When I ponder my retirement, now a University of the Pacific Professor Emeritus, I can’t help thinking about how grateful I am, and the long road traveled to this prestigious conclusion. At 70, after working at the University of the Pacific for 38 years, first as the Production Director for KUOP Public Radio and then as a faculty lecturer in recording arts and music technology, the story behind my success has been filled with many interesting and challenging twists, turns, and climbs.


Kindergarten
Even before I became visually impaired, my very first educational experience quickly turned negative. I was 5-years old and was to attend PS27, the first public school in America with a kindergarten. It was just up the block from my home in College Point. The schedule for kindergarten at PS27 was a half-day class session, from 12 to 3PM. My kindergarten teacher, Miss Barbara was a young, yellow-hair, pretty woman with a kind face, and a musical voice. She let the class play with the toys on the shelves, the blocks on the floor and at the end of class, after everything was properly put away, use crayons that stood on circular tables to color. I was in her class for just one week. That year kindergarten class enrollment significantly increased at PS 27, causing a second section of kindergarten to be put in place. The second section went from 9:AM to 12PM and was taught by Mrs. Owl. I remember she even looked like an owl. Short and squat, a little overweight with dark brown and gray hair. She also wore black framed glasses. For my second week of kindergarten I found myself in her class, having to wake up much earlier. Mrs. Owl was much older than Miss Barbara and had a rough grizzly voice and a structured school philosophy. Unlike Ms. Barber’s classroom that had circular tables scattered throughout the room with warm afternoon sunlight, Mrs. Owl’s room was cold and on the other side of the building facing west. The room was dark, illuminated only by fluorescent lights on the ceiling and had rectangular desks that were set up in a square U-shaped classroom configuration. Her desk was located at the front of the room by the classroom door. She rarely sat at her desk as she would take the stage in the center of the room where she could stand and face any student at any time. Her materials like crayons, pencils, and paper would remain on her desk and she would walk back and forth from her desk to her standing location, passing out crayons, pencils, and paper to individual students. Looking back, I remember in Ms. Barber’s classroom, kids laughed and moved around. In Mrs. Owl’s, her room was silent. Students would whisper to one another and would say nothing when she stood at command. No doubt, kindergarten was the first experience where the contrast between strict school structure and free creative exploration, would have its effect on my future educational outcome.


The Discovery
After the ocular event that took place in the spring of 1963 at St. John’s Lutheran school, resulting in my visual impairment (legal blindness), that first summer would be very different for me, my mom, and my brother and sister. Having a visual impairment as a hidden disability, my blindness was never directly observed. Instead, throughout that summer, whenever I ate enough to feel full, I got sick. I could not hold food down long enough for complete digestion. This was all related to my severe gastrointestinal condition. When I was 11 months old, I suffered from interception, a binding or twisting of the small intestines. Unfortunately, the family doctor misdiagnosed the condition, and for three days, treated me for a throat infection. By the third day, according to my mom, I was so sick I could not stand in my crib. I was rushed to the Hospital and underwent exploratory surgery. The doctors found that my intestines had twisted, and with the prolong weight, gangrene had said in and they had to remove 4 and-a-half feet of small intestines, along with a lot of the surrounding bowel. After the operation, the doctors told my mom not to worry, that it would all grow back and I should be treated just like any of her other childern. 7-years later, my body had depleted its total amount of Vitamin A, and I was suffering from the symptoms of malnutrition. Then, my eyesight failed. As I was not completely blind, I could still get around with a severe visual disability undetected. My mom’s panic began when one day at the bowling alley she said to me, “It’s not polite to not look directly at a person when they are talking to you.” I said to my mom, “if I look directly at you, I don’t see your face.” From that point on, my Odyssey through the medical community in New York City began. First, my mom took me to the town’s local ophthalmologist. He recommended me and my mom to an eye specialist in Flushing, and later, the eye clinic at Bellview in New York City. At the time and to the best of my knowledge, there was never a diagnosis or a prognosis given to explain my visual impairment condition.

