Present into Past: My Journey Through Darkness and Light

By Dennis McCormack

In his memoir, Present into Past: My Journey through Darkness and Light, Dennis McCormack shares anecdotes and poems that describe his time as a student at the Halifax School for the Blind and his later work at the Atlantic Braille Press and the Canadian National Institute for the Blindwith the hope of helping others find contentment and reach their potential.

By offering essays that illustrate McCormacks own life lessons, he provides a stepping stone for anyone ready to embark on their own journey to discovering happiness. McCormack begins with the story of how he entered the Halifax School for the Blind in September 1953, where, for the next thirteen years, he would study in an environment where teachers and students did not allow anyone to blame failure on their visual difficulties. As he progresses through his compelling life story, including the founding of the Atlantic Braille Press and marrying his soul mate, McCormack provides insight into how faith, love, and determination helped him find his way from the darkest days to the light.

Present into Past: My Journey through Darkness and Light is a poignant memoir sharing the lesson that love is our birthright and that our true destiny is happiness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 2, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450242356

Dennis McCormack

Dennis McCormack was born in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. He received a BA from Saint Marys University in Halifax in 1970 and an MA from the University of Toronto. He was editor and founder of the Atlantic Braille Press. He and his wife, Bertha, have three children.

Book preview

Acknowledgements

I dedicate this little book to family, friends, and associates I have met along life’s road. I am a most fortunate man to have a wonderful wife, Bertha; three wonderful daughters, Elizabeth, Teresa and Catherine; and grandchildren, Evan, Faith and Nicholas.

I have always been impressed by the goodness in others and my need to share the gift when called upon in life. I would, if I could, send letters of thanks to the wonderful teachers and students who tried so hard to give me an education since youth. They deserve medals in recognition of their sensitivity and creativity. I also thank the wonderful volunteers and those who worked with me at CNIB, the Sackville Senior Citizens’ Club, the Atlantic Braille Press, the Maritime Campus Book Store, and CNIB Cater Plan Services.

My late, wonderful parents, William and Margaret McCormack, my sister, Louise, my brothers, Bill and Paul, and Aunt Phyllis Wright MacCormack have a special place in my heart and are part of this story. So too are the wonderful folk I got to know at St. Paul’s and St. Clement’s churches in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia and at Saint Mary’s University and the University of Toronto.

I would also like to thank the following people who helped make this book a reality: Heather-Anne Gillis, family friend and proofreader; Teresa Rowe, who worked so hard on the poetry; John Rowe, for his help with the pictures and captions; David Melvin, who encouraged me at all times to bring this project to its completion; and the staff and friends at iUniverse, who were always so helpful when the tough questions needed an answer.

Dennis McCormack

MicMac Blvd.

Dartmouth, Nova Scotia

Preface

Why write the book Present into Past? I do not know all of the answer to that question. How many authors writing books today do? I did not start out to write a book; reflections turned into paragraphs, chapters, and poems by a kind of magic. A book came to be, motivated by my desire to tell the truth and put aside boyhood idols for the last time. I did not write this work to promote a cause or swing my axe at dedicated teachers and friends. I had already done that, and lying does not make for happiness. I wrote to praise others at home, at work, at school, and in my community and to help us find happiness. A deep feeling of respect for people of all cultures and for the democratic process forms part of this work. Men make wise choices in a spirit of faith, hope and love. These choices are made now and were made long before the appearance of twentieth-century wise folk.

I also wanted readers to know that I had grown up, that those close to me loved me and that it was I who made choices for good or evil, not the system.

I wanted readers to be proud of their schools, universities, work sites, the tasks performed and words spoken. You and I can be the source of happiness for others and the entire community.

I wanted readers to know that they had the power and resources to help blind persons and those with other serious disabilities. Does not our happiness depend upon our willingness to give thanks when we hang upon the cross, and did not God make those who live with pain?

