"O Henry" Johnson is a raconteur in search of an audience. Looking something like a larger-than-life W.C. Fields, he is at his best talking about his misspent youth, his foibles and triumphs as a young man and his awakening as he nears the "Golden Years." He has a lot to say.

He also has a serious side.

Now 58, Henry Johnson is a senior at Gallaudet, proud of his status as the oldest full time undergraduate on campus and a bit reluctant to re-enter the real world.

When I first entered Gallaudet, people would say, "Hi, Old Henry," and other people would say, "I can't remember your name." I'd say, "You know that candy bar, "Oh, Henry?" They would say, "Oh, yes." That made it easier to remember me. They would identify me with the candy bar. But you know what happened? Well, one test I took I got a "0" or zero for a grade and then someone said, "Well, maybe that's what it stands for," and they put the "0" to their foreheads meaning to know nothing. So, maybe that's one way to identify me: "Oh! Old Know Nothing Henry." The name seems to have stuck. Hence it is "O Henry," with the "0" signed like a zero.

I guess my involvement with the adult deaf community started when I was 14 or 15 years old. I attended the California School for the Deaf in Berkeley. It so happened that the school was pretty close to the downtown area of Oakland where many deaf people used to meet at the cafeteria for coffee and pie or soup. I used to go there and watch. I was fascinated by the older deaf people who worked as printers and carpenters, iron workers and draftsmen. There were some intellectuals, mostly teachers, and some bums. There were deaf people from all levels and they would sit around and chat. I loved to watch the conversations. That was really my first experience meeting with older deaf people. I'd grab every opportunity to go down town and they got used to me as "That kid from the deaf school."

During World War II or about the time it was ending in 1944, I'd listen to them talk about war and about Germany and Japan, about England and the sinking of ships, and the airplanes and bombs and all that. That's how I kept up with events because there wasn't much in the newspaper I could understand with all the difficult words. I'd depend on those older deaf people for information.

Then my mother and father got tired of the rationing of gas and meat and everything, so they decided to move to a small farm in Oregon. Well, I wasn't exactly happy at the Berkeley School because the other boys would take advantage of me. They would say you have to follow the discipline like in Germany, just like in Hitler's Youth Corps. They were so tough and the way they would threaten me, I was so scared. It was just awful. The school and the education were fine, but in the dorm it was all very martial. So I was relieved when my parents decided to move to the farm and I could transfer to the Oregon School for the Deaf at Salem.

But when I saw the way they communicated there, I started to think I'd rather be in California. At first, I played dumb. The deaf students asked, "Who's that boy? Can he sign?" I just looked at them. After awhile I started signing. They said, "Oh, he can sign!" So I started making friends and it was better. There wasn't the kind of pressure or discipline like at the other school and I could finally relax . . . except with the dorm advisers. They'd always have their check list and be checking off names. Well, I became more mischievous with my friends. We fooled around more and more; we were breaking loose after having held everything inside for so long.

I was a day pupil at school and was supposed to stay home on weekends, but I kept going over to the school on Saturdays to play with my deaf friends because it was more fun than staying on the farm. It was against the rules. I'd get in trouble with the supervisors and we'd have big arguments. The house parents got tired of trying to control me.

One day the supervisor said, "You'll have to go to the superintendent's office Monday morning. You have to be punished." Well, it seemed like I was always getting in trouble, always having to go to the office. Finally, that Monday morning there I was standing in front of the superintendent. The superintendent said, "I told you not to stay here on Saturdays and Sundays. You're welcome to be here Monday through Friday when you're in school, but why come here on weekends?"

Well, at that time I suspected the superintendent had already made plans to get me out of school, to terminate me, so I wanted to get ahead of him. I told him, "I quit." He said, "You quit?" I said, "Yes, I quit." I felt so silly. I didn't even know why I said it. He said, "O.K., fine. You want to quit. That's fine." He filled out a form and said, "When do you want to quit? Today?" I said, "O.K., fine." He filled it out and there I was--quit school. I was disappointed he didn't try to change my mind.

Well, my parents said, "What's going on here? Why are you quitting school?" I guess they called the school but I didn't go back.

