Deaf Schools: TRUE-BUSINESS Deaf?—20 Years Later

April 26, 2018

By Trudy Suggs

Read the 1997 article or the 2007 article. Scroll down to see my thoughts about this year’s results.

For full text, contact the author.

(For a larger version, click on chart.)

A survey sent to 40 schools in the fall of 1997, revealed, to many people’s surprise, that no deaf school had a majority of employees who were deaf. Out of the 21 schools that responded, the highest percentage was 46% (at the Model Secondary School for the Deaf and California School for the Deaf in Fremont) — not even 50%. Following a close second was Maryland School for the Deaf, at 41%.

Ten years later, in the fall of 2007, this same questionnaire was distributed to 57 schools, with 46 responding. The highest percentage was 55% for Maryland School for the Deaf, with Indiana and Washington at 50%. Even so, the numbers remained the same or even lower at many other schools.

In the fall of 2017, this questionnaire was once again distributed, with 27 schools responding. In the past, only residential schools were contacted, but for this year, charter schools were also contacted.

The deaf staff percentages were higher this time around, with the highest percentage going to the Clerc Center (Kendall Demonstration Elementary School and Model Secondary School for the Deaf) at 78% of employees being deaf, and two charter schools following at 69% and 66%. Next were Maryland at 65%, Indiana at 64%, and California (Fremont) at 63%. There has also been an increase in deaf superintendents, with the number growing to 24 in 2017, according to a database compiled by Joey Baer, who is Deaf and works at the California School for the Deaf in Fremont.

However, it is crucial to recognize that the statistics include all levels of employment — from entry-level to administration. If each set of data were isolated by administration only, or teachers only, the numbers would likely paint a different picture. Just take a look at California School for the Deaf in Fremont’s breakdown of its numbers:

For a text version of this chart, please contact the author.

(For a larger version, click on chart.)

A light-skinned man with black-rimmed glasses and a salt-and-pepper goatee smiles into the camera. He is wearing a suit and a PSD pin.

Peter Bailey

Peter Bailey, Head of the Pennsylvania School for the Deaf in Philadelphia and Deaf himself, attributes the increase in the hiring of deaf employees to “the timing of modern changes. People are more aware of what deaf students need, such as full access and seeing adults just like them. In the past, we had limited resources and options, but now they’re more broad.”

Teaching Profession No Longer Top Choice
The low numbers of deaf employees at many deaf schools may be credited to a number of reasons, such as location, student population, and credentials, according to Bailey. “Schools in rural areas may have a harder time recruiting deaf employees, while schools in large cities generally have more choice in application pools. This is true for any job, really.”

A light-skinned, bearded man with brown hair is in a suit, smiling at the camera.

Dr. Bradley Porché

Dr. Bradley Porché, Superintendent at the New York School for the Deaf in White Plains (more commonly known as Fanwood), agrees. “Schools with larger student bodies typically have more applicants than those with smaller bodies, but at the same time, we’re not seeing the same pipeline churning out teachers as we have historically.”

Porché,who has been at Fanwood for nine months, cites increased accessibility and media visibility as possible reasons. “Social media may be a factor, in that younger generations are seeing people like Nyle DiMarco and other deaf people rise to incredible success,” he explains. “There are so many successful deaf people in a variety of fields, and as the media has reported, the teaching field is severely underrated, underpaid, and unappreciated. Teaching is an incredible profession, one that should be celebrated and respected. Yet many deaf people, just like their hearing counterparts, see the drawbacks to teaching and choose to go into other fields because they don’t want all the stress that comes with teaching.”

This echoes an observation by Texas School for the Deaf Superintendent Claire Bugen, who said in the 2007 article, “Clearly, deaf people have many more career choices today than in the past, and with changing technology I suspect that will only continue to be a factor – that’s a good thing. Salaries in education, on the other hand, have not kept pace with the private sector and many young people both want and need to be paid better than most educators are paid. Now with the requirements of highly qualified teaching under various laws, our already shrinking pool of qualified deaf and hearing candidates is compromised even further, which will likely cause more challenges in the years ahead.”

In a September 2016 article in The Washington Post, a new study revealed that there was a nationwide shortage of teachers. The article reported, “Although nearly every state has reported teacher shortages to the U.S. Department of Education, the problem is much more pronounced in some states than others. But across the country, the shortages are disproportionately felt in special education, math and science, and in bilingual and English-language education.”

A post by McDaniel College about its Deaf Education program

Dean of Graduate and Professional Studies at McDaniel College J. Michael Tyler wrote in an April 4th Facebook post that the McDaniel deaf education graduate program was facing an uncertain future.

This shortage has affected deaf education training programs as well. On April 4, the dean of graduate and professional studies at McDaniel College, J. Michael Tyler wrote in an announcement shared on Facebook, “Due to ongoing enrollment issues in Deaf Education [sic], a decision has been made that we will be unable to start a new class in the fall of 2018. We will start a new class this summer, and all introductory courses will be offered. Graduate and Professional Studies faculty will work in the next 90 days to determine if there is a viable path forward for this program.” McDaniel, formerly Western Maryland College, has been a popular graduate program for those wanting to become teachers in deaf education.

Tyler further wrote, “Enrollment in Deaf Education [sic] has been in decline for a number of years. While low enrollments have created serious revenue issues, ultimately the College’s ability to deliver a strong, vibrant program that meets the needs of students pushed us to this point.”

Credentials
Credentials and certifications continue to be a challenge, as in 1997 and 2007. Testing standards have become so difficult that many choose to become paraprofessionals or teachers in fields that don’t require testing. In an attempt to address this, Minnesota passed a state law permitting deaf teachers to request exemption from the reading and writing portions of the examination process in order to gain licensure. As outlined on the Minnesota Professional Educator Licensing and Standards Board, “…an applicant who is deaf must complete the skills examination in mathematics adopted by the Professional Educator Licensing and Standards Board. The reading and writing skills requirements can be completed by either passing the examinations adopted by the Professional Educator Licensing and Standards Board or by an evaluation completed by board approved colleges and universities of demonstrated proficiency in the expressive and receptive use of alternative communication systems, including sign language and finger spelling as measured by the Sign Communications Proficiency Inventory (SCPI).

