Not long ago, I read a story about George Shearing.

Now, for those of you who do not know the name,

George Shearing was a very prominent British-American jazz pianist.

He was born blind.

And often, whenever he crosses a busy intersection in New York City with big dark

glasses and white cane, he could always count on somebody who come along and take him by the

hand and help him cross the road. But one time while he was waiting to cross a very

busy intersection at the rush hour in New York City, somebody tapped him on the shoulder.

He said, excuse me, sir, I'm blind. Can you help me across the street?

And George reached out and felt for his arm and grabbed him by the arm.

He said, absolutely, yes.

And he kind of perked his ear and tried to decipher when the traffic had subsided. And then he said, okay, let's go. And they both

crossed that busy intersection. Now, George, of course, can hear horn honking and yelling and

screaming, but he did not know it was for him or not. He kept crossing anyway. Once he crossed

on the other side, the man thanked him for his help,

did not know who he was, did not know that he was blind, and went on his way.

A few days later, George Shearing was sharing this with his close friends on the band,

and he told him what happened, And they were flabbergasted.

They said, George, why did you do such a dangerous thing? Why did you do that? You endangered both

of your lives. George said, you know, I just could not resist the irony of it all.

You know that blind leading the blind thing?

I just couldn't resist it.

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