That fall, I entered third grade and was unable to accomplish any classwork requirements. I could not see the text and therefore could not read the assignments. Basically, I sat in the class at my desk with my peers just listening to the teacher, Mis Vox, speak. In early October, my mom took me, my brother, and sister to upstate New York to visit my aunt Louise for the weekend. I remember staying in this really nice motel and having dinner in their dining room which I recall to be elegant. That night, I became very ill with the stomach flu and for the rest of that weekend, unable to hold anything down. On the way home Sunday evening I started feeling better but still weak from the weekend ordeal. Monday morning, my mom took me over to Queens General Hospital. She told me that she was going to admit me because I’ve been so sick and I would only be there a few days. I was admitted on Monday, October 7, 1963, and released from Queen’s General Hospital on Christmas Eve.

 
My Hospital Stay.
The almost 2 months of hospitalization in Queens General was physically and emotionally traumatic. For the most part, I was alone. I was bed-ridden in a crib in the children’s ward. My mom came once a day in the evening and could only stay for an hour. I cried and screamed every time she had to leave. During the day, I was subjected to every test imaginable. EEG brain scans, several GI stomach X-ray series, multiple spinal taps, continuous blood work, daily urine specimens and a battery of other tests that I barely remember. As many of these diagnostic tests required  “no food by mouth” I began losing weight. I was so weak that I could not sit up in my bed. At one point, our local church pastor came to my bedside, gave me a picture of Jesus and prayed for my recovery. I was 8-years old and I weighed only 30-pounds. Then one day, waking up after a series of tests that morning, I opened my eyes and I could not see a thing. I started feeling for my eyes to confirm they were opened. I felt for my toys, bringing them up close to my face and still couldn’t see them. I was totally blind. I started to scream and panic. From what I recall, a nurse along with a doctor came over and gave me a huge injection of something which now I can only assume was a huge dose of vitamin A. Seconds later, my eyesight returned to where it is to this day. I’m not sure when that event happen during my hospital stay as I was very weak, but at that point, things started to slowly turn around. First, I was removed from the crib and placed in a standard children’s bed. It was finally determined I was suffering from a severe case of vitamin A deficiency due to a severe malabsorption condition. This was the result of my operation at 11 months old. Of course, being in the hospitals children’s ward expose me to other illnesses. I remember waking up several times in an oxygen tent, given freezing cold alcohol baths for high fever, having my nose cauterized for a severe bloody nose, and even catching the measles, needing to be put in a children’s isolation ward. However, I slowly began to gain weight as my dietary card was changed to a higher caloric intake—lots more food. I was also prescribed a huge vitamin regiment, taking a variety of vitamin supplements and enzyme replacements. Early on Christmas eve 1963, I was release from the hospital. It was the first time I was standing on my feet in almost 2-months. Looking back at the horror I went through, it was not unlike the horror the country went through with the assassination of President Kennedy on October 22, 1963. I remember hearing doctors and nurses weeping throughout  the children’s ward on that fateful day made my hospital stay even more intense.

 
Back to School
Once the holidays were over, I went back to St. John’s Lutheran school in January 1964, continuing to attend third grade. I still could not participate in any of the class assignments or activities, as there were no special education instructors nor accommodations for someone with a visual impairment. The only thing I was allowed to do was eat at my desk during class. I spent that entire semester listening to the teacher, and eating butter cookies, and graham crackers. When I received my final report card, my grades were all D’s and F’s. I honestly don’t remember much of the summer of 1964, outside of taking lots of vitamins, drinking a high protein supplement called Portergin, along with getting vitamin B-12 injections three times a week by a nurse neighbor. In September, I went back to St John’s, entering fourth grade. I went for the first 3-days and then never returned.
 

