Can’t say as I have ever met a more phenomenal man, and I have met some outstanding individuals in my pursuit of the engineering profession. Though I have seen him in action hundreds of times, his abilities never cease to amaze me. It seems that someone forgot to include the word “can’t” in his vocabulary. Nothing unusual in that, eh? Lots of folks are like that. Not quite. Mr. S as most people call him, is totally, completely blind. He had very, very poor sight as a kid. When he was just a boy, he had an operation on his eyes which was intended to improve his eyesight, but when the bandages came off...nothing. Mr. S could not distinguish daylight from dark. He was awfully young to have to make the decision he had to make: adopt a poor-little-me attitude or go out and meet the challenges of life. As I said, he failed to learn about the word “can’t”. It doesn’t seem to be in his vocabulary.

His “poor little me” attitude amounted to learning to skate and play ice hockey. He could hear where the puck was, most of the time, as it skittered across the ice. He learned to play baseball, too. The only slack the other kids cut him was they let him toss the ball up and swing at it rather than have it pitched to him when he was at bat and he only had to stop the ball to get someone out. He had to run the bases just like the rest. Blind. He thought downhill skiing was a fun sport, too, until one day when he went a-straddle of a tree on the hill.

Mr. S was sent downstate to Lansing to attend the Michigan School for the Blind. He became a member of the School’s Wrestling team. In his Senior year, he participated in the State Championship match for his weight class. He lost the match, but being second in the State was mighty awful good, especially when you consider that his opponents were not blind.

The School for the Blind had a football team and Mr. S decided that he wanted to play the game. Yes, the School for the Blind had a football team. They competed against the freshman football teams of several Mid-Michigan Area high schools. The rules of the game were altered slightly to accommodate their lack of adequate sight. No forward passes were allowed because they couldn’t see where the ball went. That's all. Most of the players were legally blind, but could see somewhat. Mr. S could see nothing. Being totally blind, unable to distinguish daylight from dark, and being a pretty good sized guy, Mr. S played center. All that was required of him in that position was to hike the ball to the quarterback and put his arms out from his sides to help block the opposing team from getting to his quarterback as much as he could. That’s about all you could expect from a blind kid, eh? Probably more than you could expect from most blind kids, even sighted ones for that matter.

But Mr. S was not satisfied with just handling that routine and mundane task. They worked out a play in which Mr. S would hand the QB the ball and take off running with the quarterback hanging on to his belt to guide him. Mr. S would run full tilt, holding nothing back, picking his feet up high so he wouldn't trip over anything (or anyone.) It was very difficult to stop those two. The potential tackler could grab the quarterback, but if he could hang on to that belt, Mr. S would just keep going, pulling them both. The potential tackler could throw his body down in front of Mr. S if he didn’t value his hide. Sometimes that would trip him up. Sometimes it wouldn’t. If it didn’t stop the dynamic duo, the potential tackler might wind up with some perforations in his hide. They won several football games that way (including the one in which I played against him.) I think I still have his cleat marks in the hide on my back. He probably was a major factor in the early abortion

 of my football career.

Among other things, Mr. S learned how to do mechanic work while at the School for the Blind. He learned all of the intricate parts and workings of cars and engines to the point that he could diagnose a vehicle's problem and rebuild an engine, if necessary. Quite an accomplishment for a guy who could see absolutely nothing, but he took it in stride, like anyone could do it. His ears were excellent diagnostic tools. He could hear the problem in many cases.

He also learned how to play an accordion as well as a piano and organ. Of course, he had to memorize the music because one can't read with the fingers while playing music with them. He learned the music to thousands of songs.

Mr. S did so well in the School for the Blind, that he was accepted at Northern Michigan University. Topics that were not available in Braille or on records, he had a reader help him with. He learned his way around the campus without the help of a seeing eye dog or a cane. He could tell where he was by echoes off of buildings and other landmarks.

After two years at Northern, he transferred to Michigan State University where he studied music and also obtained a teaching certificate for teaching all subjects in elementary school.

The MSU campus covers several square miles. Some 50,000 students attend classes there. There are statues, monuments, flower gardens, fountains, shrubbery and trees of every variety that will grow there, all over the campus. The Red Cedar River (which is known as being the only rubber bottomed river in the state) runs smack dab through the campus. Sidewalks that follow a straight line for more than a hundred feet are nearly non existent. Many sighted people get lost on that campus, yet he learned to find his way around, again, without the benefit of cane or dog. He had an uncanny knack for knowing exactly where he was at all times.

