How Sweet the Sound!: My Journey Through a Sighted World

By Robert Barron Shaw Jr.

The narrative chronicles the life of Robert Barron Shaw, Jr., a blind entrepreneur. The text is written as a dialogue with his grandchildren, Amanda, Justin, and Jeremy, who probe into their grandfather's history, which holds many ironies and twists of fate. He was just a boy from Memphis, TN, living with his parents and siblings,
when one day he received a diagnosis that would change his life forever. At first, he shrouded himself in secrecy, fearing the repercussions of misguided judgments and stereotypes. As a result, he navigated through the world as though life proceeded as usual but nothing about his life was ordinary, by any stretch of the imagination! Through courage, force of will, and a steadfast commitment to personal accountability, Barry (as he is affectionately known to friends and family) redefined and transcended the limits of so-called "normalcy" to achieve unprecedented success in business and in life. Just as Barry has been guided by the example of his ancestors, he became a mentor to his grandchildren, young people in general, and virtually anyone who feels marginalized or beset by life's challenges.

"Stand for something. Make the rules work for you ... or write your own set of rules." This is but one of Barry's maxims that have defined his story. How Sweet the Sound! My Journey Through a Sighted World is a page-turner that promises to have a lasting impact.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514459300

Robert Barron Shaw Jr.

Robert Barron Shaw, Jr. is the product of a fascinating history — the interconnected lives of war heroes, a Trail of Tears survivor, General Nathan Bedford Forest's flag bearer, and the arguably original inventor of the Coca Cola formula, to name just a few. His forbears predicated their lives on service to their country and humanity — and the will to survive. Barry lives that legacy every day. At nine years old, the doctor told him that he was going blind — a diagnosis that he kept hidden for years. Literally placing one foot in front of the other, Barry went on with his life and became the founder of two highly successful businesses, the Shelby County Jail Commissary and TriStar Food Services. His never-give-up philosophy serves to inspire everyone whose lives he touches. In his captivating autobiography, Barry shows that so-called limitations exist only in the minds of those who do not understand and seek to prevent the fulfillment of an individual’s innate abilities. By example, Barry refutes the stereotypes and demonstrates the meaning of a full, enriching life.

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Copyright © 2016 by Robert Barron Shaw, Jr.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016902199

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5144-5932-4

                Softcover        978-1-5144-5931-7

                eBook              978-1-5144-5930-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Rev. date: 05/03/2016

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Preface

Introduction

Part I Lessons In Courage and Sacrifice

Chapter 1

A Legacy of Tears and Triumph

Chapter 2

The Will to Survive

Chapter 3

The Glitz and Glamour of Yesterday

Chapter 4

The Naval Commander and the Lady

Part II Unfolding Challenges and Amazing Grace

Chapter 5

Blindsided

Chapter 6

Close Calls, Miracles, and a Healthy Dose of Luck

Chapter 7

They Called Me Radar

Chapter 8

Beyond the Limit

Chapter 9

Moore's Legacy

Part III Shaping the Future

Chapter 10

In Pursuit of a Dream

Chapter 11

When Gray Skies Turn Blue

Chapter 12

Up For the Challenge

Chapter 13

The Futurist

Chapter 14

To Let Go

Part IV When It Rains ... Try Faith and Perseverance

Chapter 15

The Nasty Nineties, Part I

Chapter 16

The Nasty Nineties, Part II

Part V

Embracing Change and Setting Standards

Chapter 17

Transformations

Chapter 18

The Sidewalk

Chapter 19

Commissary Man

Chapter 20

The Fine Print

Part VI The Spirit of History and Its Impact on the Present

Chapter 21 With Faith and Fortitude

Chapter 22

No Ordinary Patient, No Ordinary Man

Chapter 23

Another Door to Knock On

Part VII An Unbroken Circle

Chapter 24

Good Things Happen to Good People

Chapter 25

Give Me Your Best Game

Chapter 26

Eye On the Prize

Chapter 27

Like the Next Guy --- Only Better

Chapter 28

Old Friends Never Fade Away

Chapter 29

Hero of the Offense

Chapter 30

An Unforgettable Impact

Chapter 31

Trailblazers and Change Agents

Chapter 32

A Chat at Lake Reelfoot

Chapter 33

It's All About Giving and Receiving

Part VIII Unwrapping the Present --- Life's Daily Gift

Chapter 34

The Gift

Chapter 35

Endings and New Beginnings

Epilogue

"Amazing grace! How sweet the sound

That saved a [soul] like me.

I once was lost, but now, am found,

Was blind, but now, I see."