The Mormon Church
For the next 3-years I fell off the educational grid. My mom, a single parent with three children one of which was chronically ill, while having no parental support system, had no idea where to turn or what to do except keep me home well and safe. Then, in 1965, my brother signed up for more information at the Mormon Pavilion during the New York Worlds fair. That fall, my entire family was baptized into the Mormon Church. The family started attending church services in Douglaston Long Island at the Queens ward Mormon church. The church was located in an upper class neighborhood and many of the congregation were wealthy, well-educated professionals. Besides having hands placed on my head by the church Bishop, anointed with oil and blessings by several Mormon elders, the church provided my family with stability and my mom with resources and information. One of the church members, sister Carolyn, advised my mom to get in touch with the head of the New York City board of public education for the disabled. My mom contacted a Mrs. De Marinis, and we went to her office in Jamaica Queens to find out about public schools for disabled children and other services. Marinis was a large, loud, and verbally direct woman who held back no punches. She directed my mom to immediately enroll me into PS179 in Bayside Queens, which had a special class for students who were blind and or visually impaired. She also connected me with the New York Association for the Blind (the Light House) the New York Department of Rehabilitation and Children Services (RCS) to pay for monocular(s), other visual aids, and a 4-track, 7-inch mono reel-to-reel recorder. She also had me sign up to receive talking books (Recordings for the Blind). Although Marinas was a curt and edgy woman, she did provide my mom and me a place to start. In January 1967 at 11-years old, I began attending PS179, re-entering 3rd grade. My homeroom teacher, Mrs. Altman, was a deceptive character with a two face personality. When she was with parents talking about the type of education disabled kids would receive, she was friendly, humorous, and gracious. However, this was strictly a façade.
 

My Education at PS179
The time I spent at PS179 was a nightmare. Being very sick for the past 4-years, including an intensive hospital stay, having no school setting schedule or exposure, and a chronic gastrointestinal condition, a traditional public school with an unsympathetic teacher caused significant and long-term psychological scarring. Even the environment, with yelling and demanding teachers, inaccessible general education classrooms, and doorless bathroom stalls presented humiliation for me every day with my stomach condition.
 
The School Bus Ride
As I lived in College Point, the furthest distance from PS179 than any of the other students that rode the morning bus, I was the first to be picked up. The school bus, was a 10-passenger Chevy van with a single swinging door that opened up with the driver pulling on a long yellow handle attached to the center of the door. The bus would arrive around 7:00AM. A very distinctive double honk with announce the vans arrival. The  ride to school was terrifying. The driver would race around Queens picking up student after student until arriving at the school around 8:15AM. He was reckless, speeding through narrow streets, making sharp turns and speeding down long boulevards to meet his morning time deadline at PS 179. In the winter, with wet streets and slick roadways, the morning bus ride was even more intense. During one cold and memorable morning, the driver shot through an intersection and drove quickly passed a garbage truck hitting a garbage man dragging a can back to the curb. Each morning , once I got on the bus for the morning ride to PS179, I was petrified. With only a lap belt, I gripped the seat with both hands continuously until I got to school. When school ended at 3:15PM, the ride back home was just as disturbing. In the afternoon I wrote on a traditional 40 passenger, long yellow school bus. The afternoon school bus driver could not speed around corners as the bus was long and slower than the morning van. However, all throughout the ride the driver would tell us stories containing explicit sexual content. Some students thought it was funny. I didn’t know what to think. It didn’t feel right and my fear kept me quiet in my seat. The seven of us from the morning ride were the only passengers in the afternoon. This made the bus lighter than usual.  As I was the last to get off, the driver would tease me about how the bus could tip over during a tight turn. On some corners, sharper than 90° the bus in deed would lean so far over it felt as though it could fall on its side. I told my mom about my bus ride experience, but she was unsure on how to proceed. I started to really dread hearing that morning, double honk school bus van arrival. Like Pavlov’s dogs, the school bus honk would create a level of stress and anxiety so intense that one morning, I ran out the back door climbing our blackberry tree to prevent anyone from encouraging me to get on the school bus.
 

A Day with Altman
At first, I gave PS179 my best effort. I wanted to do good. I began learning how to read and write braille, large print was not an option. Altman’s class was very structured and disciplined. The homeroom class had 7-students. 3-students were totally blind, 3-students had visual impairments at different severities, and one visually impaired student was also physically disabled requiring crutches. Everything to do with Altmen’s classroom was rigidly structured. That was the commonly accepted philosophy for teaching blind students in the 1960s. If you did not follow the structure, Altmen would yell and humiliate you in front of the other students in the class to teach everyone the lesson.