Bailey came to PSD after the school experienced numerous challenging years in which it had several heads of the school, community protests over board decisions, and strained community relations.  In under two years, Bailey has managed to repair many strained relationships, and increase the number of applicants by offering incentives for employees to pursue teaching credentials through reimbursed tuition, tutoring, and other options. “Whatever I can do to help encourage the growth of teachers who our students can identify with, the better,” he says.

Meanwhile, Porché points out that he’d like to see teachers be hired based on their work experience and knowledge, rather than testing. “I’ll always ask to see a teacher’s portfolio, because that tells me far more than what a teacher’s test scores do,” he says. “I always tell state legislature that teaching is an art and a skill that is acquired, not something you can just be tested on.”

The Lack of Diversity Among Employees
Another challenge is the lack of diversity among employees at deaf schools. Bailey says that at PSD, “We have about 74% of students of color, yet only 46% staff of color. The challenge for me then becomes: do I hire people who are deaf, or people who are of color? Ideally, we should hire deaf people of color, which I want to do. But we can only make do with what we have in our application pool, and try to reach out to diverse communities as much as possible.”

And this is a step Bailey takes seriously. He attended the National Black Deaf Advocates conference in Baltimore last year, and recalls, “I was surprised to see that only two superintendents were in attendance, and we were both deaf.” The other was Donald Galloway, Superintendent of the Lexington School for the Deaf in New York City. “Why were we the only ones there? How can we ensure that our schools serve underserved and oppressed populations if we don’t reach out? And how can we hire more people of color if we don’t pursue them?” Bailey asks.

Language Deprivation and Outreach Efforts
Yet another obstacle is that many deaf schools have become a last resort, rather than a first resort. Deaf students often come to deaf schools later in their educational years, severely delayed in language, socialization, and world knowledge. As a result, schools invest more time trying to catch these students up before they graduate.

Bailey notes that there are over a thousand students who are deaf or hard of hearing in the Philadelphia area, yet only 200 attend PSD. “Where are they? How do we bring them in earlier in their education, rather than later in their education after they’ve experienced language deprivation and delay, not to mention a lack of socialization or opportunities?”

This is a problem that Porché wrestles with. “A lot of time students are language deprived because of the lack of access to language at an early age. This places a stress on schools to try to address this language deficiency and to ensure that students receive quality education.” He notes that Fanwood shares with the community and parents that “deaf and hard of hearing children should be exposed to American Sign Language at an early age as a safety net regardless of hearing level or communication choices. We need to work with everyone to reach a common dialogue on how to best support deaf children.”

Bailey is also working hard to ensure that PSD becomes attractive not only to families of deaf and hard of hearing children, but also to potential employees and community members. As part of outreach efforts, Bailey has developed a solid relationship with neighboring communities, legislators, and even the Chamber of Commerce.

“By becoming more visible, it’s more possible we can reach out to more families,” he says. He also releases a monthly vlog on the PSD website, which has helped strengthen relations between stakeholders and the school board. “It’s my hope that with increased visibility, we’ll have increased student enrollment, which will naturally lead to increased employment opportunities and a greater applicant pool.”

Rising to the Challenges
Porché believes there are many solutions to the long list of challenges facing deaf schools.  “One potential solution is to invest more in early childhood education via an outreach or intervention program that would guarantee success across the spectrum,” he says. “We also need to ensure that key people who are deaf or hard of hearing are more involved in outreach so that parents are exposed to more than just a language. They need to see that there are successful deaf people in every area possible.”

Porché further suggests working at the legislative level to ensure that mandates for academic standards and language access are enacted, such as those supported by the Conference of Educational Administrators of Schools and Programs for the Deaf (CEASD): the Child First, Alice Cogswell, and Macy Sullivan Acts.

Porché also points to the Language Equality and Acquisition for Deaf Kids (LEAD-K), a nonprofit organization that is rapidly gaining momentum. LEAD-K states on its website that it works to “end language deprivation through information to families about language milestones and assessments that measure language milestone achievements, and data collection that holds our current education system accountable.” LEAD-K also works to ensure that all deaf and hard of hearing children, regardless of communication choice, are kindergarten-ready.

Indeed, more and more schools have turned to early hearing detection and intervention programs, ensuring that their schools are included in informational packets given to parents of newborn babies identified as deaf. For example, in Maryland, all parents are automatically referred to the Maryland School for the Deaf when their babies are identified as deaf.  More schools are also offering programs designed to accommodate students with cochlear implants.

Despite all the challenges, it is certainly motivating to note that there are now 23* superintendents of deaf schools or charter schools who are deaf. Porché, who is Deaf and was raised in a mainstreamed setting in Louisiana, says, “I grew up not having [access to] all the features a deaf school provides, such as full communication access, athletics, deaf role models, and much more. I’m now in a position to make sure every deaf or hard of hearing child has these opportunities. My leadership style is a reflection of my upbringing in a flawed deaf education system, and I want to make sure students today experience things I never did, and that I can give them what I didn’t have.”

Special thanks go to Joey Baer for his assistance with superintendent data.

*At the time of this survey last fall, there were 24 deaf superintendents. However, in March 2018, according to The Daily Moth, Nancylynn Ward was relieved of her duties as the Tennessee School for the Deaf superintendent after eight months on the job.

In the time since the 1997 article, I’ve had four kids, all Deaf (all born after the 2007 article). My oldest is now a fourth grader, and we’ve relocated from one state to another. Being the Deaf parent to Deaf children has added to how I experience the deaf education system. I’m also married to a Deaf teacher who has worked at four deaf schools, including a charter school, for 23 years.

