“Here Mike, let me get the light,” I offered absentmindedly,
reaching for the switch. It wasn’t my smartest moment, and my
friend had a ready response.
“Is that what I’ve needed all these years?” he asked
sarcastically. “For someone to turn on the light?”
Mike Kosior was blind from birth. The same genetic disorder that
robbed him of his sight also made him profoundly hard of hearing.
Nobody would have begrudged him if he had stayed home and received
disability payments. Yet he went to work each day, reporting for
duty before anyone else.
We worked together in the IT department of a marketing agency.
Mike would navigate the streets of Boston with a red and white
cane. He was there early each morning, answering technical support
calls and making the entire floor smell like his beloved hazelnut
Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.
Mike used a program that would read his computer screen out loud
to him. Many mornings I would hear him reading the Boston
Globe, interspersed with his own commentary. “Give me a
break,” he would say, to no one in particular. “Yasser Arafat? Too
bad!” You had to be aware that if you sent him an email during a
conference call, his computer would read it aloud to the whole
group.
During that time period, Mike was one of the most reliable and
popular computer technicians at the company. People hard at work on
client deliverables can be a demanding lot, and they don’t have
much patience for software malfunctions. Mike was able to both help
them and put them at ease.
I once asked Mike why he didn’t use a seeing eye dog. He didn’t
miss a beat. “It’s hard enough to get a job when you’re blind,” he
replied. “Try bringing a [expletive] dog to the interview.”
Work was very important to Mike. His parents insisted that he
attend public schools with everyone else rather than be sent
somewhere that specialized in teaching disabled children. He is
believed to be the first blind student to attend his Tiverton,
Rhode Island high school. In 1996, he became the first blind person
to graduate from Bryant College in its 133-year history. Naturally,
his degree was in computer information systems.
It took Mike a year to find a job after graduation. Potential
employers were skeptical that a blind man could do computer repair
and support, though they didn’t always admit it. But he persevered.
He had been told before he would never amount to anything. A high
school teacher had suggested to him he wasn’t cut out for college.
He had proven people wrong before, and would do so again.
Mike rose up the ranks from being on the help desk to
specializing in network security. He would eventually apply these
skills in service to his country. Mike moved with his wife to
Virginia, where he would work at the Defense Intelligence Agency in
the Pentagon and the Marine Corps’ Network Operations Command
in Quantico. He liked supporting the military, but he would
complain about government bureaucracy and people who were paid to
do little work. He called them “turtle polishers.”
Ultimately, Mike went to work for the Veterans Administration.
He got up each morning at 4 a.m. and commuted over an hour by train
and subway to his office near the White House. He wouldn’t come
home until 6:30 at night. He didn’t complain about the long
hours.
Occasionally, reporters would find out about Mike. He told the
columnist Mark Patinkin that he chose this career path
because it was the closest he could come to serving in the military
himself. “I’d have thrown on that uniform in a second,”
Mike said. “I love my country. A lot of people don’t realize what
military folks do to sacrifice so we can be
free.”
Mike worked his way up to GS-13 in civil service,
earning a six-figure income. He made enough money that his wife
could stay at home with their adopted daughter. He hoped that his
little girl would learn from his example of hard work that anything
is possible.
Earlier this month, Mike suffered a seizure while having dinner
with his family. He died at the young age of 38. It seems a sad
ending to an inspiring story, but Mike wouldn’t want anyone to feel
sorry for him. There’s more work to be done, and now the rest of us
are just going to have to step up.
After accomplishing a particularly arduous task, Mike would
occasionally allow himself a moment of celebration. “Mr. Antle,” he
would say. “The blind kid did it!”
Yes, Mike. You did.
