The Approach of Deafness—The College Woman—Student Methods in General—Calamity and Courage—Animals and Thought Communication—Another Compensation—Pronunciation and the Defensive Campaign.

Some years ago we planted a hedge at the end of my lawn. For years I could sit at the dining-table and look over it. At night I saw my neighbor’s window-light, and by day I could see him or some of his family moving about the house or the fields. As the years went on I became aware that the hedge was growing. Finally there came a Spring when the bushes were filled out with foliage so that all view of the neighbor’s house was lost. I could not see the light at night. While I knew the people were moving about during the daytime, I could not see them. The hedge had shut me away from them, yet it had grown so slowly and so gently that there was no shock. Had my neighbor shut himself suddenly away from view by building a spite fence, the loss would have been far greater. This instance somewhat resembles the difference between sudden loss of hearing and its slow fading away.

I know of the curious case of a woman who could not be made to realize that her hearing was going until the common tests of everyday life convinced her that she was going deaf. What are these common tests? The usual ones are inability to hear the clocks and the birds. Very likely you have been in the habit of listening to the clock at night when for some reason sleep was impossible. It has been a comfort to you to think how this constant old friend goes calmly on through sun or storm, through joy or sorrow, gathering up the dust of the seconds into the grains of the minutes, and forming them into bricks of the hours and days. Or you may have been alone in the house on a Winter’s night. You heard the house timbers crack, and gentle fingers seemed to be tapping on the window pane. Then there came a night when you lay awake and missed the sound of your old friend, who seemed to have stopped checking off the marching hours. Many a deaf person waking in the night, missing the sound of the clock, has risen from bed and brought a light to start the old timepiece going. Not one of you can realize what it means when the light falls upon the face of the clock, revealing the minute hand still cheerfully circling its appointed course. The clock is still going, but something else has stopped.

We have endured another test in watching the birds. Most of us can remember when the morning was full of bird music. One day as we walk about it comes suddenly home to us that the birds are silent or have disappeared. At least, we can no longer hear them. We look about and notice a robin on the lawn. We see him throw back his head, open his mouth and move his throat. He is evidently singing—but we did not know it. I cannot tell you in ordinary language how a chill suddenly passes over the heart as we realize that as long as life lasts music is to become to us as unsubstantial as the shadow of a cloud passing over the lawn.

The woman I speak of knew by these tests that her hearing was failing. She was a student at college, where quick and sound ears are essential if one is to obtain full benefit from lectures. I know just what this means from my own experience, since I entered college some little time after my ears began to fail. I am frequently asked how it is possible for students with defective hearing to obtain an education. To the ambitious man or woman the first thought on discovering the beginnings of deafness is that the mind must be improved so as to make skilled labor possible. Too many deaf people after a brief struggle feel that fate has denied them the right to an education, and they give up trying in despair. I found several ways of partly overcoming the difficulty. I copied notes made by another student. In every class you will find several natural reporters who make a very clear synopsis of the lectures, and are rather proud of their skill. I found one lazy and brilliant fellow who was an excellent reporter, though he absolutely refused to study. He would give me his report and I would look up the authorities and help him fill in the skeleton. We served each other like the blind and the halt. I also made arrangements with several professors to read their lecture notes. Most of them are quite willing to permit this when they find the deaf man earnest and determined. In fact, the average professor comes to be a dry sawbones of a fact dispenser, whose daily struggle is to cram these facts into the more or less unwilling student brain. When an interested deaf man appears, actually eager to read the lectures, the soul of the driest professor will expand, for here, he thinks, is full evidence of appreciation. The world and the units which comprise it have always admired determination, or what plain people call “grit.” I think it has been given that name because it is that substance which the fighter may throw into the works of the machine which would otherwise roll over him.

Working thus, I came to know something of the inner life of these professors, whose daily routine comes to be a struggle with untrained minds which resent all efforts to harness them. The attitude of the average student in the class-room, as I recall it, reminds me of our trotting colt, Beauty. She was so full of trotting blood that at times it boiled over into a desire for a mad run. We thought we had a world-beater, but when we put her on the track she could barely shade four minutes. An experienced trainer took her in hand, put foot-weights and straps on her and forced her to change her gait and concentrate her power. How that beautiful little horse did rage and chafe at this indignity! One could imagine her protest.

“Let me be free! Do I not know how to pick up my feet and use my limbs for speed? My father was a king of speed—my mother of royal blood! Set me free! Nature has given me natural swiftness—I do not need your art!”

But they held poor Beauty to it, though she chafed and lathered, and tried to throw herself down. Everywhere she met the weights, the straps and the cruel whip. At last she submitted to discipline and did as she was told. She clipped fully ninety seconds from her natural speed for a mile, but while she was forced to obey she had little respect for her trainer.