I wanted readers to know truth. We do not really write our own song or poem. A gift is given and received in love. We did not invent God, our parents, and loved ones. They came before us and after us. They gave us life, education and love. Let us thank our parents and friends. Honour them by saying yes to life, the body and vocation. Let us spend less time trying to replace them, to find something better. They are persons not products.

Happiness is not found through the acquisition of money or material things. Happiness comes from our chosen lifestyle and commitment to others.

Some will say the poems and certain scenes are romantic. Try writing a song or poem without romance and no one will read it. The world is a romantic place to abide in, write in, and read in, a special place to be no matter where you live and die. There is a time for love and marriage, a time to prepare oneself for old age and death, a time to give roses to the needy and the homeless, prisoners one and all. We are called to utter special words for children, friends, and mothers and fathers in the autumn of their days. No thorns—roses for all.

Still I suspect readers will want to know why I wrote that strange chapter "The Stoneman and the Titanic." This work of little essays is a mellow one, so why, out the blue, write about the errors of the twentieth century?

History can repeat itself, the call of truth must be heard, and it was my last chance to say goodbye to the last century—its idols, atomic bombs, and its efforts at community building. The materialists of that century wore bright shields displaying the words capitalism and socialism in full view. Everyone encouraged us to seek happiness by embarking upon a mindless round of buying goods and transient friendships. Self-interest was more important than the transforming experience of love and its companion—suffering. The media joined forces with those seeking to deny the contributions of our Christian heritage, the heritage of classical China, India, Greece, Rome, Israel, and the wisdom of primitive peoples.

The chapter mentions for the first time the reality of the Stoneman, but he first appears in the poem Three of Us, composed on September 12, 2000. The question raised is what prevents us from telling someone that we care about them when we know we should do so? My father died in 1988 and I never told him that he was a wonderful dad or that he had done good things for many. Why not?

You have a discussion with a friend that turns to argument and a loss of friendship. What causes so many disagreements of this type? Have you ever lost a friend and upon reflection wondered why? Have you ever wondered why you ended up in divorce court? The Stoneman knows why the beauty of friendship and marriage has been broken. The Stoneman has a job to do. He hardens the heart, divides rather than unifies friends, national states, cultures, neighbourhoods and family members. The Stoneman works through the human face, knows human hearts and the sin of man. He knows we must walk fast lest the shadows come, or in the words of the song: Oh sinner man where are you going to run to?

The popular ballad Devil or Angel gives us a black and white picture of morality. In reality the devil is an angel bringing messages to us for consideration. The heroes of the last century seemed unaware of this reality. They cried out for less religion and denied God’s presence or existence, forgetting that the devil thrives in a world that denies that God is the maker of man in His own image. God is close to us, but so is the Stoneman.

So I come back to Mother and the word of wisdom she shared with me, my sister and brothers. When you feel anger and are about to complain about your lot in life, offer it up. Turn your small suffering into joy for others. God knows you can do it. He did it.

Finally, I have been told my chapter on the School for the Blind lacks critical bite. I wish I had more words to express the respect I have in my heart for those who gave me support and education at that school, at home, at Saint Mary’s University, at the Canadian National Institute for the Blind, and at St. Clement’s Church. The Stoneman concentrates on human weakness, but I will always write about the goodness in others. Give me large doses of Mencius, Confucius, C. S. Lewis and Saint Thomas Aquinas. Give me time to look at old photo albums of family members sitting round the fire at Christmas and in summer, or my mother and father cutting up ham at Easter. Give me time to say a word of encouragement to an old man, and our three daughters. Teach me to pray before speaking to those that need the right word at the right time of life.

Chapter 1

The Halifax School For The Blind

In March 1994 I visited the minister of education, John MacEachern, to talk about the integration of blind persons into the public school system. As a former graduate of the Halifax School for the Blind, I had devoted time via the media in support of the manner in which our education had been provided over the past century, pointing out that integration was financially impractical and socially unjust to future children challenged by vision loss. By the time I met the minister, however, the integration model, complete with its own series of justifications and epicycles, was in place throughout the provinces. To turn back the educational clock seemed difficult. Still I wanted the minister to know my position and to set the record straight with respect to my own attitude toward the education I received at the Halifax School for the Blind between 1953 and 1966.