I just couldn't believe I wasn't in school any more. "I'm on my own!" I was only 19 years old and here I was on my own, which seemed fine at the time. So I stayed home and milked the cows, fed the horses, fed the chickens, pigs and there were rabbits. I worked on the farm and would go to Portland every now and then. There were some friends who had graduated from school and were living in Portland and I hung around with them.

In 1945 the war was over and there was a big celebration. I came back to the farm and my mother decided that I ought to have a trade. I was 20 years old and she was concerned that I have something I could do when I got out in the world. She decided I would learn to work as a wool presser. She said if I learned that trade, I could travel anywhere and find work. She had worked on the wool presses for many years and thought it would be good for me. My father was a mechanic on cars but it seemed like black magic to me to be able to tell if the engine sounded right and everything was working O.K. I wasn't sure what I could do myself; I was amazed that some deaf people were able to become mechanics. I didn't have that skill, so I learned to work with the wool presses.

By the time I was 21 years old, I had saved some money and asked, "Well, can I go?" My parents said I could go to San Bernardino, where an aunt and uncle lived, and stay with them. "After that, we'll see." So I got on the bus and about ten miles away, I got off and decided to hitchhike instead. That way I'd have more money left over than if I used my money for the bus. So, instead of going to San Bernardino, I hitchhiked around and finally got to Hollywood. I said goodbye to my ride and there I was. "Hey, I'm in Hollywood!" I felt fantastic. I'd seen the movies, I'd heard so much about it, I'd heard there were many deaf people there. It seemed like a magical world. I was only 21 years old and flying high.

I was running around on Sunset Boulevard, just walking around and I was so thrilled to be in town and see everything. I didn't know where to begin; I was a greenhorn. I was lucky and met a friend who invited me to sleep at his place. Two days later, I went to see my aunt and uncle and stayed with them for a while. I found a job on the wool press and earned about $1.10 an hour. You know how wages were so low long ago. On Saturday and Sunday, I'd get all the money--it was $40 or $45 after they'd taken out all the taxes. I found a way to buy a car, a 1935 Ford. I thought the car would make it easier to get back and forth to where I worked and also help me find a better job. With a car, I could drive to Los Angeles, where there were many deaf people, and go all over town.

A year or so later, I went to the L.A. Deaf Club and I was just fascinated. It reminded me so much of what I had experienced in Oakland when I was in school. Sometimes there would be 200, even 400 people there. They had a bar, they'd have parties and everyone would be talking away. It felt so good just to be able to communicate freely. So I quit my job and moved to Los Angeles and found a job there as a wool presser and I could go to the club more often.

That fall, they had an election for president and someone nominated me. I was only 22 years old at the time. I said, "Me for president?" I hadn't thought of it; I had no experience. They said, "Sure. You're smart, you're full of energy and, besides, the older people will help you carry out your duties." So I ran and won.

Now I had power. I was young and I thought, "I never went to college. Why should I go now I'm president?" So that's when I started to become involved with the deaf world, not just a spectator. I fell in love with it head over heels. I came out with many scars. I got in trouble, I started drinking and going out with girls, I lost my job, I found another job, I had accidents, I was involved with petty thefts, I got in fights, I went out with important people, I'd go to conventions. I was with the Far West Tournament (American Athletic Association of the Deaf Basketball Tournament) and met so many new people. I was even in a movie with Lyndon Rider. He worked in an aircraft factory and produced a movie with deaf actors as a hobby. It was called "Big Tooth." They had cowboys and Indians and I won an "Academy Award" as a joke. It was quite good. That was in 1953.

I loved drama and skits; comedies. When I was president of the L.A. Deaf Club, almost every month or every two weeks we would have a stage play. We would create a play or skits from strange stories or jokes.

Then I met a guy who was going to Gallaudet and he asked, "Why don't you go?" Well, I felt sort of inexperienced. He said, "Don't worry. People at Gallaudet know how to communicate in sign language." I always had an inferiority complex when I met people who had been to Gallaudet and the guy kept pushing me. Finally, I decided I wanted to go, but my mother objected. "Don't go with that boy. Don't go East. Why don't you stay here? We'll go talk to Vocational Rehabilitation and find something for you here to help you get ready for Gallaudet.