Could my college professors have controlled their human colts with weights, straps and whips, it is more than likely that education would have established a new record. I found my teachers quite willing to give the list of references from which their lectures were taken, and with these in hand the deaf student may read in advance of his class and be fully prepared. As a rule, he does not stand high in recitations, but excels in his written work. The truth is that for work which requires study and research, deafness is something of an advantage. It enables a student fully to concentrate his mind on the subject. It seems to me that most of the world’s imperishable thoughts have been born in the silence, or, at least, in solitude. The fact is that the human ear, for all the joy, comfort or power it may give, is at best a treacherous and undependable organ. Perhaps I cannot be classed as an authority on a subject which involves accurate hearing, but I know that the greatest danger in my business is that we are sometimes forced to rely upon spoken or hearsay evidence. I will not use statements in print until they are written out and signed. Too many people depend for their facts upon what others tell them. The brain may distort the message and memory may blur it. The wise deaf man learns to discount spoken testimony, and will act only upon printed or written words. I have had people come to me fully primed for an hour’s talk of complaint or scandal; I hand them a pad of paper and a pencil, settle back and say:

“Now tell me all about it.”

That pen or pencil is usually as efficient as a milk-tester in determining the surprisingly small amount of fat which exists in the milk of ordinary conversation.

You see, as I told you I should be likely to do, I have wandered away from the text. That is characteristic of the deaf, for we seldom hear the text, anyway. The woman I started to tell about managed to work through college and began treatment for her deafness. This promised some relief, when suddenly the great earthquake shook San Francisco. The shock and fright of that catastrophe destroyed her hearing entirely. I have heard of several cases where deafness came like this, in a flash. As one man repeated to me:

“At twenty-nine minutes past ten I actually heard a pin drop on the floor of my room. At half-past ten it would have been necessary to prick me to let me know that the pin was there.”

And this woman’s mother died. Her daughter was forced to sit beside her at the last, unable to hear the message which the mother, just passing into the unseen country, tried to give. In all the book of time, I suppose there is recorded no more terrifying sadness than the fact of this inability to hear the parting words. Sometimes I regret that I promised not to make this book a tale of woe, for what could I not tell, if I would, of the soul-destroying sadness of this longing to hear a whispered confidence?

The woman of whom I speak did not shrivel under the heat of calamity. She continued treatment, and has made some slight gain in hearing. And now she has qualified as an expert physician. People wonder how a deaf person can possibly diagnose organic diseases, such as heart trouble, or even pneumonia. They can do it, for I have known several very deaf physicians who yet have met with marked success. One in particular was for years a chief examiner for a large insurance company. There was something almost uncanny about the way this man could look into the human body and put his finger upon any weak spot. I finally decided that he had developed as a substitute for hearing a hidden power to record with the eye and mind the symptoms not visible to most of his profession. The others depended on man-made charts and rules. Their perfect ears had made them slaves to common practice. My deaf friend, deprived of the ordinary avenue of approach for consultation, had pushed off like a pioneer into the unknown, where he had found the mysterious power.

I am well aware that I am getting out where the water is deep and that many of you are not prepared to swim with me. But there are some very strange things happening in the silent world. Have you ever noticed two deaf people trying to communicate? Strange as the process may appear, they are able to make each other understand, and they do it quite easily, where a person with good ears would have great trouble. I feel convinced that this century will see a system of wordless thought communication worked out, though its beginnings may be crude. It will be developed first by the afflicted, chiefly by the deaf. I am sure that you have noticed, as I have, how the so-called dumb animals can communicate. Let us take a group of horses at pasture. Now that gasoline has so largely superseded oats as motive force on our farms, younger people may not fully understand, but most people of middle age will remember how old Dick and Kate and all the rest went to a service of grass on Sunday. Perhaps they were scattered all over the field. Suddenly Dick, the galled old veteran off by his fence corner, raised his head and considered for a moment. Near by were old Sport and Kate, feeding side by side as they have worked in the harness for years. Soon old Dick walked meditatively up to this pair. He halted beside them and they stopped feeding for a moment, apparently to listen. The old horse stayed with them for a time and then walked slowly about the field to the others. No audible sound was made, but finally, one by one, the horses all stopped feeding and followed their leader up to the shadow of the big tree. The gray mare and her foal were the last to go. There in the shade the horses stood for some time with their heads together. Evidently some soundless discussion was taking place. At one point the gray mare threatened to kick old Dick, but she was prevented by big Tom, who seemed to be sergeant-at-arms. After a time they separated, and each went back to the spot where he was feeding. Who does not know that there has been a convention at which these horses have agreed upon some definite line of conduct? They may have organized a barnyard strike or mutiny. Dick and Kate may refuse to pull at the plow. Perhaps the council agreed to let certain parts of the pasture grow up to fresh grass. We saw the colt chasing the sheep back to the hill. No doubt he had been appointed a committee of one to do this, since the sheep nibble too close to allow an honest horse a good mouthful. At any rate, through some power which humans do not possess, these animals are able to communicate, and to make their wants known. I presume that originally man possessed something of this strange power. As he developed audible language he let the ability fall into disuse. The Indians and some savages have retained much of it. I take it that the deaf, shut away from much of ordinary conversation, redevelop something of this power.