John Newton (1725-1807)

Dedication

To my family, my guiding lights and inspiration:

My children, Kerry and Robert III,

My grandchildren, Amanda, Justin and Jeremy

and Brenda Majors, my soulmate

With deep love and appreciation

Acknowledgments

The mere mention of those who have positively impacted and shaped my life story does not begin to pay them due honor and respect. However, where words fail, the heart speaks, and I can only hope that they can feel my joyful praise and gratitude.

Many thanks to my circle of friends who have contributed so meaningfully to this text (mentioned in the order of their appearance):

Thomas Gill

Charlie Mazzone

Jimmy Wagner

Larry Daughety

Dr. Bill Phillips, Ph. D.

David Hathcock

Larry Campbell

Terry C. Smith

Frank Sharp

... and to my Book Committee:

Dr. Thomas Gill (Chairperson)

Brenda Majors

David Field

Dr. Bill Phillips, Ph.D.

Valerie Clasgens

Preface

Every life is a little piece of history. To ignore the past is to deny your identity and the road toward progress. My story is a celebration of diverse cultures, religions, perspectives and ideologies. As I continue to create my destiny, I hear the echoes of Civil War strife, the suffering of World War II vets, and I feel the sorrow caused by the Trail of Tears. I am W.C. Handy blues, the swagger of Elvis, and the soul of Isaac Hayes. A descendant of a Confederate flag bearer, I witnessed the Civil Rights Movement, and became a champion of equality and inclusiveness. I am the boy who beheld his last vision of ... something --- I cannot remember exactly what. Perhaps, it was the glitter of dazzling jewels in a showcase that paled in comparison to the starry night that I envision now, illuminating my mind's eye.

Yet, who am I really? My name is Robert Barron Shaw, Jr. (also known as Barry). You don't know me. I'm just another person in the world, as my father would say. I'm not famous --- maybe not in the eyes of society, that is; but I continue to reflect the love that I give and receive. Though not many people know my name, an important few acknowledge my soul. Because of this, I consider myself to be an extraordinarily fortunate man. Life has taught me that, to fly, you have to expect --- and accept --- a swift, often unexpected descent; and, every now and then, you have to allow yourself to free fall without resistance.

For me, that leap of faith has not been easy. Retinitis pigmentosa (night blindness which rendered me completely sightless by the age of twenty) and dyslexia, the result of sensory system difficulties, labeled me disabled --- a term that I emphatically reject to this day. From the time I was diagnosed at age nine, I viewed my life as an example of what the human heart and spirit can achieve, in spite of apparent obstacles. Along the way, I have found that stigmas imposed on me and others in my circumstances, resulting from unawareness, are often more limiting than any so-called disability can be.

In my opinion, the only way to combat obstacles and negative stereotypes is by being the best of yourself and by proving others wrong --- particularly people who, even on an unconscious level, try to hold you down. For years, throughout my early life, adolescence, and career in the Navy, I kept my blindness a secret from the world, in an effort to hide what my family and I struggled to admit --- even to ourselves. Now, I face my physical challenges head on and, by sheer force of will and example, I continuously disprove the numerous misconceptions surrounding people who are challenged by so-called disability, in one way or another. The truth is that life tests all of us. Who ever said that perfection is perfect, and who defines the term perfection? I believe that those who attempt to marginalize and make others feel lesser than are deprived of the most important kind of vision: insight.

By applying the wisdom that derives from my personal history and experience, I beckon my readers --- my fellow soul-journeyers --- to accompany me on an introspective voyage --- an intricate tapestry of ancestral ties, complex relationships and fascinating ironies --- all of which, through a healthy dose of faith, good humor, determination, and amazing grace, inevitably lead to a place called home.

As I tell my story, my grandchildren, Justin, Amanda, and Jeremy are my listening audience. My family is my legacy, and so are the people who feel hope and derive inspiration from my experience. No one is alone in this world. The secret is not to give up, but to give freely of your heart and talents. As you read my book, if a smile lights up your face just once, my mission will be accomplished.

Introduction

Early on in life, I discovered that there is more to living than the things we perceive with our physical sight. In fact, we are made up of infinite complexities that are far more important than how we look at and to the outside world. The truth is that most of us have secrets --- hidden lives and stories that, at times, we would prefer not to reveal. Sooner or later, however, these secrets come to the surface, and even though they may not always be pleasant, they are still worthy of being told. After all, they are part of our journey, and nothing we do or say can ever change the past that holds our treasure trove of memories and shapes our future.

