Adventures in Silence

by Herbert W. Collingwood

“He is a deaf man. He has not heard a sound for years! I know he would give five hundred dollars to be able to hear you.”

And then Brown refuses to speak to me for a month. He has no use for these “funny men.” His vanity finally gets the best of him, however, and a little later he “falls” for the same story with variations. You can tell him of the man who would willingly give a thousand dollars to see the great orator. Of course, he is blind. Then there is the enthusiastic citizen who would gladly run a mile in order to join the audience. He is a cripple with only one leg. Of course, these are worn, old jokes, but the deaf man may be pardoned for indulging in the old-timers if they help to offset some of his own blunders and mishaps.

Let it be known, however, that we deaf never shine as critics where our opinions will have weight. Some men, naturally strong and dominant, reach high positions, where they have power over others, and they become hard taskmasters because through their inability to hear they make too many snap judgments and become too critical. They may be efficient, but frequently it is a raw and brutal efficiency which accomplishes little good. One very deaf man was invited to a meeting of a literary society in a Western town. It seemed to be the only entertainment in town that night, and though it was obviously no place for a deaf man, he went along with his friends. We know how to amuse ourselves at such places. We may not hear a word, but the mind can be kept active with some detail of business, or a review or something we have read. This man applauded and smiled with the rest. It is often a foolish performance, but we invariably fall into it. By assuming a serious expression of countenance whenever it was apparent that the program called for thought, this man found himself being accepted as a wise critic. One young woman was determined to attract the attention of the distinguished-looking stranger. She read her essay with one eye on him, and he did his best to look appreciative. When the literary exercises were over the chairman called various leading citizens to discuss the meeting and criticise the various performances. The young woman was anxious to hear a word of praise from the visitor. So, at her suggestion, the president wrote a note and passed it to the deaf man—a note suggesting that he give a truthful criticism of at least one number. This fishing for compliments is like other forms of angling; you never know what you are going to catch. My friend protested and tried to explain, but there was no escape. Being a man of some determination, and, moreover, with severe old-fashioned ideas, he stood up and delivered his criticism:

“My friends, I am no critic. Nature has made it necessary for me to hear with my eyes, and I can offer but one suggestion. I may be wrong. Perhaps I am old-fashioned, but it seems to me that if I had to walk through life on such a pair of pipestems as I have seen tonight, they would be the last thing in the world that I would take pride in exhibiting. I’d wear a dress that would sweep the floor.”

The company reserved their laughter until they were safe at home, but with one accord everyone glanced at the short skirt of the literary young woman. It is safe to say that she never again suggested an unknown deaf man as critic of her literary efforts.

Sometimes the deaf go fishing for compliments themselves, with very disastrous results. We may wisely conclude that few bouquets will be thrown in our direction. Even those which reach us may contain some kind of hook concealed amid the flowers. Yet there was Henry Bascom, very deaf, very vain, and filled with the almost criminal idea that he could write poetry. He refused to work at his trade, for he felt that his muse did not care to brush her skirts against overalls or working clothes. His brother-in-law, a blunt, outspoken man, was growing weary of “feeding lazy poets.” Once he roared out a protest, but Henry did not get it straight, and hoped it was some sort of compliment. So he insisted that his sister repeat it. But she hesitated. Finally she temporized:

“George merely said something about the great need of energy in the world.”

Of course, Henry should have known that there was explosive material hidden in all this, but he only decided that something fine was being kept away from him. So when George came home he began again:

“George, I was much interested in what you said this morning. Won’t you repeat it so that I can have it exact?”

And George very willingly complied. He wrote the message carefully in ink: