When a man becomes convinced that he is definitely headed for the silence, he must make up his mind whether he is to be a grouch or a gentleman. The word “grouch” has not yet been fully accepted by the guardians of good English, but it seems to me one of the most expressive words in the language. Perhaps that is because I have spent much time in trying to escape from the condition which might probably carry this label. The deaf man may, if he will, excel all others in playing the part. Here is one case in which he may certainly pose as a star. It is hardly possible for a grouch to be a gentleman, and it is quite inconceivable that the gentleman should wish to be a grouch. Yet, if left to himself, the deaf man will naturally come to play the part, and it is certainly the one part in the great adventure of life which he can handle to perfection. The grouch wraps himself in a mantle of gloom and tries to throw the skirts of it all around his fellow-men. The gentleman, when under the spell of affliction, struggles to light a candle of faith and hope within him that will make his whole life luminous as he walks among men. It costs most of us a struggle in our efforts to throw off depression and appear content with life, and the struggle will be long and constant, but it is worth while, and so in this last chapter I would like to briefly review some of the rules of life which have come home to me during my sojourn in silence. I have found in my own case that I paid very little attention to the rules and regulations of the trouble, but, at any rate, those of us who have been over the ground like to nail up the danger signal when we can.

The deaf should remember that they are in a way abnormal. We cannot be like other men. It could not well be otherwise when we realize that we are deprived of what is perhaps the most important of the senses. It seems to me far better to face the fact that we cannot well conceal our handicap. Usually when we mingle with others in everyday life every person within 100 feet of us will know sooner or later that we are deaf. Some of the worst blunders which the deaf man can make are those which come from pretending that he can hear. We shall receive better treatment and be freer from disappointment if we frankly admit our handicap and throw ourselves upon the generosity of our friends, or even of strangers.

I suppose that curiosity causes more real torture to the deaf man than anything else. Some of the deaf are exceedingly curious. They must know what others are talking about, and they often pester their companions almost beyond endurance in an effort to learn all the trivial details of small conversation. They bring themselves to believe that most conversation going on about them refers to something in which they are vitally interested, and in this way they come to imagine all sorts of disagreeable things. This idle curiosity leads to endless grief and trouble. Forget it! That brief advice is peculiarly applicable to the deaf, for it is much harder for them to forget things than for those whose minds are constantly diverted by sound. One of the greatest troubles of the average deaf man is that he cannot forget the things which annoy except by driving them out of the brain by new suggestions, or by forcing himself to think of happier and more interesting things. That is why every deaf person should have some harmless or interesting hobby which he can always mount and spur into speed whenever the imps of the silence come out of their holes. Yet, there is such a thing as riding a hobby so hard that the rider loses his hat, and the deaf man makes a very ridiculous John Gilpin when his hobby runs away with him.

Above all things, we must believe in the loyalty and affection of our family and companions. Remember that they are human, perhaps more so than we are. We can easily become a nuisance to them. They may perhaps show their annoyance for the moment, but at heart they are true, and we should never lose faith in them, if we can possibly avoid it. I think, too, it is a mistake to allude to our trouble as an affliction, as too many of us are tempted to do. It is a handicap, and often a very serious one. Yet, we may easily find people with real afflictions, worse than ours, and we well know that we would not readily change our identity if such a thing could be done. I find that successful teachers of lip-reading insist that deafness should never be spoken of as an affliction. It is a handicap, perhaps, but the surest way to make it worse is to go about classing the deaf with afflicted people; and the intelligent deaf scarcely, if ever, speak of those who are deaf and dumb. That is a term to be avoided, for education or scientific treatment is ending that condition. The entire life of the deaf, if they hope to enjoy even ordinary happiness, must be built on the sunshine theory; always search for the bright side. In all our life there is nothing so destructive of character as self-pity. Far better look about for undoubted advantages of life in the silence, and train our rebellious spirits to work patiently under the yoke. In that way we may easily gain new strength of character and greater power from our trouble. I like to repeat the statement over and over that I have found this a good world. It is well filled with kindly people, who on the whole are ready to give every man with a handicap a fair start if they can only be made to realize that he is willing to fight the good fight with cheerfulness and without complaint.