Well, I had gone through VR before. The first time a counselor arranged to teach me how to reweave clothing. Say, someone would burn a hole in their expensive suit. I would just cut out a piece of scrap material, like from a cuff, and under a magnifying glass, I would weave threads back in the damaged spot. For that, I got $3 an inch. It was good money but here I was, a big husky guy full of energy, working with delicate little threads. After I learned reweaving, the boss in the wool press shop where I worked heard about it and he took a few orders for me. I'd do the work and we would split the profits. But, really, that work didn't agree with me so I went back to VR and they offered to get me a job working with blind and handicapped people in a factory where they made rubber mats from old tires. It wasn't what I wanted; I didn't want to work with that kind of people.

(The interviewer got up to check the video tape recorder, telling Johnson to keep on talking, but he stopped.)

I don't know why, when someone looks away from me, I stop talking. I freeze. Just like when my mother would turn away while I was talking and tell me to go on, "I'm still listening," but I couldn't. I guess you know how it is with deaf people when a person looks away while you're talking. It just messes them up. I know you have the camera hooked to the TV and I can see myself, but . . . .

Well, where was I? I was talking about that reweaving job and working at the aircraft factory. I thought I'd like to work there but I couldn't get on. Then there was a job making five-gallon tanks for the Army--gasoline tanks with a lid on top. I got that job through a deaf friend and I worked it for awhile as a box-car loader--a lot of brawn and no brains, I guess.

I decided I'd never get anywhere until I dropped all this business and got a college education, so my friend and I set out for Washington. I wanted to see what Gallaudet was like. I was born in Arizona, lived in California and Oregon and had visited Washington State, but that was it. I had never been to the East and I wanted to see for myself.

Somehow, we ended up in Michigan. I met some Gallaudet students who had been kicked out, suspended for six months. They were planning to go back in the fall. They told me what to expect in the tests--math, algebra, English and so forth--and what I needed to do to get in. They gave me a lot of information.

My friend went on but I decided to hang around Michigan for awhile. I got a job as a wool presser. It was very easy to find that kind of work and I thank my mother for helping me learn the trade. It seemed foreign to me to be in the East and I enjoyed the experience. I went to Chicago with some friends and I remember when we got in Chicago, I was looking up at the tall buildings and thinking, "Boy, this is where Al Capone and all the gangsters live." Just like my first time in Hollywood, I was thrilled.

We went to a deaf club and found a place to sit and talk with everyone. These people looked at me and asked, "Where are you from?" and I said, "California." They said, "What!" At that time, there weren't many people from California going back East. The mention of California was like magic. People would picture Hollywood and all that. Nowadays, people don't think twice about California but back in those days, if you were from California you were something special. Many people moved to California from the East but hardly anyone came back.

I felt good and worked for awhile in Benton Harbor, Michigan, then I got a letter from Gallaudet saying it was too late to enter school and I'd have to wait until next year.

The letter depressed me. I had wasted more time and winter was coming with all that snow I had heard about. The Korean War had broken out and my parents sent me a letter saying it would be better to come back home as I might not be able to travel if they rationed gas like in World War II. I decided to go back.

But before I left, I met a pretty girl walking on the street. I saw her signing to another girl so I said, "Hello. How are you?" She said, "Well, who are you?" I told her about visiting from California and planning to go to Gallaudet but I couldn't make it this time around, so . . . She said, "Oh, really?" We were looking at each other and smiling and giggling, so I asked her if she would go out on a date. She accepted. After the date, I took her back to the deaf school and then I left town.

When I got back to California, I finally got a job at the aircraft company so I didn't have to work on the wool presses any more. I was really excited about working on the jet planes; it was a lot more prestigious. There were many other deaf people around and communication was so easy. I just loved being able to talk so freely in the deaf world. We'd have arguments about religion, about politics; we'd make plans for the deaf club; we'd talk about sports. I was so involved with the deaf world, I rarely interacted with hearing people. At work, I would try to write notes and use my speech but communication was so limited. Everywhere I've been, I preferred to work where there were other deaf people.

Well, I sent a letter to my girlfriend in Michigan to ask her if we could get engaged and she said yes. I looked until I found the right ring and sent it to her to finalize our engagement. She had to send it back because it was too small; it was like for her pinky finger. I took it to the store and exchanged it for a larger ring and it fit and we were engaged.