The day began with checking the homework. Altmen would sit at her desk and call out names, and the selected student would need to review their work as other students listened while preparing for their homework interrogation. If you did not have your homework prepared, completed or done properly, the hole class knew it. As I was at a learning stage, at first mistakes were tolerated. My homework was learning how to read and write braille using a braille sleet and stylus.
 

The Braille Language
The braille language consists of a rectangular cell of 6-raised dots, three vertical dots side by side. From top to bottom on the left, dots 1,2,3, and on the right, dots 4,5, 6. This single cell 6-dot character creates the entire braille alphabet, including punctuation marks, numbers and braille contractions. Using  your fingertips, you slid your fingers along the braille text line from left to right, identifying shapes of letters and words. When using the Perkins braille machine, a typewriter style device, the six keys from left to right were numbered dots-1, 2, 3 spacebar dot-4, 5, 6, creating a positive raised dotted letter impression.

Braille paper, a heavy card stock was used for homework assignments. Each day, Altmen would give me a card with six or seven sentences written out in braille. I was to copy the sentences, each sentence three times using my braille slate and stylus. I did not own a braille machine. The braille slate and stylus writing system consisted of three components. A solid wooden clip board much larger than a single sheet of standard paper. The board had grooves up and down both sides with guide holes for metal spikes that were part of the braille slate. The holes were equally distant, so as you moved the slate down the paper, unused measured areas of the blank page became available. The braille slate was ten inches long and had two metal hinged braille templates with four rows of braille cells. The top part of the hinge slate had 64 empty cels across with each cell having slight grooves to guide the stylist to the correct position. The bottom part of the hinged slate had 64-indented molds in the shape of a braille character. Placing the Metal cardstock paper between the 2-metal slate components and then locking it down on the board, I would use the braille stylist, a thick metal pin device with a wooden handle, to punch in each dot within the braille character. As writing braille using a slate and stylist created a negative braille impression, I needed to write each braille character backwards from its positive raised dot configuration. As I copied the assigned sentences, I could not make any mistakes. I had to work slowly to ensure each dot was punched in at the precise location to form a correct braille character. Erasing a mistake was not possible. Altman would read my homework from her desk and verbally announce my mistakes as we read through the sentences she had prepared the day before. Altman was not a person that believed in positive reinforcement of any kind. Every mistake was a hard lesson in life. Of course, not having instruction in reading and writing for the last three years, while learning braille, I would need to learn English simultaneously. This would be done in the general 3rd-grade class.

After going over the writing braille homework, Altman would have students read from their braille reader. Altman would read at her desk braille with her eyes as all the students in her class read with their fingers. As I would use my eyes to guide my fingers over the lines of braille, Altman would come over to my desk and aggressively ask, “are you using your eyes?” Unlike print, the braille dots in the readers over time became flush, making it even harder to distinguish braille characters. All student’s reading from their braille reader were required to move the “clip.” At the top of the page a paperclip was used to mark where you left off. Depending on how well you read, the clip would be moved forward in the braille reader. If you stumbled, read slowly, or didn’t know the word or contraction, you would need to restart at the top of the page, and your clip would not be moved.
The braille homework process lasted all morning. For me the homework process became torturous. Being yelled at and humiliated, caused me to cry and my performance to decline as I lost confidence. My only relief was lunch period.  Coming back from lunch, all the students had to wash their hands at the classroom sink near the back table and prepare for afternoon classes. During lunch, Autman would sit at the back table with another teacher, eating lunch, conversing in French. The whole class heard them talking and laughing, having a good time. At 1pm, most of the braille class students went to their general education class. For me, I went to my third grade classroom. It was assumed I could just pick up from the end of second grade and transition directly into third grade…wrong! After being out of school for more than three years, my third grade teacher could not understand why I could not spell at third grade level. For the most part, I sat in that third grade class from 1 o’clock to 2:45PM doing very little as most of the work was on the board. Even with the monocular and the handheld magnifying glasses provided to me by the Lighthouse, still my visual perspective was very narrow, seeing only a few letters at a time. The frustration and anxiety I experienced while attending PS179 began to take its toll. By the Spring of 1968, after being dropped off at the school by the morning bus, the anxiety I was experiencing everyday resulted in stomach cramps and pains. By 10am, I was so sick they had to call my mom to pick me up. Once in the car and on my way home, the stress and anxiety would release. It was finally determined that I was unable to attend a traditional public school, even with a class that provided instruction for blind and visually impaired students. Mrs. Marinis recommended that I be placed on home instruction.
 
