“Professor, mebbe you’ve got the science, but you hain’t got the scent!”
Some of you who think that the loss of hearing can never be replaced by a new sense may well be wary in your dealings with the deaf. There are those like Jack, whose “ears have went to nose” and their “scent” is quite too acute to be deceived.
I am often asked how we pass our time when we are alone or unoccupied. We cannot, of course, beguile the time with music or the conversation of chance acquaintance. In some way the mind must be kept occupied—an idle mind leads to depression, the first step of the trip to insanity. One’s eyes weary of constant reading. Perhaps our loneliest situations are found in the great crowds. I have invented all sorts of schemes to keep my mind busy. In the old days, when I crossed the Hudson daily to New York on a ferryboat, I would count the number of revolutions which the great wheel required to take us over. I had the average of many trips. I have gathered all sorts of statistics. What proportion of men in a crowd wear soft hats? How many wear straw hats after the regulation date for shedding them? Does the majority of women wear black hats? What proportion of men cross the knee when sitting? Does a right-handed man ease his left leg in this way? What proportion of the dark-colored horses one sees have the white spot or star on the forehead? I started that investigation and was astonished to find how common this white star is. Then I went through all available books to learn how this star originated. Is it the remnant of a blazed face? I have never solved my question. Such investigation is a marvelous help to the deaf.
Another of my plans is character study. I try to determine the occupation and general character of strangers from their appearance, their habits and the books they read. You would be surprised at the accuracy of the observant deaf man in detecting these external marks which he comes to understand. He finally secures a most interesting chart of humanity, for in spite of us, character and occupation will leave a stamp upon the face and actions. But we cannot always classify strangers accurately. Here is one of my curious blunders: I saw daily on the train a big, brutal-looking fellow with a red face, a flat nose, well-protected eyes, and enormous arms and shoulders. I finally classified him as a prize-fighter. One day he was reading a small book, in which he was making frequent marks and comments. I reasoned that it must be some new version of the “Manly Art of Self-Defense.” Soon my man put down his book and went into the next car. Of course, I could not resist the impulse to glance at the volume. It was “The Influence of Christian Character in College Work.” My prize-fighter turned out to be a professor in a theological seminary. At any rate, he was in the battle against evil.
No other persons can ride a hobby so gracefully and to such good purpose as the deaf are able to do. No matter what it is, however childish, so long as it can keep the mind clean and busy, it is our most wholesome mental exercise. I know a deaf farmer who late in life started to collect and properly name every plant that grew on his farm. It was not only a wonderful help to him, but he became an expert botanist. And this recalls a discussion perennial with deaf men. Will they be happier in the country or in the city? The person inexperienced in deafness will immediately decide for the country, but I am not so sure that he is right. Farming is a business in which sound is important; animals betray pain or pleasure largely through sound; a poultryman is at a great disadvantage if he cannot hear the little ones. Then, too, some deaf persons crave the sight of their fellows; it is a pleasure to them to mingle silently with crowds; to see the multitudes pass by. The country—far from the rush and struggle of humans—actually terrorizes some deaf men. For myself, I greatly prefer the country, and I have selected fruit trees as my working companions. They talk the silent language, and they do not need to cry out when they wish to tell me that they need help. Yet, of course, we are better off if we mingle frequently with our fellows.
Sometimes in public life or in crowds the right thing comes to us like an inspiration. There was a deaf man who went out to address a meeting of farmers. It was held in the open air, and a stiff wind blew straight from the ocean to the speaker’s stand. The meeting was important; the farmers were discouraged and discontented and had come to hear sound advice and fearless comment. A cautious politician gave them half an hour of unmitigated “hot air”—a collection of meaningless words and high-sounding phrases. Then a well-known scientist followed with what might appropriately be called “dry air.” The farmers disconsolately classified both addresses as “wind,” and enough of that was blowing from the ocean. Instinct told the deaf man that something was wrong, though he had sat patiently through the long speeches without hearing a word. When his turn came, he walked out of the wind into the shelter of a tree and began:
“Job was the most afflicted man who ever lived. Of course, I know that there are men who claim that Job had a bed of roses compared with their constant afflictions. But Job has the advantage of good advertising in the Bible. He spoke a great truth when he said:
‘Can a man fill his belly with the east wind?’”
A mighty roar of laughter from that audience startled the deaf man. Fortunately he had said just what was needed to explode the gloom and disappointment of that audience.