A sightless life well lived

Fran Smoley thought the guy at the end of the bar looked good. So every once in a while, she'd wave, or give him the eye. She didn't think anything about the dark glasses he was wearing. It was a Halloween party, after all.

Above: Brick resident Michael Moran does some voiceovers at his broadcasting studio set up in his home. Moran does "Down the Shore," a radio show from 7 to 9 a.m. on Sundays on WJRZ. Below: Moran tussles with his Seeing Eye dog, Kurt, and relaxes with Fran Smoley in their Lake Riviera home. Moran is the public relations director for Greater Media's radio station 100.1 WJRZ. He has been blind since birth. PHOTOS BY ERIC SUCAR staff But she got no response, no matter how many times she tried to get his attention. She figured he wasn't interested.

"Nothing!" she said.

But when one of her male friends returned from the rest room, he clued her in.

"Well, his Seeing Eye dog is under the table," the man told Smoley.

So began Smoley's romance with Michael Moran six years ago. He and Fran live together in their Spruce Drive home in the Lake Riviera section of the township, with their German shepherd, Kurt.

Moran has never seen Fran's face, or the face of his son and daughter, or his grandchildren. Born with congenital glaucoma, he sees only shades of light.

"When I was a kid, I could see light and colors," he said. "People think blind people see black. That's not true. You have something. Now I see light changes. It's not enough to do anything. But it's not a world of blackness."

Blindness hasn't stopped the 63- year-old Moran from keeping a schedule that would make anybody tired.

He's the public relations director

of Greater Media New Jersey's radio station WJRZ, 100.1 FM. He does a radio show, "Down the Shore," every Sunday from 7 to 9 a.m. And in between, he writes, does voiceovers, acts in plays and volunteers for the Morristownbased The Seeing Eye.

As a small boy in late-1940s Jersey City, Moran didn't even realize he had a problem with his vision. It was all he had ever known.

He credits his mother, Ann, with helping him navigate through a sightless world.

"She didn't put me in a glass case," Moran said. "She did her best to teach me things. She had great instincts. She knew what to do."

His father, William, a Jersey City police officer, was a little more cautious.

"He kind of let her take the lead," Moran said.

One day the little boy came to her, frustrated over his problems playing football. Mrs. Moran took her son aside.

"She said, 'Michael, you have to realize you are not like other boys. You can't see.' "

"I didn't get it," Moran said. "I remember almost getting mad at her. I didn't know what she meant. As I got older, I understood the limitations. The real key is knowing your limitations, accepting them. And then, how can I get past them?"

Broadcasting was in his blood, even as a boy.

"I really never thought about my voice as much as the love I have for radio," Moran said. "I started pretending I was a radio DJ when I was 4 or 5 years old. I drove my mother crazy."

Moran went to grammar school at St. Joseph School for the Blind in Jersey City.

"It was run by the Good Sisters of Perpetual Revenge," he joked.

Moran had a wide circle of PHOTOS BY ERIC SUCAR staff friends by the time he got to St. Aloysius High School, who refused to treat him differently from a sighted person.

"They taught me how to throw a football, shoot baskets," he said. "They would hand it off and tell me to go. It toughened me up. They taught me so much. They taught me everything. I think high school was one of the happiest times of my life. We didn't follow the rules. We had a school to run. We still stay in touch. Nobody's grown up. We had a class reunion that lasted a week and a half."

His friends also let him get behind the wheel of a car. But Moran hasn't tried that since he was a teenager.

"Fran will not lend me the car," he says, with a straight face.

He later went to Baltimore Junior College, New Jersey City University and Seton Hall University. He hung around recording studios and radio stations. He has two master's degrees, one in public health administration, one in special education.

"Nothing to do with broadcasting, believe it or not," he said.

Moran's life changed forever at age 22, when he got his first Seeing Eye dog, Rick.

"Oh my God," he recalled with a smile. "I was mobile. Man, when I picked up the harness, I said to myself, 'This is it. Count me in.' I learned to trust the dog. I walked from Amsterdam Avenue all the way down to the Port Authority."

He's on his fifth Seeing Eye dog now. Kurt, a big, friendly German shepherd, lay on a rug in the couple's TV room in the downstairs of their house, his head resting on his paws. His eyes followed Moran as he talked.

"His eyes are always on him," Smoley said. "He's Daddy's good boy."

"He's just part of me," Moran said.

Kurt kept his eyes on Moran six years ago, when he went for a walk a few blocks from his home. A car careened down the wrong side of the roadway. Kurt grabbed Moran with his jaws and flung him to the side.

"Thank God the dog pulled me," he said. "The guy clipped me on the side of the leg. I would have been on the hood of the car if the dog hadn't gotten me."

His recovery from the accident was lengthy. Two years of physical therapy. Ten pins and a plate in his knee. But Kurt has been with him all the way.

"They're like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers," Smoley said. "He loves his work. Very few shepherds wag their tails when they work. He loves it. When we're on a plane, he can't wait to get off and run the airport."

Moran and Smoley couldn't remember where they had parked their car once at the Ocean County Mall. Kurt came to the rescue.

"He led us through the mall, out through Sears and out to where our car was," Smoley said. Moran doesn't need Kurt or a cane when he's at home.

"I don't even think about it," he said. "I don't think about what I'm doing in a familiar place. I just do it. I run up and down the stairs. The key is to stay moving, even when you don't want to."

"What are you doing out there?" Moran boomed at the dog. "Don't you know enough to come out of the rain.

Moran worked for the Seeing Eye for four years as a representative before his accident. He traveled around the country doing presentations and setting up exhibits.

His hero is Morris Frank. Frank, who was blinded in an accident in the early 1920s, read about an American woman who was training German shepherds in Switzerland to help blinded World War 1 veterans. Frank wanted a dog so badly he promised the woman he would return to the United States to spread the word about the dogs. He got one.

When Frank arrived back in the United States, he was met by a swarm of reporters. They challenged him to cross West Street, a heavily traveled roadway choked with cars and people. Frank made it across the street with his dog. Some of the reporters didn't and ended up taking a cab.

Moran played Frank in a 2001 History Channel production called "This Week in History."

"He was a real hero in my book," Moran said. "He was feisty as hell."

There are few things that make Mike Moran angry. But the discrimination blind people still face in the world does.

"I see a lot of people who are capable and intelligent and want to work but can't get work because of their disability," he said. "We have an untapped workforce in this country. We don't need to be shipping work out to India. When I see people discriminated against, it makes me angry. I think they do it out of fear. I think they do it out of ignorance. These people are brilliant and they can't get work."

And Moran doesn't expect any special treatment as a blind person. He wants to be judged on the quality of his work.

"I don't want people saying, 'Michael does a good job for a blind guy,' " he said. "I want them to say, 'He does a good job and he's blind.' "

Does he wish he could see? The answer is yes.

"Like it or not, you miss a lot when you can't see," Moran said. "I get a lot, but I know I miss a lot. I'd love to see my children and my grandchildren, the beauty of nature, a bird in flight. I'd like to see people who are athletes, in their grace and coordination. There is so much out there you don't get."

And he does have his days, or hours, when he allows his blindness to bother him.

"I get frustrated," Moran said. "I think that's normal. You have to acknowledge I'm not feeling good about this today. I'm angry about being blind. Once I acknowledge it, I take the power out.

"There are days I can't find my other sock. It's the little things that get me more than the big things."

So he does what he needs to do.

"I need to put blame, self-pity and resentment away as fast as I can," Moran said. "Those three things will tear up your soul. You can let them visit, then put them in a box and put them away. 'Nice to see you, now get out.' "