When the students at the deaf shcool found out that she was engaged, they were so excited. They said, "Wow! You're marrying a guy from California. You're so lucky."

I was glad that we had finally got everything worked out; it was a load off my mind. I got two weeks' vacation time and my girlfriend had graduated from school in May of that year and was working. I set out for Michigan planning to marry her and bring her back to California, but when I got there, she said, "I don't know if I can go with you. I'm afraid." I said, "I thought you had agreed we were engaged; you told me in the letter." Finally she said, "Well, I guess so." I asked her mother and father for permission to marry her and they said O.K.

During the next few weeks, I found work as a wool presser to get a little extra money. When she was ready, I quit the job and we drove to San Diego for our honeymoon. Then we went to the L.A. Club for the Deaf. I was still president of the Deaf Club at that time; I'd been president for three years and had been quite active. Everyone congratulated us and patted me on the back. My wife was so excited to see such a different world. Everything was so advanced. She seemed content.

But after we had our first baby, I started to feel that the club life wasn't good for us because everyone was so involved in everybody's business and doing things behind one another's back. I began to avoid going to the club. I started attending church and my wife would bring the baby and follow along with me. That's how we closed the door to the deaf social life. I decided it would be better to focus on my family.

Well, we had two babies in one year; actually, 10 months apart. Fast work, huh? I worked at the aircraft factory and everything was going fine on the job but after awhile I started to feel like my mind was getting warped. I wasn't abreast of what was going on in the deaf world. I was involved only with church and reading newspapers and talking briefly with people on the job. I thought I was becoming unbalanced, so I started going to the club again. I brought my wife and the children and things got back in balance. I still had my religion and my work and the social life; I think I had become more reasonable. I was a very good boy; I led a clean life.

Then I started to take things for granted. I started to lose interest in my work at the aircraft factory. I met one deaf man who was dressed very well and worked as a printer. He seemed very bright. Working at the factory, they paid about average on the wage scale; I'd worked as a wool presser, which was below average, and as a farmer, which was at the bottom of the scale. I wanted to be at the top and I could see that being a printer carried prestige, so I made up my mind that I wanted to be a printer.

When I applied for a job, they told me I had to have been on the job four years before I could join the ITU (International Typographical Union). I couldn't afford to support my wife and two children and go through training on a meager salary, so I found a job as an apprentice working on offset presses. They used two machines, an AB Dick and a 1250 Addressograph. I was so awkward. They would try to teach me while I'd be sweeping up around the office. I was responsible for straightening up the paper and putting it in the feeder and working with the press operators. I worked there two years and finally started to learn something about the lithograph presses. But really, for two years I had to lie to get by. Work would be done and they would lay me off. What I would do was when I applied for another job, I would say, "Sure, I have plenty of skill working with the offset presses; I know how to use the equipment. So the boss would say "Great" and then they'd put me on the job. Well, I'd start working with the machine and would not know what was what and the boss would catch me and say, "What are you doing? I thought you knew how to work this press." I'd say, "Oh, umm, this machine is a little different from the other presses I used. I'm not used to working with this kind." So, when the boss wasn't looking, I would ask one of my co-workers to show me how to work the things on the press. He would put down his work and show me how. But within two weeks, I was fired. I had about 10 different jobs; I'd get fired from one right after another. I would work on a job for one hour, another for four months. And through all this, I finally learned how to be a printer. I should have gone to trade school, but nobody gave me any advice. I would laugh it off and smile at my friends and put on a show, but inside I felt hollow.

About my changing jobs so much? (Johnson picked up a can of Coca-Cola to show to the video camera.) You know, back in the 1880s, they used to use cocaine in Coke. It's true; I read about it in a history book. In later years, they changed to caffeine. (Reflectively, a bit hesitant to continue.) Yes, I mentioned being a peddler. Maybe talking about it will help others so I'll explain what happened.

It was at the time I was living on the family farm, after I quit school. I didn't have anything to do. I went to Portland and met a man in a bar. The bar was owned by an Italian deaf man and his mother. I'd go into that bar when I was only 19 years old and he'd say, "Hey, you're a minor; you have to be 21 years old to drink. I don't want to lose my license." So I'd sit there and kind of hide my drink or drink Coke from a bottle.