Home Instruction
From the Fall of 1968 to the Spring of 1973, I was on home instruction. Mrs. Karin who taught 5th   and  6th grade met with me at the College Point public library, just up the block from my house. She met me three times a week from 1:30 to 2:45PM. She was the kind of teacher I needed to help rebuild my confidence. Mrs. Karin was kind, patient, and soft-spoken. She was willing to go at my pace and over those 2-years, I began to make progress. Of course three-hours a week could not provide enough educational learning time, but just being taught by her, help me recover from the trauma caused by PS179. At the same time, I met with an instructor of braille at my home, Mr. Ravine, at 8:30AM on Friday mornings. Again, another patient and understanding teacher who worked with me as I read “The Old Man and the Sea. Reading that book took me two years as Mr. Ravine patiently allowed me to go at my own pace while we analyzed the book. Again, once a week was not enough to make me a fluent braille reader. However, I learned so much more from Mr. Ravine about the world. When I graduated from 6th grade, a middle school home instructor, Mr. Rollman took up where Mrs. Karin left off. Returning to the College Point library, I met with Rollman twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 1:45pm to 3:00pm. Mr. Rollman was an older gentleman in his early 60s, was balled, smoked a pipe, and slightly overweight. However, along with the mathematics and reading curriculum he provided, him and I had great discussions on philosophy, religion and politics. At the end of 8th grade, Mr. Rollman recommended that I attend a traditional high school with a class for the blind and visually impaired. Now 17-years old with three years working with a psychologist, I was confident enough and ready for the challenge. My English and math skills were still poor, but no longer did that make me feel incompetent. When Mr. Rollman made his recommendation to the head of the New York City Board of Education for the disabled, Mrs. Marinis told him that according to her records, I was unteachable. Mr. Rollman told her that was not the case, and given the proper support and learning environment, I  would do well. In the Fall  of 1973, I entered Grover Cleveland high school as a freshman and my life completely changed.
 
Grover Cleveland High School
Grover Cleveland high school was in Ridgewood, on the border of Queens and Brooklyn. Again, I was as far away from the high school as any student could possibly be, and I still had to take the morning van to get there and yes, I was the first one to be picked up and the last one to be dropped off. However, by this time, all the school bus drivers had a matron who rode in the copilot seat of the van. The matron attended the needs of the students while the driver could focus on the road.

