Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, February 13, 1992 TAG: 9202130094
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: B-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: LISA SWIRSKY STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
NO PITY FOR SNACK BAR MANAGER
Randy Duncan strolls past the Coke and Pepsi machines, past refrigerators full of turkey sandwiches and macaroni salad at the snack bar in Roanoke's Municipal Building. Then he takes a left to the back room.Untangling a jumble of keys, he finds the one to the storeroom and then the one to a small cash box. The snack bar and small storeroom are the domain of a typical restaurant manager. But unlike the typical manager, Randy Duncan travels this routine territory without the benefit of sight.
Duncan, 35, was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes when he was 9. By 1981, the disease had left him blind.
"It went from 20/20 to total blindness in eight months. . . . It was a very detrimental time for me," Duncan said in his typically understated language.
An assembly worker at a furniture plant before he went blind, Duncan spent four years out of work after he lost his sight.
His medical insurance paid for the physical rehabilitation, but emotional healing came on Duncan's tab.
"You go through surgery, a lot of pain, as much emotional as physical.
"You don't want to believe it. . . . You ask why didn't it happen to a rapist or a drunk," said Duncan, who lost something else we take for granted: freedom.
"You're in your 20s, the prime of your life. It hit hard.
"Not driving - when you have to hand the keys to someone else and it's your vehicle - that had a major impact," Duncan said.
Eventually, denial gave way to acceptance. Duncan got in touch with the Virginia Department for the Visually Impaired, and underwent a program through which he received training to live independently.
"It was like starting first grade all over," Duncan remembered.
"You learn how to write [in Braille], to cook, to match your clothes, how to get to work."
While in the program in Richmond, Duncan took interest in a vending program that trains the blind for managerial positions in food operations.
"I've always liked figures," Duncan said. "I grew up on a farm, and I always liked figuring acres and things, so I was interested in managing."
Duncan learned of a program called Business Opportunities for the Blind. It's a state program that contracts with both government and private industry to place visually impaired people in charge of food-service operations.
In 1985, a position opened up at the Virginia Commonwealth building in downtown Roanoke, and Duncan moved from his hometown of Emory, a small town in Washington County 110 miles southwest of Roanoke.
He worked at the state building until 1987, then moved across Church Avenue to the Municipal Building for a temporary job. It was a larger operation than at his previous job, and Duncan wanted the challenge.
He applied for a permanent job at the Roanoke Municipal Building, but when the position went to someone else, Duncan moved to Charlottesville, where he managed a snack bar at the Federal Building for four years.
In January, he returned to Roanoke to manage the snack bar at city hall.
Already, Duncan has settled into his new surroundings.
A closer look at the vending machines reveals Braille labels over each selection.
"Those were put there by the woman who worked here before me," Duncan said. It is one of the few reminders that the position has been consciously set up for the blind. The cash register has a synthesized voice that speaks out the totals, but otherwise it works like any other register. A small knob on the No. 5 key helps Duncan find the right numbers on the key pad. He identifies bills and coins by their position in the cash drawer.
Duncan approaches tasks methodically.
"I don't do Tuesday's work Friday or Friday's work on Tuesday," he said. "I know where everything is.
"A lot of it you learn after a while; a lot of it's just common sense," Duncan said as he straightened a box of 3Musketeers bars. "See this fold?" he said, holding up a candy bar. "That's how I can tell that the name goes this way and not upside down."
There are Braille letters underneath the cigarette display, "but I never use them," he said. "They're arranged alphabetically, so that's one way I know."
Customers sometimes will help Duncan when he is in a rush. He must depend on his three workers to do some things. They help him with orders and bills. He uses a special calculator with a voice to compute them.
Back at the cash box, Duncan explained his cash-out procedure. He took out a stack of multicolored billfolds with bank logos on them. They all appeared to be the same size and shape. He flipped through the bills identifying them as ones, fives, 10s, 20s or 50s.
"The ones are always a little rumpled," he said, explaining one way he identifies them.
At the end of his shift, Duncan checked the time on his watch by flipping up the crystal to expose the Braille face. He had a bus to catch.
He boards the bus for home a few steps from the Municipal Building. The bus lets him off just outside his apartment, so he doesn't have to cross a busy street.
Flipping the light on in his tidy two-bedroom apartment, Duncan laughed. "Everybody always wants to know why blind people have light switches. It's to let everyone else know they're in."
Except for a speaking clock radio in his bedroom, the apartment has no specially designed appliances. "If it weren't for the canes in the corner, no one would ever know that a blind man lives here."
Immaculate and uncluttered, Duncan's apartment shows signs of the same methodical care he gives to his job. He does all of his own housekeeping and cooking.
An array of cleaning supplies is lined up, evenly spaced, against a wall in the bathroom. They testify to the importance of order in Duncan's sightless world.
"If something is moved, I know that someone has been here," he said, as if he had his own secret weapon.
Cooking is one area where Duncan leaves room for surprises. He shakes a can of Campbell's soup: "I pretty much know what everything is . . . like I can tell this is a can of soup," he said. "But I don't know what kind it is."
Duncan does need a friend to take him grocery shopping. "I go once a month and stock up."
On rare shopping trips for clothing, Duncan also gets help from a friends who tell him the colors so he can label them for future reference. Duncan can still visualize colors in his mind, so he knows what matches. "I won't wear orange," he said vehemently in a rare concession to vanity.
Duncan credits his friends and family for the support they have given him since he has lost his sight.
The second youngest of six siblings, Duncan says he would go back to the country again if he had his sight back.
"I guess you could say I am a hick," Duncan said, smiling.
He spends his spare time listening to country music and to old TV shows like the "Andy Griffith Show" and "The Beverly Hillbillies." He likes the old shows because he can remember the episodes from when he was sighted.
Relaxing in front of the television, Duncan turned contemplative on the issue of society's responsibilities toward the handicapped. "I think that handicapped people have to make the first step. They can't just stay at home and not go out," he said.
"Some [blind] people want pity. I used to, but now it's a four-letter word.
Duncan doesn't think that people treat him any differently at work because he is blind.
"I've got to be responsible and make my customers happy," he said. "I don't get any breaks."
Randy Duncan doesn't ask for any.