This deaf man came in and sat by me and began talking. "You don't have a job, huh? You want to earn some money, let me show you how." So he brought out a strip of bandaids and a little card which said, "Please buy these bandaids and give what you wish. I am deaf. Thank you and God bless you." I said, "I don't know how to do this." He took me to another bar and said, "Look at that man, the guy smoking a pipe. Go ask him." Well, I was nervous but I went and passed out the cards to everyone there, waited a little bit and then went and collected all the money. I couldn't believe all the money I got; I got $2.20 or $2.35 in maybe four minutes work. I brought the money back to the guy and he said, "No, no, that's your money to keep. I just showed you that for an example. You keep the money." "You really mean this is my money? You're gonna give it to me? I like that. This is easy work; you can get money quick this way."

At that time, I didn't know that many deaf people were opposed to peddling; I thought it was a proper job. I couldn't see anything wrong. After all, stores sold bandaids. Some people don't have time to go to the store, so they can buy from me. I rationalized and thought it was fine.

So I started peddling and taking in money, buying more supplies, peddling them off. I was able to get a car, I saved up quite a lot of money and said to myself, "Now I'm going to start supporting my aged mother and father. Really, they were in their 40s at that time, but to me they seemed so old. I thought, well, they should retire and why don't I support them? So, I came up to my father and said, "Look at all this money I got. You can stop working. I'm your son and it's my turn to support you."

My father was working as a mechanic and he said, "Oh, shut up. You can't make a living with that junk."

When I saw his negative reaction, I said, "Sure I can. Look, the world is huge and all that money out there is just waiting for me to pick up. I can go on any time I want, I can set my own schedules, I don't have to fill out a time card or be a slave to some boss and follow his rules. Look, I'm a salesman."

So I traveled around and peddled. Then after meeting several deaf people and seeing their reactions, my conscience began to bother me. They would say, "You're a peddler. Why don't you go out and get a job?" Everyone said it was just obnoxious bad work. I couldn't understand why; it seemed O.K. to me and I didn't see why everyone was against it. Then I started to realize there were two different kinds of deaf people. The first group would say, "Work hard and try to earn a living the best way you can," and the other class of people, I began to realize, were bums. their attitude with money was "easy come, easy go." They would get it and waste it on drinking and parties and then they'd go and peddle some more. They didn't take care of themselves. Also, they gave deaf people a bad image. Hearing people would think all deaf people were like that.

I saw another group of deaf people. Some had their own shops. I remember going into one and one guy said, "See that man over there. He used to be a peddler." I talked to him and he said, "Yes, I traveled all 48 states in 11 years peddling and saving my money; now I have my own shoe repair shop. I used the money I saved from peddling to buy my business. He became my ideal.

You must understand this was before we had SSI and SSDI or welfare. If you got unemployment insurance, you got only $11 or $12 a week and you couldn't live on that. But most deaf people still had a negative reaction to peddling and it caused a lot of confusion for me. I began to understand why my mother had forced me to learn wool pressing so I could make an honest living.

A few years later, after I got married and was working at the aircraft factory, the workers went on strike. The union gave us some money to buy groceries but it wasn't enough. I tried to get money from unemployment insurance but they told me no because I was on strike; it was my problem.

There I was with a wife and two babies and a house with rent due, so I went to Pasadena and decided to go ahead and do it again. I wrote up a card that said, "I'm deaf. Please buy what you wish for 25c." Then I went into Woolworth and bought a box of bandaids. Once I got out of the store, I threw the paper bag away and when I saw someone come up, I offered him some bandaids and the card and he'd give me 25c. Then I went back to Woolworth again and bought two more boxes of bandaids. After selling them, I went back to the store and bought five more boxes. The saleswoman looked at me but didn't see any cuts. Finally, I came back and bought 10 more boxes. The woman didn't know what to think. An hour later, I had earned $12. I went back to the Woolworth store but the woman said that was all she had. "I've been working here five years and you bought more bandaids than I can sell in a year." I told her what I had been doing and she said, "You're a better salesman than me. Why don't you take my place and I'll start selling on the street."