He thought that it was fun to wander around the banks of the river at night when the weather was nice, kinda stumbling over couples and interrupting things. That's the only time he used the standard red and white cane. He could claim he was blind and had lost the path. Though he could hold his own in a scrap, he didn’t have to because you just don’t fight with a blind man, even if he interrupted something important. Sometimes the crazy bugger would even get the “interrupted” guy to help him find the sidewalk so he could get “unlost” when, all the while, he was more aware of where he was in the dark than the sighted person was.

He was old enough to purchase booze, so he would sometimes go out and tie one on. One cold night, he crawled through the bushes into the nearest opening he could find and passed out. He woke up to find himself in a coal bin the next morning.

One nice fall day, Mr. S visited his cousin who lived in the Detroit area. His cousin had just purchased a new car and they were out in the garage "looking it over". Both had had several boilermakers and were not feeling too much pain. Mr. S was sitting in the driver's seat and fired the car up to listen to it run. His cousin in the rider's seat told him to put it in reverse, so he did and backed out of the garage. Next thing you know, he was tooling down Woodward Avenue, a major traffic artery in downtown Detroit on a busy Sunday afternoon. His cousin would tell him to ease right or left, brake, or gas it, whatever was required to drive the car, and he did it.

Just imagine what would have happened if a policeman had pulled them over:

"Lemme see your license, fella."

"But osshifer, they don't give driverse lishunses to blind people."

“Don’t give me that crap. Get out of the vehicle, fella and walk down this line.”

“But, osshifer…”

How could a cop even write that up without appearing to be a little ridiculous? "I apprehended a drunken blind man speeding down Woodward Avenue (five lanes each way) at four o'clock on a Sunday afternoon." “Hey, Joe, you been hittin’ the funny weed?” Couldn't happen. But did. However, they arrived back in the garage without mishap. Mr. S' driving experience.

Mr. S got a summer job as a mechanic in a gas station up in the Keweenaw Peninsula, which sticks out into Lake Superior like an appendage on the western end of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. One day a penny-pinching tourist came in needing some work done on his car. He wanted to help the mechanic in an attempt to save money, but just got in the way. Finally, Mr. S told him to hold the light. “Ya, a little more this way. Now, up a bit. OK just right!” Can you imagine how foolish the guy must have felt when he went to pay and told the owner of the station that he should get a break on the price because he had helped the mechanic. Knowing the capability and independence of Mr. S, the owner inquired as to just how he had helped the mechanic? "I held the light."  Guffaw. Guffaw. “The man's blind!"

Upon graduation from MSU with a Master’s degree, Mr. S moved back to the Keweenaw Peninsula on the northwestern end of the UP. He organized a band and played in bars and nightclubs in the area. Played polkas, waltzes, schottisches, country, rock, calypso, gospel, and classical music, all from memory. His band was a big attraction at the Whirlaway, a favorite watering hole for young folks looking for a good time and a few beers.

His other job was teaching. Mr. S got a job teaching fifth and sixth grades in a small, rural school system up in the Keweenaw. He hired a reader to help him grade the kiddies’ papers and wound up marrying her.

Now one might think that a blind person wouldn’t be able to effectively teach school. The kids would constantly be pulling fast ones because the teacher couldn't see them, right? No way, Jose! Mr. S could hear what was going on better than the sighted teacher could see it. Every once in a while, a smarty-pants kid would come up with the ingenious idea that Mr. S couldn’t see it if he, or she as the case might be, wrote a note on a piece of paper and showed it to whom ever it was intended. Of course, Mr. S could hear the paper being torn out of the notebook and hear it rattle somewhat as it was lifted up. The slight titering or giggling and the guilty party would soon be detected. Neigh on to impossible to put one over on him.

Mr. S

The older kids in school had painted two lines in the parking lot in front of the school. The lines had been carefully measured and were 100 yards apart. Especially in the spring of the year when it was necessary to burn some of their excess energy, the boys would go out and run that hundred-yard dash. They used a stopwatch and timed each other’s runs for that hundred yards. Mr. S liked to show the kiddies how it was done. It was a rare lad that could best Mr. S. He would get lined up and pointed in the right direction and just gas it. Let it all hang out so to speak. He could consistently run that 100 yards in less than 12 seconds. Think about that. Running as fast as you can possibly go without being able to see where you are going! He could tell where he was going by the sound of his feet hitting the blacktop and the echoes bouncing off the cars parked there.

