A Man With Vision
CHARLIE COLLINS, who was diagnosed as a child with juvenile macular degeneration, owns Vision Dynamics, a one-stop shop in Cheshire for people with impaired vision. The screen in the background is a viewer that magnifies the type from newspapers, magazines and books to help people read them.
Hartford Curant
By JANICE PODSAD
1/30/08
In 1997, brimming with enthusiasm and a ready-made (if small) customer base, Charlie Collins decided to launch his own business in Cheshire — a store that sold optical magnifiers and visual aids for those with low vision.
Collins, his brother and two of his four sisters had been diagnosed as children with juvenile macular degeneration, a genetic disorder that impairs vision. To read, they needed magnifiers and optical scanners. They needed talking clocks and talking telephones. For fun, they needed large-print playing cards and tactile chess sets.
“I knew I had a few customers — my family,” Collins said. Just one problem: “I also knew they would want a discount.”
Collins, then 29, wrote a business plan, secured a $105,000 business loan from AT&T Capital Corp., and with his father’s help, transformed a former dance studio at 470 W. Main St., into a brightly lit 800-square-foot showroom called Vision Dynamics.
In 10 years, the company has become a profitable, one-stop shop for people with impaired vision, as well as a contract provider for several state and federal agencies, including the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, said Collins, now 40.
What’s on the shelves or online at www.visiondynamics.com? Everything from a 65-cent signature guide to a pair of magnifying toenail clippers for $9.95 to document magnifiers priced in the thousands.
The store also carries $139.95 telescopic glasses “perfect for viewing TV,” $99 ZoomText keyboards “for anyone who struggles to see the lettering on their keyboard,” and talking calculators, talking watches, even an upbeat, talking scale. “You’ve gained two pounds — have a nice day,” Collins said, parodying its patter.
Since 1997, Vision Dynamics has tripled its square footage, adding training and rehabilitation rooms and an office for a visiting optometrist.
The store employs five visually impaired people and one playful guide dog, 2-year-old Simon, who is learning not to chew on the carpet. Simon accompanies Nancy Hays, who has been blind since birth, to work.
“This is a full-service company, pretty much owned and operated by a bunch of people who can’t see a damn thing,” Collins said.
On a recent morning, Hays was demonstrating a $2,500 optical scanner to a teenage customer. The scanner, a small, hand-held device, takes a digital snapshot of text and then reads it aloud.
“For a blind person like myself who has absolutely no vision, this is great,” Hays told him. “I can take it to the store and read the labels on soup cans.”
Collins hired Hays, a former customer, six months ago.
“She was sitting at home,” Collins said. “Now she’s here three days a week. Guess what? she’s awesome.”
“And Marge — at the front desk — she was one of my customers. She’d been at home for two years when I asked her to come work for me. The first thing she told me was, ‘I can’t.’ But here she is. I could see these people had a lot to offer.”
Collins was not always comfortable with his failing eyesight, or himself.
“I was diagnosed with macular degeneration when I was 9. By seventh grade, I couldn’t see faces. I was legally blind.”
As his vision dimmed, so did his spirits.
“All I knew was that I could never be a jet fighter pilot or a police officer or a firefighter. I felt like my life was over,” he said. “I had a state adviser who would have helped, but I was angry. I turned him away.
“I never told anyone how I felt. But every day I told myself I was a loser. It wasn’t my eyesight that was bad; it was myself.
“By high school, my feeling was I would rather be dead.”
After barely graduating from high school, Collins worked at odd jobs for several years, earning enough to buy a small dirt bike that he rode through the woods. “You can’t hurt trees,” he said.
“I had no goals, no vision, no future.”
When he needed a motorcycle part, the 22-year-old would stop in at Willow’s Motor Sports in Cheshire.
“One day, one of the co-owners asked me if I would like to sell motorcycles,” Collins said. “All I could think was why would he ever ask a dumb, blind guy like me a question like that?”
Collins said he would think it over. The next morning, after a fitful night, he returned to the dealership.
“I had a 90-day trial,” Collins said. “I read for the first time in years. I got a video magnifier. I got a large-print computer. I asked for help. I got honest.”
Sales took off, said Jim Tabor, the co-owner of Willow’s who hired Collins.
“Charlie was a good salesperson,” Tabor said. “I knew he had problems with his vision, but I figured he could do the job. I just liked his personality. It’s more about enthusiasm.”
Three years later, Collins was promoted to vice president of Willow’s.
“I had it all the time. I just didn’t know how to tap into my gifts,” Collins said.
After a few years, however, he realized something was missing.
“I knew I needed to move on,” he said. “I didn’t want to sell motorcycles forever. I took a year off — that year, I worked on Charlie. That’s when I decided to open a store that sells magnifiers.”
A month ago, Collins expanded the store to accommodate a special fitting room for customers in need of special lenses. Once a week, Randolph Kinkade, a Litchfield-based optometrist, sees patients there.
“I design special telescope glasses and high-power lenses that aren’t seen in traditional doctors’ offices,” Kinkade said.
“The sales staff here, they’re all visually impaired,” Kinkade said. “When people come in and they’ve lost sight, there’s an instant bond — ‘Wow, you have it too!’”
Collins and Kinkade have known each other for 10 years.
“We see many of the same people,” Kinkade said. “If I can’t help them with glasses, I know he can help them with his reading machines.”
