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Here's how you vote when you can't see the ballot

March 16, 201626 CommentsPosted in blindness, Mike Knezovich, politics, technology for people who are blind, Uncategorized

I Voted Today stickerI’d researched the issues. I’d studied the candidates. It was a primary election, not a general one. Voting yesterday should have been a breeze.

And you know what? It was! I voted on my own in the Illinois primary election yesterday!

The Help America Vote Act of 2002 mandated that voting systems provide some way for people to vote independently and privately (including those of us with disabilities), but if you’ve been following our Safe & Sound blog for a while, you know there have been many, many elections since 2002 where that hasn’t been the case for me (and probably not for others, either). I cried on election day, 2012. Not because my candidate lost — he won. I just wasn’t able to vote for him by myself.

Here’s what happened that year: Mike and I showed up together at the polling place, and while he went to a booth to vote, I waited and listened to the poll workers scramble. “Where are the headphones?” “Anyone know how you make that computer talk?” “How do you turn it on?” “Why isn’t there any sound?” “How’s it supposed to work?” They seemed to want to do right by me, but few of them knew what “right” was.

Mike finished voting. I was still standing there. In the end, he signed an affidavit, guided my Seeing Eye dog Whitney and me to a traditional voting booth where he read the choices out loud and had me tell him (and anyone else near enough to eavesdrop) who I wanted to vote for.

But not yesterday. Mike had an errand to run, so I showed up at our precinct alone with Whitney. Poll workers seemed sincerely happy to see us, they helped me fill out a paper form to register, and after I used a straight-edge to sign on the dotted line, one of the poll workers showed us to a computer.

“You know how to work these?” the poll worker asked, placing a special handheld contraption the size of a cell phone in my hand. I nodded yes (I’d attended a special class free-of-charge earlier at the Chicago Public Library to be introduced to this technology) and put headphones on. Tactile buttons on the contraption allowed me to take my time, scroll through the ballot, mark my choices, and…abracadabra! I voted.

All. By. Myself.

A small thing for some, but huge for me. A lot was riding on yesterday’s vote, and I felt privileged –and proud – to have a part in making those important decisions.

Now, bring on those presidential elections in November!

Mondays with Mike: If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.

March 14, 20163 CommentsPosted in guest blog, Mike Knezovich, Mondays with Mike, Uncategorized

I’m exhausted hearing about, reading about, and thinking about the election. But when you stop and think about it, that’s a good thing. I’m engaged. People are engaged. Voter turnout has been strong, although still, in my view, pathetic. (Vote goddammit! Put some skin in the game. Invest. Risk getting burned – or this year getting Berned. Argue with your friends. C’mon. Be a grownup!)

C'mon. What's funnier than Noam Chomsky in Las Vegas with Serbian Can-Can chorus?

C’mon. What’s funnier than Noam Chomsky in Las Vegas with a Serbian Can-Can chorus?

Back to prime time. It’s important (I remind myself) to maintain a sense of humor in these times. And so, the other morning in the shower—where great vocal performances and great thoughts occur—I thought I had a million-dollar idea. I toweled off, dressed, and hit my computer—but of course, the Internet’s collective brain had beaten me to it. By a mile. There were already “Make America Hate again” bumper stickers and other paraphernalia for sale. Oh well. Behind again.

But I was reminded: The answer to end-is-nigh pessimism? A good laugh. Inoculation against strident, self-righteous self-seriousness? Humor. Here are some of the bits that have kept me sane over the past couple weeks:

Got some?

Share ‘em. We’re gonna need ‘em.

P.S. Loosely related but worth it…

Noam Chomsky Announces Las Vegas Residency

Guest post by DJ Mermaid: Oh, my old friends

March 12, 201629 CommentsPosted in careers/jobs for people who are blind, guest blog, Uncategorized, Writing for Children

“Books are like old friends that you can confide in.” -DJ Mermaid

I have two favorite books that are all time American Classics and are a pleasure to read. They are Charlotte’s Web and To Kill a Mockingbird. Here’s a sneak-peek into why I like these great books.

DJ Mermaid is six years old in this photo --her mom and dad found her asleep before bedtime with her nose in a book. Looks like it was another E.B. White favorite: Stuart Little.

DJ Mermaid is six years old in this photo –her mom and dad found her asleep before bedtime with her nose in a book. Looks like it was another E.B. White favorite: Stuart Little.