An interesting result of this survey was that the first schools to respond were all Deaf. Yet so many schools were reluctant to share data, which isn’t anything new — they’ve been reluctant in the past, too, as I shared in the 2007 article. I suspect this reluctance is because of a few things:

  1. They didn’t want to admit that their numbers were nowhere near where they should be.
  2. In today’s social media age, they were uncomfortable with how this information might backfire and be used against them.
  3. They didn’t want to face that they were possibly perpetuating audism.

I didn’t bother chasing them after the second request for data. Schools should be forthcoming with their data, whether it’s about deaf people, people of color, communication philosophies, or anything else affecting schools — after all, this information is generally public information.

As I read through the data, I was struck by one thing: how many hearing employees continue to work at deaf schools. Mind you, I’m not talking about those who have direct relationships with the Deaf community, such as those with Deaf family members. Rather, I’m talking about those who have no direct relation to the Deaf community, and just work there by chance.

At the previous school my children attended and my husband worked at, there was a good number of Deaf employees. Yet the school was strongly hearing-centric. Many of the hearing employees had worked there for at least 10 years, even 20 or 30 years. Many still couldn’t sign fluently, of course. I often wondered why they stayed for so long, when so many Deaf people were struggling to get jobs at the school. Job security, perhaps. That school was in a very small town, where jobs weren’t as readily available as in a bigger town.

Many hearing employees obviously have the heart and soul for working with Deaf people — but are their intentions misplaced? Are they taking jobs away from Deaf people who already face a 70% underemployment/unemployment rate? I think so, yes; In most cases, they can find employment elsewhere more easily than their Deaf counterparts. They are also taking away opportunities for Deaf people to build the village our deaf children need.

The difference between a school that has a majority of Deaf employees and a school that has a majority of hearing employees is day and night. I should know; I’ve experienced both environments. My children are products of deaf schools, and I have seen firsthand the major difference a Deaf-centric school, staffed by mostly Deaf people, has made. Don’t get me wrong; hearing people absolutely should work at Deaf schools, but not as a majority. The hearing people who do work at my children’s school almost all have direct connections to the Deaf community, which is reassuring.

I’ve also seen how many schools have seen their enrollment numbers dwindle. We left the previous school for many reasons, one being that one of my children had no peers in his grade. He was four and performing well above his grade level, yet he was placed in a preschool classroom with two-year-olds because the school simply didn’t have anywhere else to put him. The school wasn’t willing to accommodate his academic needs, so we saw no option but to move.

At my children’s current school, each child has 15 students, give or take, in each grade, with plenty of peers, resources, and role models. With this critical mass comes an amazing array of opportunities in academics, athletics, and socialization. I’ve seen my children blossom at their school in ways they wouldn’t have at the old school simply because of this much-needed critical mass.

Yet I feel guilty for having left the old school. That school lost as many as 20 students within a three-year period to other, bigger schools. If the school dwindles in enrollment, that means job opportunities for Deaf people dwindle, students at that school are provided with fewer Deaf role models, and so on — a domino effect.

This is the classic “who came first” question: the chicken or the egg? Did we need to stay to help maintain the school’s enrollment numbers, or did we need to go where there was already a critical mass? We struggled with this decision, and chose the latter. The school we left has seen its enrollment dwindle from 130 to about 100 in just a few years. If that school should ever close, is it partly our fault? Or is it the school’s fault for not meeting our children’s needs? Which comes first?

There, of course, are other obstacles to employability among deaf people at deaf schools: teaching credentials, wanting to work in different fields, and job availability. Still, I think the numbers could certainly be as high as they are at the top schools listed in this survey. So why don’t we work toward that? After all, the numbers have steadily increased at many schools over the past 20 years — which I see as wonderful news.

What will the numbers be like in 2027? Your guess is as good as mine…that year, I’ll have three children still in high school. So I’ll see you then.

This article cannot be copied, reproduced, or redistributed without the written consent of the author.

Filed Under: Blog, Community resources, Deaf Community, Deaf education, DeafNation Newspaper, Humanity, Language, Parenting

Nearly 50 Years Later: The Chicago Fire that Killed Two Deaf Students (Part 2)

January 26, 2018

By Trudy Suggs (Click here for my thoughts on this story in ASL and English).

PART 2 (Read Part 1 here)

Zee Beranek in 1970 on the phone in the aftermath of the fire.

Zeke Beranek was the sole chaperone, along with the school bus driver, for 40 boys. Many credit him for his calm demeanor during the crisis.

Zeke Beranek: The Unsung Hero
Zeke Beranek was the sole chaperone of 40 boys — something that would never happen today. “Well, how I did it was I set up a buddy system. I had the older boys be responsible for the younger students,” Beranek explained. “The boys who went on this trip had been allowed to go based on their grades and good behavior. But I had more faith in the dorm parents, who were with them all the time, than their teachers, so I trusted who the dorm parents said should go on the trip. It worked out well for the most part.”

Only 37 at the time of the fire, Beranek looked older than his age, although he was rarely without his sense of humor or smile. A well-respected gentleman from Nebraska, he was popular among the students. As a Boy Scouts leader and school teacher, Beranek often took the boys camping and on trips. “The way I saw it was that whenever the boys achieved the Eagle Scout rank or did good things, this was good publicity for ISD,” Beranek explained. “It helped bring awareness to the school.”

And then the fire happened. “I can’t remember how I knew there was a fire, but I woke up and opened the door. There was smoke, and I began trying to do what I could,” Beranek said. “I wanted to wake as many boys up as I could, but it wasn’t possible.”

He continued, “I opened Freeman Harper’s room, and I saw him talking with a few scared younger kids near an open window. One of them started to jump, and Freeman told the kid, ‘Don’t jump! Don’t forget about me!’ That was his way of convincing the kid to not jump.”

The boys learned later that after being rescued Beranek had gone above and beyond in his role as chaperone. “Mayor Daley provided a police escort when he learned who I was and what group I was with, and I instructed [junior] Pedro Medina to be in charge of the boys,” Beranek remembered.

