STALAG JERICHO

Would I seem melodramatic if I occasionally refer to Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind as a prison camp? It had no armed guards in towers equipped with machine guns. Neither did it have search lights, delousing stations, vicious guard dogs, and barbed wire around the perimeter. How then could I and my dorm mates call it a prison?

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about the unnatural way we were housed, fed, and poorly educated at that institution. The administrators micromanaged our activities so that we couldn't even go unescorted to the local store to buy chocolate bars. A supervisor took all of us there once a week like prisoners on a day pass. One particularly nasty "dorm parent" treated us like POWs, as I point out in the following excerpt.

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Back at the dorm, we had a new weekday supervisor whom I shall call Mr. Thynne. He was a tall man in his twenties, whose voice had an annoying whining quality to it. Everyone hated him almost instantly. One of his first unpopular ideas was to make us run up and down Eighth Avenue at seven o'clock in the morning.

The rising sun appeared as red as our eyes felt when we dressed hurriedly. "Come on, you lazy bums," he goaded as we struggled into our clothes, "You boys need to get your exercise."

When everybody lined up at the gate, he addressed us like a drill sergeant. "Listen to me. You boys will run each morning for fifteen minutes. It's not gonna kill you to do a little running." When we began to murmur, he said, "Stop whining. You boys don't get enough exercise so I'm going to make sure you do."

After the first few mornings of these pre-breakfast runs, even Charlie grumbled. Mr. Thynne refused to heed our pleas for rest and resorted to insults whenever we slowed down.

Michael summed up our feelings eloquently after one morning jog. "He's running this place like a bloody prison camp." All of us heartily agreed.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this compelling story. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

A GLIMMER OF LIGHT IN A DARK TIME.

Various victims of oppression have said that they found glimmers of joy even in the darkest of times. During war or imprisonment, I've heard that people discovered ways to have fun and even laughed at certain situations.

Though I've never been in a battle or a correctional facility, the authorities of Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind repressed independent-minded children like me. From my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, here is one of those shining moments in an otherwise bleak time of my life.

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The school provided us with exercise of a different sort than the twenty-five-mile walk that May. One of the administrators took the trampoline out of storage and dug a pit for it near the gym. Mr. Moiarty marched everybody down to it one evening. Each of us took his turn on the trampoline. When Mr. Moiarty bounced, his heavier weight caused it to touch the water at the bottom of the pit. All of us, including our supervisor, laughed heartily at the absurdity of it all. As nobody else could make a splash, we begged Mr. Moiarty to jump as high as he could.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

ANOTHER Unforgettable SUPERVISOR.

In my previous post, I mentioned a supervisor at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind who made me wait in her car for an hour and all for wearing the wrong sort of shoes. Among the apathetic or downright hostile personnel at that institution, a few actually cared about us boys.

From Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I present this story of how one man took the time to encourage me, even though I didn't appreciate it at the time. In this excerpt, I returned to the institution after going home for Easter. This man helped me face another ten-week exile from my family in Fort Saskatchewan, Alberta.

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A new weekday supervisor appeared at the dorm. I liked him immediately. Mr. Duberry was a relatively young, dark-haired gentleman from England. His accent made it hard at first for us to understand what he said. This led to more of the same humorous confusion of terms as we had with Mrs. Fletcher. One example was when I showed him a plastic ball which I painted with model paint. He kept pronouncing the word "bowl" which caused me to wonder how bowls related to my handiwork.

Mr. Duberry treated us equitably and took an interest in our personal growth. I must admit he did annoy me with his lectures at times. When I complained about the school and how I wished I was home, he would invariably say, "There are worse places for a lad to be than here. Make something of yourself and look on the bright side of life. Use your initiative and take advantage of your opportunities. You have your whole life ahead of you."

I remained silent and stared at the floor when he made statements like those. His advice changed nothing in my world. This man was free to go wherever he pleased whereas I had no choice but to attend Jericho.

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In July of 1968, Mr Duberry wrote my parents. In his letter, he urged them to remove me from that school because it was destroying my character. I also received an anonymous document condemning abuses of power at Jericho. I suspect it was written by this decent gentleman. Since he was replaced by a mean-spirited supervisor in September, I suspect that the administration fired him for not protesting their dishonesty.

Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

DISABLED CHILDREN ARE HUMAN TOO.

Why is it that able-bodied folks assume disabled children are either little angels or incapable of normal curiosity? From time to time, I hear amazed adults marvelling about how disabled kids are so like others. This should be abundantly obvious to all but it apparently isn't to some.

In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I related many instances of how my friends and I caused mischief. In this excerpt, our natural curiosity upset the adults but no real harm was done.

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Even visually impaired children enjoy taking objects apart, regardless of the mess. During March, I dismantled some dead zinc-carbon batteries. Beneath the silver paper and cardboard of the Ever-ready C cell, I found a metal canister. Once I unwrapped it, the aluminum ends came off easily. Inside the cylinder was a carbon rod stuck in the centre of black paste.

I scooped it all out, getting my hands filthy, and cleaned off the rod. Rubbing it on paper, I found that it made marks like a pencil but messier. Mrs. Auld was unimpressed when I used my writing stick in class but I still felt I made an exciting and noteworthy discovery.

Ricky, Brian, and Christian were envious of my research. They wanted cells of their own to dismantle. I refused to part with mine but I did let them examine the one I took apart. My friends eventually acquired dead cells of their own and created their own writing sticks.

Our supervisor became upset when she saw the mess I made in the Play Room and how dirty my fingers were. "Get in that bathroom, you little twerp, and wash those hands thoroughly," Mrs. Parker ordered when she saw the state I was in. Fortunately, I suffered no other punishment that evening.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.