In darkness, Loyola's Scholz sees the lightBy Kaitlin Rayner
Phil Scholz always has his guide dog Taxi by his side. — Kristine Buls/The ExaminerHe saw it coming.
When Phil Scholz abruptly lost sight in his left eye when he was 7, his doctor told him there was a good chance that one day, he'd live in total darkness.
For eight years, Scholz battled Stickler syndrome, a tissue disorder that can cause blindness and hearing loss, until he woke up one morning in March 2005 and his sight was gone. Forever.
He was 15.
"I always knew there was a possibility of going completely blind," he said. "I didn't know if or when, but always knew the high possibility. I don't know if I was prepared. I don't know if it would have been better if it had just gone out like my other eye or the two-and-a-half-year battle I gave it with no luck."
Five years later, Scholz, 20, longs to see the faces of his mother, Ariana, his father, Thomas, and Mirjam, his 18-year-old sister. He wishes he could see the face of every girl who has ever talked to him, and what it would be like to get behind the wheel.
"I lost my sight right before I got my learner's permit," Scholz said. "I was so close and it got ripped away."
But Scholz' blindness has made him much more visible. His perseverance through darkness enabled him to become one of the country's most visible paralympians, as the record-setting Loyola sophomore has excelled in one of the few sports where sight is secondary: swimming.
In the pool, he doesn't have to see through the eyes of his guide dog, Taxi, a yellow Labrador. It's just him and the water, where he experiences a freedom that doesn't exist outside the pool.
"In swimming I get to go somewhere, even if it's just to the other end of the pool," he said. "At my speed, my pace."
If only the rest of his life was that simple.
'My mom's cooking can draw me in like a magnet'
For Scholz, just being able to become a student-athlete is impressive. Shortly after being born in Munich, Germany, he was diagnosed with Pierre Robin syndrome, which deformed his lower jaw and gave him a cleft palate, and Morbus Hirschsprung, a rare colon disease. He had seven surgeries before he had three birthday candles on his cake. Three years later, when he was 6 -- a year before he moved with his family to Mount Sinai, N.Y. -- he severely tore his left retina, leading to him being diagnosed with Stickler syndrome. After four unsuccessful surgeries in six months, he lost the sight in his left eye.
But for Scholz, it didn't stop there. At 10, he needed surgery on his left ear, and two years later, he suffered from cataracts in his right eye, which caused his retina to be detached.
At 15, Scholz was legally blind.
Scholz's left eye is white as if covered by a cloud, but his right is a clear light blue and appears normal. Scholz has his memory as a reference for what the world looks like, and in recollection, his eyes move upward and side-to-side just as sighted people do when they think.
"I think the difference, really, is that other people rely on their sight more whereas I rely on my other senses, not just the basic five," he said. "My mom's cooking can draw me in like a magnet."
Scholz has adapted to his condition, but there was someone very dear to him that couldn't quite get used to it. As he was going blind, former family pet and golden retriever, Lucy, wouldn't get out of his way at home. When Scholz entered a room, he yelled "hold the dog!" so he wouldn't trip over her. Lucy became sort of a family joke, and the Scholz family coped with his loss of sight through Phil's humor.
"He is very funny," said Ariana Scholz, his mother. "He has a joke for everything, and he approaches his disability that way, too."
As Scholz' sight has gotten worse, his sense of humor has gotten stronger. He hasn't let his disability stop him from living an ordinary life. In fact, it has allowed him to lead a rather extraordinary one.
He was nominated for Best Male Athlete with a Disability in the ESPY awards, and this past summer, went to Beijing as the only completely blind swimmer to wear the red, white and blue in the 2008 Paralympics.
Scholz, Loyola's only blind student, majors in global studies and minors in secondary education and journalism. He has a job in the equipment room at Loyola's Fitness and Aquatic Center, gives tours to perspective students of a campus he's never seen and also finds time to listen to his favorite John Grisham audio books and write his own crime stories.
"What does free time mean?" he joked. "Well, right now I'm working on a four-parter," Scholz said about the crime story. "It's about this guy who was sentenced to death in Florida and his friends build a lawsuit so they can save his life."
'All I have to do is put these little tricks in my everyday life'
Loyola appeals to many of its 3,500 undergraduate students because of its beautiful green campus and for having the country's best dorms, according to the Princeton Review. But Scholz didn't attend the school because of its lush evergreen trees.
His reason: The campus layout was easy to memorize.
He lives with a roommate in a plush dorm in Newman Towers. Everyday, Taxi guides Scholz to classes. He has been Scholz' best friend and "Taxi cab" since Scholz received him from the Guide Dog Foundation two years ago.
"All I have to do is put these little tricks in my everyday life," Scholz said.
Some of these tricks are right in his kitchen cabinet, which are lined with cans of soup. But here's the difference: Some of the labels have torn or folded corners, while others do not. Scholz explained that if he feels a missing corner he knows it's chicken soup, but if the label is unscathed, it's his favorite: Italian Wedding.
"I like the finer things in life, I guess," Scholz said with a smile.
He uses a similar system to "see" the colors of his clothes. He runs his fingers over the patterned bumps sewn into the tags of his clothing. Words in Braille tell him the colors so he can match them together. Wearing a T-shirt and jeans, Scholz doesn't stand out in the crowd of students bustling through the student center on his way to his afternoon class.
"Something that simple can make all the difference," he said. "It's all about asking about making it possible. And it doesn't take much."
Money, however, is something he cannot feel his way though. In order to differentiate between a $1 and $20 bill, his money is organized into the four different compartments of his wallet. He tries to pay with bills as close to the amount as possible so he gets singles as change. But it doesn't always work. Once, Scholz ordered a pizza from a local restaurant, and a delivery man passed off a single for a five-dollar bill. Weeks later, Scholz realized he was scammed when he tried to pay with the dollar bill he filed in the five-dollar compartment.
"The tricky part is when I have to get change," Scholz said. "I try to manipulate the situation so I know exactly what I'm getting. So if it [costs] seven something, I'll pay with a $10 -- that way I know I'm getting three singles back."
In the classroom, Scholz requires few accommodations. He uses his laptop for taking notes and e-mails his teachers everything. As for his textbooks, they are scanned into his computer or in audio version. His computer is equipped with a program called JAWS (Job Access With Speech) that speaks aloud anything from word documents to Web pages. Scholz's cell phone also speaks, and looks more like a TV remote control than a phone.
"In class, take a packet of paper," he said. "I can tell which way is right side of up by the position of the staple. Everybody put the staple in the top left corner, except for the occasional screw-up, which is usually mine when it's in the top right corner."
'He'll even crack jokes about being blind'
Scholz' life has been defined by overcoming obstacles -- and that's precisely why he is such an accomplished swimmer. The pool is a confined space with no barriers, making Scholz safer in the water than on land.
"It gives me the opportunity to go at my speed," he said. " If I want to run I either have to go with someone or go on a treadmill, and treadmills for me aren't fun. If I'm going to run, I'm going to run somewhere."
During the first team meeting Scholz attended as a freshmen last year, coach Brian Loeffler asked the team to look at a bulletin board explaining his expectations and goals for the upcoming season.
Scholz raised his hand: "Uh, coach, not everyone here can see it." The team, unsure of how to react to Scholz' condition, was put at ease, according to captain Matthew Shaw.
"He's always joking around," said Shaw, a junior who has become a good friend of Scholz. "He'll even crack jokes about being blind."
Scholz competes against able-bodied swimmers, but he does need some accommodations. During meets, Scholz' coaches tap him on the head with a tennis ball attached to a pole to let him know when he's nearing a pool wall. At practice in the Fitness and Aquatic Center, Scholz swims alone in a smaller lane the team calls "skinny mini." He counts his strokes so he knows exactly where he is in the pool, as Taxi sits on the deck.
It's the only time the school's mascot is a Labrador, not a greyhound.
"Other than that, he's just a normal guy, he just happens not to be able to see," said Loeffler, who has never worked with a disabled athlete before Scholz. "He comes to practice with the same drive and never asks for any special treatment. You got to respect him, and he's a great person to have on the team."
When the team travels, Loeffler helps Scholz by giving him an orientation, informing him if there are one or two beds in a hotel room and the location of the sink and the bathroom.
During practices, Loeffler verbally expresses to him the visual information and even physically moves his body to demonstrate a technique.
"I learned from him a much better awareness for people with disabilities," Loeffler explained.
"The team is some of my best friends at this school," Scholz said. "Well, besides Taxi."
'He did awesome'
"Beijing was an experience I wouldn't trade for the world," Scholz said. "Except Taxi didn't go with me, that was the only down side."
As one of the country's top-eight paralympians, Scholz, who owns 11 American Paralympic records, traveled to China to compete in the Olympics. The Paralympics Committee divides athletes into divisions based on their disabilities to ensure competitive balance. The five major classifications are: amputee, cerebral palsy, visual impairment, spinal cord injuries and intellectual disability. The classifications are broken into divisions based on the extent of the disability. Scholz is classified as an S-11, meaning he's completely blind.
Scholz swam five events in nine days in Beijing, but did not earn a medal.
"We are all very, very proud," said Ariana Scholz, Phil's mom. "He did awesome. We all lost our voices cheering him on."
Out of the pool, Scholz enjoyed life in the Olympic Village, trading pins with athletes of other countries. His collection includes pins from all over the world, but one of them holds a special significance. Scholz, dressed in a red, white and blue outfit, dropped his cane and was helped by a man who introduced himself as an Iraqi volleyball player.
"The cool thing is that there was no hostility between us," Scholz said. "Now, I have an Iraqi pin in my collection."
He'll also remember his trip to visit the Great Wall.
"I think when they built they great wall 4,000 some years ago I don't think they realized that people with disabilities would be navigating it someday," Scholz said. "It's really uneven."
'Wow, these people are ugly'
Scholz has an eye on the future.
In a little less than two years, he hopes to attend law school, or maybe he'll decide to become a teacher or journalist. In 2012, he plans on competing in the London Games -- and not return home without some bling.
But still, he believes that one day, he'll no longer be surrounded by darkness.
"I am optimistic for a future that maybe someday I could see again," he said. "I could look at the Loyola yearbook and think, 'Wow, these people are ugly. I went to college with them?' "
He has a joke for everything.
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