by Ron McCallum
From the start, I sensed the warmth in the very bricks, timber and stone of the house. People had been happy here, and Mary and I knew deep down in our bones that this was the base and the refuge in which to raise our three children. However, initially I found the move disorientating. One day I found myself on the enclosed veranda, but I couldn’t remember whether it was at the front or side of the house. Thankfully Mary came and rescued me.
We were not only close to the railway station, but just across the road were shops. It really felt like being in a little village. I still meet people at the shops who remember me walking along with the two boys and with Kate sitting on my back in the backpack. I often pushed the stroller but, when the children were very small, I found it was easiest for me to use the backpack. After all, it kept my two hands free. At all times my white cane was in my right hand.
Before our move I had flown up to Sydney with Lois to practise my route to and from the Law School. At that time, the University of Sydney Law School was in the heart of Sydney. The 200-metre walk from our home to the railway station was pretty straightforward with only one major road to cross. I took a fifteen-minute train journey to the Wynyard railway station in George Street in the Sydney CBD. By counting the stops and listening to a number of announcements I was able to keep track of my whereabouts.
The Sydney University Law School stood on Phillip Street, just opposite the law courts. I found it easy to walk from Wynyard railway station along George Street to Martin Place. The walk up to the Law School was also pretty easy because all the streets had clicking traffic lights, so they were okay for me to cross independently. Nevertheless, it took me some time to feel completely confident. On a number of occasions Mary went with me with Kate in her stroller.
I should add here that one awkwardness was the long flight of steps at our local train station up to the platforms. I well remember carrying Kate’s stroller up and down these stairs which, until a lift was installed in 2016, were a huge barrier for my sisters and brothers in wheelchairs.
Of course, we had to consider a school for the children, and especially for Gerard, who was entering his first school kindergarten year in 1993. In mid-1992 when searching for a house, we visited the Sydney Church of England Coeducational Grammar School in Cremorne, which was known as SCECGS Redlands. We pretty much decided then and there that it would be our children’s school. It was a coeducational private school, so girls and boys learned together. We were a little surprised that Sydney had far fewer private coeducational schools than did Melbourne at that time.
Parents have differing attitudes to schools, but Mary and I are strong believers in coeducation from pre-school right up to year twelve and beyond. If done properly, it ensures its graduates have a deep appreciation of equality between women and men. Throughout my years of teaching, I had observed that those first- and second-year law students who had come from all-boys schools found it difficult to come to terms with intelligent young women in their lectures and tutorials. Mary and I didn’t want our sons to grow up in this mould. The other reason SCECGS Redlands appealed to me was that it was one school where Kate and the boys could be dropped off and picked up together.
I suspect like many dads I much preferred taking the children to school than picking them up. After all, in the mornings they were clean and fed. In the afternoons, however, it was a different matter. They were often tired, a little scratchy and on occasion they had lost garments such as school jumpers. I enjoyed reading to the children, though Mary did much more of this than I did. Over the years we had collected a couple of books that included braille as well as pictures that delighted the children. To amuse them, I would also make up my own bedtime stories. A favourite character was little Winston, who had various adventures, including with a wolf. The children and I enjoyed making the wolf noises—much to Mary’s consternation. Then there was Chesapeake the Cow, who sent her milk over the internet for us all to drink at breakfast.
During our first two years in Sydney, Gerard became a real schoolboy, Daniel completed his pre-school years and baby Kate grew into a sturdy chattering toddler. Kate has always been very articulate and when she was a toddler she never left anyone in doubt as to what she needed. After all, as the third child she had to compete with two older brothers.
In early 1993 we employed our first nanny in Sydney. We used nannies for very many years, right up to when Kate was in year ten. When I was working at home, I made it clear that the nanny was in charge, and that it was not my place to be a court of appeal to test her decisions.
I found it interesting that pretty soon our children perceived a hierarchy in our family. One afternoon when all the children had been picked up from school by the nanny, I discovered her carrying all of their school bags into the house. I explained to the boys that they were big enough to carry their own bags, but that Kate still needed some help. One of the boys said, ‘But she’s the nanny!’
Once we settled in Sydney we looked around for a good church. Initially we tried Catholic churches in our area but were underwhelmed by the available offerings. At one service, Mary went outside to feed Kate, who had become unsettled. I was left with the boys as the priest launched into his sermon. I cannot recall the focus of the homily, but suddenly the priest made the bizarre assertion that, in using the contraceptive pill, women were sinning and were filling the water supply with oestrogen.
I couldn’t believe that my fellow parishioners would simply sit there while this type of tosh was presented to them. I knew that most Catholic couples of our age and younger used birth control to limit the size of their families. I found it incomprehensible that my fellow husbands and dads just sat there silently while the priest inferred that their wives were sinners because they were using birth control.
I got up and said in a stage whisper that this wasn’t fit for my boys to hear. Using my white cane, I led the boys out of the church. I have always believed that if one sits quietly in an audience, one virtually acquiesces with the views of the speaker. If one doesn’t like what is being said, then in most cases departure is best.