Arriving at Grover Cleveland, I would first go to my homeroom which was known as the braille class. Room 250 became a wonderful space for learning and socializing with other blind and visually impaired students. Mr. Joe Macky was the homeroom teacher with a wide range of experience working with blinded veterans coming home from the war. As the teacher for the braille class, he was patient, tolerant, understanding, supportive, and an all-around nice guy. The braille class had a wide range of students who were blind and visually impaired. In fact, three of the students in the braille class I knew back from PS179. They told me about their junior high school experience at PS164 in Bayside and how the teacher there was just as demanding as Mrs. Altman. It was clear to me, going on home instruction was the right move. The braille class had another big advantage. Interested students from the general high school program could earn credit by being braille class aids. Most of these aids were young female students. Being assigned to the braille class as an aid, they would use the braille class as their homeroom. The braille class aids were assigned to help braille class students by reading materials given out in class, working on homework, and assisting with test by reading the questions and writing down answers. After my orientation during my freshman year, going into my sophomore year, at 18, the braille class became a social student learning relationship experience. The Braille class had IBM electric braille typewriters, a complete set of braille and large print dictionaries, a visual tech closed circuit camera for magnifying text in books, and of course standard Perkins braille machines. It also had two study cubicles for taking tests and listening to student aids read without disturbing the entire class. All the general education high school teachers knew of the braille class, they all knew Mr. Macky, and they all understood the process for braille class students to be successful. All you needed to do was to attend every class, participate as much as possible and complete exams that were given in the braille homeroom. On one fine day in Spring of 1974, I was being yelled at by Mrs. Marinis, for being dropped off by the driver at a subway station on Queens Boulevard to go to New York City for sessions with my psychologist. As Mrs. Marinis was loudly lambasting me at Mr. Mackie’s desk, three people entered the braille class, two parents and a young female student. Mrs. Marinus knew the father, as he was the head of low vision for the New York Association for the blind. He said, to marinas, this is my daughter Laurie. She will be attending Grover Cleveland high school in a few years. Marinis acknowledged Laurie and then turned to me and said, until I get assigned permission slip from both my psychologist and my parents, I was not to get off the school bus and take the subway down to New York City. Everyone in the room heard this proclamation. I sheepishly walked out of the room, heading to my afternoon math class. While passing the two parents and the young girl, I smiled and said hi. At that time, I had no idea I was meeting my wife to be for the very first time. I finally graduated from Grover Cleveland high school in January 1976. At that point it was just me and my mom as my older sister and brother were no longer living at home.
 

Music
Throughout all the time between 1966 to the present, music and sound recording was a part of my life. During the time I was in home instruction, I spent much of my free time recording sounds with my 4-track, playing the drums, and playing my brother’s Farvisa electronic organ. In my home in College Point we had a small 2-track recording studio with two 7-inch reel-to-reel sound-on-sound tape machines. We had a couple of microphones, the Farvisa, a Remo 3-piece drum set, and an obscure electric organ purchased at a department store, a Tiesco Checkmate organ. Using a Lafayette spring reverb along with a Jimi Hendrix fuzz box pedal, I created and recorded wild and distorted sound effects using that keyboard. Here I must admit my older brother who took up the organ first, and lead our band, House of Lies, had a huge influence on my musical tastes and interest in sound design and recording. Every chance I got, mostly late at night, I played around with the keyboards and tape machines. Then, in the Fall of 1974, my mom purchased a brand-new Farvisa VIP335  electric organ for me, and I became the keyboard player for the J Fingers band. J Fingers was a unique progressive rock band that played mostly original music that I composed along with our guitar player, Marty Tilio. In the Fall of 1976 the J Fingers band broke up and in January 1977 I began attending Syracuse University.
 
 
Syracuse University.
Syracuse University is located in upstate New York. Each year, an average of 154-inches of snow falls due to the great lake effect. When I attended, the campus accommodated 40,000-plus students, was known for the Newhouse School of Communications, Crouse School of Music, the School of Engineering, and the Maxwell School of Citizenship. After working with a psychologist in New York City for seven years, my initial interest was in psychology. As a freshman, I had to enroll in their basic education program. I signed up for English 101, Music History, Introduction to Psychology 205, and Intro to philosophy, Theories of Knowledge and Reality. As the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) would not be enacted for another 15-years, and the level of assistive technology for disabled individuals was non-existent, all I had at my disposal was a portable manual typewriter, a real to real machine and a portable cassette deck with variable playback speed controls. Initially, I shared a room with another student in Booth Hall. My dormitory had 15 stories with 35 rooms per floor and was located high on top of a hill. Section 504 of the rehabilitation act signed into law in 1973 prohibited federally funded institutions from discriminating against disabled individuals. Unfortunately, weather was not a part of that understanding nor the fact the office for the person in charge of disabled student services was on an inaccessible third floor building. Trudging through the snow, trying to find my classes was a formidable task. Of course, coming to Syracuse University in January was not the most welcoming season. Still, I persevered through the weather and complexity of the campus. The first educational culture shock was the number of students in each of my classes. Coming from the braille class at Grover Cleveland high school, even the general class sizes were about 35-students max. At Syracuse, class sizes ranged from 50 students to 250 students. There were 90-students in my English class, 75-students in my Music History class, 150 students in my psych course and 30 students in my intro to philosophy course. I usually sat in the front row with my portable cassette tape recorder, recording the entire lecture. This worked well for those classes where the professor delivered a podium-style lecture. However, for the courses that relied on the blackboard with the professor turning around to face the board to write, not so much. Not only could I not see the board, but the professor turning away from facing the student audience caused the professor’s voice to drop in volume making it harder to hear and record. Still, I recorded the entire lecture and when finished, transcribed the lecture by hand which was very tedious and time consuming.
 

