Visionaries: Episode 4, Mark Allnatt

About Mark:
Mark Allnatt is a retired public librarian, husband of Sylvia and father of Nathan. He spent 33 years with the Onondaga County Public Library, and currently serves on Aurora’s Board of Directors. He holds an MLS degree from Syracuse University, a MA degree in U.S. History from Binghamton and a BA from Houghton College. While at OCPL Mark developed the STAR Program, providing assistive technology and adapted resources for patrons in Onondaga County.  He served as OCPL’s Title VI, ADA and LEP program representative and presented on information accessibility at library conferences and webinars throughout New York State. He has also been honored with Aurora’s Mattie Letham Professional Excellence Award and the Ossie Golden Award for public service by the Onondaga County Public Library.  In his spare time, Mark is a bluegrass musician who enjoys songwriting and performing at various local venues.  He has been part of two SAMMY Award winning bands; The Lost Boys and The Easy Ramblers.

                I’ve been dealing with vision loss my entire life thanks to a genetic eye disease called Retinitis Pigmentosa, or RP for short.  Diagnosed about the age of five, I had corrected vision of 20/70 for many years but with only a three degree field of vision and night blindness.  That meant I could just about see an area the size of someone’s face from 6 feet away.  My first grade teacher told my parents “Mark looks around a lot,” which was the only way I could keep track of my surroundings.  My sight remained stable until I reached my early 30s, which allowed me to go through public school, college and the beginning of my career as a librarian.  Over the next few years my vision declined until by 37 I had no sight left. So my life can be split pretty much in two parts: the first part with low vision and the rest with no vision. When I think about it from those two perspectives I realize they made a difference in how I thought and felt about myself.

                I grew up on a dairy farm in Western New York.  We didn’t have easy access to services like those Aurora provides. So even though I was legally blind from birth, I didn’t even use a cane until I reached age thirty.  I tried to use the vision I had, along with my other senses, to blend in and function as independently as I could.  Consequently, people who didn’t know me, and even some who did, tended to expect me to do things a sighted person could do.  I remember having to tell my high school physics teacher repeatedly that I couldn’t do his homework assignment of taking a time lapse photo of the stars because I couldn’t see the stars.  This made me feel pressured to live up to both other peoples’ standards as well as my own.  However, I received plenty of support and encouragement from a great number of people and I owe them a huge debt of gratitude.  One of these was the head of the Syracuse library who gave me a chance to work and find out whether I could be successful as a librarian.  A few years later, when I could no longer see enough to do the job I was hired for, I thought I would have to quit.  The new head of the library called me to her office and to my surprise all she said was “Mark, what would you like to do?” So I stayed there nearly thirty more years. It was those demanding patrons I was trying to serve or those passers by on the street who had no idea I was visually impaired that let me know when I didn’t live up to their expectations.  It is an interesting dilemma to ponder, whether those of us with disabilities should let everyone know in advance about our condition or only mention it when we can’t avoid the subject any longer.  I chose to be totally up front with the library director and received nothing but support in return.  Unfortunately, not every person with a disability can say the same thing.  I tried to do this with other people when my vision began to fail and got a mixed reaction of sympathy, pity, apathy and even some animosity.  When I had to use a white cane, I naturally drew more attention to myself. Sometimes that was a good thing, like when I was walking to the bus in a snowstorm and someone would come along and give me a hand.  The pressure came from those people who felt it necessary to tell me I was faking or that I had no business working or being on the street.  I told myself I shouldn’t take it personally. They were probably miserable about something in their own life and just venting on what they saw as an easy target.  It didn’t always work, though.  It was at times like that my faith sustained me.  I felt like God was reminding me I wasn’t facing this life alone.

                Then, there were those people in between who felt compelled to help but didn’t know how to go about it.  I was walking to lunch one day when someone came up behind me, grabbed me by the arm and said “Come on.  I’ll take you to Burger King.”  All I could think to say was “But, I don’t want to go to Burger King.”  I finally realized that I needed to take charge in those situations.  If I didn’t need or want the help, I would politely decline and give them a brief reason why.  My hope was the person wouldn’t get angry or go away feeling bad about themselves for having their offer of assistance turned down.  If I chose to accept their help, I would ask if I could take their arm and explain how they could be my guide.  Hopefully the next time they wanted to aid a person who was blind they would be better prepared.

                My perceptions changed when I crossed over from low vision to having no usable sight.  I remember what I consider my crisis point.  After years of slow decline, using devices like CCTVs and other magnifiers it all came to a head one particular day at work.  We still had paper time sheets to fill out and I had difficulty seeing enough to complete them.  I transitioned all of the information to the computer using my screen reader and printed out the completed form.  I only needed to sign it by hand.  I had to use a CCTV to see the line and finally, one morning, I just couldn’t do it.  I stopped in frustration and realized I had spent almost a half hour turning knobs and dials, squinting and just trying to see one line on a piece of paper.  I told myself I couldn’t do this anymore.  I took a minute to grieve and pronounce the time of death on my vision and was surprised to find I had a sense of relief.  I don’t mean relief at being blind.  Rather, it was relief from the pressure of trying to do something that I just couldn’t do anymore.  Instead of feeling depressed I felt more determined and a sense of purpose.  I took the time sheet along with a piece of cardboard to a clerical friend of mine and asked if he would make me a template with a signature window in it.  That allowed me to just slap the cardboard over the printed sheet and sign my name in the window.  Five seconds later my time sheet was ready to hand in and I could move on to something else.  I transitioned my operations to audio and tactile formats and found I could be more successful with less stress.

                Oddly, the sense of pressure I felt from other people now tended toward the expectations that I couldn’t do anything. Instead of telling me “The chair is on your right facing away from you” they felt the need to grab me by the shoulders and physically, without explanation, turn and push me into position.  I might have been the first blind person to ever walk on a treadmill in a local hospital for a stress test.  “He’s blind; he can’t walk on a treadmill.  Let’s give him the nuclear test.”  For those who don't know, that is where they pump drugs into you and see what your heart does.  It is safe enough, I’m told, but I didn’t like the sound of it and didn’t feel it was necessary.

                I had to insist on doing the treadmill before they would let me. Everything went off without incident.  Of course, not everyone treats people that way but I find more often that others expect less of me now that I can’t see at all.  My inclination is to push back at that idea and charge stubbornly ahead.

                Finally, I would like to conclude by saying that my family and friends have taught me some valuable lessons about both acceptance and appreciation.  I still try to do things that are challenging like mow my own lawn.  I have to have a system, of course, to do something like that.  I still suffer a momentary frustration when I find out I have left a thin strip of grass unmowed.  My neighbor, who is sighted and a perfectionist told me recently that he envies me.  He said I had learned to accept the fact that things aren’t going to be perfect and he really struggles with that in life.  I also learned that some things I view as imperfections others view as treasures.  One of the things I have tried for years to do is cut a pizza into six even slices.  I used to get frustrated because I wasn’t very good at it. One day I finally did it right and stepped back all pleased with myself only to hear my son say “Aw, there’s no little triangle in the middle.  I love that little triangle in the middle.”  I think we can be too hard on ourselves sometimes and fail to realize that what we view as flaws, others see as character. Today, my wife and son are both comfortable holding my hand as we walk down the street.  They are guiding me, no mistake about that, but they are also reminding me that I am first a person who they care about and it doesn’t matter if I am blind. I wouldn’t trade that for even a lifetime of sight.