I decided to write to my friend Michael Kirby, who was then the President of the New South Wales Court of Appeal. He suggested we try St James Anglican Church in King Street, right next door to the Sydney Law School. It is an Anglo–Catholic church and very different from the low church Anglicanism that then held sway over most of Sydney. We went to St James in May 1994 and became parishioners right up to the millennium and beyond. I was attracted by the fine sermons, which were printed and distributed to the congregation. In particular, I loved the sermons of Father Peter Hughes. There are significant exceptions, but too often in Catholic churches the sermons or homilies are insufficiently substantial and lack the depth I need.
When filling in a new-parishioner form, I ticked that I would be interested in meditation. These sessions were held in the St James Crypt from 12.15 p.m. to 1 p.m. As this was only a few steps away from the Law School I had no excuse, so I went along. I soon became a devotee of Christian meditation; I guess I am part of the World Wide Community of Christian Meditation. It’s so simple that one can teach a six year old how to do it; the essence is to meditate twice a day for about twenty minutes on each occasion.
Ever since, I have been a meditator and it has added to my inner calmness. While I can meditate in the early mornings on many weekdays, I find it difficult to summon up the energy to meditate in the evenings. I think that my time as a meditator actually awakened my later interest in Buddhism.
After spending most of my adult life on a purpose-built campus at Monash, at first I found it rather strange to be teaching and writing in the very centre of Sydney. The walk from Wynyard railway station was usually very crowded, and I always had to keep my wits about me to stay out of the way of hurrying passers-by in peak hour.
I found my first academic year at the University of Sydney Law School in 1993 to be a difficult one. Perhaps because of our move to a new city, which meant learning my way around trav
elling routes and adjusting to the new routines of our children, I became very tired. I am sure I was occasionally brusque in my behaviour and also somewhat self-absorbed.
By the close of 1992, computers could work in tandem with synthetic-voice programs and with flatbed scanners. I used an Arkenstone scanning program on the hard disk of my desktop computer to scan and store material. I also attached a flatbed scanner to the computer.
My teaching timetable in the first semester was a difficult one. It involved teaching New South Wales Evidence Law, a subject that required some catch-up reading and research for me. Wednesdays were very heavy, with both a 9 a.m. and a 6 p.m. class. I didn’t quite know what to do. ‘Didn’t anyone realise,’ I thought, ‘that I am still adjusting to our move, still learning my travel routes and am rather tired?’ I was the first blind academic at the Law School, and it’s fair to conclude that many of my colleagues hadn’t really thought about my situation.
Initially I found many of my colleagues to be a little standoffish—I believe that some referred to me as ‘the equal-opportunity professor’—but perhaps I felt this because I had grown up in the familial atmosphere of the Monash Law School. I may have taken a little while to adjust. In any event, I simply decided to hunker down in my office and do my teaching and research to the best of my ability. Sydney University Law School did provide a designated secretary for me during my first two years, where my colleagues had to rely on shared services. I found the students to be gifted and highly motivated, and classes were pretty much the same as they had been at Monash. Initially I forgot that, unlike at Monash, where my blindness was part of the furniture, the Sydney students did not necessarily know about my disability when they first came to a class. I remember that during the break in one of my 1993 classes on the law of evidence, a student came up to me and said, ‘Ron, I had my hand up for the last twenty minutes, but got no response from you at all.’ I gently reminded him that I couldn’t see, and that if he wanted my attention he should do what the others in the class did, namely, just say, ‘Ron, I have a question.’
Monash Law School, where I had grown up, was known as a Jewish law school—I think that around one-quarter of my students were Jewish—and as such, Monash Law School took account of Jewish holidays. In one of my early Evidence classes at Sydney, I remarked that as Passover was being celebrated the following week, I assumed we would not have classes. There was silence until a student asked, ‘Ron, what is Passover?’ I suddenly realised that I was now at a very different law school.
In April 1993, just a few, exhausting months into my new professorship, Mary received reports from the examiners of her PhD thesis. She was awarded the degree but was required to make some corrections. I now know how commonplace it is for PhD students to be asked to make corrections, but with everything else going on at that time, it seemed a big blow to us both. Of course, she made the required changes in no time and then turned her attention back to the big tasks of that year (extending and renovating our house).
We did both have major wins at this time. I helped stage the first Annual Labour Law Conference, which was held on Friday, 30 April 1993. It was a great success. For the next twenty years, an Annual Labour Law Conference was held, where ideas were explored and digested. Mary convened a conference that brought together lawyers, advocates and politicians from around Australia concerned about the move to detain irregular migrants, including children. She then published a book titled Protection or Punishment: The Detention of Asylum Seekers in Australia.
By mid-1993, however, I was not in a good space. I began to feel all of the walls closing in upon me. Since falling in love with Mary in 1985, my life had been a whirlwind. All at once there had been marriage, sexuality, becoming a father to our three children, the huge advances in computer-based assistive technology and our move to Sydney. It was just all too much. I became ill.