Psych 205
Out of the four classes, I was most interested in taking the intro to psychology, Psych 205 The class was given in one of the older buildings, Steel Hall. The class room was on the first floor, and it reminded me of the old auditorium in PS27 in College Point where I attended kindergarten. There was auditorium seating, sets of seats with two isles spreading out towards the back of the slightly inclined room. It sat about 300 students with hard attached folding wooden chairs. During the winter the seats were very cold when you first sat down. At the front, where the isles converge, in the very middle of the room was an old style hard wooden desk. Behind the desk was a blackboard that stretch the length of the room. Rule 1, don’t be late.
 

The Professor.
The professor that taught Psy205 was a crisis negotiator for the police department. Although I don’t remember his name, he was tall with salt and Pepper hair, dark rim glasses, and wore a gray suit coat. His lecture started precisely at 1 PM. If you were not in the classroom by the 1-oclock bell, the door would be closed, and you would have to conspicuously enter the classroom. The professor would look up when you entered, and he would make a note on a piece of paper lying on his desk. He would sit on the edge of the desk, and lecture from that perch. Occasionally, he would get up and write something on the board to illustrate a point in his lecture. All throughout the lecture, he would smoke cigarettes and stamp them out in a nearby desk ashtray. Clearly, his teaching style was of classical conditioning, and his philosophy on psychology and psychiatry, was strictly pharmaceutical. Although he spoke about various forms of psychological conditions such as schizophrenia and paranoia, he truly believed the progress within the field of psychiatry would be controlled chemically. In his opinion, psychotherapy was more or less hit and miss, depending on the client, the therapist, and the type of therapy employed. Intermingled within his lecture were various stories about his work as a crisis negotiator. In a hostage situation where you have a suspect with a gun and several people being held, he said, each word you say can affect the outcome at any time. You cannot be condescending or demanding. You have to evaluate the suspect during your verbal interaction if possible, and be compassionately neutral, agreeing or validating their demands.

Of course, when it comes to having a visually disabled student in the classroom, crisis negotiation skills may not help the instructor to find ways of accommodating the disabled student’s needs. As there were only two exams given, the midterm and the final, finding a way to allow me to take the exam was challenging. When the midterm came around, the professor’s solution was this: have a student assistant take the disabled student to the far back of the classroom and have them read out loud the questions as the assistant marked down the answers. Everyone in earshot would hear my answers right or wrong, providing no privacy. The entire process was also a bit distracting, given the other students in the class were also trying to take the test. I sat there with my cassette tape recorder, recording the lecture and dreading the amount of time I would need to spend later transcribing the lecture from cassette to paper. For the final, he had me come to his office and he personally administered the test. My final grade for the course was “C.”
 

Theories of Knowledge & Reality (intro to philosophy)
Intro to philosophy was taught in a newer building where courses in the humanities were given. Intro to philosophy was taught by Robert Massrich, a young, heavyset man wearing glasses with a cheerful personality and a sharp intelligence who loved chocolate cake. After identifying myself as a visually impaired student, he understood the barriers I faced and made accommodations to the best of his ability. The course was wonderful. The professor lectured on skepticism, how do we know what we know, and the ontological argument. He spoke about human sensory perceptions and subjective versus intrinsic truth. As much of his lecture was given with notes written on a blackboard, he would read out loud his text as he wrote. Exams in his course was in-class essay. After struggling to write a paper to serve as my midterm exam, he recognized the literary difficulty and challenges I faced. For the final exam he provided me with a list of topics. He then had me come to his office, and he would ask me on topic questions, then take notes as I spoke. For me, the final exam was more like a discussion between myself and the professor, learning more about the subject as we conversed. For my first introduction to philosophy, my outcome was good, obtaining an “A” minus for the course. I registered that Fall for his follow-up course, Plato’s Republic.

