize the need of such a class in this state.

The State Library was glad to further this forward movement in the education of blind children, and permitted me to devote a great deal of time to organizing the class, and it provided the books and some of the apparatus for carrying on the work for the first year. It still supplies many of the books, though the Board of Education provides its own apparatus. Dr. Albert Shiels, Superintendent of the Los Angeles City Schools, was glad to have a class for the blind in the city, since he has seen how successfully the work was carried on in New York, where more than two hundred children attend special classes, and this in spite of the fact that New York has two state schools for the blind. When the home conditions are favorable, and a special class is available, it is wiser to permit the blind child to remain with its parents, to attend school each morning with its brothers and sisters. In this way there is no break in the family relation and the child does not grow indifferent to home ties, as so often happens when he is sent to a residential school. Mr. Irwin says "the special class is the twentieth century emphasis on the integrity of the home."

On January 2, 1917, the Los Angeles class started with eight pupils enrolled, and on June 30 of this year the number had increased to seventeen, with the prospect of more at the opening of the fall term. Teachers for special classes are generally chosen from the regular school department, their work being usually directed by a blind supervisor. In pursuance of my work as home teacher I found a number of children for whom there was no room in the State School at Berkeley, and before the special class was organized I taught these children in their homes or at the library. Miss Frances Blend, a grade teacher, asked to study with me, since she wished to teach the blind here or in the East. I sent her to teach the children, and in this way she acquired the necessary experience, learned to read and write Braille rapidly, and gained an insight into the psychology of the blind child, so, when the board of education needed a teacher for the special class she was ready and eager for the task. Since then Miss Blend's sister has qualified and is now the second teacher in the blind department, eight to ten children being considered all that one teacher can properly care for.

Among the poor of every large city, there are children whose parents conceal them, for fear they may be sent away to school. These are known as hidden children, and I found one such child tucked away under the bed, and was told she always hid there when she heard strange voices. She was a little Mexican girl, and spoke no English. She is now one of the brightest children in the class, and her parents are delighted that they need not part with her.

In the special class, the children are trained to speak intelligently of things which they do not see with the physical sight, so that they may be able to converse naturally upon ordinary topics, and need not have to plead ignorance, on the ground of never having seen this or that object. Their minds are filled with a love for all beautiful things, especially flowers and pictures, and they are frequently taken to parks and museums. They are told about the stars, the blue sky, sunsets, the majesty of the ocean, and all the other wonders that enchant the eye; and they are taught to speak of "seeing" these things, because they really do see them with the mental vision, keener, in many instances, than mere physical sight. The boys of the polytechnic high school made a wonderful doll house for the children—a house of four rooms, fully furnished throughout. The children made their own rugs and baskets, tables and chairs, and one boy modeled a bathtub of plasticine, perfect in design. The house has a sloping roof, and it is thatched, and I must confess that my first real knowledge of roofs was gained from examining that one on the doll house. It has a chimney, too, and a stovepipe, and so the children learn a great deal from this miniature home of their dolls.

In their special classroom, the children are taught Braille reading and writing, and a great deal of time is given to these branches. They are taught all sorts of handwork, basketry, weaving, knitting, modeling, and chair caning, and, when old enough, they are sent with the other children to sewing, cooking, sloyd and music classes. As soon as possible, they recite with the regular classes, their lessons being previously read or explained by the special teacher. This gives them the contact with normal children, so necessary to the development of the blind child. Those not in favor of special classes claim that this competition is too severe a strain, and that it is unkind and unwise to place blind children with those whose physical advantages and opportunities for study are greater. But we have found that the plan works admirably. The special teacher trains her pupils to be self-reliant and helpful, insists that they join in the games of the others, assuring them that, with greater effort, they, too, may play, and it is delightful to watch them at recess or at noon, each blind child affectionately led by a seeing child, the latter calling the teacher's attention to the successful performance of some feat on the part of his blind playmate. In the classroom, too, the spirit is the same, the blind child remembering things for the one who sees, and the seeing child using his eyes for the one who is blind. The special teacher trains the memory of her pupils to the highest possible degree, impressing upon them that their minds are vast storehouses in which to keep all sorts of knowledge tucked away for future use, and that it is disastrous to blind children to forget. In mental arithmetic, they usually lead the class. Their presence in the school is of the greatest help to the others with whom they work in class. Their success in overcoming difficulties is a stimulus to the pride and an incentive to the ambition of the seeing child. The presence of the blind children is a constant reminder to them of their superior physical advantages, and they are ashamed to have them outstrip them, as they so often do, in intellectual work. And so the presence of the blind child is sure to result in untold good, not only to the child so handicapped, but to the entire school, removing as it must, the belief, now, alas, so general, that when eyesight is lost, all is lost. Trained side by side with its sighted companions, doing the same work as well, if not better, the later success of the young blind seeker after knowledge is practically assured; for, as I have said, in mental attainment, at least, the blind child is the peer of the child with eyesight,—here, beyond cavil, the chances are equal.