So I brought the money and bought all kinds of groceries. I came home and set down the groceries and said, "Here they are." Well, my wife gave me a big hug and a kiss and I was able to relax while they went ahead with the strike. They could go ahead and strike as long as they wanted. But one week later, the strike was over and I went back to work.

I don't think I'll ever peddle again, but if I absolutely had to, I'd do it honestly. I'd buy a license. I met one famous deaf person who had peddled all over the country and helped other deaf people get started. He wasn't ashamed of it. He told people it was just a business. He came up to me and said, "Boy, you have a lot of skill for that. Why don't you work under me? I'll give you a car. I'll set you up with a crew." The offer was quite tempting. I thought about it, but decided to wait awhile.

I had a friend who joined with that guy and they went off. I asked my friend to let me know what happened. Well, two or three months later, I got a letter from him saying, "Don't go. It's a lot of trouble and there's stealing involved. You're being watched, there's no security, you gotta pay for this and this and this." He said I'd be better off staying where I was. I decided that if I ever wanted to peddle, I'd do it independently rather than under another person. In some ways, it was a learning experience.

Years later, I got a letter from the government saying you can apply for SSI. I didn't know what it meant. I knew about Social Security but this SSI, I had never heard about it. It stood for Supplemental Security Income. I think Carter was president at that time and letters went out all over the country. Well, where I worked as a printer, it had closed down and I was looking for another job. I decided to take a break for awhile and collect Unemployment and SSI. I went with an interpreter to find out if I could get SSI. "Oh, you're deaf; you don't have a job and you can't find a job here?" It was that easy. I took it as my pension and there was a lot less stress.

At that time, I was president of a chapter of the California Association of the Deaf. San Diego State University sent me a letter inviting me to represent the deaf community on a panel with other handicaped representatives. There was one from the Veterans Administration; he was blind. There were people in wheelchairs, cerebral palsied, mentally ill. I think it was the beginning of my involvement with hearing people and politics. Before that time, I was always involved with the deaf world. They let us know that the Federal government was giving grants to handicapped people and they wanted to divide it among the various groups. They said, "We know you deaf people need money, but what do you need it for? What, exactly, do deaf people want?

We'd always wanted a social hall of our own. The deaf people in San Diego were always renting halls. They talked about it but said the government couldn't use the money for social halls; it had to be for useful services, like helping people find jobs.

After a year, the San Diego city administrator gave us $14,000 to start a telephone answering relay service so that deaf people could contact hearing people without having to drive so far or ask neighbors to help. We thought the services would be a good beginning. Later, we could add other services, such as counseling, and each year add another service until we had a community service center for the deaf.

I volunteered to work as a receptionist for the service center. I enjoyed it very much. The deaf people would come in and say, "I need help." "I'm looking for a job." "I'm having problems with my finances." Or they would talk about having problems with their families, getting in trouble with the police, winding up in jail, drinking problems, having no future, being old and alone, someone was trying to sue them, they were having problems in court and needed an interpreter. Well, they would come to me first, then I'd introduce them to the director and say they needed help.

I became more and more interested in that kind of work; I realized that was what I'd been looking for all my life. I enjoyed sitting behind a desk, having people come up to me to ask for help rather than me having to stand in front of the desk, so I decided that was the kind of work I wanted.

One thing that really helped me was Section 504 of the Federal law which prohibited discrimination against handicapped people. The deaf people had a right to equal access to jobs. I thought fine and good, now I can become a social worker if I want to. Really, at that time I didn't think about social work; I was thinking more about a counselor position or what they called a peer counselor. I got several job offers. Remember, I told you I hadn't been to college, I just had experience and common sense. They waived the requirement for a degree because they needed deaf workers at that time.

Years later, Gallaudet College began churning out so many graduates from their School of Social Work that I was pushed out of a job. They let me know that these new applicants had degrees and certificates so they said, "So long."

I was angry. It made me realize that I really should have gone to college. Why didn't anyone tell me that before? Well, I went back to VR and the counselor said, "Why don't you go to college?" I thought it was too late; I was about ready for the grave. I was 55 years old. My VR counselor still urged me to go. I had taken some courses at night at some hearing colleges and had been trying to learn a little bit more. I thought perhaps I could get an AA degree, but my counselor urged me, "Why don't you go to Gallaudet? You'll enjoy it. They have deaf teachers and you can get a B.A. degree."