The minister was a talented man, and he seemed open to many points of view. Following our meeting, he wrote to me on May 9, saying that his concern was for the students in our care and that he would keep in mind what is best for them. He thanked me for sending my little report and was probably aware of its limitations. From our meeting, however, I sensed he knew my mission was also a spiritual one. My mission was to extend my thanks, through him, to those teachers, counsellors, caregivers and domestics who had devoted the best years of their lives to helping me and my companions get an education. This education, provided by blind and sighted teachers, stressed the need for both social and academic experience without any unnecessary barriers, isolation and guilt. We were blessed by those who taught and cared for us, and other children should have the same opportunities for an education in future.

I came to the minister to give thanks and praise others. I also made every effort to convince him of my case against integration. I maintained my view that the integration model of education may disrupt our ability to build a community marked by love in this world and the next. Still I also shared with him more than a criticism of the present system. I was determined to recognize with Mencius that mankind is benevolent, that our teachers gave their lives in support of our education. They loved us and we knew it. I wanted to be filial to those who served us to the end. I spoke the truth to the minister, and now I will relate to you my story.

missing image file

Hallowe’en at the Junior department, Halifax School for the Blind.

Light came into my world in September 1953. My mother and father sent me to be with the students of the Halifax School for the Blind. They sent me to be with others, learn from others, grow with others and hopefully learn to love others someday. They did not send me for affection, to be locked up in a cell called a building. They sent me among others faced with similar visual challenges, and often more than one challenge. They took away my self-pity and isolation and started me on the road to integration in a social and academic sense. I will thank them always for this kindness, which was a difficult decision for them to make and carry out. I remember returning on weekends. Mother always put out a basket for me on the buffet filled with potato chips, bars and candy. I detected even then her brush with sorrow at her son’s parting. What a thing the human heart is.

My mother’s decision turned out to be the right one for me. I became a team member who had things to do, assignments to meet, stories to tell and mistakes to make and correct. I joined a group who expected good results. Winning the game involved skill and good luck. My opponent, after all, might have won had the goal line been a little longer. The game was not fixed so that I might feel good. I was not a problem child. I was solving a problem in sport and the classroom.

I became a student going somewhere. Others would judge my academic performance according to canons of truth derived from the common human nature of those who see and those who see less. For the next thirteen years I studied alongside those with similar visual difficulties. My teachers got to know us in a group setting and they expected much from us. Teachers and students did not allow us to blame our failure to study on blindness. We knew as a community that we had obligations and responsibilities. I loved that atmosphere. In December 1965 I watched my comrades rehearse for the Christmas concert. I knew my days at school were numbered, and sadness touched my heart that Christmas.

I was blessed with hard-working and remarkable teachers, blind and sighted. Frances Brooks gave me the enthusiasm for history; Forman Nickerson started me on a lifetime adventure with the great writers while giving countless overtime hours in support of this work. Catherine Newenstein, totally blind math whiz, gave us the skills in mental math that we still use today. Pearl Stewart, without sight, taught us the importance of spelling the word correctly now and forever. My father changed the spelling of our last name for mysterious reasons, and Miss Campbell held court about it. She censured me for not knowing the correct spelling of my name, phone number and address, and I was told to get the answers. I found the answers and remembered them.

The teachers, blind and sighted, became role models. Secretly I thought that one day I might join them if everything was fair. Maybe I would teach geometry like our superintendent, Charles Allen. Charles taught me geometry with a compass, ruler and a protractor, and no books. On occasion I thought I was teaching Charles, and is that not a sign of a great teacher? Charles Allen, the biologist, was my grade eleven tutor who helped me connect with my hidden mathematical personality. My marks increased by seventy percent between Christmas and provincial examination time, thanks to the educator. The educator passed