To my mind, the coeducation of the blind and seeing is a step in the right direction—a very forward step, since it will ultimately bridge the gulf of misconception and skepticism now separating these two classes—a gulf which must be bridged if we hope to arrive at a sane and satisfactory solution of the problem of finding employment, not only for the returned blind soldiers, but for the thousands of intelligent blind men and women who are waiting eagerly, hungrily, for a chance to prove their ability, a chance to earn their daily bread. When blind and seeing children are trained side by side, from the kindergarten, through the grades into high school, and on to college, perhaps, the barriers dissolve, the blind boy and the seeing boy are comrades—they have played together, worked together, and together they have planned their future. The seeing boy knows the blind boy will succeed because he has seen him victorious in many a mental skirmish. Just this May, right here in the University at Berkeley, a blind student graduated fourth in a class of more than one thousand seeing students. It may be interesting to note, in passing, that there are seven blind students now attending the university, and that the state provides three hundred dollars a year to defray the expense of a reader for each student. New York was the first state to provide readers for blind college students, and this was brought about through the efforts of Dr. Newel Perry, a blind graduate of the University of California, now a teacher of mathematics in the California School for the Blind. Dr. Newel Perry was largely instrumental in the passage of a similar bill in this state, and so once again, the blind are indebted to a blind teacher for advancement.

But all the children in the special classes will not care to go to college, and for those who do not, other work will be provided, manual training given, and all sorts of trades encouraged. Here, too, they will have the added stimulus of studying side by side with their sighted companions. It is my earnest hope that some day this state will establish a technical school for the blind. In such a school, a deft-fingered intelligent blind boy could learn electric wiring, pipe fitting, screw fitting, bolt nutting, assembling of chandeliers and telephone parts, trained as a plumber's helper, and taught to read gas and electric meters, by passing the fingers over the dial—in short, a variety of trades and occupations could be pursued with profit to the school and to the students. But while waiting for the establishment of such a school, there is much to be done by way of preparation. We must prove the truth of Clarence Hawkes' assertion that "blindness is, after all, but a 25 per cent handicap in the race of life." But it is a handicap, no matter what profession is adopted. I analyze the handicap thus: 24 per cent of it is the prejudice and unbelief of the public, and the other 1 per cent is the lack of eyesight. I believe this is not too strong. In speaking of the handicap, Clarence Hawkes continues: "a blind person, in order to succeed equally with the seeing, must put in 125 per cent of energy before he can stand abreast of his seeing competitor."

But in order to prove blindness to be but a 25 per cent handicap, we must train our blind children from their earliest infancy. We must not sidetrack them. We must plant their feet firmly on the highroad of life, encourage their first, faltering steps, teach them to go forward fearlessly, with head erect and shoulders squared, warn them of pitfalls and hidden thorns, show them the wisdom of making haste slowly when the path is steep or uneven, impress upon their minds the importance to others of their success, and, above all, train them to have confidence in themselves, teach them to realize that, because of their struggles and limitations, they have a mental equipment and reserve force possessed by very few of their more fortunate fellow beings. Thus trained and fortified, our young blind people will work like Trojans to prove their ability to those who doubt it, and succeed in removing one obstacle after another, until they stand ready to take equal chances with any who may be pitted against them. The hand of the sightless worker is steadier, and his courage greater, because of the years of struggle and constant effort of which his sighted competitors can form no conception.

And so those in charge of the education of the blind, whether in residential schools or public school classes, have a herculean task before them, but if their hearts are in the work, if they are alive to their wonderful opportunity for service, and if they have faith in the ability of their pupils, the future success of these handicapped young people is practically assured. As with the nation today, so with those interested in the welfare of the blind—we look to the children for the fulfillment of our highest ideals, and hope, in their advancement, to see our "dearest dreams come true." I am often called visionary, and I am proud to confess that I have a vision, a wonderful vision of the future of the blind. It may not be realized during my lifetime, but if some of the children I have inspired will take up the torch, and carry it on unfalteringly, I shall be satisfied. Meantime, I walk by the light of my vision along rough roads, across strange streams, up hills that are steep and rock-strewn; and, though my courage sometimes fails, and my strength seems unequal to the task, the light shines clear and steady, and I go forward, in the glad assurance that one day my vision will be realized, my cherished dream for the emancipation of my people, the emancipation of the blind, must "come true."