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Read at the Ohio Conference of Charities and Correction, Sandusky, October 9, 1908.

A VISITOR in Columbus who takes the "Seeing Columbus" automobile is almost sure to have pointed out to him, as he turns from Parsons Avenue down Rich Street, the "Blind Asylum," as the "barker" calls it; but let him alight from the vehicle and approach the entrance of the house and he will see over the portico, in letters of gold, "Ohio State School for the Blind."

I wish some flaming, burning words could be uttered that would sear themselves into the understanding and memory of all, that we have a school in Columbus for the blind of the state -- "School" in capital letters, if you please.

I gladly accept this opportunity afforded by Secretary Shirer to tell a small portion, but an intelligent and an interested portion, of our public what the State School for the Blind is and what it does.

Perhaps it were best to say first what it is not. As already intimated, it is not an asylum. Possibly there are infirmary directors or superintendents here who have in their care a feeble-minded person who is blind, or an aged or infirm person afflicted with blindness. For such, no provision has been made other than the infirmary. They have no place in the State School for the Blind. In this audience there may be several who know of blind men and women alone in the world, and possibly destitute. For such a home is needed, and because these persons are blind you may have thought of a place in Columbus to which blind folk are sent, and you may have addressed the superintendent of the Home for the Blind. There is no such place.

One winter evening I was called into my office from some other part of our house to see a sightless man who had just arrived from the train, a cabman having brought him to our door. He applied for admission to the "hospital," and was greatly surprised to learn that I was not a doctor, and that my business is to teach rather than to heal. Not a hospital, not a home, not an asylum, but a school.

I must make one more positive negation. Mr. Shirer has headed this morning's program, "Juvenile Charities." For two of the institutions represented on the program of the morning -- the State School for the Deaf and the State School for the Blind -- this is a misleading caption. We are simply a part of the educational system of the state, the great public schools. I fear the classification as benevolent institutions is unfortunate, because it gives rise to the impressions we desire to combat, namely, that ours are asylums, homes, hospitals.

Founded in 1837, the school has been until recent years the only organized institution doing special work for the blind. Nearly three thousand different persons have been enrolled, and of this number a large proportion have continued through the course and have gone out to useful work in the world. It was reported to this conference that a very large percentage of applicants for relief under the Harper (pension) law in one of our counties were former pupils of the State School for the Blind, having been taught there trades which they were unable to follow successfully. Without disparagement to the care and thoughtful accuracy of Dr. Stricker's inquiry, I may be permitted to call attention to the undoubted fact that he has studied the seamy side of our cloth, and in his position as member of the Blind Relief Commission he would never come to know the successful men and women who are blind, and their number is not a disproportionate per cent of the whole number, I dare say, when compared with the per cent of the successful among the sighted. Though not fortunate enough to have inherited a register of our former pupils whose achievements are thus recorded, and having been only a year in this work, I can yet name many who have a standing here and there over the state as distinctly successful. At Logan, a graduate is a tuner and a proprietor of a piano store. At Mt. Vernon is a skillful piano salesman. At Greenville is a State School man who has become owner of a fine broom-making plant, has lived comfortably, and educated three children. Scores might be named whom I know to be making their way as teachers, tuners, and small tradesmen. Mr. Kaiser, of Marietta, a member of our Ohio Commission for the Blind, told me of the business sagacity of one of our boys who at fair time, with the investment of a capital of five dollars, cleared twenty-three dollars in two days' effort selling watermelons. As Mr. Campbell says, however, the blind sighted people have been expecting the impossible of even the most intelligent and capable blind folk when they wonder that a broom maker does not make it go, having to secure his materials at a high rate for his necessarily small purchases, manufacture his product, and then himself turn salesman. A good buyer is not often a good salesman, and the man who makes the goods, the mechanic, is in these days of piecework not even thought of in either the buying or the selling process. To the new State Commission is committed a great movement, that of opening avenues of reasonably profitable employment for those whom we at the State School shall properly equip.

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What the school does I may best fix in your attention by following the boy who came to us the opening day in September. He was eight years old last June. His parents had applied for his admission in July, and the superintendent, having received the application blank properly filled out, wrote the parents that he seemed to be eligible, and Harry should come along. The superintendent hoped that Harry had been taught some things, such as to care for his person, to wash and dress himself, and so forth, and perhaps to play like and with sighted children. Harry came led by his father, a puny little fellow, helpless as a lump of clay almost, spoiled, accustomed to having his own way, having everything done for him, even to putting on and off his clothes. Mistaken kindness of unthinking parents! Oh, the infinite pity of the mother and father heart! But what infinitely harmful pity!