From the time I was about five years old, I acknowledged the importance of secrets, which I subconsciously stored away in the back of my mind. I believe that my intuitive sense derived, in large part, from my reliance on sensory stimuli in my environment. In addition, since my very early childhood, my parents made me aware of my intriguing ancestral heritage --- stories that impacted me in various phases of my life.

One of the most important lessons that I have learned is that in order to make the most of the gift called the present, I have to listen to the lessons of my past --- conferred by those who came before me --- and maintain a sense of humor. For all of its tragedies, life is a comedy, as well. As the English playwright, William Shakespeare (1564-1616), once said, All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players... From the time I was born, I recognized the importance of savoring moments, making them count and, whenever possible, making my own mark on the world --- through the joy and the tears.

The eldest son of Robert Barron Shaw, Sr. and Bernice Hensley Shaw, I was born in Blytheville, Arkansas on June 7, 1943, two years prior to the end of World War II. For as long as I can remember, I was aware of the horrific effects of the war, which manifested in my father's nightmares and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD, then labeled shell shock and/or other nonspecific terms that, at the time, went undiagnosed and often untreated). As a result of these traumas, my father would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming at the top of his lungs, causing his family and other people in the neighborhood to wake up in a fright. This pattern continued from the time I was five until I was sixteen. In his mind and heart, my father subconsciously returned to the winter of 1944 when, as a combat engineer, he and his company disarmed landmines and built bridges for the passage of General George S. Patton's Third Army across Europe. Then, in the next instant, Dad would have flashbacks to D-Day, the world's largest amphibious assault to date. There, one hundred seventy thousand Allied troops stormed the beaches of Normandy, France, swiftly emerging from naval transport boats and sprinting across the sand amidst a hailstorm of fire from German forces. For his valor, my father earned two Purple Hearts and three Bronze Stars --- but at the very heavy cost of inner peace and psychological stability.

Dad's experiences in the theater of war constantly placed him in two worlds --- at home and on the front lines. In truth, however, he never left the battlefield --- not in his mind, anyway. Scars are not always visible. Emotional wounds can be even more permanent; and as hard as he tried, the sights and sounds of war often flooded his senses and reverberated into our family dynamics and everyday lives. Countless modern-day veterans and their families face the same struggle with the invisible wounds of war. They, too, are my family, and I salute them with love and respect.

Inevitably, history repeats itself. Hopefully, one glorious day, the human family will achieve peace through solidarity and healing. Dare we hope for a dawn's early light, unclouded by our imaginary separateness? The answer, I think, lies in learning from the past and shaping future minds. Such is what I hope to achieve in writing my own story.

As I think back, I cannot remember a past without my father's night terrors. As time elapsed, they dissipated, but never disappeared altogether. Enshrouded in the darkness, Dad concealed his pain, unleashing his anguish in incomprehensible sounds, substituting extremely loud cries for painful truths that he neither could nor dared to express openly. In an attempt to mask his private torment, Dad relied on alcohol; but swallowing reality didn't make it go away. The truth simply festered and grew. Not until later on in life did Dad allow his story to unravel; and, until then, we were all at the mercy of his nocturnal outbursts.

My mother also harbored secrets of her own --- unexpressed, though deeply held Native American spiritual beliefs, which were masked by her role as a doting Mom to her four sons and a wife to her Presbyterian/Protestant husband, whose ancestry originated on Scotland's Isle of Skye. Silently, without protest, my mother assimilated into the Presbyterian Church, most likely to appease my paternal family --- and Dad, in particular. She remained in the church for about forty years, selflessly relinquishing her practice and commitment to her Cherokee-Choctaw heritage, left behind on the Trail of Tears --- the Cherokee Nation's and other tribes' forced relocation from the Southeast to Oklahoma in 1835. Perhaps, in a general sense, that grievous history was overshadowed by the Civil War; and, more specifically (in my family's world), by the intricate tapestry of interconnections among Dad's family members and their fascinating tales of adventure and heroism, all of which will unfold in these pages.

Due to my parents' differing ideologies, religion was never discussed in our home. It was a taboo subject, meant to be tucked away in the shadows.

As for me, I intensely disliked the shadows and the secrets they claimed. Due to night blindness, twilight was the foe that robbed me of my sight, causing me to run headlong into cars and trees, endangering my life, as early as age three. All I wanted to do was escape --- to run from the anguish of home and the inner turmoil that crept upon me in the darkness. My condition went undiagnosed and unmentioned for years. Perhaps, that was the biggest secret of all in my house: the eldest Shaw boy was going blind and, contrary to my parents' fervent hopes, ignoring that fact never made the symptoms disappear. So, I just kept running ---toward a destination that constantly threatened to elude my grasp; and it was then, at that early stage, that I began to envision --- to construct a fate of my own choosing, on a road paved with diligence, hard work, the ever-present inspiration of my ancestors, and the shining light of hope that lives in my descendants.

