Assume That She’s an Inspiration

“People make assumptions about me,” says Anita Arakawa, coordinator of the Independent Living Skills program for the Center for the Partially Sighted in Santa Monica. This is what people assume about a blind woman. “If I’m married, my husband must be sighted. I have no job. I can’t make a decision.”

At a restaurant, a server might say to Arakawa’s companion, “What does she want to drink?”

Those people are wrong on all counts. Arakawa has been wed for three years to Jerry Arakawa, her second husband, who asked her to marry him the day after they met. He is director of adult programs for the Foundation for the Junior Blind, and is also blind.

And, be it in her 40-hour-a-week position at the center, her role as president of the Greater Los Angeles chapter of the California Council of the Blind or as an active member of various related organizations, Arakawa decides upon matters far more critical than beverage orders.

In the skills program, Arakawa, 37, supervises orientation and mobility instructors, teaches classes about vision loss and coping with diabetes, and deals with 20 to 25 clients, most of them elderly, each week, fielding problems and dispensing advice.

Her clients’ needs differ from those of people blind since birth, she says. “Any time you lose something, it hurts,” says Arakawa, who was born sighted but began losing her vision to glaucoma, diagnosed when she was 21, and now sees only colors and shadows. “You’re angry, you’re mad, you bargain with God. Then you get used to it, and you go on. You learn new things, get new hobbies. Sometimes, you don’t feel like you measure up--you’re not blind, you’re not sighted.”

Arakawa’s vision loss derailed her plans to become a nurse, and eventually forced her to abandon the convertible, golf, watercolor painting, needlework and basket weaving that she had enjoyed. Instead, she earned a master’s degree in rehabilitation, taught at Boston College and came to Los Angeles from Vermont three years ago to marry Jerry Arakawa, whom she met at a convention in Arizona.

“People who are beginning to lose their vision don’t want others to know,” she says. “I got hit by a car on campus, because I didn’t want to use my cane.

“You take with you the image you had of blind people,” she adds. “When I was in college, I remember seeing a blind woman at a bus stop and thinking, ‘Oh, that poor woman.’ All of a sudden, three years later, that was me. It takes awhile. It’s a kick in the stomach.”

Arakawa has made a conscious effort to dispel negative images for others. On a recent afternoon in her office, she is wearing a sleek black dress topped by a stylish, colorful print jacket. Much of her blond hair is contained by a black bow and snood. While her black Labrador guide dog, Spencer, snoozes and occasionally “woofs” as he dreams, she sits erect, making eye contact with a visitor she cannot see.

“I didn’t want to go poking through life,” she says. “When I had the cane, I thought, ‘People will be looking at me, so I’ll give them something to look at. I don’t have a choice, so I might as well fight that image of that dowdy woman on the bus bench.”

Arakawa’s attitude has proved beneficial to client Yvonne James, 57, of Los Angeles, who began losing her vision to diabetes in 1987. “Anita was an inspiration to me,” James says. “I began to think the world was closing in on me. I like clothes--I admired her dressing, how she carries herself, how she walks like nothing is the matter. She’s reassuring, and she makes you have confidence within yourself.”

“When Anita came out here, she hit the ground running,” says Mitch Pomerantz, president of the California Council of the Blind. She’s one of the newest members of our Greater Los Angeles chapter, and yet because of her commitment she was asked to be president in less than two years. She’s very insightful, very adept at sorting through what has to be done to address a problem or an issue. She can deal with different interests and perspectives.”

Though Arakawa repeats that her vision loss is “a kick in the stomach,” she acknowledges that it opened up possibilities and inner resources she did not know existed as an unhappy homemaker in her 20s. “Many people stay stuck, because they think they have no other options,” she says. “But you learn to take advantage of the opportunities presented to you.”

* This occasional column tells the stories of the unsung heroes of Southern California, people of all ages and vocations and avocations, whose dedication as volunteers or on the job makes life better for the people they encounter. Reader suggestions are welcome and may be sent to Local Hero Editor, Life & Style, Los Angeles Times, Times Mirror Square, Los Angeles, CA 90053.