CASES OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY
Traveling for the Deaf—When the Deaf Man Saved a Leg
for Someone Else—The Cornetist Who Couldn’t Play a
Note—When the Deaf Meet the Drunk.
Some deaf persons make the mistake of concluding that the affliction
chains them at home and that they should not attempt to travel. This is
wrong, for they thus lose many extraordinary adventures. It is better
for us to get about if possible, and to take our chances with the world.
I travel about as freely as any man with perfect ears might do, and
thus see much of human nature which would otherwise be lost to me. No
adventures are more amusing or exciting than those which start with
mistaken identity. I have come to think that in the molding or shaping
of humanity comparatively few patterns are really used, judging from the
number of times that I and other deaf men have been mistaken for strange
persons in the mental shuffle of ordinary minds. The man with good ears
can usually explain at once, but we do not always understand, and we are
led into embarrassing situations.
Once years ago I went to the country to spend the night with an old
friend. It was dark when we reached the little town where I was to meet
“an elderly man with a gray beard,” who would drive me to the farm. We
deaf are careful to have all such arrangements understood beforehand.
It was a black, gloomy night, and there were no lights at the little
station except the lanterns carried by the agent and a few farmers. The
deaf man is at his worst in darkness. It holds unimaginable terrors for
him. Perhaps I should say perplexities, for the deaf are rarely afraid.
Most of us do more or less lip-reading, whether we make a study of the
science or not, and through long habit we come to make use of the eyes
without realizing how largely our lives must depend upon light. Thus,
when suddenly plunged into darkness, we are lost. I carried in my hand a
small black case containing the electric instrument which I used as an
aid to hearing, and this proved my undoing. Such a case may be accepted
as professional evidence; it may contain only a lunch or your laundry,
but lawyers and physicians also carry similar ones. As I stood looking
about in the dim light an elderly man with a short beard stepped up and
held his lantern so as to view my face. I saw his lips frame the words:
“Come on; hurry! We are all waiting.”
I supposed he referred to supper, for I knew my friend had a very
orderly and precise wife, who is a little deaf. One must be promptly on
time in keeping appointments with such a character. The old man caught
me by the arm, hurried me to a carriage, and fairly bundled me into it.
He paid no attention to my questions, but jumped into the front seat and
urged on the horse to full speed. The lantern swinging from the front
axle went out as we bumped off into the darkness over mud holes and ruts
without number. I tried to get my electric device into operation, but
the plug had dropped out of place and I could not make connections. So
on we plunged. Soon I found that the old man in front was nearly as deaf
as I. The combination of two deaf men in the darkness rushing through
what was to one of them an absolutely unknown country should have been
thrilling, but the deaf man rarely experiences a thrill; he must wait
for some one to tell him what it is all about. As usual, my mind worked
back for some comparative incident.
I remembered two. The year before I had gone to Canada during the
Winter. A farmer met me at the station after dark. It was very cold,
and the body of a closed carriage which had been put on runners was
filled with straw. This made a warm, comfortable nest, and the farmer
got in with me, while his son sat up in front to drive. The same
plug to my hearing device had dropped out, and in order to give me
a light for finding it, my host struck a match. He held it too long
and it burned his fingers. Then it fell into the straw and started a
great blaze. No two men ever showed greater activity than we did as
we plunged out of that carriage and threw in snow until the fire was
extinguished. That scene came to my mind, and then followed the story
by Ian Maclaren of the great surgeon who came up from London to perform
an operation, and was carried off into the wilderness against his will
by the local doctor.
We drove several miles, it seemed to me, and then suddenly turned into
the yard of a farmhouse. I felt the carriage shudder as the wheel grazed
the stone gatepost. The door opened and a long splinter of light darted
out upon us. Two women hurried down the walk and helped me out of the
carriage. They were strangers to me, and now I was sure that I was in
the midst of an exciting adventure, not at the home of my friend. The
women escorted me to the house, where I found two solemn-faced gentlemen
evidently waiting for me. One of them held up a finger and beckoned me
into an adjoining room, where upon a bed lay a man who glared at me with
no agreeable face. By this time I had my “acousticon” in working order,
and as this man evidently had something to say, I held the mouthpiece
down to him and heard him shout:
“_I tell you I won’t have it cut off!_”
The two men who had brought me in were very much startled when the exact
contents of my black case was revealed. They glanced at each other and
then promptly escorted me out of the room. We went into the kitchen,
and there, beside the stove, the mystery was explained. One of the men
looked curiously at me and then asked:
“Are you not Dr. Newton of New York?”
