THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, June 19, 1995 TAG: 9506170041
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY JON GLASS, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 216 lines
FOR JENNIFER TATOMIR and Clarence Griffin, the stage at Chrysler Hall is the world.
Most of their fellow seniors in Maury High School's Class of '95 won't think twice about the simple act of walking across the stage Tuesday to accept their diplomas.
For Jennifer and Clarence, who are blind, that feat will prove to themselves and everybody else that they really can compete and succeed - on their own - in a sighted society.
``We've been talking about this since the beginning of the year,'' Jennifer said. ``I want to walk across the stage by myself.''
But on a day two weeks ago, when they arrived at the downtown performance hall to practice for the big moment, they already were having second thoughts.
``The major concern is the edge,'' Clarence said, as he waited for Gail Henrich, a special education teacher for the visually impaired, to take his arm and lead him down the aisle, up the steps and across the broad wooden expanse.
Up on the platform, they tapped out the width and breadth with their white-tipped walking canes, as Henrich described the shape of the stage and coached them on how to accept their diplomas while holding their canes.
Finally, Jennifer, with a triumphant smile, and Clarence, cooly nonchalant, declared they were ready.
``I'm going to get to go home and tell my father so he doesn't have to freak out about me falling off the stage,'' Jennifer joked.
When they accept their diplomas Tuesday, the two honor students will cross a milestone in their personal journeys to achieve a ``mainstream'' education.
Jennifer, 18, is graduating with highest honors with an A average, and she wants to become a historian. She is also a violinist.
Clarence, 19, who has attended the Governor's School for the Arts two days a week, is a gifted singer and keyboard player and hopes to one day land a recording contract.
Jennifer will enter Washington & Lee University in the fall and major in history. Clarence will enter a state rehabilitation center for the blind in Richmond for more extensive training in independent living and then hopes to study music at Old Dominion University.
They have made their parents - and Henrich, who has shared the trials and triumphs of Jennifer's life since first grade - proud.
``Everybody's been out there pitching in so these kids have a fighting chance,'' Henrich said, detailing how local civic clubs like the Lions and Optimists have assisted the school system in providing special Braille-friendly computers and printers.
Jennifer and Clarence were born with glaucoma, an eye disease that gradually impairs sight and can result in blindness. Their parents agonized over where to have them educated.
The Tatomirs decided they wanted Jennifer to have the same opportunities as her older, sighted sister, Joanne.
``I just told myself that if she had the ability and she wanted to, I wasn't going to stick her away somewhere just because she lacked sight,'' her father, George Tatomir, a U.S. Navy intelligence specialist, said. ``We just wanted to give her all the opportunities to be like a regular person.''
Clarence's mother, Lydia Griffin, started her son in Norfolk public schools but moved him to the Virginia School for the Deaf and for the Blind at Hampton during first grade. Two years ago, she enrolled him in Maury to prepare him for ``facing life in the real world.''
``I wanted him to be able to do it on his own,'' she said. ``I didn't want him to use me as a crutch. He's really overcome a lot.''
While both are now blind, Jennifer and Clarence had limited vision when they were young. Clarence still can detect bright light.
Clarence said he could see well enough as a kid to ride a bicycle. He first lost sight in his left eye. On his 16th birthday, he lost vision in his right eye.
``I woke up blind,'' Clarence said. ``The doctor said it could happen any time. It sounds tragic, but I'm all right with it.''
Jennifer underwent a series of operations in childhood, including two cornea transplants, in an unsuccessful fight to save the precious little sight she had.
Henrich treasures a crayon drawing that Jennifer, her face working about 3 inches above the paper, colored in third or fourth grade.
Henrich laminated the picture, and it hangs now in her office at Maury, a brown-and-black striped horse, with purple sky, green grass and orange sun, Jennifer's child-like vision of a world she won't see again.
``I guess you could say it's a little hard sometimes, when there's a boy who's cute or when I'm looking at a yearbook,'' Jennifer said. ``Even though I bought one and all my friends signed it, somebody is always going to have to read it back to me.
``And of course I can't fly an airplane or drive a car, although I can drive bumper cars. I'm really good at bumper cars.
``But it's who I am, and I like me.''
When they leave Maury, they also will be saying goodbye to Henrich, who has watched them progress from shy kids to self-assured young adults.
``She's like an older sister or a second mom,'' Jennifer said. ``After I became totally blind, she was there to talk to and just to be supportive. She can make me laugh at the stupidest things.''
During a study period in Henrich's office one day last month, Jennifer struggled unsuccessfully to feed paper into a Braille printer, a $4,000 piece of equipment donated by a local Lions Club that translates computer type into Braille.
``What's the matter - can't you see?'' Henrich demanded.
``Noooo,'' Jennifer deadpanned.
They shared a laugh, and Jennifer made clear to a rather uncomfortable bystander that it was OK to laugh.