Pictures of written notes between ISD students and newspaper reporters

Written notes between ISD students and newspaper reporters.

He saw a group of reporters clamoring to interview the boys at the hotel, and was disgusted. He told the reporters, “Leave the boys alone, they’ve already been through enough.” When they didn’t cooperate, Beranek immediately notified hotel security. “Someone from the Hilton hotel did physically have to pull the reporters away.”

The church service the group was supposed to attend that morning had secured an interpreter. Beranek said, “The church didn’t know yet about the fire, and they actually held off starting the service for about 20 or 25 minutes, waiting for us.”

As soon as the church learned of the fire, the interpreter went to help Beranek as much as possible. “In fact, when I left Chicago, the interpreter said he’d keep visiting the kids still in the hospitals until they were all gone,” Beranek recalled.

The Smoke Clears
After all the chaos eventually settled somewhat, Beranek also had to make arrangements for that evening’s lodging and transportation. The boys clearly could not attend the Bulls game, so some boys had been picked up by their parents, and the remaining boys relocated to the Palmer Hotel, also owned by the Hilton family. Reynolds wondered if his parents, who lived just over an hour away, would come. He had no way of contacting them; although they were Deaf, they didn’t own a TTY.

ISD boys surround entertainer Connie Stevens.

The ISD boys went to Connie Stevens’ performance the night after the fire. Reynolds is fourth from left in the front row; Albert Jones is second from left in the back. Robert Perry, who later drowned, is third from right in the back behind Connie Stevens.

Entertainer Connie Stevens was scheduled to perform at the Palmer Hotel that evening. When she learned of the tragedy, she invited the ISD boys to come to her performance. Saline remembered, “We were given free food on Mayor Daley’s tab. We were treated like royalty. We were also asked to fill out insurance forms to get reimbursed for our belongings and clothes.”

Yet most of the boys were too dazed and could not eat much. Reynolds’ throat hurt too much to eat, and he had lost his sense of taste. They tried to keep their spirits up despite the horrible tragedy. “She sang all evening, and when she spoke to the crowd, we were seated in the upper balcony and she made sure to look at us,” Reynolds said. “After her performance, she came to us and posed with us.”

That evening, the boys retired to their rooms. Five firemen, including a fire chief, stood guard by their doors overnight. Reynolds roomed with Jim Gurley, and as they got into bed, Gurley kept saying, “Look at the door. I see smoke. Do you?” Reynolds indeed could have sworn he saw smoke coming under the door, too.  They decided to leave the light on and try to get some sleep. They didn’t get much, of course.

Monday Morning
Beranek woke each of the boys up, telling them it was time to return to Jacksonville. They got early editions of the Chicago Sun Times and Chicago Tribune, and there it was for all of the world to see: two “deaf-mutes” had died. It was a punch in the guts for the boys. Although they already knew Zanger and Kennedy had died, they now felt a mixture of sadness and survivor’s guilt.

The group gathered in a conference room, and Beranek told the group, “As I woke each of you up, I noticed that more than three-fourths of you left your lights on overnight.” When Reynolds learned this, he let out a sigh of relief. He had thought he was going crazy with the need to leave his light on. They all had suffered a horrible trauma that was intensified by the lack of communication access. Worst of all, they had no psychological support. There were no counselors, no trauma advocates, and no family nearby. Although some parents had already picked up their boys, many of the boys’ families lived too far away (some as much as eight hours away) and others had no idea what had happened. They only had each other.

Reynolds later learned that his parents didn’t know about the fire until Sunday evening, when his hearing brother told them to look at the TV. The news reported on the fire, and his parents began to worry. They made his brother call the school, but there was no information yet. When they saw the newspaper on Monday and Reynolds’ name was listed among those hospitalized, they panicked, thinking he had been badly burned. They couldn’t sleep all night, trying to figure out what they should do.

As the boys climbed silently back on the yellow bus, Reynolds looked up at the overhead bins and realized that Kennedy’s pillow, streaked with mud, was still there. He sadly remembered how Kennedy had thrown the pillow at his friends, laughing, as they rode to Chicago.

Beranek stood up as the bus rode along, and talked to the boys in his SimCom style of what had transpired over the weekend. He shared that he knew some students were in their rooms, but he didn’t realize that several, including Zanger and Kennedy, had gone into the hallways. He didn’t know until later about Bright’s jump, which continues to be a legend in the Illinois Deaf community even today.

Saline and Reynolds both remembered how Beranek shared the rumor that Zanger and Kennedy had been found near each other by the elevators, but that this hadn’t been confirmed. (Newspaper articles reported Chicago Fire Commander Robert J. Quinn as saying that the two boys’ bodies were found outside a room on the north end of the corridor; Quinn added that had the boys stayed in their rooms, they likely would have survived.) Beranek also told of how he had to go to the morgue to identify the boys’ bodies, which were badly covered in soot.  As Beranek spoke, every boy on that bus shed tears. The ride to Jacksonville was eerily quiet, with Kennedy’s pillow literally hanging over their heads.

The Aftermath
Reynolds remembers vividly how upon arrival, the school bus was swarmed by other ISD students, and the sense of dread he and the other boys felt. “We should’ve had trauma counselors on the ready for us, instead of kids wanting to know every detail about our experience,” Reynolds says. He saw many cars, mostly driven by hearing parents, waiting to pick up their boys. He walked to his dorm and as he put away his things, a houseparent notified him that his family had called.

Reynolds quickly went to pick up the phone and call his family. When his brother picked up, “It was at that moment that I realized I couldn’t speak. I had lost my voice, and could only speak a few words.” His brother asked, “Are you okay? Are you okay?” Crying, Reynolds responded that he was okay and that he loved them.

Meanwhile, Saline’s mother and niece drove down from Rio to see him that evening, and took him out for dinner at the local Hardee’s. They wrote back and forth, talking about what had happened.

