The boys in the band

A group of handsome guys with British accents met me for coffee Sunday morning. The rendezvous came after Neale Minch, a longtime friend from my days working at the University of Illinois Study Abroad Office, emailed me the night before.

The British Invasion: From L to R: Neale Minch, Michael Selbie, and Julian Hamilton-Peach.

“I am in apartment in Chicago (55 East Washington) with Mike Selbie and Julian Hamilton-Peach. You quickly came up in the conversation. Are you available to hook up some time this weekend – even if only briefly?” Neale reads this blog (hi, Neale!) and that’s how he knew how to contact me. I was tired from a very busy weekend, but I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity. I hadn’t been with these guys for thirty years or more, and I was flattered they remembered me.

Some background: Before I lost my sight I was the Assistant Director at the University of Illinois Study Abroad Office. I helped college students who wanted to study overseas and arranged housing and other details for students from Britain who were spending a year at the U of I. The job entailed talking with students, checking out what programs might work for them, phoning different college departments or other universities to arrange for the transfer of college credits. I was sure I’d be able to perform these tasks without being able to see.

My boss, however, was equally sure I could not.

I tried proving her wrong. At first I didn’t use a white cane or a dog. I quit driving or riding my bike, but I could still see well enough to walk to work with a walking cane (Mike and I happened to have bought one as a souvenir during our honeymoon in Scotland months before, when I could still see perfectly well).

As my eyesight got worse, I started making mistakes in the office. One morning I spilled grounds all over the floor on my way to make the morning coffee. I sat inches away from my computer screen to see the words. I ran into tabletops. At one point my boss took me aside and told me I wouldn’t be going to the annual convention with my colleagues that year. “You’ll embarrass the office,” she said.

By the end of that year, I had lost my sight completely. The Americans with Disabilities Act had not been passed yet. My contract was terminated.

I usually remember that time as one long sad year, but Sunday’s short hour with these guys has me thinking differently. Julian is originally from Wales. He was an engineering student in Britain, but he reminded me Sunday that when he was at the University of Illinois he was able to take classes in the humanities along with engineering. “I even took dancing” he laughed.

Neale studied at the University of Sterling in Scotland, and his time at the University of Illinois was his first trip to America. Sunday morning he told us how he’d spent his first weekend in America at a house in the Chicago suburbs, where he asked if he could try their lawn mower. Once he got started cutting the lawn the father there rounded up all his neighbors. “Look!” he said, pointing at Neale. “We have a new English caretaker.”

Mike Selbie told me he’d arrived in Champaign-Urbana from University College London with nowhere to stay. “You’re the one who worked out my housing for me, Beth,” he said. Once he named the address — 801 Main — it all rushed back. I pictured the house perfectly.

Julian lives in Cambodia now, Mike is in Australia, and Neale lives in Colorado here in the United States. Last weekend was the first time they’d all been together in 30 years, and they chose Chicago because the America’s Cup World Series sailing event was here last weekend.

We had a lot of laughs Sunday morning, and hearing their stories has helped me picture that year more clearly, too. With all its challenges, we all had a lot of fun. Before I left, Neale pointed out they were all wearing the same shirt. “It’s not a t-shirt,” he said. “It’s a proper shirt, with buttons.” Neale had complimented Julian’s shirt when they arrived, and when Julian said he’d bought it at Macy’s, they all decided to head to the State Street store to buy one, too.

“We checked out of the hotel today and the woman behind the desk asked us if we were a band!” Neale laughed. Sure enough, a woman at the coffee shop came up as we were leaving to ask the same question. In many ways, they were.

Their American friend Stu was with them, too, and they all followed me out the door to see how Whitney works to guide me down the sidewalk. Once we got to Michigan Avenue, we stopped so I could hug them each goodbye. I wondered later what passers-by must have thought, seeing this woman with her Seeing Eye dog hugging the band members and waving goodbye. I hope they decided I must be their agent.