CHAPTER VIII
Companions in Trouble
The Deaf in Social and Business Life—The Partially Deaf—Endeavors to “Get By”—The Yeas and the Nays—Fifty Cents or a Dollar?—The Safety of the Written Word—The Indian and the Whisky—The Boiling-down Process—The New Sense Developed by Affliction—The Deaf Cat and the Piano.
During the years of expectancy, when we continue to look forward to a cure, we deaf generally try to deceive ourselves along with others by refusing to admit our condition, and by attempting to conceal the defect in conversation. Many people are more or less deaf in one ear; frequently they really do not realize the extent of their affliction. They go through strange performances in their efforts to hear. Have you ever seen a horse or a mule traveling with one ear bent forward and the other reversed? The animal is, no doubt, somewhat defective in hearing, and he “points” his ears front and back so as to catch all noises, particularly commands from the driver. Back in the earlier ages man also possessed this power of moving the ears; most of us have seen individuals who still can control the muscles on the side of the head so that their ears “wiggle.” All of us still have these muscles, even if they have fallen out of use. Ear specialists say that many of us do actually move our ears slightly when making a great effort to catch the conversation. At any rate, human beings with defective hearing must bend forward, or even move about a circle of talkers to get in full range of the voices. We wonder sometimes why people insist upon getting on a certain side of their companions, and always walk on the inside of the street. Such a person is merely maneuvering to present the live side of his head.
It is really very foolish for the deaf to attempt to conceal their affliction; it places us in a false position, and we are at an added disadvantage in society. We may hide our trouble for a time, but sooner or later we will be found out, and it is far wiser to be frank in the first place. Some of our misguided efforts to pose as full men have humorous results. We have various tricks of the trade which we at times employ to catch or hold conversation. One common plan is to lead the discussion along lines which will enable us to do most of the talking. It has been said of the deaf man that he either talks all the time or else says nothing, and that sometimes he does both at once. Sometimes we meet a talker who is desperately determined to tell all of his own story—which is one involving many fatal direct questions, such as “Am I right?” “Do I make myself clear?” Then the deaf man is hopelessly lost, and the part of wisdom is to produce pencil and pad.
A friend of mine who knew that he was going deaf conceived the brilliant scheme of saying “Yes,” or nodding his head to agree with everything that was said to him. He felt that the path of least resistance lies along the affirmative—in letting others always have the say. One day he settled himself in the first vacant chair in a barber shop, at the mercy of a very talkative barber, with whom expression of thought had become merely a vocal exercise. My friend knew that this man was talking and asking questions, but as he could hear nothing, he merely nodded at each evident interrogation point. He had some important work on hand which he was trying to develop, and, as is the habit of the deaf at such times, he became absorbed in his thought and quite unmindful of what the barber was doing. At each questioning look he emerged from his brown study only long enough to nod his head. Finally the barber finished, and presented a check for about three dollars. It then appeared that instead of asking the usual questions about the weather and business the man had been talking hair cut, singeing, facial massage, moustache curling, hair renewer, and all the rest. Delighted at such a model customer, the loquacious barber had done his full duty. Nothing but that special Providence which guards fools and deaf men had saved my friend from the bootblack, the vibrator and the manicure girl.
I recently read in the daily paper of a lawsuit in which a man sued his barber to recover $4.75 obtained in just this way—the plaintiff being a deaf man. The justice decided against the barber on the ground that a man cannot legally be said to order a service unless he knows what it is going to be. So, score another for the deaf man.
This and similar experiences convinced my deaf friend that the road to affirmation is well lined with a group of citizens who do far more than hold out their hats for charity. No deaf man is safe on that highway. So he changed his method and shook his head at all questions. He said that experience had convinced him that at best this is a selfish world, and most men approached him seeking some advantage rather than offering service: therefore a general negative was the best policy. Shortly after making this decision he attended a reception at a wealthy man’s country home. At one stage of the proceedings the men were all invited into a side room, where a very dignified butler marched about and whispered to each guest in turn. My friend ran true to form and shook his head. In a short time a fine drink was served to everyone except himself.
As his affliction progresses, the deaf man learns frankly to admit his inability to hear. This turns out to be a remarkably effective way to separate the sheep from the goats, for most people will never go to the trouble of making us understand unless they have some really important message to deliver. Whenever we owe money, we find that our creditors are quite able to communicate with us; would that our debtors were equally insistent! Now and then comes a man who feels the tremendous importance of his message, although no one else recognizes it. He looks upon the deaf man as his select audience, and after giving us an agonizing half-hour, he goes on his way, pluming himself on the kindly deed he has performed in helping the neglected deaf man to valuable information!
I once lived in a little Southern town where the man who kept the livery stable was quite deaf. He was popularly known as a “near” man, “so close you could see him.” “The only thing he could hear was the clink of money in his pocket.” The men who worked for him often had trouble getting their money. One day his stableman, Ben Adams, colored, approached the boss and screamed in his ear: