If Homer Leblond had the chance to have his sight back tomorrow, he would turn it down.

“You don’t see the ugliness of the world when you’re blind,” he says.

It will be 60 years ago on April 5 that he lost his eyesight after a dynamite explosion didn’t break deep enough and went off under his feet.

He has an inspiring story to tell, one that is sure to touch the heart. It is a story that can give hope to anyone who suffers from a disability. It is a story of the strength of the human spirit.

Leblond spent most of his life in North Bay. But four years ago, he moved to Huntsville to be closer to his family. At 77, he is a sharp man – witty, too. He has an uncanny ability to remember dates and times, something he attributes to being blind.

“It was 20 days before I turned 18,” he said of the explosion, which occurred while he was working for Ontario Hydro in North Bay. “I went to the truck to get some water because we were dry drilling at that time. My helper had drilled a hole, and I remember when I got back I looked at my watch and it said 10:20 a.m. I waved at him to stop and he did and then he backed up. I grabbed a jackhammer and as soon as I turned it on it blew. The last thing I remember is hearing a loud rumble and seeing rocks coming at me. I went up in the air with the rocks. I had little holes in my clothes and to this day I still have some little stones I can feel under my skin. They never did find the four-foot drill. It shot up in air like an arrow.”

After the accident, Leblond was in semi-coma in a Toronto hospital for a week. Doctors didn’t think he was going to make it. On the day he came to, he recalls wanting a cigarette. He remembers being more confused than in pain. At the time, he wasn’t questioning the darkness. He was more concerned about why he was tied down in bed. Perhaps it was due to the fact that while he was in a coma, he made several attempts to rip the IV out of his arm.

Leblond was released from the hospital almost a month later.

“I remember being on the train when my mother said to me, ‘All the orchids are in bloom.’ I was a bit bothered by that because I had always been a scenery lover. I loved a big blue sky, mountains and flowers. The good thing was the feeling only lasted for about 10 minutes. I always found people didn’t tell me about the nice parts, like if it was a beautiful day. Because I couldn’t see, I guess they didn’t want to offend me. But I wanted to know about it… about everything. The sky, the flowers… all of it.”

Engaged two weeks before the accident, Leblond says the last time he “really saw” his wife was when she was 17. Married on Dec. 26, 1949, they had a child right away and four more over the next 14 years. Never once did he let his blindness hinder his ability to be a caring father. He may not have been able to see his children, but he took the time to listen to them instead.

“My kids, as far as I’m concerned, all look like angels,” he said. “There are some advantages that come from blindness. I had a house on the lake in North Bay. I would get up early, make coffee, and sit out on the deck at 5:30 a.m. People would say, ‘Why did you get up so early?’ and I’d tell them it was because I was watching the sun rise. I could feel the heat of the rays of the sun on my face. I could hear the chirping of the birds. I could hear the frogs. In my mind, I could picture that water being blue, the way I remembered it a long time ago.”

Shortly after the accident, Leblond was introduced to a CNIB administrator who arranged for him to receive navigation training in Toronto.

“I was taught how to get around with a cane on my own,” he recalled. “I remember one fellow showed me how to get on streetcars. On the last week, the final test was for me to be left alone somewhere and make my way back to the building. I did it. From then on I was all over Toronto. I gained confidence because I was showed all these little things like hitting the sidewalk with my cane in order to hear the echoes bounce back. I was able to walk around trees and posts. I was raring to go.”

Leblond was introduced to golf four years after he went blind – a sport he was able to immediately pick up and learned to love.

In 1957, he played in an international blind golfer tournament in Hamilton that drew the attention of legendary comedian Bob Hope.

“We won the trophy and beat the Americans by 50 strokes,” said Leblond. “By Bob Hope agreeing to come, we had a crowd of about 20,000. He played a hole with each of the blind players.”

In 1966, Leblond won first place in the eastern Canadian bowling championships in Branford. He also spent eight years of his life as an active political advocate for the New Democratic Party.  

It was in 1969, while operating a tuck shop in Toronto General Hospital, that Leblond helped form and then became president of the Canadian Union of Blind and Sighted Merchants. Around 1982, he helped establish The Centre for the Handicapped, which later changed to the Centre for Disabled Persons.

“We formed the group, which worked as an advocate for disabled persons,” he said. “I worked there for over 10 years. In 1993, the Ministry of Citizenship and Civil Persons presented me with a community achievement award for the work I had done for the disabled.”

After spending close to 30 years getting around with a cane, a man who belonged to West Ferris Lions Club told him about guide dogs. Leblond travelled to Rochester, Michigan, where he spent two days with a trainer at Leader Dogs for the Blind to determine which guide dog would be best suited for him.

“They told me, ‘Homer, we have a dog ready. We don’t know if we should give it to you because of the publicity you’re going to get.’ I said, ‘What, does this dog have two heads?’ The dog had been donated to the school by United States president Gerald Ford. (After the training) I accepted him from then on. It was like night and day. My mind was free. It was like getting half of my sight back. It took away from the blindness. I’ve had three dogs since 1978.”

So, why does Leblond have such an his upbeat attitude and positive outlook on life? And how was he able to overcome the tragic loss of his eyesight – not ever feeling sorry for himself?

“My upbringing,” he said. “My dad was a fellow who took things as they were. I was raised during the Depression and that could make anybody strong. Catching rabbits for food on the table… now that’s character building. I always had a good memory…. It was a necessity. I was at a point in my life where I could multiply four or five digits in my head no problem. And you’ll get a kick out of this. I dream in colour. In many of my dreams I’m driving around and there’s all these 1940s-style cars, which I think is pretty funny. What I took for granted before I was 18, I stopped taking for granted when I was blind. There was no more getting up and watching the sun rise. I took it for granted for years. Only after I was blind could I really look at it that way.”