The next morning, the survivors went to class on the second floor of the main building. Saline said, “So many people hugged me, and it was weird. It was really hard on me, knowing that Donald, who was my roommate at the hotel, and Bruce both had died. I wondered about them for a long time, and it took a while for that feeling to wear off.”

Soon after class began, Reynolds was thrilled to learn that his parents and brother were there to pick him up. As soon as he made his way to the first floor, his brother ran to him. Reynolds recalls bittersweetly, “I never had that hard of a hug from my own brother before that, and it was the best feeling.” He went home for a week.

Upon his return, Reynolds practiced with the school basketball team. On game day, on the court in uniform, he had one of many epiphanies. “I was warming up, and as I was dribbling, I looked around the gym. There were people in the bleachers, I was playing with my teammates, and I thought, I’m alive. I have another chance to play basketball. My view of the world changed at that moment, and I embraced my newfound maturity. I ran and did a lay-up, never forgetting the boys we lost in Chicago.”

Bright went home after seven days, where he had virtually been isolated from the world. After all, back in those days, TVs were inaccessible and no interpreters were provided. Newspapers reported that he would not return to school that year. After two weeks, though, Bright was going stir-crazy. He was the only deaf person in his family and town, and missed his friends. He begged his parents and ISD superintendent Dr. Kenneth Mangan — who wasn’t too fond of him, since he was somewhat of a troublemaker — to let him return.  Bright’s doctor felt he wasn’t ready, either, but Bright lied and told Mangan that the doctor had given approval.

Mangan still refused. Dean of Students Lawrence Huot spoke on Bright’s behalf, and finally convinced Mangan to let Bright return. Mangan finally agreed to let Bright return. Bright walked using specially fitted crutches for about a month, but was overjoyed to be back. Reynolds and others were stunned to see Bright back so soon after his near-death experience. “We all thought Bright would be crippled for life, and even today, I am astounded he survived,” Reynolds said.

Bright was thrilled to be back, and wasted no time in healing. He went on to have a noteworthy athletic career both in the last years of high school and in adulthood, and graduated with his classmates in June 1972.

Charles Bright, shown here with his mother and their family lawyer, had to return to Chicago for a medical follow-up visit. (Courtesy of Charles Bright)

Bright also remembers how a lawyer representing the Hilton corporation showed up at his house and convinced his parents to sign a $10,000 agreement, although today he isn’t sure what the agreement stipulated. When Bright returned to Chicago for further medical care, his family lawyer accompanied him — and his mother wouldn’t leave Bright’s side during an overnight stay at the hospital; she was too afraid something would happen again.

For decades, Bright refused, and still refuses, to stay overnight at the hotel where the fire took place, even when softball or basketball tournaments were headquartered there. In 2014, Reynolds and Bright returned to the hotel, now named the Hilton Chicago. Although they had been back to that hotel for various events, this time was different: they were going to confront their memories and visit the ninth floor. Bright says, “I had a sense of trepidation, and it was difficult to see that floor again. So much of the hotel looked the same, yet so different.” Reynolds echoes this, which is why he wants to create a film based on this experience.

“It’s the little things that jump out at you,” Reynolds said. “I still have my room key from that night.” For Bright, one of the small details was that he had borrowed his good friend Ronald Sipek’s suit for the weekend, which then was destroyed in the fire. 

Beranek, when asked how he recovered from the terrible events of that weekend, said, “It bothered me for so very long, yeah. It bothered me until that kid, what’s his name? Perry. Robert Perry drowned.” In August 1970, Perry, of East St. Louis, had gone swimming in a quarry with fellow survivor Frank Bazos of Aurora. Despite desperate efforts by Bazos, Perry drowned — just a day before he was to start a new job.

“When Perry died after having gone through the fire, I realized that when it’s your time to go, it’s your time,” Beranek continued. “There’s nothing I could have done.”

Kennedy and Zanger were the only two fatalities of the fire; the 14 injured ISD students included: Charles Bright, 17; Thomas Byrnes, 15; Michael Davis, 15; Freeman Harper, 16; Albert Jones, 18; David Newcum, 14; Scott Noyes, 14; Larry Peterson, 16; David Reynolds, 16; Danny Thomas, 18; Michael Tonner, 17; and Michael Ubowski, 14.

The cause of the fire was never confirmed; it was later revealed that there had been a fire on the same floor two years earlier.

Today

Beranek in 1970, with horn-rimmed glasses and in a suitA white man stands in front of kitchen cabinets. He is wearing a white t-shirt, and is smiling.

 

Zeke Beranek, who turns 86 in February, lives in Jacksonville, Ill., with his wife of 55 years. After 32 years, he retired from education and now works with H&R Block as a tax preparer when not walking his dogs.

 

Bright as a 17-year-old

A balding white man smiles as he wears a Superman t-shirt. To his right is a little girl, his granddaughter.

 

Charles Bright, 65, has worked for the U.S. Food and Drug Administration for 40 years, and is considering retirement. He has two children and one grandchild, and makes his home with his wife Genevieve in Schaumburg, Ill.

 

Freeman Harper in 1970A brown-skinned man in a suit jacket and purple button-down shirt is smiling, his hair gray, in front of a blue cloud-filled sky and trees.

 

Freeman Harper, 64, retired from a career as an educator at the Phoenix Day School for the Deaf, and resides in Iowa City, Iowa.

 

 

David Reynolds in 1970A brown curly-haired man sits in front of a moving river.David Reynolds, 63, became an educator and worked for years at the Indiana School for the Deaf before moving west to Fremont, Calif. He has three sons, and has an acting career, most notably as Dr. Wonder on Dr. Wonder’s Workshop.  He and his wife, Alyce Slater Reynolds, recently relocated to Riverside, Calif., where he intends to create a movie about the Chicago fire, among other films.


A white man is in his car, looking at the camera. He has a blonde/grayish goatee, glasses, and a baseball cap on.


Dale Saline, 62, retired from the U.S. Postal Service after 20 years. He now works at his family’s pig farm in Rio, Ill. and lives with his wife.

 

 

Click here for my thoughts on this story in ASL and English.

