The day she learned that her 2-1/2-year-old son had become deaf she came home from the hospital and threw the still-decorated Christmas tree out the front door.
This was in Upper Michigan just before WWII, before penicillin and other wonder drugs. Her son, Ray, had contracted spinal meningitis during the Christmas holidays. Within three weeks he went from a toddler eagerly learning nursery rhymes to near death. That he survived without serious brain damage was divine intervention.
Three other young children in the area also contracted spinal meningitis. One, a girl of four, died. A pair of twin boys, age three, survived but were mentally affected.
In the months that followed it would have been pardonable if Ray’s parents had questioned the “divine intervention”. Doctor after doctor was visited, each visit ending in “there’s nothing we can do”. Ray seemed to have some vestigial hearing but was so lethargic and withdrawn it was impossible to test him.
Before being sick he had been bubbling over with words learned on a daily basis; now he lost all his newly-acquired language skills. He was confused, frightened, puzzled and angry. His mood swings went from near-comatose to blind rage. The following year he had a mastoid infection and that seemed to destroy whatever hearing he may have retained.
The family finally accepted it; he was deaf. Not “deaf and dumb”, an expression then commonly used. He was “deaf but not mute.” He still had the power of speech but, without the ability to mimic sounds, he would never talk in a normal fashion.
What do you do with a deaf child? A child who, except for his handicap and lack of speech, is normal and healthy in every way? A child who can be taught only by physical example, a child who can only interact with others through pacifying or threatening gestures? What was his future if he could not be educated?
When Ray was six he was accepted at a “school for the deaf and blind” in another part of the state. Cousins living there agreed to have Ray board with them. He might as well have been in California. Gas rationing and tire shortages prohibited long trips by automobile. Travel by bus and train was difficult, priority being given to servicemen. He went away in September and returned for the Christmas holidays. What had he learned? Nothing, really. The school apparently was a daycare center for parents of handicapped children.
There was a state school for the deaf, located in Flint, but it did not accept children younger than twelve. What was to be done with Ray at home for six more years? Normally, at age 12 he would be about to enter middle school. Must he wait until age 12 before beginning formal schooling?
By the time he was seven, and with the intervention of a State Representative, Ray was admitted to the school in Flint on a trial basis. Attendance at the school was on a residential basis and the school administration did not feel they were equipped to deal with children younger than 12. Fortunately, as he was so much younger than the other students, Ray became a mascot of sorts. Older students quickly taught him sign language, which was not an official curriculum item at that time.
He was at home with his family for Christmas holidays and the summer vacation. Gradually, the school campus became his real home, the world of the deaf his world. Passionate for sports, he became a star athlete and, while in high school, travelled to Europe on the U.S. Fencing Team to participate in the Olympics for the Deaf.
Graduation from high school came at the age of 20. He then attended Gallaudet University in Washington, D.C. Four years later he graduated and began teaching in various state schools for the deaf, first as a football coach and later as a drama teacher.
So far, Ray has managed to spend his entire life in a deaf environment. Married three times, he always chose a deaf woman as a marital partner; the first wife was a student in one of his classes, the other two were on the staffs of schools where he taught. While in Washington he had been part of a large deaf community, which has not always been the case since he began teaching. He took early retirement a few years ago; his wife continues to work and he is alone most of the day with his two dogs.
His life could have been different. While at Gallaudet he considered becoming a software programmer. This would have led to more interaction with the hearing world. Maybe he would be married today to a woman with hearing, someone who would lead him into further interaction with the non-deaf. Maybe.
There has always been an argument within the deaf community once the possibility of enhancing residual hearing became technically feasible. A large contingent claims that deaf children do not want to be among the hearing, that they prefer to remain within their own community, their closed and silent world. Certainly they feel more comfortable there, better understood, being able to cope in a skilled fashion. The world among the university-educated deaf is still relatively small and, nationwide, they are a tightly-bound fellowship. Hopefully, this is enough for Ray.
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Sources:
Family history – Ray is my brother
Siblings forever