During that first semester while taking psychology, philosophy, English and music history, I decided to see what I needed to do to enroll in Krause Conservatory of music. Regardless of all the academic requirements, frustrations, and difficulties at Syracuse, there was always my music. In fact, my Farfisa VIP 345 organ, my Mini Moog synthesizer, and Leslie tone cabinet, was brought from home and setup in my dorm room. Because of my love for music, I thought I should look into enrolling in Syracuse’s Krause Conservatory of music. I scheduled an appointment and met with an advisor for the music school. My passion for music motivated me to see if that was at all a possibility. In fact, there conservatory catalog had a large modular synthesizer photo as a centerfold. I told the advisor, I had experienced an interest in electronic music. The advisor suggested that for me to enter the conservatory, I should go to France and study Mozart for two years and then come back and audition for the conservatory. I thought to myself, if I went to Paris to study Mozart for two years, I would probably not be coming back to Krause.back to Krause.

While still going to my classes, I continued to look for my place at Syracuse. Having a pretty extensive background already in recording technology, the only school at Syracuse that provided any form of audio and video production was the New House School of Communications. I made an appointment to meet with the dean of the college to discuss what would be involved in accessing their recording studios. I explained to the Dean that I had a background in recording technology, and I was composing electronic music for radio jingles and video soundtracks back in New York. The dean was very gracious and honest with me regarding enrollment in the new house school of communications. He told me I would need 128 credits to graduate. Most of those credits would be in journalism and related topics. The school only offered 12 elective credits in recording and video production. His advice was very honest. The Dean said, I should go back to New York and continue working as an independent freelance recording engineer and music producer. That would be far more productive than taking any journalism courses. I walked out of his office and began to realize I had no school or college to call home at Syracuse. Suffering through psych 205, struggling in English 101, and really enjoying intro to philosophy, I started to lean in that direction. I should mention here, the music history course I took was far beyond my understanding of basic music knowledge. The multitude of terms, styles, periods, and composers, was overwhelming. Still, I recorded every lecture, writing down almost word for word that the professor spoke. For the final, the class was given 5 essay questions. In my dorm room, I answered 3 out of the five questions and was completely taken by surprise on receiving an “A” for the exam. I went back to the professor and explained that I only answered three out of the five questions she assigned. She said I provided more information on those 3 questions than any other student in her class… word-for-word.
 

Logic 101
After taking Plato’s Republic in the fall of 1977 again with Robert Massrich, I continued with my interest in philosophy by taking Logic 101. My first day in the logic class, I found myself sitting with 150 students. Logic, just like mathematics, was primarily focused on the blackboard. Although there were some lectures that spoke about logical fallacies, and examples of valid vs. invalid arguments, much of the work presented in class was in accessible. The Professor, Dr Mackay, immediately realized that attending his class with over 150 students would not be successful for me given my visual impairment. He proposed to work with me one-to-one and had his teaching assistant review, correct and explain homework. This process worked well as his TA scheduled each week an empty classroom, so we could stand at the blackboard writing out the logic equations in big letters. Upon the completion of Logic 101, I received an “A” for the course. It was clear to me, the philosophy department at Syracuse University would be where I would complete my degree. However, that was not to be.

In the fall of 1978 on August 11 at 11:51PM, we drove through the Whitestone Bridge tollbooth with my mom tossing coins into the yellow cone-shape basket, as we left New York City forever. In her Green Cherokee Jeep pulling a U-Haul trailer, we left Queens and drove across the country moving to Stockton California where we would start a whole new adventure. For my mom, it would be a new exciting job as a State Fund claims adjuster while finding her dreams on the stage at Stockton Civic Theatre with her last performance in the summer of 1988. For me, it was the building of my 8-track studio known as Fingers Audio Productions, which eventually led to my employment at K UOP, the University of the Pacific’s public radio station.