``Sometimes the teachers are a little frightened at first, because they don't know what to expect,'' Jennifer said. ``They'd say, `I'll see you tomorrow,' and then they'd feel bad about it. I'd tell them, `It's OK, I see you. I just see you differently.' ''
``I really try to act as if I don't have a handicap at all,'' Clarence said. ``Some people don't even realize I have a visual impairment. I try to have fun with them - play with their minds.''
Henrich served as their eyes in some classes, such as math. She would sit through the classes, taking copious notes and then translating them into Braille, using a manual Braille writer.
``I'd be doing my homework at night, and I'd have the Braille and she had her notes and we'd talk for hours on the phone,'' Jennifer said. ``I'd figure out the answers and she'd write them down. Geometry is a very visual course and they didn't think I'd do very well. I got A's.''
This year, Henrich rose early to attend Clarence's 7:25 a.m. geometry class. At night, Clarence often would dictate his homework over the phone to Henrich, who typed it up and had it ready for him to hand in the next morning.
``She's like the backbone of my school career,'' Clarence said of Henrich. ``She's down in geometry every day - even when I'm not.''
Having Clarence and Jennifer at Maury has been a learning experience for their sighted friends and teachers as well.
Senior Molly Hutton, whom Jennifer calls her best friend, had several classes this year with Jennifer and often took duplicate notes using carbon paper. They double-dated to the prom, eating out at the downtown La Galleria Italian restaurant.
Molly was in on a surprise ``puppy shower'' that friends and teachers threw to celebrate the news that Jennifer was going to get a ``leader'' dog, a longtime wish. They gave her dog biscuits, a doggie dish and bones.
``They had her teachers there from as far back as first and second grade,'' Jennifer's father said. ``They all cared for her, and they remembered her as an achievement in their own lives.''
Teachers are amazed at the two students' achievements. Clarence and his keyboard are usually not far apart, and his musical talents inevitably draw comparisons to Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder. His mother recalls his drifting to sleep with a transistor radio by his ear, and he brags about having a four-track recording system in his room.
``I don't think he feels he's going to be limited,'' said his choral teacher, Debra Newton. ``He talks about the day he's going to have a recording contract, and he probably will.''
Jennifer's intellectual abilities set her apart.
``When they have to do oral presentations, she memorizes hers,'' said Julie Buhl, Jennifer's advanced-placement European history teacher. ``The other students are in awe of her.''
An indispensable tool of success has been their ``BrailleMate,'' a lightweight portable computer that's as handy as a personal secretary. It gives them independence from Henrich, enabling them to type classroom lecture notes on it and use it to do homework assignments. It functions as a basic math calculator and as a daily scheduler, telephone directory and address book.
The computer ``speaks'' with a buzz-like synthetic voice. To untrained ears, the voice sounds like a blurry hum.
The machine also communicates silently with them, featuring a ``Braille cell'' that they can run their fingers over and read what they've written without disturbing the class.
``If it was talking in class it would be rather annoying to my teacher,'' Jennifer said.
Unlike geometry, Jennifer wouldn't dream of letting Henrich take notes in her history classes.
``She can't be in class with me all the time, nor do I want her to be,'' Jennifer said. ``I wouldn't want Mrs. Henrich to take my history notes because she doesn't know what I think is important.''
The biggest challenge Jennifer faces, she says, is maneuvering Maury's hallways between classes. She is jealous of Clarence, whom she says has a much better sense of direction.
``I'm shorter than everybody else, and people tend to run me over,'' Jennifer said. ``You can kind of miss a cane if you're not looking.''
In recent weeks, Henrich has been working on their mobility skills, taking them for walks near Maury, teaching them how to cross a street at traffic lights.
``You've got about 26 seconds, something like that - we timed the light segments,'' Clarence said. ``Once you learn the concept of not getting hit, you're home free.''
On a recent walk down DeBree Avenue near the school, Clarence was in rare form. ``I need a map,'' he said at one point. When a section of the sidewalk suddenly gave way to a patch of uneven earth, he quipped, ``I'm going to write the city.''
Jennifer was quieter, a little less sure of herself. ``I have this fear of getting struck in the middle of the road,'' she said. ``The cane can't tell you when a car is coming.''
Compared to the busy intersection at Colonial Avenue and Princess Anne, which Jennifer calls the ``most horrible in the world,'' crossing that stage at Chrysler Hall will be a piece of cake. ILLUSTRATION: Color photos by BETH BERGMAN
Clarence Griffin and Jennifer Tatomir sit before the Chrysler Hall
stage they will walk, on the their own, to accept diplomas at
Tuesday's graduation.
Jennifer, who has a A average, receives a hug from history teacher
Julie Buhl.
Clarence, far right, jams on the keyboard with the friends. Clarence
is a gifted singer, and hopes to land a recording contract one day.
B\W photo
Jennifer Tatomir, left, Clarence Griffin and teacher Gail Henrich
practice in the parking lot of Chrysler Hall for Tuesday's
graduation ceremony.
by CNB