Part I

Lessons In Courage and Sacrifice

Barry%20and%20Shaw.jpg

Barry and Shaw, 2008

Chapter 1

A Legacy of Tears and Triumph

M orning breaks over Shawlon, the five-acre estate that I've called home for over thirty years. I go out alone to retrieve the daily paper, and pause to admire the day's beauty. The clean, crisp air fills my lungs, and the sun shines with particular brilliance. Even though I can't see its golden rays, I feel the warmth radiating on my face and filling me with peace. My environment reflects who I am and what I stand for. In fact, the home is named for the Hebrew word shalom , meaning peace, and signifies my love of diversity --- the many harmonies and distinctions that live within me.

On this day, my granddaughter, Amanda, pays me a visit, popping in, as she often tends to do sometimes. Her younger brothers, Justin and Jeremy, are away, enjoying time off for the summer. I haven't seen Amanda in a while; and since she is always on the go, she hasn't had a chance to spend any length of time at Shawlon. Finally, I'll have an opportunity to make her feel at home and show her around.

As Amanda travels along the winding driveway to the entrance of my home (the exact path I walked to get the morning newspaper), my mind envisions her red hair flowing in the late summer's breeze, and my heart races, as I think of all that she experiences and has yet to accomplish. The world is at her feet. She is twenty-four, with flashing green eyes that reveal her intelligence and adventurous spirit.

As I walk out to greet her, my granddaughter rushes toward me. Granddad! she calls out in her familiar voice. Taking her face in my hands, I can tell that she has matured; but her infectious giggle reminds me of the little girl I once knew. How time has flown! Amanda gently takes my arm, and slowly accompanies me back into the house, stopping behind the gated entrance to pet Shaw, one of my German Shepherds, who appears to be almost as excited to see her as I am.

As we enter the house, I sense that I should bring my granddaughter's attention to my surroundings and the things that are most important to me. I point out the stained glass at the end of the large room, and the glittered sparkles on the vaulted ceiling. Then, still lifting my head, I vividly describe the star-like images that appear in the windows from the glowing crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. Sparkle is very important to me, as it signifies the radiance of life that I see with my heart --- vivid, bright, filled with majesty and miracles.

Granddad, how is it that you can describe things in detail without seeing them? It's almost like you can see them! Amanda remarks.

I guess you can call it a 'sixth sense,' I reply, laughing. "When you live a kinesthetic life --- meaning that you have to literally touch your surroundings to become familiar with them--- you gain a whole different perspective. You might say that the 'sixth sense' --- the spiritual side of me --- compensates for my lack of physical sight. It also comes from something (or, I should, say someone) else --- a source deep within my emotional and physical makeup."

Amanda remains silent, and I can tell that she is listening and looking at me intensely. She holds my arm, and I lead her though the house, giving her a detailed tour, identifying the placement and importance of each item that I have on display --- family memorabilia, gifts from friends, photographs and collectibles --- all neatly placed throughout the house. Every corner of my home reflects my respect for precision and order, so that I'm able to navigate with more confidence in familiar territory.

After a brief pause, I ask Amanda to follow me. I lead her into my beautiful tree-filled backyard, and over to a Choctaw totem pole, located near benches and trellises. It's a perfect spot to meditate --- my very special place. Although she has seen the totem pole before, my granddaughter has never expressed any real interest in it; but now, I feel that it's time to explain the pole's significance and history.

Pointing, I explain, This totem pole is a kind of holy shrine, a monument to my Native American heritage. It was shipped to Memphis from the northeastern United States. Brenda and I specifically requested this design.

Brenda is my companion who lives with me at Shawlon. We have a busy, productive life, but enjoy our time among the things and people we love most. We welcome Amanda's visit as a break from our normal routine; and after Brenda comes out to greet her, we settle in on the patio to have lunch and talk.

Finally, I have the chance to tell my personal story in detail. Naturally, Brenda has heard about my history countless times; but she's patient, always up for listening to it. Amanda's eagerness to hear and ask questions inspires me to go ahead.

I must have seen this totem pole a thousand times, but I've never looked closely or thought to ask about it. I'm always in a hurry. These symbols are so neat!

Now, you can sit back, relax, and let me tell you what those beautiful animal symbols mean. According to Native Americans, every animal is a spirit guide that follows us through life. It doesn't have to be our favorite animal, but it just appears from time to time --- in dreams or in our environment, somehow. Each animal corresponds to a human trait, or someone's likes or dislikes. We may even have a particular connection to one animal or another, and not understand why. That animal is our spirit guide.