A few days ago I received a letter, from which let me read a paragraph or two:

Dear Sir: Your favor of the 14th received, and we thank you very much for the booklet (1) and the other information your letter contains. The mother of the little girl (six years old) has made the mistake referred to in your booklet, she has never tried to let her do much or in fact anything for herself, but with only a few days "going it alone" she has made wonderful progress. Such a thing as washing herself and dressing herself she never undertook before, and her mother hardly realized that she could do anything except to amuse and play by herself, and I think she (the mother) had such pity for her that she never allowed her to try and do for herself anything. But now, since she has read the booklet, etc., seems determined to train her accordingly. Any further instructions will be gladly received.

If any matrons of children's homes are here, let me urge you, as mothers of the blind babies that come into your care, and all you who have blind little ones of your own or know neighbors who have such children, that you seek to have the error of a mistaken pity avoided as a pestilence, for the sake of the future that is bound to make life hard for the untrained.

To the school Harry has come, and he goes to meet his house-mother. She has for thirty years known boys who are blind, and she follows them as they have grown up and left her with much of the mother's interest. She sees at once the problem before her, and as soon as possible gets Harry settled in a company of other little fellows romping and shouting in the playroom. Tears are shining in the father's eyes, but Harry has caught the spirit of the company and his tears are drying. Father has gone; supper time comes and Harry's appetite is not strong. A bowl of wholesome bread and milk makes his first supper, and at 6.45 his new mother has undressed him and put him into a fine, clean bed. Yes, he shed some tears, but sleep comes and the 5.30 morning bell does not even wake him. Breakfast over, and play being a boy's natural right, Harry might be expected to be one of the crowd who race about the gymnasium or on the fine grounds. But he is too timid and too awkward yet. In a few weeks, however, you wouldn't know the boy. He is now one of the fellows. He can run and romp and shout. He is rosy and plump. He knows a regular life and has developed interest in work. To be sure, it is the work of the kindergarten. He has learned things, too, concerning the world about him, and his stiff fingers have been trained to handle objects, to know them, and to use them. He knows how to read with his fingers. He has learned that the chapel time and place mean reverence. His mind is unfolding marvelously, and when he goes home for the vacation in June, parents and brothers and sisters and neighbors are astonished at the physical and mental transformation.

Harry will progress through the school grades, and when he comes to the third he will be set to doing some hard work to develop the mechanical powers. He will later be taught how to re-seat chairs with cane, to make fancy or useful baskets, or other occupation for his busy hands. Perhaps Harry will have musical taste and talent and will begin the study of piano, and as his progress through the regular school work is accomplished he may become a skilled pianist or violinist, with opportunity, too, for voice culture. Being mechanical and, having a fine ear, he learns to tune and repair pianos. And he comes at last to commencement day with a pretty fair high school education and a taste for reading good books and with a gainful occupation in his hands. That's what the school does for Harry.

Oh, it does many more things, let us hope. It gives him sane views of life, hopeful, optimistic, perhaps. It has tried to make of him an honorable young man, a citizen worthy of his state, clean-minded, strong-bodied, whole-souled. It has sought to train him, not to forget that he is blind, but to refuse to believe that the being blind is an insuperable deterrent from accomplishment of worthy work. He is taught to look upon dependence with disdain, that the blind beggar is a no more worthy object of contemplation than the seeing beggar, that manliness and useful effort will surely be rewarded.

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What does the world into which he will go to live do for Harry? Ah! that is another story. Let us hope that you who hear me will be ready to give Harry a chance. Try to remember, for example, that a piano is tuned, not by the sense of sight, but by means of the sense of hearing. Try Harry, and if he "makes good" get him another piano to tune and recommend him to your friends.

If Harry were a girl she would have certain training differentiated from his by the fact of sex, though her mental training is the same. If she shows ability in music, she has a pretty thorough course. She learns to sew, to knit, to crochet, to darn stockings, and to do housework. Monday she washes her own clothing, Tuesday irons, Wednesday and Thursday cooks, Friday -- oh, dreadful day of drudgery! -- she scrubs and cleans up. Our girl we do not expect to make a domestic, equipped for general housework, but we do send her home from this course ready to help out in the home, an acceptable helper in the household of which she forms a part.

It remains for us to try to discover means of profitable employment for these, our young people. Of their own initiative they find this usually, but some must be helped. Of the first class graduated since I became superintendent we have heard from the majority, and they are at work. All three girls have been at once employed: one, a colored girl, has gone to a school for the colored blind in Florida as teacher of sewing and music; one is employed, as Mr. Campbell told you, in a box factory in Dayton, and earns from seven and a half to nine dollars weekly, and she is radiantly happy in her independence; the other is a young woman of such attractive personality and fine poise that, on the occurrence of a vacancy at the school in the position of door attendant, she was thought of at once as the right person for the place. Of the boys, word has been received from four out of the six, and each is employed in a gainful occupation.

Much more might be said of the work of our school. If you have your doubts of the usefulness of the school, come and see its faithful, devoted teachers and its careful house-mothers at their tasks. And if you have any suggestions to offer, either before or after your visit, as to how we can improve the service being rendered to our state's youth who are blind, be sure they will be gladly received.