I recall sitting on the edge of a medical examination table in my underpants. It is hard to debate in such a position. The doctor asked me whether I had any hobbies or outlets for me-time. I explained that with work, with the children and with all of the new technology, I didn’t have time for hobbies. She then asked me if I wanted to be around to see the children when they were teenagers; she said that, if I didn’t find an outlet, my health would suffer, and that I had a responsibility to Mary and to the children to maintain my health.
After some prompting, I ventured that I loved the sound of the flute, and perhaps I could learn to play this instrument. She said, ‘Get dressed while I go and speak to Mary.’
By 1994 I really felt overwhelmed. My state of mind greatly concerned Mary. I had everything: an extraordinary wife and life partner, three vigorous children, a super job and exceptional assistive technology. Yet at times I found it all far too difficult. In particular, I’d always felt that because I couldn’t read print I had missed out on so much and that my education was somewhat lacking. With the new technology I tried to catch up; but this simply exhausted me.
I had counselling during these years, and it was an enormous help. In particular, my 1994 counsellor explained to me that I had to learn to be myself and to stop worrying about what I thought were my shortcomings. Put another way, she encouraged me to learn to live with the recognition of my disability. I think that in the past I had tried to put my blindness behind a curtain and to seek success despite it.
I was well versed in education and in the ways of the world. It is still the case that married or partnered mums and dads are at the centre of public policy debates and also of Australian society. After becoming married and a father, I felt as though I had at last been let inside the door. But no matter how much I achieved, no matter how independent I became, no matter the respect shown my position, when I walked down the street, what people saw was a blind man. I was still defined by my disability.
Of course Mary bought me a flute, and Suzy Miller, who was then at the Conservatorium of Music of the University of Sydney, agreed to give me lessons. Not only did I love the sound of the flute, the combined acts of holding and blowing gave me great calmness. Suzy gave me lessons until we went on sabbatical leave to Canada in 2001. Alas, my flute playing has long since fallen by the wayside. However, during the turbulent 1990s my flute playing gave me a space outside of family and work to be myself. I think all of us, and especially wives and mums, need time we can call our own, and I guess when I was practising the flute this was my time.
While I could read braille music in a rather rudimentary fashion, I used a small cassette-tape recorder to help me learn pieces. Suzy would recite the notes onto the tape, and she would also play the phrases on her flute. Then at home I would listen and re-listen to the tape recordings as I memorised each piece. Remembering sequences was hardly new for me and it was a joy to actually be able to play pieces from memory. I especially loved playing some short pieces by my favourite classical composer, Johann Sebastian Bach.
By the close of 1994, with counselling, with meditation, with flute playing and, of most importance, with Mary’s patient love I developed equilibrium of sorts and became much calmer. In hindsight I see this somewhat humbling year as a watershed period, during which I grew in self-awareness and self-acceptance.
Aside from this profound realisation, 1994 was the year that I decided to become a practising lawyer and Mary took the final step towards becoming a fully-fledged academic.
On Saturday, 5 March 1994 she graduated with a Doctor of Philosophy degree at the University of Melbourne. I sat with Mary’s mum in the audience, while her dad joined the other academics on stage at the graduation ceremony. We were all so very proud of her fine achievement. Afterwards, Mary’s father opened a bottle of Grange Hermitage that was as old as Mary herself. I think it was the finest wine either of us had ever tasted (or are ever likely to taste).
When I finished my undergraduate studies at Monash in 1971, I didn’t really worry about admission to legal practice, but in 1994 a window of opportunity opened up for me to be admitted to legal prac
tice. I was able to persuade the Solicitors Admission Board to allow my admission as a legal practitioner, subject only to a requirement that I complete a course on legal ethics, which did not take me a great deal of time.
So it was that on Friday, 11 November 1994, I found myself in the Supreme Court of New South Wales taking the oath of admission. The then Shadow Attorney-General Jeff Shaw moved my admission and our good friend Justice Michael Kirby did me the huge honour of attending the admission ceremony.
This was also the year the internet became a part of my life. When we moved to Sydney the internet as we now know it was in its infancy. Initially, I would borrow law reports and journal volumes from the law library. I would scan them and store the files so that I could have the material read out to me in synthetic speech whenever I was preparing a class or undertaking research. By 1994, however, legal material began to be placed on the internet. For example, late that year I was able to download decisions of the High Court of Australia. I could store these court decisions on the computer’s hard disk and have them read out at any time. Downloading directly from the internet meant that I no longer had to scan the printed material. These days, most of the legal material I use is on the web. I now do far less scanning and this saves me a great deal of time.
It should be mentioned that, even now, not all websites are accessible by blind people. Often their graphical interfaces are too visual and their site owners do not include audio files. Perhaps these folks are unaware that we blind can surf the net. The World Wide Web Consortium, which is known as WC3, has developed international standards to ensure that all websites are accessible. It is my hope that one day all site owners will abide by these rules so that we blind are not excluded. Mind you, I’m still a bit slow on the net. It’s often the case that one of my young researchers will find me material much speedier than I can.