Article From the Eastern Arizona Courier

Artist overcomes adversity By Stuart Alan Becker, Staff Writer
When Paris White Checked into the Tucson Medical Center for minor tear duct surgery on his one remaining eye, he had no idea he would wake up totally blind. His reaction was anger, great sadness, and pain.
The Doctor had found cancer in the eye--originating from the nearby skin. If the Doctor had not removed the eye, the cancer would likely have migrated to his brain and killed him.
As White lay in the Tucson hospital bed with two empty eye sockets, he realized the terrifying permanence that no longer could he work his beloved job maintaining the communications equipment for the state police by driving to gorgeous sites like Heliograph Peak.
In saving him from cancer, the doctor had blinded him forever.
No longer could he paint the exquisite works of art that adorned the walls of his house---the house in Central where his eight children, among them a daughter who became Miss Arizona--spent many happy years.
Now Paris White would never see anything again--ever.
The possibility of suicide entered his mind as the severed optic nerves sent throbbing messages of pain into his brain--terrible pain.
He became addicted to large amounts of morphine--prescribed by doctors to dull the pain. Why should he go on living?
As it turned out--for a number of very good reasons. Shining brighter that any other was his wife, Lillian, who stood by him every moment, encouraging him and reminding him how truly blessed he was with a large, prosperous and beautiful family. Having retired from the Air Force as a Master Sergeant specializing in Satellite and electronics communications in 1974, White and his wife settled down in Central, the small Gila Valley community between Thatcher and Pima, AZ.
He took a job at the Arizona Department of Public Safety and enjoyed his second career until his one remaining eye started to water and bother him.
White had lost his right eye in Biloxi, Miss, in 1956 after a friend had glued together a propeller for a model airplane.
When the engine was running at a high RPM the propeller gave way and a piece of wood shot like a bullet into his eye--Which had to be removed. With one eye remaining, White had enjoyed a successful 20 year career across the world in the Air Force, visiting Germany, Japan, and many other interesting places. Two of his children were born in Japan.
Now it was 1991 and White had been treated for skin cancer on his head because of years of exposure to the sun and possibly the radiation of the high powered Air Force communication equipment.
White was admitted to Tucson Medical Center complaining of pain, itching, and watering of the remaining good eye.
The date was Aug. 1 1991 a terrible day for Paris White.
Very depressed, he entered a six-week course for the blind given by the Veteran's Administration hospital in Tucson. There, he met men who were far worse off than him.
He learned to dress himself, to eat, to use a cane and to type.
Later, even though he was still in a lot of pain, he took a course in sculpture at Eastern Arizona College taught by Dr. Fairbanks.
Today sculpture is White's work and passion, a creative outlet of great expression through which he can use his hands to create things he remembers clearly in his mind from the years when he could see.
"All the images of my life are still in my mind," White said. "When I do a sculpture of Geronimo, I remember a picture I saw of him on a train with a rifle and a scowl on his face, being taken away by the Army. That's what I remember when I touch the clay, and I can come close in making the features that he had."
White's mantle is adorned with a galley of remarkable sculptures done in clay with wire frames--then spray painted with a copper-colored finish. They look like art works in bronze.
It is hard to believe that such expressive, detailed craftsmanship is the work of a blind man. But finding a creative outlet in sculpture was not the end of Paris White's heroic struggle.
Even great doses of morphine could no longer dull the pain caused by the severed optic nerves. A series of operations attempted to ease the pain--but only with limited success. Finally in 1997, after dying briefly on an operation table in Albuquerque, NM when his heart stopped and he was brought back to life by doctors--White solicited his wife's help to wan him from the morphine and the pain pills. "I became violently ill, vomiting, hallucinating--but gradually I was able to lick it," he said.
Although it took two years of enduring severe pain, with Lilly's help they cut down his dosage to two shots instead of three--to three pills instead of four.
Today White is taking only minor pain medication. "I remember the people I served with in the Air Force and riding back on an Air Force C5A transport and seeing the young kids with arm's blown off and no eyes. I remember thinking when you go blind, your life has ended." He said.
But, he learned, life goes on. "Your life has not ended, it's just a change in the way you do things. It's like learning to walk over again; You walk into doors, you trip and fall. You use your other senses to make your self worthwhile and productive."
Lilly pulls down the black powder Kentucky Rifle White built from a kit--one of the dozens he has completed. "Many are for sale through a special arrangement at B&M Gun Shop in Safford. His daughters visit and work with him, learn from him how to assemble, sand, and finish the black powder replicas. They love working with their father. If somebody wants a black powder kit done, Paris will do it," Lilly said. "I think my sense of touch has improved more than anything. My sense of smell has increased too." Every Sunday, White teaches Sunday School to the youngsters at Central LDS Church. On Thursdays he answers the telephone at the Family History Center. Lilly brings out a picture of their daughter Rhonda, who was Miss Graham County, and then Miss Arizona in 1984.
Even though he cannot see, he remembers his beautiful daughters in his mind. White, who was born in Mesa, the oldest of eight children, three boys and five girls, has the same ratio among his own eight children--three boys and five girls. He and Lilly have 30 grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. He can trace the White Family line all the way back to 1619 in Virginia.