I hastened to explain that I had never before heard of Dr. Newton. Then
it was revealed to me that these men were country doctors, waiting to
hold a consultation with the great surgeon, who had been expected to
arrive on my train. The man on the bed had had serious trouble with his
knee. These physicians had agreed that the limb must be removed, yet
both hesitated to perform a complicated operation. Hence, the surgeon
was coming to do it. The sick man’s father-in-law had gone to the
station; he had been instructed to bring back a man of medium size, who
said little and carried a black case of surgical instruments. I was to
look for an elderly man with a gray beard. Father-in-law and I had mixed
our signals.
It took me but a short time to convince these physicians that I could
not fill the bill or saw off the leg. At last it developed that the
actual surgeon was detained and could not come until the following day.
The man on the bed forgot his terror and laughed when I told him my
story, and it gave him the fighting courage to compel his wife to
telegraph the surgeon not to come at all. But those doctors acted as
though I had deprived them of their prey. In my capacity as substitute
surgeon I gave the patient the best advice I knew of:
“As one afflicted man to another, I advise you to hang right on to your
leg. Try the faith cure and make yourself believe it can be saved.”
“You bet I will. They’ll have to cut my throat before they cut this leg
off!”
I saw him some years later. He carried a cane and limped, but he still
had two legs.
“They never cut it off,” he reported. “They put a silver cord in the
joint, and it has held ever since. It’s a little stiff—but _it’s a
leg_. I guess if Pa Morton and you hadn’t been deaf that night they
would have finished the job.”
I have heard of a deaf man who had an experience somewhat similar to
this. He also left the train one dark, stormy night in a good-sized
city. He was a stranger, so he was quite unfamiliar with the place.
He carried a small black case containing his hearing device and a
few toilet articles. As he stood in the dim light looking about for
his friends, two men rushed up to him, talking quite excitedly; they
grasped him by the arms and hurried him outside the station. Unable to
understand the performance, the deaf man followed, trying to explain
that he was waiting for his friends. Almost before he knew it he found
himself inside a car with these excitable gentlemen, driving rapidly
through the streets. Of course, you wonder why deaf men under such
conditions do not explain and break away.
“You wouldn’t catch _me_ in any such situation,” says my friend Jones.
“I’d soon make ’em understand.”
There is only one thing the matter with Jones’ point of view—he has
never lived in the silence. Let him try that and he will understand that
philosophy assumes a form of patience in such situations. We are usually
quite helpless in the darkness, and when we go among strangers we must
either suspect everyone who approaches us or consider him a friend. Most
of us conclude from experience that it is wiser to drop suspicion and
assume that the majority of human beings are honest. And as the great
emotion of fear apparently enters the brain through the ear, we are apt
to be calm under most extraordinary conditions.
We left our puzzled deaf man rushing in a car through the streets of an
unknown city. The auto finally entered a narrow, dark alley and stopped
before what appeared to be the back door of a large building. The deaf
man was urged out of the car by his nervous companions and was hurried
up a steep stairway. They blundered through several dark passages and
finally came out on the stage of a theater, where they stood in the
wings and watched a long-haired pianist in the center of the stage
laboring to unlock the keys of a piano in a way calculated to let loose
a horde of imprisoned melodies. A vast audience filled the house.
A man who appeared to be master of ceremonies rushed up to the deaf man
and wrote on his notebook:
“Delighted to see you! We feared you were not coming. Your first number
is next on the program. We will give the professor an encore while you
are preparing.”
The poor deaf man could only stare and protest in wonder, but soon a
ponderous German puffed up the stairs in great excitement. He pulled
the unfortunate victim back among the heaps of properties and roared,
shaking his fist:
“I am the cornetist what plays here! What do you mean, you impostor, who
try to take my place?”
After they had succeeded in pacifying the German they explained to the
deaf man. They had engaged a celebrated cornet soloist for the benefit
concert, and had sent a reception committee to the station to meet him.
It was late, and these nervous men had never seen the great musician.
They did see a dignified man carrying what looked like a case for
musical instruments. When they asked him if he was Professor Hoffman,
the deaf man merely nodded his head as the quickest way to get rid of
them, and they naturally rushed him to the theater without further ado,
leaving the musician to find his way alone.
This deaf man had a keen sense of humor, and greatly relished the
situation, but the German had never recognized a joke in his life, so he
continued to glare at the “impostor.” After a most humble apology about
all the committee could offer as recompense was an invitation to the
deaf man to _remain and hear the music_. He remained and was interested
in seeing his musical rival blow himself up to nearly twice his natural
size in order properly to express his feelings through his cornet.