All photographs are taken from the Chicago Sun Times, Chicago Tribune, Chicago Daily News, the Illinois Advance, and the interviewees unless otherwise indicated. Special thanks go to Joan Engelmann and Rosa Ramirez.

Filed Under: Blog, Childhood, Community resources, Culture, Deaf Community, Deaf education, Disempowerment, History, Humanity, Language, Media, Notable People

My letter, 26 years later

July 15, 2016

Video description: Trudy Suggs, a white woman with brown shoulder-length hair, is wearing a purple v-necked sweater that ties at the neckline.  She is seated in a corner with brown bookshelves on her right and a sea blue wall on her left.

One of my favorite teachers, Barbara Turner, found an October 1990 letter I wrote to Silent News, a newspaper I later served as editor of for two years. As I re-read the letter (found at the end of this article), I was struck by what I wrote back then, especially given that I was only 15 years old.

My letter to Silent News, October 1990In 1990, I was deep in the trenches of what was then a deeply emotional discussion taking place everywhere. I remember sitting down in frustration after reading a few articles in Silent News, and pecking away on my electric typewriter. My perspectives stemmed from what I saw on a day-in, day-out basis. Today, I have mixed feelings about what I wrote (especially some of my word choices), although I do staunchly believe, as I did 26 years ago, that “a student’s best educational setting can only be determined by the individual — the child.”

I’ve also come to understand so much more about the mainstreaming versus deaf school controversy, and I’ve watched the pendulum swing back and forth. I’ve recognized that one of the challenges is ensuring that each family has full awareness of all the consequences of either choice. Most importantly, I’ve become a mother to four deaf children.

Looking back, I realize now just how oppressive many of the teachers were towards us Deaf students, except for Ms. Turner, in terms of audism, linguicism, and the most basic of respect. To be fair, that was the norm back then and still is the norm at so many schools today. This oppressive attitude spilled over into our daily perspectives of ourselves; I’ve written extensively about how I struggled with my self-esteem and identity because of these teachers. It’s bittersweet to think of how Deaf students, including me, thought we were “lucky” to be mainstreamed when in reality, this was dysconscious audism at its finest. We simply were indoctrinated to believe that hearing was better.

With that said, I was so fortunate to have had access to a Deaf family, the Deaf community, publications like Silent News and Deaf Life, and most importantly, Deaf friends and role models. My classmates didn’t necessarily have this same access, except through the three deaf families at my school. After all, the nearest deaf school was about four to five hours away. The school we attended didn’t really expose us to deaf role models on a consistent basis, although we did have guest speakers and attended a very few events with deaf students from other schools.

Let’s take a quick look at some of what I wrote.

“Some deaf students, in my opinion, will perform at their best abilities in mainstreamed settings, such as I do.”

Actually, I sucked at school. I was never a great student, and I never felt as if I was academically or even personally smart. I would struggle in class, trying to understand why I couldn’t follow along. I had to put up with teachers’ scorn, because they had higher expectations of me given that my papers said I was gifted and had skipped two grades at another public school. Today I realize I struggled because the interpreters weren’t qualified for the most part, and I didn’t have direct communication access. I had attended a deaf school for a year, but it wasn’t the best option at the time; also, my mother got remarried and we relocated to the Chicago area. Even though I was one of those students who participated in a million extracurricular activities and had a lot of hearing friends and even a hearing boyfriend, I never felt as if I really fit in. In between classes and after school, I would always run to my deaf friends and drink up every minute with them.

If I could do it all over again, I would probably have requested better interpreters, or perhaps homeschooling — or found a way to go to a deaf school again. Even with the best interpreters, the access still would not be equivalent to the access at deaf schools.

“I think all the controversy over whether to mainstream or to put a child in a residential school is overly absurd. . .

But I think it is totally ridiculous that people battle endlessly . . . Come on, let’s stop whining about this issue and concentrate on other things such as bringing deaf awareness into the hearing world and promoting deaf rights.”

Yikes. “Absurd,” “ridiculous,” and “whining” aren’t words I’d use nowadays. The controversy, which persists to this day especially in light of so many deaf schools closing, is a very serious topic — especially given the dramatic increase in solitary mainstreaming of deaf children. Even so, I thought, and still believe, that this controversy is putting the horse before the cart. The more pressing issue is ensuring that every child has access in the form of sign language along with whatever other communication mode(s) are accessible, and that every family has full information and is fully educated and aware of the importance of cultural and linguistic access in all aspects of the child’s life. Only when this has been achieved can we focus on educational options.

“Going back to my statement that a child can succeed in a setting that he feels most comfortable in, I can say that I know of many people who are thought of as role models today that come from both types of school. . .I do have a lot of hearing peers. So do a lot of the other deaf students in my school. But those deaf students and I socialize with deaf people outside of school — which counteracts with the often-found misconception that students who are mainstreamed are not proud of their deafness, do not socialize with other deaf people, and are sheltered from the deaf world.”

I still agree, but I also recognize that even with the oppression students at my school faced, we still had access to resources that are not available to many deaf mainstreamed students, such as direct instruction in ASL, Deaf-centric extracurricular activities, and even books and publications about ASL and Deaf people. Unfortunately, it’s even more of a fact today that so many mainstreamed students do not have access to or awareness of the Deaf community.

My high school also had a critical mass of deaf students — about 80 — as opposed to only 5 or 10 students. This was imperative, because it enabled us to have our own sub-groups, our own culture, and even our own vocabulary (just ask me how we signed “fump” or “gross”). The most important thing is that we developed a network among ourselves, and through the deaf families and extracurricular activities at school found other deaf people. Even so, this critical mass is nothing like the one I see at my children’s school nowadays, and I now fully realize just how much I missed out on.

“And I also know that residential schools are very remarkable in producing people that achieve so much for the deaf world. This does not need to be even said because it is almost a granted fact.”