Kipling brings this idea out well in some of his Vermont stories. The farmer goes on Sunday afternoon to salt the horses in the back pasture, where the boarding horses are feeding. These boarders represent a strange mixture. There are “sore” truck horses from the city, family nags on vacation, and old veterans whose days of usefulness are ended. With this mixed company, bringing in all the tricks of the city, are the sober work horses of the farm. The farmer puts his salt on the rocks where the horses can lick it, and then sits down to look over the rolling country. Several of these city boarders are of the “tough” element, and they attempt to stir up a mutiny.

“See,” they say as they lick the salt, “now we have him. He does not suspect us. We can creep up behind him, kick him off that rock and trample him.”

But the farm horses object. This man has treated them well, and they will fight for him, and the toughs are awed. I have spent much time watching farm animals at silent communication, and I have come to believe that Kipling’s story may be partly true. I have seen our big Airedale, Bruce, sit with his head at one side watching the children at play on the lawn. He will walk off to where the other dogs are, and evidently tell them about it, glancing at the children as he does so.

Some men are able to talk with their eyebrows or their shoulders or their hands so that they are easily understood. I talked with an Italian once through an interpreter. This man was a fruit-grower, and my friend explained to him that I was growing peaches without cultivating the soil, just cutting the grass and weeds and letting them lie on the top of the ground. The Italian regarded this as rank heresy, and he evidently regretted his inability to express himself in English. He did give a curious long shrug to his shoulders, he spread out his hands, rolled his eyes and spat on the ground. He could not possibly have expressed his disapproval more eloquently, and I understood his feelings far better than I did those of the learned professor who elaborated a complicated theory for growing peaches.

All intelligent deaf men will tell you that they know something of this subtle power. Edison is very deaf, and I am not surprised to learn that he is studying it, attempting to organize it. It is one of the interesting mysteries of the silent world, and it can be made into a great healing compensation for one who will view his affliction with philosophy, concentrating his mind upon its study.

While, of course, I could make a long catalogue of the compensations and advantages of deafness, we must all admit that there is another side. For instance, the man of the silent world must avoid the pitfall of pronunciation. When sound is lost he forgets how words are pronounced, and the new words and phrases constantly entering the language are mysterious stumbling blocks. For example, no sensible deaf man will mention the name of that Russian society, the epithet now so glibly applied by conservatives to all who show radical tendencies. Nor would he attempt to put tongue to the hideous names of some of the new European States, or even to the name of McKinley’s assassin. He lets someone else attempt those, some reckless person with good ears. A strange thing about it is that our friends do not understand our limitations in this respect. My wife ought to know most of the restrictions and tricks of the deaf. Yet she was quite surprised when I hesitated about reading a church lecture without a rehearsal. It was a canned lecture, where you procure the slides and the manuscript, and select some well-voiced “home talent” to read it. I was chosen as the “talent,” but I remembered how years before I upset a sober-minded group by twisting up “Beelzebub.” Therefore, I wanted to read the lecture over several times and practice on some of the hard Bible names. Suppose I ran unexpectedly on those men who went down into the fiery furnace. Every child in the Sunday school could reel them off perfectly, but I had not heard of them for years, and I defy any one to get them right at sight.

Let the wise deaf man stick to the words he knows about until he has practiced the new ones to the satisfaction of his wife and daughter. He may well put up a defensive fight in most of his battles. Let him be sure of his facts, sure that he is right, and then stand his ground. Let others do the advancing and the countering and play the part of Napoleon generally; the deaf man will do better to “stand pat.”

“But when was there ever a successful defensive campaign?”

I advise you to get out your history and read of the Norman conquest. The battle of Hastings decided that. The Saxons lost that battle by refusing to “stand pat.” They ran out of their stronghold and were divided and destroyed. Had they taken my advice to deaf men, the history of England would have been bound in blond leather instead of black! That might have made considerable difference to you and me. I think I may say without fear of contradiction that the deaf invite most of their troubles by running out after them; when if we would keep within our own defenses and stand our ground we might avoid them.