Tom Sullivan - Adventures in Darkness: Memoirs of an Eleven-Year-Old Blind Boy

ADVENTURES IN DARKNESS

Copyright 2006 by Tom Sullivan

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Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson, Inc.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Sullivan, Tom, 1947
Adventures in darkness : memoirs of an eleven-year-old blind boy / Tom Sullivan.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN-10: 0-7852-2081-X (hardcover : alk. paper)
ISBN-13: 978-0-7852-2081-7 (hardcover : alk. paper)
1. Sullivan, Tom, 1947Childhood and youth. 2. Children, BlindUnited StatesBiography. 3. Blind musiciansUnited StatesBiography. I. Title.
HV1792.S854 A3 2006
362.4'1092dc22
[B]

2006019092

Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 QW 08 07 06 05

To Billy,
who taught me to play
and helped me win in the game of life

To Perkins School for the Blind,
Despite my greatest childhood efforts
you gave me the education essential
to who I am

TABLE OF CONTENTS

JA - JINGSTEP, STEP.

Ja-JingStep, Step.

Ja-JingStep, Step.

Ja-JingStep, Step.

I listened to the syncopated rhythms of the fat man as he patrolled the echoing halls of the boarding school, my personal prison. The sound of his leather-soled shoes and heavy key ring framed his every movement, and I knew exactly where he was throughout his nightly rounds. My escape, planned so carefully, was about to begin. Though I was nervouseven a little frightenedthe freedom on the other side of the walls was far more important to me than any consequence I might suffer for what I was about to do.

Ja-JingStep, Step.

Ja-JingStep, Step.

The fat mans feet faded down the corridor. Okay, guys, I whispered to the darkness. Its time to go.

I dont know, Tommy, Jerrys voice whined back. Maybe this isnt such a good idea. Maybe we oughta just stay right here.

Shut up, Jerry, Ernie hissed. Tommy and me have examined every detail of the plan, and its perfect. If you dont want to go, were leaving without you. But remember, when they find out were not here, youll be the only one left to take the blame.

We heard Jerry sigh, resigned to his fate. Okay, okay, Im coming. I dont want to stay here by myself.

I was already at the window, tying off the sheets that we had strung together. I just hoped they were long enough to reach the ground. In every escape, theres stuff you cant be sure of, and I really didnt know exactly how far it was from the window to the earth below. It was early spring in New England, and the moisture of the night had released a potpourri of smells. My spirits soared as I took it all inlilac, apple blossom, night jasmine, and freshly cut grassall signaling that the world was out there, just waiting for us to set off on our grand adventure.

Ernie touched my arm. Okay, Tommy, this is your idea. You go first.

Oh sure, I laughed. You just want to know if the sheets will hold.

I know theyll hold you and me, pal, he said. What Im really interested to find out is what will happen when Fatty Jerry takes the death drop.

Shut up, you guys, Jerry whined again. Im not that fat.

Our snickers told him we didnt agree.

I sat on the ledge of our third-story window with the sheet in both hands and took a deep breath. Here I go, boys, I said over my shoulder. Geronimoooooooo! Swinging out into space, I lowered myself down the bed sheet rope. Ernie had tied all our bed sheets together with sheet bend knots he learned in Boy Scouts, and the material tightened under my weight. Reaching the bottom, I dangled for a moment, wondering just how far it was to the ground. I was relieved to find that I was only a couple of feet from terra firma. Im fine, I called up to my compatriots. Its easy. Come on down.

Less than thirty seconds later, Ernie landed with commando-type grace.

Okay, Jerry, I stage whispered, its your turn.

We waited and felt the sheet continue to wave in the night breeze. Maybe Jerry was chickening out. I added a little more urgency to my voice. Lets go, Jerry! We havent got all night!

What if I fall?

Well catch you, I said.

No, we wont, Ernie laughed. Do you know what his fat butt would do to us in free-fall? Wed be smooshed.

Jerry was still whining. What about my food? I cant find my food!

I reached into my backpack and pulled out a paper bag, shaking it like I was signaling to Pavlovs dog. I have your food, Fatty! Now, come on, or were going to leave you, and I know you wouldnt really want that!

All right, he quavered, here I come.

I finally felt the tension on the sheets. His nervous shakings were actually palpable under my fingertips as Jerry suspended himself in space. Unlike Ernie and me, who had descended quickly to the ground, Jerry made his way down painfully, haltingly hand-over-hand, as if he were working his way down the north face of Mount Everest. Then, about six feet from the ground, gravity overcame Jerrys grip and he dropped like a stone, landing in a heap at our feet. Soft spring grass and his ample padding prevented major injury. And after a little more whining, we moved out through the darkness, heading for the fence line at the Charles River.

Like all great escapes, this one had been meticulously planned with conversations whispered deep into the night. We knew exactly how to pull it off. Once outside, we would make our way to the compounds boathouse, where rowboats provided occasional exercise on the river for inmates on good behavior. The lock on the gate would be no problem because of the hacksaw wed stolen from the prison shop and placed in my backpack, along with a set of wire cutters. All wed have to do was drag the boat to the river and let the current take us out into Boston Harbor and freedom.

My friend Ernie was a genius. At eleven, he was already taking advanced calculus and physics. By using the almanac to determine times and tides and by dangling a fishing line in the river to calculate the speed of the current, he figured we could voyage to the Atlantic in about seven hours. He went on to elaborate that the current flowed at about two miles an hour, and we could go even faster if we picked a night when the tide was on its way out. So thats exactly what we did.

Nearing the boathouse, we dropped onto our bellies in an extended military crawl. This area of the yard was brightly lit, providing us with the greatest danger of discovery. As I arrived at the corner of the boathouse, feeling Ernie right behind me, Jerrys whines had turned to sniffling.

Whats the matter now, Jerry? I asked.

I think I crawled through dog crap.

You sure did, Ernie confirmed, sniffing loudly and laughing in the dark. Thats dog crap, all right. Probably the excrement of a large German shepherd.

I stifled my own laugh. You can wash it off in the river when we get there, Jerry. Right now, weve gotta pull this boat out of here.

Finding the boathouse door, I pulled the stolen hacksaw out of my backpack and prepared to go to work on the lock and chain. Ernie, put your hands on each end of the chain, and keep it from flopping around so I can get a good pull with the blade of the saw.