Charlotte’s Web:

“I dare say my trick will work and Wilbur’s life will be saved.” – Charlotte A. Cavatica

This is the story of friendship, trust and great smarts. Wilbur is like me in a sense because he is so honest. Fern is so devoted to Wilbur it makes me happy inside. Please don’t get me started on Charlotte and how compassionate she is. That spider made WEBS of GREATNESS to save Wilbur’s life. Of course I always cry on page 171 when she dies, but I guess it is the circle of life.

Wilbur and Charlotte are an amazing team in my opinion. Go FRIENDSHIP!!!!

To Kill a Mockingbird

“You can kill all the blue jays you want if you can hit ‘em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.” – Atticus Finch

This story is about the Jim Crow southern region and how a lawyer and his family tried to protect one innocent African American victim from the benches of a jailhouse and the wrath of a fictional court case. I do think that if Atticus was alive today he would work to change the ways that people with mental illnesses, different races and people with disabilities are being discriminated against.

Actually, guys, I was wondering if you could do me a favor? I am very bored in tutoring for reading because I already know everything. My tutor (for school, not Beth) suggested we do a novel study and I was wondering if you knew of any good books for me to suggest to her. If you do please say so in a comment.

What good timing!

That’s the end of my 4th post!

-DJ Mermaid

The writers in my memoir classes all deserve Oscars

March 9, 20166 CommentsPosted in careers/jobs for people who are blind, memoir writing, teaching memoir, writing prompts

During Oscars week this year I asked the seniors in the memoir-writing classes I lead to choose a title of one of the films nominated for best picture and use it as the topic for their next essay.

  • The Big Short: Know any short people with big personalities? Any stories about investments? Short circuits?
  • Brooklyn: Ever live there? Know someone who does? Were you a Dodgers fan?
  • Mad Max: Any friends/enemies/ family members/pets named Max?
  • Room: Is there a certain classroom you still remember? Do friends and family gather in the kitchen at parties? If you are a musician, do you have a favorite practice room? What room do you do your writing in? Explore that room in words, as if you’re seeing it for the first time.
  • Spotlight: Do you love/hate being in the spotlight? Anyone you know who does?
  • The Martian: Describe a time or event in your life when you felt like you were from another planet, or describe someone you’ve known in your life who was so unique or unusual that they seem like they came from another planet. Orrrrr, if you were a fan of Gemini, Apollo or other space missions, tell your readers why that is. do you like science fiction? Write about that.

The Revenant and Bridge of Spies were also on the list, but I didn’t share any advice on how to approach those two titles, because, well, I didn’t have any idea.

My writers had ideas, though. Michael chose Bridge of Spies and wrote about working on a ship in the British Virgin Islands when he was just 20 years old. His opening line? “Captain Kimberly had one eye.” Mel used Mad Max to write about a friend in high school, and Judy did that, too: She wrote about her pal Maxine. Andrea chose The Big Short and wrote about two guys she’d dated in her teens. Both happened to be 6’7”, and one of them liked to slow dance. “I spent a lot of time smashed into his stomach!”

Most writers chose Room as a topic. We heard fun stories about making room, running out of room, rooms in dining halls, roommates, dorm rooms and hospital rooms. Nancy grew up on a farm in central Illinois and wrote lovingly about their kitchen. Every day after school their oversized oak kitchen table transformed into a desk. “My sister and I sat at the table, enjoyed a snack, and then began our homework.”

The kitchen became an office anytime Nancy’s father conducted farm business. “During income tax season he always had piles AND PILES of papers all over the table,” she wrote. “We had to put up a card table for a few weeks while he dealt with the paperwork.”

No one chose The Martian or Revenant as a writing topic, but a few wrote about being the center of attention at some part of their lives and how it felt to be in the…you guessed it…spotlight.

A couple writers chose Brooklyn as a topic. One of the Lincoln Park Village classes happened to meet on the very Thursday that Marjorie’s granddaughter in Brooklyn turned nine. Marjorie wrote about Simona.

Wanda chose Brooklyn as a topic as well. She’s been in the class I lead at the Chicago Cultural Center more than ten years, and still, every essay she writes lets me in on something new about her life story.

This one was no exception.

Wanda will be 95 years old this year, and while yes, she suffers with aches and pains, she is not a complainer. She credits her own upbeat attitude to her hardworking mother and her beloved uncle, Hallie B. “Hallie B. always told me that people who sit and mope with their head in their hands, well, they never see the good things coming their way.”

That's Wanda from way back on her 90th birthday.

