Coming out as a blind writer

That's Michael Miles on the right.

When I interview someone over the phone for a story I’m writing, I always tell the person on the other end that the conversation is being recorded. I don’t always tell them I’m blind, though.

And so it went when I interviewed Michael Miles. Miles was program director at Chicago’s legendary Old Town School of Folk Music before striking out on his own as a musician. The University of Illinois Alumni Association had asked me to write a class profile about him for its website.

Just this year, the Chicago musician returned from his second trip to Morocco, a five-city tour that came at the invitation of the U.S. State Department. Miles’ diplomacy, though, was of a different sort – to use the language of music to communicate.

Miles said the trip went well until a tour guide made an unexpected detour. “It was a school for the blind,” he said into his phone, unaware that the woman on the other end was, well, one of those. “I mean, how can I make connections with a bunch of people I can’t speak to,” he said. “Especially if they can’t even see me?”

Uh-oh. Awkward. Do I ‘fess up? Tell him I’m blind? Is it unfair for me not to tell him? I remained silent.

The blind children sang a song, he said, And then the founder of the school, who was also blind, got up to make a speech. “He’d been there for 30 years and he was retiring,” Miles said. “He was making his final speech and I was like, wow, why am I here? I’m not the right person to be here.” After his speech, the school’s founder asked Miles to play a song. “And I thought good lord, what do I do now?”

Sitting on the other end of the phone, I was dumbfounded. They’re blind, Michael. They can still hear. Strum your banjo. Play them a song! But I didn’t say any of that. I didn’t say anything.

One reason I don’t always tell people about my blindness during phone interviews is that I’m afraid it will make them nervous. One good thing about blindness: it’s not that common. Many Americans have never encountered someone who is blind. It’s normal to be taken aback, and during an interview I want people to feel comfortable. Be themselves. So unless the topic comes up naturally (they hear my talking computer in the background, ask if I can drive out to see them, something like that) I don’t bring it up.

So leaning back in my office chair, I kept the recorder going and just listened as Miles continued. He’d written a song with some kids in the United States, he thought maybe that song would work with the blind kids in Morocco. “It’s just one line, all my friends are here, yeah,” he said, singing it to me over the phone. “I sing it, and then you sing it, and it goes through chord progressions, like a rock and roll song.”

One of the Moroccan musicians touring with Miles was also the host of Morocco’s equivalent to ‘American Idol’. He translated the words for the children and led them in singing the response to Miles in Arabic. ”What it did, it was like a moment of connection, where in fact, I made contact with everybody and everybody could participate.”

My guess is that the kids at that school were feeling the exact same way. Except in their version, the American musician was the lucky one. He’d been allowed to participate with them and their Moroccan idol!

I never did tell Michael Miles I was blind. I didn’t mention his visit to the school for the blind in my story, either, but he may have figured it all out when I wasn’t able to write captions for the photos he’d sent.  You can read the entire story on the UIAA web site and see more photos (with captions Michael Miles added later) there, too!