The wolf, for example, symbolizes devotion, tenacity, success and intuition. The squirrel is the planner/gatherer, the eagle represents courage, intelligence, and creativity, among other qualities. The dolphin is kindness, happiness, playfulness and deep feeling, Brenda explains.

Amanda's curiosity inspires me to continue. This pole is a relic that has roots in the Trail of Tears. My great-grandmother was spared from that horrible event in history, but she sacrificed so much, including her right to freely practice the ways and beliefs of her people. As a descendant of this heritage, I feel that it's my responsibility to tell her story, so that it won't be forgotten. The Trail of Tears involved the so-called 'Five Civilized Tribes' (i.e., the Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek, Seminole and Cherokee).

Was your great-grandmother a Choctaw? Amanda inquires.

Yes, she was.Tell me more about the Trail of Tears. When did it happen and why? My granddaughter urges me.

Well, that tragic event took place in the early 1800s. White settlers wanted to expand their southeastern territories, and in response, President Andrew Jackson signed the Indian Removal Act, which forced forty six thousand Native Americans to move west of the Mississippi into what was called 'Indian Territory.'

Is that the Midwest? Amanda wants to know.

It's now Oklahoma, I reply.

What happened to those poor people? Amanda asks.

Well, in fact, they lost their cultural identities --- their beliefs, their ties to the land, their language --- everything.

That's so sad! Amanda remarks.

It was terrible. President Andrew Jackson didn't have any compassion for the Native American tribes. Today, we call it ethnic cleansing.' In my own way, I know what it is to be marginalized and stereotyped. I stop to collect my thoughts.

You mean because of your blindness? Amanda asks.

Exactly. If I had allowed people to define and limit my abilities, I would never have become who I am today.

I want to hear your story, Granddad. I know a lot of it, but there are details that I'm sure I missed.

I'll get to my personal experiences later; but back to my great-grandmother: her father wanted to save her life, and he had no other choice than to sell his own daughter to a farmer named John Sykes of Chickasaw County, Houston Mississippi (that's about seventy-five miles from Tupelo). In exchange, my great-great-grandfather received five bushels of corn. A precious life was saved for a meager crop (which, most likely, didn't last through the harsh march westward). Can you imagine what a selfless and excruciating decision that was for my great-great grandfather? His only hope was that my great-grandmother would have a chance to live and create a future --- and she did. Growing up among the Sykes, she learned different ways of living.

That must have been very difficult, Amanda observes.

There is no telling how much or in what ways she suffered. To be forcibly removed from one's way of life must have been like traveling to a foreign country.

She must have been so scared! Amanda empathizes.

I'm sure she was, but what choice did she have? Her freewill was taken away.

I hear Brenda sniffling. If it weren't for that innocent Choctaw girl, we might not be sitting here right now.

It's incredible how lives intertwine. Eventually, my great-grandmother married John and had a daughter, Ruth Ethelene Sykes, I explain.

Your maternal grandmother, Amanda observes.

We called her 'Mama Ruth.' In her younger days, she was a raven-haired beauty with a soft, quiet disposition (much like my mother); but later, she revealed a much more troubled side. After our move from Blytheville, Arkansas to Memphis, Tennessee, my brother Michael and I used to enjoy our occasional visits to our maternal grandparents' small farm in Houston, Mississippi, where we would take a break from what my family called 'big city life.' The pastoral fields, clean air, and animals --- particularly the grazing horses with white, black, and chestnut manes flowing in the breeze, surrounded by the fields of bountiful crops --- had a profound effect on me. I loved the horses' fearlessness, loyalty, and connection to the land and those around them. Even later, as my sight failed me, those images remained.

Wow! What a vivid description! My mind is filled with questions. Tell me more about Mama Ruth. Amanda encourages me.

I'm glad you asked, and I'll try to recall every detail. I was too young to really notice or understand Mama's Ruth's behavior; but to those who saw her retreating into a corner, dipping tobacco, drinking and ingesting all kinds of tonics to relieve her various maladies, she was a study in human behavior. To tell you the truth, those medicinal concoctions contained a good quantity of alcohol. I realize now, all these years later, that Mama Ruth was, most likely, using her Dr. Tichenor's antiseptic and Geritol to self-medicate.

Did they help at all? Amanda's curiosity builds.

No. In fact, the medication worked the opposite effect. I'm almost sure that she suffered in silence --- as much from emotional turmoil as from physical distress.

"Did you ever find out what