I have found it well to go out among my fellow-men and take my chances on getting through. Some people seem to think that deafness should shut them away from travel or society. I cannot agree with that. I think we should move about among people. It is, I grant, a peculiar sensation at times to realize the appalling loneliness of a crowd. You stand in groups of people, see them move about, know that they are talking and laughing; you can reach out your hand and touch them; yet, for all that, you are living in another world apart from them. It gives one at times an uncanny feeling to realize such a situation, yet I think it is well for us to seek our fellows in this way, and live among them. It gives us opportunity for the finest study of character, and if we would only think so, there are few things more interesting or exciting than the attempt to locate strangers in occupation or habit by their appearance. Some deaf people seek to hide themselves, and shun society and travel through fear of ridicule or accident. This is, I believe, a mistake. So long as one has eyes of reasonable strength which may be trained for quick and close observation, it is far better for the mind and spirit to get out among men. When you go on a journey, always plan to carry a flashlight lantern and an abundant supply of paper and pencils. You are quite sure at some point of your travels to find yourself in darkness along the way, and there is little hope for the deaf man in the dark. Unless you are expert at lip-reading, my advice would be to insist upon having the message written out. With the very deaf attempts to make them hear or to communicate by signs are little better than wide guesses. In all my experiences I have never found but two people who refused to write the information when I called for it. One was an impatient, selfish man, and the other a woman, who evidently feared that certain young men would laugh at her if she made herself conspicuous with a deaf man. In one of these cases a bystander, seemingly ashamed of the discourtesy shown me, volunteered to help me, and was ready to fight the man who had refused. Oh, I shall have to repeat it once more! I have found this a good world to live in. It is filled with people who at heart are kindly and sympathetic. Many of the fancied rebuffs which we experience are due to the fact that people do not understand how to communicate with us. Above all things, the deaf man should never lose his nerve. He should always believe that he is the favorite “child of fate,” sure to come through every obstacle. Then let him go bravely and confidently on his way, supremely sure that he will be cared for.

The problem of occupation is the vital one for the deaf. What can we do to earn a living when our hearing fails? There is without question a prejudice against the deaf which it is hard to overcome. We who live in the silence cannot quite understand why people seem to fear us, and are evidently uncomfortable when we come near. We are as harmless as anyone, and we are capable of giving good service, but we realize only too well that society in general seems to class us among the undesirables. I know of one woman who is struggling to support and educate two children. She is an admirable cook, good housekeeper, clean, quick and efficient, yet no one wants to employ her because she is deaf. One would think that her condition would be something of an advantage in a household where there are family secrets to be kept. But, no matter how capable this woman may be, most people seem afraid to employ her. The fact is that the condition of deafness is a distinct advantage in many cases—for example, the faithful deaf helper will not be liable to change frequently. He will stay by his employer, yet most deaf people come face to face with prejudice which society shows them.

I know of a clergyman who filled his pulpit acceptably until deafness drove him from it. One might think without bitterness that a man of God with a trouble of this sort might in his daily life come closer to what his people need, but his congregation would not have it so, and he was retired. For some years the old man lived in the town, sawing and splitting wood for a living. The woodpile he built was a sermon on neatness and honest labor, and he went happily on through life. Someone asked him how he could be cheerful at such labor, and his answer was: “I put joy in my job.” There are deaf men in all walks of life. Some are highly successful as teachers, editors, salesmen, watchmen and other lines where one would suppose that perfect hearing is more than a necessity. In general a deaf man must take the work that comes to him. He cannot always choose, but he can usually dignify any job, and excel at it if he will keep his courage and put his mind to it. He should remember that spirit of the old minister who, when retired from his pulpit, took up the saw and axe, and was cheerful because he put joy in the job.

The moving picture show is a wonderful help to the deaf. Here he is on terms of equality with all men. In this remarkable world of the movies, where the villain is always punished and the virtuous always emerge with roses and a crown, the deaf man may find much of that optimism which seems like an electric light to the soul. It is the height of enjoyment for him to see pictures illustrating some favorite book thrown on the screen, and that enables him to make a mental comparison with his own conception of the characters in the story. The fact is that the life of the ambitious deaf is one long effort to keep cheerful and bright-minded, and thus steer away from depression. To that end he should soak his mind with all possible poetry and humor and good literature. In fact, let him take in anything that will frame pleasant pictures on the walls of his mind, and it is a blessing ranking close to a godsend to be able to sleep when other aids in the struggle against depression fail. There will surely come times after the work has been laid aside when all the wakeful philosophy will fail to keep the spirit bright. Then the ability to lie down and sleep becomes a genuine heavenly gift; for in sleep the head noises and troubles are forgotten, when we may even hear music and voices of friends. And do you know that in that thought lies one of the most curious and pathetic things connected with the life of the deaf? We wonder just how the voices of wife and son or friends actually sound. In real fact they may croak like ravens or scream like a door that needs oiling, but to us in imagination they are musical and full of sympathy. I think that of all the curious, mysterious things which come to us in this world of silence there is nothing sadder or more remarkable than this unsatisfied desire to listen to the actual tones which ring in the voices of those we love.

It is without doubt true that the deaf are closer to subconscious thought than those who have perfect hearing. It seems to be easier for us to go back to childhood or to raise into the mind memories of other days. It often becomes a wonder to me that old friends forget so many of the scenes and sayings of youth. I presume they have more to distract their attention. It seems to me that the useless or trivial conversation which most people indulge in must in time dilute or distort memory and drive away the pictures of youth. With the deaf these pictures seem to grow clearer with each year, and this, I take it, is one of the compensations which accompany the trouble. For as we march along the road and reach a hill from which we begin to see the end, I think it must be a lonely road which those must travel who have forgotten the pictures and companions of their youth. It is practically impossible for the deaf to weep as others do. They are for the most part denied what I may call the healing balm of tears, unless there can occur some great shock, some volcanic eruption of emotion which breaks down the dam and lets in the flood upon a dry desert of lonely years. But the deaf man who has kept his mind cleanly occupied and his spirit bright may find in happy memories a joy of life which others rarely know.