Many of his most amusing and at the same time tragic experiences come
to the deaf man through his association with drunken people. We meet
them in all our travels, and I must confess that I have never found a
more interesting study than that which deals with the effect of alcohol
upon the human character. A drunken deaf man is a most pitiable object,
but to the observant deaf man his drunken neighbor presents a case
of infinite wonder and variety. We see men naturally grim and silent
singing ridiculous songs, or attempting to dance. Men usually profane,
making no pretense at religion, suddenly quote from the Scriptures
devoutly. Quarrelsome men of rough, ugly temper overwhelm us with
attentions, while men of kindly nature challenge us to fight. We see it
all, and must judge such people mainly by their actions.
Usually drunken men begin to talk to me. When they find that I do not
reply they generally foam over with sorrow or anger, and it is hard to
decide which is the more embarrassing. Once in a strange town when I
was looking about for my friends the town drunkard accosted me. I have
never known just what he did want, but when I explained that I was a
stranger looking for a certain street he volunteered to show me the way.
So he caught my arm and led me up the street, staggering against me at
every other step, and talking loudly. And on our way we met my friend
and his wife, sober and dignified persons who were horrified at my
appearance under the escort of the town drunkard. In his sober moments
my guide would never have thought of associating with these aristocratic
representatives of Main Street, but now he greeted them jovially, as old
friends. It was a most embarrassing situation, and my friends, being
absolutely devoid of humor, have never felt quite sure of me since the
incident.
A drunken man once approached a friend of mine with a remark which he
did not understand, as he was deaf, so he merely shook his head and
turned away. The intoxicated man, full of fight, followed, shouting
challenges and pulling off his coat. A crowd gathered about them, and
two rough-looking fellows got behind the deaf man and offered to act as
his seconds. One of them advised:
“Give him an upper cut on the chin whisker and follow it up with one on
his basket!”
What the deaf man did was to pull out his notebook and pencil and give
them to the drunken man, who now was quite ready for the fray.
“I cannot hear a word you say. Write it out for me!”
This is offered as a suggestion to the peace-makers, that they may be
more blessed than ever before. Whenever a man curses you, and you want
to gain time—ask him to write it out! Here the drunken man looked
curiously at the deaf man and then at the notebook. He pondered deeply
for a moment and then slowly began to put on his coat. He walked
unsteadily to a little box nearby, mounted it carefully and delivered a
short speech something like this:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am wrong. This man is not my enemy, but my
friend, made so through affliction. He is in need. I suggest that we
all chip in and help him on his way. I’ll start with the price of three
drinks! Come now, loosen up! He who giveth let him give quickly!”
Once I lived in the house with a kindly man who had a fierce craving for
drink. He really fought against it, but it mastered him again and again.
One year at Christmas he had gone for several months without drinking.
He was like a consumptive who imagines that he has overcome his disease
while it still lurks within only waiting for favorable conditions to
blaze up. A few days before Christmas several old friends stepped out
of his wild past and broke down the man’s self-control. When I came
home he was “roaring drunk”—I had never seen him in worse condition.
As I came up the stairs he rushed suddenly out of his room and caught
me unexpectedly by the collar. As I was taken off my guard he was able
to pull me inside the room, shut the door and throw himself against it.
At that time I could hear much of what he said. He glared at me like
a maniac. His fists were clenched, his eyes were bloodshot and he was
altogether a terrifying and a pitiful spectacle.
I expected him to throw himself upon me, and I was ready. I had no idea
wherein I had offended, and I did not want to hurt him. I derided that
when he sprang at me I would sidestep and give him the “French trip”
which I had learned in the lumber camps. That will floor anyone who is
not prepared for it, and I knew that I could tie him if necessary. But
there was no fight in him except the frightful battle he was waging
against himself. His fists opened and he held out his hands appealingly.
“_I’ve brought you here to pray for me!_ Get right down on your knees
and pray that I may be a man and not a skunk!”
Well—take it as you like, the deaf man has his share of excitement with
all sorts of men. There seems to be no good reason that we should lead
uneventful lives! I have often wondered what various pompous friends
of mine would have done with the above situation. Or I should like to
see them master another incident which involved the same man. Once he
approached me as I stood talking with visitors.
“I want you to do me a favor!” he said in the thick, eager voice of the
intoxicated. “I want you to kick me, and kick me hard!” As I did not
reply he thought I had not heard, so taking off his coat he backed up to
me in a way any deaf person could understand!