Pat Pound’s life story is one of relentless competition and refusal to be sidelined. Born in the late 1940s in rural West Texas, her existence began as a fight for survival.
“I was born very premature… I weighed a pound and 15 ounces,” Pat recalls. “Living at that point was a blessing.”
This early tenacity set the tone for a life defined by breaking barriers, from the oil camps of Texas to the halls of the National Council on Disability, and finally to the fencing strip in her retirement.
Origins and a Competitive Spirit
Pat grew up in “camps” built by oil companies outside of town, tight-knit communities where she had to keep up with the other children.
“My folks didn’t have a clue what to do with me, and I was low vision, so… you know, they just let me do whatever I thought I was big enough to do,” she says.
This freedom fostered a fierce competitive streak, particularly regarding her older brother.
“I was jealous of him and thought I could do anything he could do, and probably better, and tried to.”
When she lost her remaining vision at age 14, it was a traumatic shift, necessitating a move to the School for the Blind. Yet, her competitive nature prevailed.
“I saw blind kids all around me, and, you know, as competitive as I was, I figured if they could do it, I could do it.”
She fought for her education, demanding to be placed in advanced math classes despite administrative resistance, eventually mastering analytics geometry and attending the University of Texas and the University of Houston.
A Career of “Firsts” and the Road to Retirement
Pat’s career was marked by leadership and advocacy. She taught herself the abacus when no one else could teach it, leading to her first job. Her professional journey took her through the Developmental Disabilities Council and the Center for Independent Living, where she rescued the organization from financial collapse.
Her career culminated in a historic appointment at the Criss Cole Rehabilitation Center.
“I was the first blind woman director,” she notes with pride.
Following the signing of the ADA, Pat worked on early implementation for the Texas Governor’s Committee, serving as director until her retirement in 2008. She also served on the National Council on Disability from 2001 to 2010.
Retirement, however, did not mean slowing down. After losing her husband, David, to throat cancer in 2019, Pat found herself navigating a new chapter of independence. She transitioned into a role with the Open Doors Organization, evaluating airline and airport websites, ensuring she remained active in the field she loved without the pressure of full-time employment.
Visual Interpreting as a Tool for Independence
In her retirement, technology became a vital ally, particularly Aira. While she admitted she didn’t know what to do with it initially, it became essential after her husband’s illness and passing. One of her most significant challenges was managing the belongings he left behind.
“David was a hoarder, I mean, like, to the ceiling in rooms,” she explains.
She used Aira agents to sort through massive collections of art books and unidentified objects to prepare for a yard sale.
“Me and my phone did it, and then Aira did all the ones I couldn’t figure out.”
She also utilizes the service for daily triage and household management, such as identifying items in her pantry where her husband had bought duplicates, or checking the mileage on a car she needed to sell. For Pat, Aira was not just a convenience; it was a tool that allowed her to reclaim her living space and navigate widowhood with autonomy.
The En Guarde! of Retirement: Blind Fencing
Perhaps the most surprising twist in Pat’s retirement is her passion for blind fencing. The interest sparked after a conversation with a friend who was a fencing coach. He highlighted the connection between fencing and Orientation and Mobility (O&M). Pat immediately set three goals:
“I wanted to fence… I wanted to feel the O&M in my own body… And three, I think that’s a humongous gift that Father Carroll gave us that we’re ignoring.”
Getting started wasn’t easy. Local clubs rejected her attempts to join.
“They wouldn’t even say, come in and let’s try it,” she recalls.
Persistence paid off when she found a retired coach, Coach Gary, willing to teach her. Her first lesson took place right in her living room, with her guide dog, Cayenne, learning to stay out of the way.
Pat has since become a vocal advocate for the sport, noting its physical and cognitive benefits.
“It’s very dynamic, it’s very fast, and it is hard,” she says.
She is now part of an international committee promoting blind fencing, with dreams of seeing it in the Paralympics.
For Pat Pound, retirement is merely a shift in the arena of competition. Whether sorting through a lifetime of memories with AI assistance or parrying a sword in a gymnasium, she continues to prove that if anyone else can do it, she can do it, and probably better.
“I couldn’t have imagined anything to do in retirement that would have checked so many boxes,” she concludes.
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