Adventures in Silence

by Herbert W. Collingwood

CHAPTER VII
Experimenting With the Deaf Man

Deafness Cures—We Forget to Listen—Science and Scent—Lip-Reading—Judging Character.

We all have our pet aversions, and with deaf people the popular candidate for this position is the man who is positive that he can cure the disease. The “hope-deferred” period comes to most of us, and for a time we try every possible remedy, only to find that the affliction is still marching steadily upon us. Then it is the part of wisdom to give up the experimenting and to dig in as a line of defense all the humor and philosophy we can muster. It is not so much resignation to our fate as it is determination to make that fate luminous with hope and good cheer. Miraculous cures which restore the wasted organs of the body may now and then be possible, but they are not probable, while it is certain that too long a period of hope-deferred will cause a sickness of the soul as well as of the heart.

Many cannot agree with this philosophy. I think they add to the terror and trouble of their lives by submitting their poor bodies to a continuous series of experiments. There was a prominent merchant in New York, blind, with a disease which the best physicians declared incurable. He made a standing offer of a quarter of a million to anyone who would restore his sight. His theory was that this constant experimenting and treatment kept hope and faith alive. My own experience with the deaf does not point that way. I truly consider it wiser to devote the spirit which may be wasted in false expectation to the task of making the silent land endurable. I know of a woman for whom a tuberculosis expert prescribed a dry, hilly country, a simple diet and a cheerful mode of life, involving little or no medicine. She settled in the country, and some local “quack” told her that a friend had been cured by taking whiskey in which pine chips had been soaked. This intelligent woman, considering her doctor’s treatment too mild, was actually ready to follow this method. As a boy I lived with people whose lives were long experiments with deafness cures. At that time the country was full of unlicensed practitioners, who went about promising to cure every possible disease, and our folks tried them all, just as they sampled every new brand of patent medicine. Even now, many deaf men, and especially those who live in the country or small towns, must expect to be regarded as human experiment stations. We can all relate remarkable experiences with the various “cures” which have been tried out on us. From skunk oil to chiropractic and back again, we know every way station. Few persons appear to aspire to curing blindness, but in every community in which I have ever lived were several individuals who were certain that they could successfully handle diseases of the ear. I have seen them stand impatient, their fingers fairly itching to get hold of me. Usually their “knowledge” of the ear is merely that they recognize it as the organ of hearing, yet they are quite ready to rush in where aurists hesitate to enter. Most of the quack remedies may be harmless, yet sometimes these practitioners have done great injury where relief might have been obtained through proper care. I think several of them injured me, and I should feel like taking a shotgun to one of these amateur aurists were I to find him operating on one of my children. I wish I knew why the community deaf man of a country neighborhood is considered so fair a subject for experimentation. Probably in some cases it is really a nuisance to communicate with him, and again he may be the object of genuine sympathy, perhaps with an admixture of curiosity. I have run the whole gauntlet, and should need an entire book to report all the remedies suggested or actually tried on me.

Perhaps the most popular “cure” is skunk oil. This theory appears to be that since the skunk has a very acute sense of hearing, he can communicate this faculty to a human, through his oil. Personally, I believe the skunk to be a lazy, stupid beast, with hearing below normal; but, at any rate, we are earnestly told that oil from a skunk, if dropped into the ears, will surely improve their hearing. No man has ever given this remedy a fairer trial than I have done. Later an aurist diagnosed my case as a disorder of the interior ear which was rather encouraged than cured by the application of the oil. Another “remedy,” based on a similar principle, is an exclusive diet of pork. Here the excellent ears of the pig are to be transmitted to the consumer! I have been several times presented with the argument that deafness is more prevalent among the Jews and other non-pork eaters than among any other class. Also, they say that the disease of deafness was rarely known among the earlier pioneers, who lived mostly on “hog and hominy.” Possibly this was due to the fact that corn grows on “ears.” At any rate, here are fair samples of the arguments which are submitted to the unfortunate deaf. One Winter, when I taught school and “boarded round,” I experienced a full course of treatments based on this remedy. It was started by the school trustee, an economical soul, who sold his butter and fed his family on pork fat. In those days we were innocent of bacteria or vitamines, and this clever adaptation of a deafness cure helped the trustee to avoid the local odium which would naturally center upon a householder who fed the teacher on lard. And with one accord the neighbors joined in the good work. I moved to a new family each week, and as the news of the projected treatment spread, each farmer killed a hog just before my arrival. I ate fresh pork every day for three months. Ungratefully enough, I did not recover my hearing, but the treatment surely roused the sporting instinct in that neighborhood. Near the close of the term this comment was reported to me:

“No, it ain’t done him no good—he can’t scarcely hear it thunder; but I’ll bet fifty dollars he’s raised bristles on his back.”

At another time one of these experimenters took me up into the church belfry, ostensibly to “see the country.” As I stood beside the bell, he suddenly struck it a hard blow with a hammer, on the theory that this sudden and violent noise would “break up the wax in my ear” and “frighten the muscle into a new grip”—whatever that may mean. He protested that his grandfather had been cured in this way. This same investigator once tried a very radical treatment on his deaf hired man. It was Sunday afternoon, and the man had sought surcease from sorrow in a nap in the haymow. The boss knew how to handle bees, so he selected one from his hives, caught it safely by its wings, and, climbing the haymow, he dropped the buzzing creature into the ear of the sleeping hired man. He was working on a supposition that the man had forgotten how to listen, and that the buzzing of the bee, and possibly his sting, would shock him into remembering. But the victim merely started up from sleep like an insane man, and rushed screaming to the brook, where he ducked his head vigorously under water and drowned the bee. For long weeks the poor fellow feared to go to sleep unless his ears were stuffed full of cotton.

I asked the boss how he ever came to devise such a treatment for deafness. He explained that some years before he had had a sick cow, who had “lost her courage.” She positively refused to stand up, though she might easily have done so. I have also had cows act this way; they seem suddenly to have become “infirm of purpose,” and will die before they will exert themselves. A horse under similar circumstances will finally struggle to regain its feet, but the cow completely loses her nerve and will not try. I have had such a cow lifted off the ground by a rope and pulley, and yet refuse to use her legs. This farmer told me that he called in a local “horse doctor,” who suddenly threw a good-sized dog on the cow’s back. The dog barked and scratched, and under the influence of sudden fear the cow scrambled to her feet and instantly regained the power to walk. This farmer really was wiser than he knew, for there are some cases of deafness, such as those caused by shell shock, which consist in the loss of the ability to listen. Of course, our use of instruments or lip-reading dulls the art of listening intently, in any case, and it finally passes completely out of use. In some instances, where the actual ear is unimpaired, this faculty may be shocked back into use.

I once had an old lady solemnly assure me that a plaster made from the lard of a white sow and the wool from the left ear of a black sheep would surely cure any case of deafness. Query: Could the black sheep of a family effect a simpler cure by rubbing on the lard and brushing his hair down over it?

These are but samples of the dozens of ridiculous “cures” which have been suggested to me, or even put into operation. I can vouch for the comparative virtues of skunk oil, vibration, or the inflation of the Eustachian tubes at the hands of a skilled aurist. And, after all, I feel that in many cases the doom is sure, and that the best alleviation for the future silent days is the store of accumulated philosophy and sunshine. It seems to me that the surgery and general treatment of the ears has not kept pace with the successful handling of diseases of other organs. Some real “cure” may be developed, but hardly in my day. I consider the study of lip-reading the most useful course for the deaf, and we may at least prepare for the next generation by having the ears of our children watched as carefully as we watch their teeth, their eyes, their hands and feet.