That’s Wanda from way back on her 90th birthday. Photo courtesy Darlene Schweitzer.

Wanda has lived in more than 50 different apartments or houses in her lifetime. Her mother Geneva Johnson worked “In private family” and had to leave Wanda every Sunday to take off and live at the houses she took care of. Wanda lived with different relatives or family friends here and there. Sometimes, she lived with strangers. The class she is in is subsidized by the City of Chicago’s Department on Aging and meets downtown on Wednesdays, which has long been Wanda’s favorite day of the week. “That was mama’s day off.”

It wasn’t until Wanda was 15 years old that she discovered her beloved mama was not her birth mother. Her birth mother, Ruby Betty, lived in Brooklyn. Wanda didn’t meet “Mizz Betty” until she was 32 years old. “She had a personality all her own, and I had to fill in some of the gaps of her life story,” Wanda wrote. “She and a twin sister were born in Kingston, Jamaica to a black cobbler father and a French-Scottish mother.”

After Ruby and her twin attended secondary school in England, they moved to Hamilton, Ontario. Wanda was born in Canada. “Here the story gets fuzzy,” she wrote. “I have heard several Reader’s Digest versions of the events that led up to me and my coming to America.”

Wanda and Mizz Betty visited back and forth for the next 32 years. “I enjoyed a warm association with the little lady with the Jamaican, British, Brooklyn, and Yiddish accent,” she wrote, acknowledging that in the end, she realized their “personalities were at the opposite ends of the pole.” She ends her Brooklyn essay saying she has no regrets. “I am happy for the life I had with Mama Geneva.”

Wanda’s classmate Sharon Kramer compiles essays by writers in the Wednesday “Me, Myself and I” class on the Beth’s Class blog. You can read Wanda’s Mizz Betty from Brooklyn essay in its entirety there — and see photos of Mizz Betty, too.

Mondays with Mike: When were those good old days?

March 7, 20169 CommentsPosted in Mike Knezovich, Mondays with Mike, politics, Uncategorized

I grew up in a household where politics—paying attention to them, thinking about them, and forming reasoned positions—was not sport, it was an obligation as a citizen. My sister volunteered—at the age of 16—for Robert F. Kennedy’s presidential campaign, and after enduring the heartbreak of seeing her candidate murdered, she ended up working for Sen. Eugene McCarthy (sort of the Bernie Sanders of his day, for you millennials out there).

My mother and sister fought like cats and dogs about, well, everything—for pretty much, well—their entire lives. Back then our mother was happy that her daughter cared, but mom had lived a lot longer—which made her wiser and more realistic from one point of view, or lacking ideals and too crusty to get it, from another.

(For the record, if I could have voted, it would have been Humphrey. I was already suspicious of politicians tilting at windmills. We all suspected my father may have voted for Nixon, but that he never said so for fear of his life. But in fairness he was also the kind of guy who would’ve held his vote close to his vest regardless.)

Which brings me to this: We’re in the midst of a crazy angry election season and crazy angry times. And we tend always to think our time is unprecedented in the degree of craziness and tumultuousness. But I’m here to say: It’s not so.

George C. Wallace--I have no idea how long his fingers are.

George C. Wallace–hard to tell how long his fingers were.

We didn’t have Donald Trump back in 1968. We did have George Wallace, though, and he did run in the presidential election, getting 14 percent of the vote on a platform that makes the Donald’s rants seem kind of tame. Think about that. And there was Strom Thurmond, a bald-faced racist who served for 48 years as Senator—largely because he was a bald-faced racist.

1968 was the birth of the hateful Southern Strategy that served the Republican Party well for decades (but now also goes a long way toward splainin’ how the party has painted itself into its current corner).

We have Iraq, Afghanistan, ISIS and terrorism now. Back then it was the Cold War, near misses on nuclear war catastrophes, and a little strategy we called “containment,” which led to a little war that cost nearly 60,000 Americans their lives. Not to mention more than 200,000 South Vietnamese soldiers, and well over a million North Vietnamese and Viet Cong soldiers—not counting enormous civilian deaths owed to bombing. (I’m leaving out Laos and Cambodia.)

Oh, and RFK and King were killed, there were massive race riots, cities burning and campus shutdowns.

Cue The Temptations’ Ball of Confusion.

I’m not saying everything’s better. What I know without doubt is, our Ball of Confusion survived, and by my reckoning a lot really is better. The struggle continues. This too, shall pass,

And no matter how the election goes, I ain’t moving anywhere.