At that time, I had been having problems with my wife. I was getting SSI and was drinking again. I became more of a nag. I'd say to my wife, "Why don't you get a job? The children are old enough and can take care of themselves. Why don't we both find jobs? I was becoming frustrated and hoping she would get a job and help with the finances so we could buy our own home. I was tired of having to move from apartment to apartment and always renting. We always seemed to be just getting by.

On the job, I would spend all day talking. By the time I arrived home, I'd be pooped. Well, my wife would have been home all day and when night came, she'd be eager to tell me everything that happened and I'd say, "I really don't want to listen right now; I want to watch TV."

Now that I've been able to analyze the dynamics of our relationship more, I can see how after working all day, I felt like it was time to give my hands a break; whereas, my wife would have had no one to talk to and when I'd get home, she would be ready to tell me everything. I guess it's just the same with hearing people. The husband may have talked all day on the telephone at work and when he gets home, he doesn't feel like talking or listening.

Well, my VR counselor was a hearing person but due to illness, he became deaf when he was about 39 years old. He became deaf but he could still talk just fine. But since he was deaf, I felt comfortable with him even though he signed kinda funny. Then some doctors came up with a new technique where they implanted wires in the side of his head, like in the science fiction movies where they'd have a robot with wires sticking out of his head. It was kind of weird. They hooked it up to a hearing device so the VR counselor could hear again. If you took out the wire, he'd be deaf again. He had no problems of adjusting because he could remember speech.

Now that he's a hearing person again, I feel like a kind of wall has come between us. When he was deaf, I felt like welcoming him into our group but once he became hearing, I set up that wall. I guess it's my fault; when I meet a hearing person, I only get so close. It's happened before that I'll be talking away with somebody and we'll be signing all along and no barriers at all. Then suddenly I realize he's hearing and instantly in my mind, I set up that wall. I shouldn't do that. I don't know why I do it.

Anyway, that VR counselor kept urging me to go to college. I thought about going to one of the schools on the West Coast, where I could attend a couple of nights a week, but by that time, my daughters were out in the world, I was alone and had SSI to help. I decided to go to Gallaudet and get it over with.

Once I got to Gallaudet, I felt fine. I thought I'd be the only old man on campus but I found out that there were several others the same age as me and I felt more comfortable. I wasn't sure how the young people would accept me, but they seemed to like me. Now I feel like a fish in water on campus. If I graduate, someone is going to fish me out of here because I don't want to go back to the cold, cruel, harsh world. I'll look for excuses to stay as long as possible.

It has made a great impression on me to be able to communicate so freely, to laugh and talk with people I see all the time. It's like being in a deaf world every minute of the day. Back home, there are almost no deaf people on the street. When I wanted to talk to someone, I'd have to drive over to that person's house and visit. I'd be able to go to the deaf club only every other week or so, then I'd have to pay to get in, have a little food, sit down and chat. I'd have so much to talk about but time was short and I'd have to get home. Here, it's like I have all the time in the world. You can chat, you can share news, express yourself. People listen and I can listen to what other people say and learn so much through the sharing of experiences. That's how hearing people learn; they can talk so freely and listen to one another on the street. Communication opportunities are much more limited for deaf people. So that's why I said someone is going to have to push me out of Gallaudet. When I do have to leave, I'll look for a big city where they are many deaf people around. That way, I'll feel more comfortable.

I don't know if I want to go back West or stay in the East. I would like to be close to my family so I can watch my grandchildren grow up. I have four now. Another thing to consider is I'll be able to get along all right by myself. I hope to get to a point where I can pick the job I want.

Deaf people will always be part of the deaf community. You can't erase the deaf community no matter how many mainstream programs or new electronic devices they stick in your head. No matter what, you'll still have the deaf community. It doesn't matter whether deaf people use sign language or speech, whether they're intellectuals or slow learners, whether they're socially involved or isolated, they will eventually gyrate to the deaf community. It's true that more and more hearing people are learning sign language and the deaf and hearing associate more together; it's not like in the old days at residential schools for the deaf. There will be changes in social conditions, but deaf culture will stay the same.

Gail Hyde
Project Coordinator, Web Design