Mr. S had a lad name of Allan, a talented young artist, in one of his classes. On his desktop, the boy had drawn a beautiful farm scene: rolling hills, with house, barn, silo, fences, tractor, windmill, trees, cows, horses, old machinery sitting out in the field, complete with cow paths and a dog. All done in pastels and in perspective. It was a real work of art! I was in his room one day after the kids had left for home and noticed the picture on Allan’s desk. I commented on it to Mr. S, because it was certainly worthy of comment. Now, drawing pictures on your desktop is a no-no, even if it was worth replacing the desktop and hanging the picture up. So, Mr. S came over to “take a look” as he put it. He ran his fingers over the top of the desk and I told him what his fingers were encountering as they went along. Mr. S got a real good picture in his mind as to what was there. The following day, he casually walked around the room and lightly run his fingers along the desk

tops as he walked along. When he came to Allan’s desk and ran his fingers along the desktop, he stopped. “Hey, what’s this?” He then moved his fingers around the desktop and told the kid what was there, sometimes including the color just for grins. Mighty shocked bunch of fifth and sixth graders in the school that day! I doubt that Allan knows to this day how his picture was “discovered” and “read” by Mr. S. It really was too bad that it had to be destroyed. But, rules are rules. You can be sure the mystique of Mr. S was increased a dozen-fold by that little incident!

He knew most people just by the way they sounded when walking in the building. He made an excellent playground supervisor during recess periods. He could hear what was going on where the average person wouldn’t know because it couldn’t be seen.

The small country school would put on a smorgasbord each fall to raise money for extraneous equipment for the school playground, art supplies, gym, etc. It was a major undertaking. Generally fed about 3,000 people on a Sunday afternoon in late October. All you could eat turkey, with all the trimmings, meatballs, and ham. Mashed potatoes, rutabagas and a variety of veggies to go with it and a wide variety of bakery contributed by the local women. This was a well-supported community event and many people participated in the preparations for this annual affair. Though it was a lot of work, it was a lot of fun, too. Friends and neighbors working together for a common cause. The quantity of food that had to be prepared was rather large and it required that 200 pounds of onions be peeled and ground for meatballs and for dressing. Everyone in the kitchen would be crying except Mr. S. He’d say "It doesn't bother me. I just close my eyes." He could peel potatoes and rutabagas as fas

t as anyone, and faster than most. Whatever was required, from food preparation to getting out tables and chairs to cleaning up, he shouldered more than his share of the workload. No slacker, that guy!

Clara and Mr. S preparing for smorgasbord

As previously indicated, Mr. S’ abilities never cease to amaze me. His house was filled with antiques, Tiffany lamps, vases, pictures and statuettes, etc. To walk through it was almost like going through an obstacle course. He knew exactly where everything was. He could flit through the place without touching a thing. In summer, the man cut his own grass and didn't leave any strips uncut. He rarely bumped into anything. In addition, if the lawnmower needed some TLC, he fixed it. In winter, he kept the snow out of his driveway and from in front of his house and off his roof. There, again, if the snow blower needed some TLC, he could handle it. No big deal, you say? The area usually gets 320 to 340 inches of snow each winter and sometimes tops the 400-inch mark. That’s a bunch! He washed and waxed the floors in his house on a regular basis. He put up and took down the storm windows and screens on his old two-story house. Minor carpentry and fix-it type projects, no problem

. He even painted the house and garage! No missed spots, either. He pruned his apple trees and kept the hedges trimmed to perfection.

He ran a Golf Course for several years. It was a good summertime job for a teacher with nothing to do in summers. It was a good deal for all concerned. His band was a regular feature at the clubhouse. Easy for him to arrange. He was also on the Board of County Commissioners for several years. He chaired it for a spell, even.

Mr. S played a lot of music and he spent many hours punching sheets of musical notes in Braille for other blind people to use. He also had several decks of playing cards punched in corners with Braille. There were not many card games that he didn’t know, but Cribbage was one of his favorites. You just had to keep an eyeball on him to be sure he kept his very sensitive fingers in the middle of the deck when he dealt the cards.

At a New Year’s Eve party some folks were playing cribbage, including Mr. S. So he wouldn’t have to reach over and feel each card that was laid down, whoever played one would call out what card he had placed on the table. Mr. S’ partner had to leave, and a person who didn’t know him sat down to play in the departed person’s place. He just thought it was House Rules that you called out the variety of card that was laid down. He didn't know his partner was blind! Mr. S kept score and played just as though he was in his right mind. The newcomer couldn’t believe it when he found out.

After reading about all of the attributes and abilities of this blind man, you should know that you haven’t heard the half of it yet. Even after describing all the things he has done (and I have just touched the surface), I am reluctant to mention one for fear of being branded a liar, but think what you will.

Mr. S and his wife purchased a large lot on the shore of a small inland lake, which connects, by way of a small river, directly with Lake Superior. At first, they camped on the lot and kept their boat tied to a tree there. Mr. S would drive the boat with verbal guidance from his wife or other passengers. He had a very good idea where to go to find the best fishing spots.

Tying the boat to a tree presented problems with it rubbing on the bottom and sometimes being difficult to get it moving so Mr. S. built a dock. He had a problem with erosion of his beach so he decided to put in a retaining wall. Yes, he built it himself out of old railroad ties. When he built the retaining wall, he put in a boathouse with an electric sling lift mechanism so he could keep the boat in it all winter. He just had to lift it out of the water so it wouldn’t freeze and he could winterize it right there. In order to use the electric lift, he had to have a power line run in from the road. Since he had power, he decided to build a cabin instead of camping out. He had a well put in and he built a nice little three-room cabin with a garage/storage shed on the end of it. Incredible as it may seem, he made the forms for the concrete footings, built the cabin, did the plumbing work, electrical work, insulation, roofing, windows, doors, even laid the linoleum and applied 

the paneling to the walls.

That was fine for a couple of years, but they enjoyed having visitors during the summer and the cabin was just not big enough to accommodate everyone, so Mr. S decided to build a bigger “cabin”. He figured out what he would need in materials and realized that the framing lumber would cost him a bundle, so he entered a bid on an old two-story mining company office/storage building that was to be torn down, and purchased it. Unfortunately, the purchase price did not include tearing it down. He’d have to hire someone to do that for him (so you think!) No way, Jose! First, Mr. S removed the inner walls, electrical switches, doors, wiring, switches and outlets, plumbing, etc. Then the siding and flooring came out. Then he started at the top. First he removed the old wood shingles. Then off came the roof boards. He actually walked from rafter to rafter with the roof boards gone. When asked about that, his comment was “It is easier for me than it would be for you. Heights do

n’t bother me. Do you get a funny feeling inside when you look down from somewhere up high? It all looks the same to me.” He dismantled the building, removing the rafters, framework, floor joists, the whole building. He removed nails as he went and piled the lumber on a trailer and hauled it to his lot on the lakeshore and piled it (as much as possible) in the garage there. It took him all summer to take the building down, but he did it himself.

The following summer, he had a guy with a bulldozer come in and clear his lot of trees and brush where his “cottage” was to be built. He used the poorer-quality lumber to make the forms and when they were ready, had a concrete truck come and pour the footings, steps, and sidewalks. He troweled the concrete surfaces and removed the forms when the stuff had set. He had dug a trench and run the water line from the well. Using the lumber from the building he tore down, he built a two-story “cottage”, as he calls it, with four bedrooms, living room, recreation room, kitchen, three bathrooms and a covered and screened front porch all the way across the front of it. He did all of the work himself. He put in floor joists, floors, frame, second floor, plumbing, electrical work, carpeting, kitchen cabinets, steps, drywall, paneling, doors (even a slider!), windows, insulation, finish carpentry, siding, roofing, painting, even the kitchen cabinets with Formica counter tops (thin

k about doing that blind!) You name it, he did it. The place is incredible! The floors are level. The walls vertical. Corners are square. Joints are tight. Everything works fine. Doors and windows fit. Roof doesn’t leak. The only way you would know that a professional (actually a group of professionals) didn’t construct his “cottage” is that it is done better than most professionals can spend the time that is required to make things to such perfection.

I did mention his dock and boathouse. Yes, Mr. S had a boat. He loved to go out fishing on the inland lake and even the Big Lake if the weather was cooperative. As with his car and pickup, he did his own mechanic work on the boat: changed the oil, plugs, points, and condenser on it. In addition, the guy rebuilt the out-drive on his boat. Starter, too. Every winter, the boat had to be prepared for seven months of storage. That required special oil in the engine cylinders and carburetor, the out-drive drained, antifreeze in the engine, etc. Quite a process to do it right. Mr. S’ boat was done right. It had to be prepared to run for the following boating season in the spring. Ya, he did it.

Mr. S was out driving around the lake with a Nun one day. He was heading back to his “cottage” when the boat quit. He couldn’t get it to start again. Simply wouldn’t go, so he checked the depth of the water…four to five feet. He said, “Close your eyes, Sister” and removed his pants. He grabbed a rope and went over the side into the rather cold water, and towed the boat back to his dock.

There are many other tidbits about this incredible man’s life, such as Guidewoman (from another tale) offering to exchange services she seemed to be expert in for some mechanic work on her VW that he was expert in. His comment about that was “I wouldn’t work on that with somebody else’s tool”, or something like that, anyway. Or his commenting at a relative’s funeral upon hearing the deceased man’s wife talking to her dead husband, “That’s the best they have gotten along in years!”

His accomplishments should be displayed as a beacon in the night for other folks with similar handicaps. Perhaps you think that the guy should wear a blue skin-tight suit with a red cape and have a big yellow “S” on his chest? Well, I can’t claim he is Superman, but certainly he is a super man. I know my life has been enriched considerably just because I have known Mr. S as “friend”.