For some unknown reason, Peter Altschul was born totally blind. He grew up in a working-class town where, with the help of his persistent mother, he broke through barrier after barrier, determined to live a full life. After attending a private school that initially turned him away-simply because he was blind-Peter details how he discovered his gift for music, eventually playing percussion in the orchestra, marching band, and jazz ensemble at Princeton University. But it was only after Peter graduated from college that it became evident he would need a guide dog. Heidi, a Weimaraner with a large repertoire of barks, howls, and grunts, would assist Peter for the next eight years through the halls of New England Conservatory, where he eventually obtained a master's degree in music composition. Peter relays how he blazed a unique professional trail while simultaneously overcoming obstacles; managed his uneasy relationship with music; and embraced his unexpected entrance into an unfamiliar and romantic world. He also provides an unforgettable glimpse into the wonderful ways his five guide dogs supported him on his journey from urban bachelorhood to the light of love. Breaking Barriers shares a compelling account of one man's journey through life as he and each of his specially trained dogs learned to trust each other, ultimately melding into a smooth working team that tackled the world-together.

Breaking Barriers

Working and Loving While BlindBy Peter Altschul

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Peter Altschul, MS
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4697-3111-7

Contents

Prologue: Pet Dogs and Working Dogs.........................1Chapter One: Preparing for the New Dog......................15Chapter Two: The New Dog....................................28Chapter Three: Play Day.....................................39Chapter Four: Back to Work..................................50Chapter Five: Preparing to Leave............................59Chapter Six: Home Alone with Jules..........................77Chapter Seven: Patterning...................................85Chapter Eight: Onstage......................................94Chapter Nine: Making Connections............................107Chapter Ten: A Dunbar Factor................................125Chapter Eleven: The Trip to Trenton.........................138Chapter Twelve: The Eulogy..................................149Chapter Thirteen: What Happens in Vegas.....................163Chapter Fourteen: The Blessings.............................176Chapter Fifteen: Control....................................187Chapter Sixteen: Loosening Ties.............................196Chapter Seventeen: Three Ceremonies.........................205Epilogue: Family Man........................................223

Chapter One

Preparing for the New Dog

* * *

March 12, 2005

At LaGuardia Airport, I held onto the left elbow of an airport employee with my suitcase in my right hand and my backpack on my back. As he guided me toward the security area, an unfamiliar voice identified herself as Jolene from Guiding Eyes. "Hi!" I called back. As we drew even with her, I thanked the airport employee for his help and transferred my grip to Jolene's elbow without breaking stride. She led me out of the bustling, warm dryness of the airport to the cold, damp pavement of the sidewalk. Cars and buses sloshed past us as we approached the van in which two students and I would be driven to the school. I handed her my suitcase, which she stowed in the back as I climbed in. She introduced me to a woman in the van named Pam, rolled the door shut, and went back into the terminal.

Pam told me that she was an instructor's assistant working in the kennel taking care of dogs-in-training. She had recently been assigned to assist the instructors who would be teaching us how to work with our new dogs. Over time, she would develop the needed skills to work with both dogs and people with visual impairments.

We soon discovered that we knew people in common because we both had worked for small NGOs that tried to tackle the world's biggest conflicts. I asked what had prompted the career change.

"I've always loved dogs, and I got tired of the frantic pace," she said as Jolene assisted the second student into the van.

After the doors rolled shut, Pam asked me about my work. I told her about a reverse mentoring program I was running for the American branch of a large London-based corporation as part of its diversity initiative. I explained that this program "flipped" the usual mentoring relationship; instead of a more senior person mentoring a more junior person, the more junior person took on the mentoring role.

"Fascinating. How did you get the idea?"

I explained that I had been looking for a low-cost way to assist the organization's leadership team in understanding the barriers that made it more difficult for people other than white men to get ahead, and how I had overheard someone at a conference describing a bank's effort to start a program where people from diverse backgrounds mentored senior managers about diversity and culture change. "The simplicity and uniqueness of the idea got my attention," I told her.

"How's it going?" she asked as I heard Jolene approach the van with the third student.

"Very well." The third student boarded, and the door rolled shut. "I'm supposed to write a report summarizing its successes while I'm at the school."

"Welcome to Guiding Eyes," Jolene called. She started the van. "We should be there in about an hour."

As the van eased into traffic, Pam asked if I would be writing the report using one of the computers that the school has available for its students. "You know that we installed both of those software programs with the weird names that convert what's on the screen into speech?"

I laughed. "You mean JAWS and Window-eyes?"

"Yes. I have a lot to learn."

I told Pam that while I used JAWS (Job Access with Speech) to listen to the text on the screen, I would write my report using my Braille Lite. I took it out of my backpack and showed her how text is input using the six braille keys instead of the QWRTY keyboard. I explained that material is input as ASCII text and can be converted to a Microsoft Word or WordPerfect file on any personal computer. I demonstrated how I could read text by running my fingers along the braille display at the front of the machine or listen to it using its robotic-sounding "voice."

After a period of sparse chitchat, I eased into a conversation with a middle-aged woman from North Carolina who had recently ended her relationship with an abusive husband. She described how many of her friends had discouraged her from leaving. "He's such a nice man," they had said, "and how will you be able to live without him? You're blind."

"I'm glad you left him," I told her.

She said that she was fine living alone but that she was having trouble with her VR counselor.

I cringed. "What's the problem?"

"She won't return my calls. She's very condescending and won't help me get the training I need to get a job."

"Sounds familiar." I sighed and began describing the strategy I used when my VR counselor wouldn't return my calls.

"I had just received my master's in music," I explained, "and I was sharing a small studio apartment in Manhattan with my first guide dog, a Weimaraner named Heidi. I was trying to break into the music business."

"Doing what?" someone asked.

"I wanted to write music jingles for commercials," I said. "I also enjoyed writing and producing pop tunes."

"Were you successful?"

"Not really. Heidi and I spent two years knocking on doors, and while I did get one tune published and made some money recording tracks for other songwriters, I concluded that I wasn't cut out for the business. So I took the first job I could get: doing customer service work for a large federal government agency.

"Anyway," I continued, "twice a year I would receive a letter in print from my counselor threatening to close my case if I didn't contact her immediately. First I had to find someone sighted to read the letter. Then I would call and ask to speak with my counselor, and the receptionist always told me that she wasn't available. I would politely ask that my counselor call me back.

"Of course she would never return my call," I said as the passengers snickered, "and I would call back the receptionist two or three days later and threaten to sue or to call the media or to organize a demonstration or anything else I could think of short of physical violence, and my counselor always called me back within an hour."

"That's rude!" Jolene's voice cut through our laughter.

"That's what my counselor said. She also accused me of threatening the receptionist."

"What did you say?" asked another passenger, who sounded like an elderly African American gentleman.

"The truth—that the only way she would return my calls was if I threatened to take action."

"I don't think I could...