Adventures in Silence

by Herbert W. Collingwood

The deaf man is often laughed at for his blunders, but, unwittingly, he has pricked many a bubble and exposed many a fraud through his blunderings. Take the case of the young man who fancied the minister’s daughter and went to church with her. The congregation was small, and the collections were generally in line with the congregation. The collector was a deaf man, a faithful attendant, who, as he said, could not even hear the money drop into the box. Our young man took a five-dollar gold piece out of his pocket and held it up so that the minister’s daughter could see it and observe his great liberality. She protested in a whisper:

“Oh, that’s too much! I wouldn’t give that amount.”

“Oh, that’s nothing. My usual habit is to give ten dollars, but I don’t happen to have such a coin with me today.”

So the bluffer waved her away, and really would have been able to “get away with it” had it not been for the deaf man. When the box was presented the young man deftly palmed his gold piece and dropped a penny into the box. The organist played on through the offertory, and the deaf man marched up the aisle with his contributions. The minister had tried to tell him several times that it was not in good taste to report the size of the contributions publicly, but the deaf man was a zealous soul, and did not quite understand, so he carefully counted the amount found in the box, and, just before the last hymn, he stood up in front of the pulpit.

“My friends, I want to announce that the contributions for the day amount to $3.27. ‘The Lord loveth a cheerful giver.’”

And the minister’s daughter, being rather good at mental arithmetic, glanced at the young man, and fully understood.

Dr. A. W. Jackson tells a story which all deaf men will appreciate. He was invited to preach the sermon in a country church, and after the service he was taken for dinner to Deacon Bentley’s house. There was a great family gathering, and the long table was spread in the kitchen. The deacon sat at one end, the minister at the other. Naturally, the minister expected to be asked to say the “grace,” so he prepared his mind for it. We deaf demand a “sign” for such invitations, and Dr. Jackson thought he had one when the deacon, far down the room, seemed to nod his head as at a suggestion. So the preacher shut his eyes, bent down his head and blessed the food with a long and fervent prayer. He knew something was wrong, for he felt the table shaking, but he went serenely on until he finished with a devout “amen.” How are we to know what really happens at such times until we get home, where our faithful reporter can tell us about it? Dr. Jackson did not in the least understand until his wife explained that Deacon Bentley had not given the expected sign, and, being deaf himself, he had bowed his own head and said a rival blessing. Probably the spectacle of the two deaf men offering simultaneous petitions blessed all who were present with abundant appetite.

This was indeed ridiculous, but, no doubt, you have seen normal men acting in much the same way, foolishly interfering with the jobs or prerogatives of others when they know full well they have no business out of their own corners. It is like the group of men I saw at a country railway station trying to turn a locomotive on an old-fashioned turntable. The engineer had run his machine on to the table, and though the men were pushing on the lever with all their might, they could not move the engine. Finally the engineer backed her about two feet. The weight was then so nicely adjusted that a single man turned the table with ease. At first there had been a poor adjustment. The men were trying to lift the entire weight; when it became nicely balanced the engine nearly turned itself. I think most men at some period of their lives get out of their own corners to show others how the job of life should be worked out. They throw the machinery out of balance and double the world’s work.

Years ago, when I worked as a hired man in a back-country neighborhood, I belonged to a debating society. I was on the program committee, and we found something of a task in selecting subjects for debate which were within the life and thought of our audience. “Resolved, that the mop is a more useful element in civilization than the dishcloth” was a prime favorite with the women. “Resolved, that for a man starting on a farm a cow is more useful than a woman” brought out great argumentative effort from the men, and as I recall it, the cow won on the statement that if crops failed and you could not pay the mortgage, you could sell the cow. If I were back there now, knowing what I do of life, I should suggest a new topic: “Resolved, that deafness is a greater affliction to a woman than to a man.” Here is fine opportunity for argument. The man is shut out of many lines of bread-winning, while the woman is denied the right to indulge largely in small talk and gossip.

I think deaf women are more likely than men to be exceedingly jealous. Mrs. Helen Brewster was deaf, and she made life a burden to her husband, Frank. He was really one of the most circumspect of men, but if he stopped for a moment to talk with Miss Kempton, the sixty-year-old dressmaker, poor Helen was quick to imagine him taking advantage of her affliction to exchange nonsense with the other ladies. And right here let me say to the deaf and the near-deaf: force yourselves to believe that your friends, and particularly the members of your family, are absolutely true; do not ever permit your mind to suggest that those upon whom you must rely for help or interpretation are unfaithful. Never admit this until you cannot escape the conviction. Remember that most persons we meet are kindly and well disposed, if selfish and thoughtless. They are not plotting our destruction or even our unhappiness. It is too easy for the deaf to turn life into a veritable hell by permitting the hideous devils of depression to master the brain.