Unfortunately, we do have to say this, because residential — or rather, Deaf schools — have gotten such a bad rap especially in the past 50 years. We need to go back to basics, and recognize that many people’s ideas of what deaf schools offer are often outdated and rooted in the outdated concept of “institutionalization.” Many Deaf schools offer a variety of programs and services, including audiology and spoken language, and offer comprehensive education. It’s also imperative to recognize that most of the community leaders in our storied Deaf history came from deaf schools, and that many community leaders also come from deaf schools. For example, the receptionist at the White House, Leah Katz-Hernandez, attended a deaf school. Claudia Gordon, a White House lawyer, attended a deaf school. Nyle DiMarco, the hottest star to hit Hollywood, graduated from a deaf school. The recent chair of the FCC disability office, who left the position a few weeks ago, Greg Hlibok, also comes from a deaf school. The list goes on and on.

Nowadays, that demographic may be changing — through no fault of our own. With mainstreaming forced upon more deaf students as a result of an increased reliance on technology, the closing of Deaf schools, dissemination of naccurate information, and a general lack of resources in many parts of the country, more and more community leaders will come from mainstreamed settings. Some of them have or will become successful leaders if they have tremendous resources and support at home; others will probably struggle with all the same issues of fitting in, self-esteem, language barriers, trying to do what others expect of them —on top of normal development challenges such as puberty and socialization. So it’s important for us to continue identifying successful people who have happily embraced the Deaf community and its culture, heritage, and language.

“If we could get more people to be aware of deafness and its glorious culture, then we could get parents to make the best and RIGHT decision about where to put their child for the best possible education. We do, after all, have to realize that each child is an individual and each has his own way of learning.”

Even as passionate as I am about the importance of Deaf schools and reviving the critical masses that once existed at every Deaf school, I still believe that each child has to have choices. If we could bring Deaf school numbers back to what exists at schools like Maryland, Texas, and Indiana, we’d have choices at each and every Deaf school instead of “resorting” to mainstreaming as a choice. By choices, I mean choices in educational methods, communication modes, services, courses, social circles, and so much more. Every child should have access to these choices without having to sacrifice full, complete, direct access to education and every aspect of school — especially socialization and world knowledge.

I will say this, though, as a final statement: many of my fellow Deaf students at Hinsdale South High School went on to have Deaf children. The majority of us, including me, have chosen to enroll our children at deaf schools. This alone speaks volumes.

Letter to Silent News Editor, October 1990

Dear Editor:

In response to all the letters about whether to put a deaf child in a mainstreamed setting or a residential setting, I would like to add some of my own comments, if I may.

I am a 15-year-old senior at Hinsdale South High School in Darien, Illinois. Yes, I am mainstreamed for all of my classes with the use of an interpreter, but I am also a former residential school student. So I can safely say I have an idea of what both worlds are like. And regardless of all the arguments I have absorbed about which school gives a student a higher reading/writing level, I strongly believe that a student’s best educational setting can only be determined by the individual — the child.

Some deaf students, in my opinion, will perform at their best abilities in mainstreamed settings, such as I do. Others will find mainstreamed settings too difficult or too easy and lean toward the residential school. I think all the controversy over whether to mainstream or to put a child in a residential school is overly absurd. If one scoffs at mainstreaming and says that deaf schools are the only way to go, or vice versa, then I believe that is a very subtle kind of discrimination. Who is one to say what another can do? This is a free country, and every one of us is an individual. I believe that a child can succeed anywhere he feels like he fits in the most.

My most vivid memory of leaving the residential school I attended was a staff member coming up to me and calling me a “traitor” to my face — simply because I was transferring to a public school with a program for deaf students. I will never forget the disgust and fury in his face as he spelled out that word to me. I was only 10 at the time. I think that’s exactly the type of picture that someone would NOT want a child to have.

Going back to my statement that a child can succeed in a setting that he feels most comfortable in, I can say that I know of many people who are thought of as role models today that come from both types of school. I come from a deaf family; so I know a lot of deaf adults who are very successful individuals and many of them come from public schools with a program for the deaf; and yet others tell me of their residential school experiences. I do not have an outstanding and superior level of speech — I firmly believe in the use of sign language, so do not think that I am a deaf person who marches around in life being oral. But I do have a lot of hearing peers. So do a lot of the other deaf students in my school. But those deaf students and I socialize with deaf people outside of school — which counteracts with the often-found misconception that students who are mainstreamed are not proud of their deafness, do not socialize with other deaf people, and are sheltered from the deaf world.

True, many mainstreamed people do need to be educated about the deaf world, but we are fortunate to have very many teachers at Hinsdale South who are knowledgeable about this. And there are students who have participated in all kinds of sports, such as soccer, basketball, baseball, and so on. And I am one of the editors of the school paper. And there are countless clubs that our deaf students have participated in. The program at Hinsdale South is living proof that NOT all mainstreaming programs are total failures.

And I also know that residential schools are very remarkable in producing people that achieve so much for the deaf world. This does not need to be even said because it is almost a granted fact.

But I think it is totally ridiculous that people battle endlessly about whether mainstreaming or residential schools are the best way to educate our deaf children. Come on, let’s stop whining about this issue and concentrate on other things such as bringing deaf awareness into the hearing world and promoting deaf rights. If we could get more people to be aware of deafness and its glorious culture, then we could get parents to make the best and RIGHT decision about where to put their child for the best possible education. We do, after all, have to realize that each child is an individual and each has his own way of learning.

Trudy Suggs
Westmont, IL

This article can not be copied, reproduced, or redistributed without the written consent of the author.

Filed Under: Childhood, Community resources, Culture, Deaf Community, Deaf education, Disempowerment, Humanity, Interpreting, Language, Media, Parenting

A Quick Look at Everyday Disempowerment of Deaf People

May 10, 2016

A page from NADmag's Spring 2016 issue showing my articleThis article originally appeared in the Spring 2016 issue of NADmag; download a PDF version of the article.

Video description:  Trudy, a white woman with shoulder-length brown hair, is wearing a navy blue shirt with a red, white, light blue, tan, and navy blue striped scarf. She is seated in the corner with brown bookshelves on her right and a sea blue wall on her left.

Image description: The article as it appeared in NADmag is shown on a yellow page with the headline in yellow text, and the body text in black. Nancy Rourke’s painting of DEAF DISEMPOWERMENT is shown, in her trademark red, yellow, blue, white, and black colors; a woman resembling Trudy is shown in black with a huge hole in her chest.

The Deaf community certainly has come a long way over the decades, even if the pendulum constantly swings from one side to the other in terms of education, discrimination, access, and equality. It is so important that we all are aware of the rights we hold as humans who are Deaf. That itself is a given; nobody would argue otherwise with us. Yet, we allow ourselves to put up with everyday disempowerment, especially for small, seemingly innocent situations. In order to reduce this, we need to first understand what disempowerment is.

Everyday Acts of Disempowerment
The word disempowerment has quite a simple definition for such a powerful concept: to take away power. When we think of disempowerment, we usually think of things like not being provided interpreting services, watching films or TV without captions, being told not to sign, having our lives decided or even dictated by people with no knowledge of ASL or Deaf culture, or seeing hearing actors in roles portraying Deaf people. Yet there are smaller, everyday acts that hold just as much capacity, if not more, to disempower us.

How many times have you logged onto Facebook or Twitter only to find that your (hearing) friends, parents, relatives or even spouses have posted videos that aren’t captioned? Then when you ask them for a transcript, they say, “Oh, darn, I never thought about that,” yet they do it time after time. Another example is when hearing parents speak about their deaf children in front of the children, yet the children don’t realize the conversation is about them.

Countless examples of everyday disempowerment happen in the workplace, of course. Meetings that aren’t interpreted, water cooler conversations where the Deaf person can’t participate, the annoyance factor (when a boss rolls his eyes at a request for an interpreter), being underestimated because you’re Deaf, the office dialogue that takes place over cubicle walls as you’re sitting at your station working; the list goes on and on. Sure, there are accommodations, but it’s just not the same as direct communication access.

How about if you’re writing down something at a fast-food restaurant or even a store—perhaps your order or a question—and the employee, as you’re writing, starts working with another customer? This tells not just you, but also other people, that you’re not worth the wait. Maybe you’re talking with someone who knows that signing and speaking at the same time is combining two separate languages, making it difficult for you to easily access this information. Yet you know if you ask that person to turn off his/her voice or remove his/her speech privilege, that person might be offended. So you end up simply saying nothing as you struggle.

These are minor acts of disempowerment that we’ve become so accustomed to, and we usually don’t do much about them because it’s just not worth the battle. The cycle then continues, because by just accepting these incidents, we are in essence telling the other people that they can continue doing this, even though it’s really not okay.

Disempowerment Through ASL
Teaching ASL is another example of everyday disempowerment that many have come to accept as the status quo. There are thousands of ASL teachers in the nation. How many are deaf? No real statistics exist on this yet. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of certified Baby Sign Language instructors. How many are deaf? A very small percentage. Just go to the bookstore and take a look at all the baby signs books, or look up local baby sign language classes; the majority is taught by hearing people who aren’t necessarily fluent in ASL.

Are all the Deaf Studies and ASL programs in the nation run by Deaf people? No. How about agencies serving Deaf people, state commissions for Deaf people, and organizations focusing on things like baby signs? Are there more Deaf administrators than hearing in these positions? Probably not. How many deaf-run interpreting agencies can you name off the top of your head? What’s wrong with this picture?

A common response to why a deaf person isn’t at the helm of a program or agency working with deaf and hard of hearing people is, “We advertised the position and couldn’t find anyone qualified.” That certainly could be the case. Still, such situations have ripple effects: deaf people aren’t hired, and those outside of the deaf community, in turn, continue to have beliefs and perceptions shaped by hearing people. These hearing people then believe they can educate others about us, rather than bringing in appropriate Deaf community representatives.

If no qualified deaf person applies for a position, there needs to be a short-term and long-term remedy. One possible solution is to keep the position open for as long as possible until someone who is qualified and deaf is hired. Another potential solution is to have an interim director in place, hire someone who is definitely capable of doing the job, and train that person until she or he is ready to take the helm. Is that costly and cumbersome? Perhaps. Cost-beneficial and cost-effective in the long run? Absolutely.

Interpreters: An Imbalance
Interpreters have always been, and likely will always be, a great source of disempowerment. One challenge for many Deaf consumers is at medical appointments, when interpreters go into the hallway whenever the nurse or doctor leaves, instead of staying in the room with the Deaf patient. From an interpreter’s perspective, this is necessary given the many opportunities for ethical dilemmas. For instance, if the Deaf patient says something to the interpreter that is medically relevant, but doesn’t share this information with the doctor, is the interpreter bound to tell the doctor? Yet, is it really fair to keep the patient isolated in a room where there’s no visual access to all the sounds and conversations that a hearing patient could overhear? Many Deaf people say no.

Anita Buel, a Deaf community health worker (DCHW) in Minnesota, has an ongoing frustration. CHWs are certified, trained advocates who accompany patients in their own communities (in this case, the Deaf community) and provide advocacy, information, and clarification for patients who may feel overwhelmed by medical jargon, procedures, and the overall health system. DCHWs, however, are not certified deaf interpreters (CDI); they have as much of a need for interpreters as the Deaf patients. Buel says she gets frustrated when she knows interpreters are in the hallway waiting, and then they come into the room already deep in conversation with the doctor or nurse. This, to her, shows that if the patient already is at a disadvantage, because oftentimes interpreters build relationships with medical professionals and therefore aren’t always perceived as neutral parties. Interpreters, by doing this, also have a rapport established with the medical staff that patients often struggle to establish because of the three-way communication.

An Imbalance in Knowledge
Many people, both deaf and hearing, have appropriately lauded the Registry of Interpreters for the Deaf (RID) for increasing its standards and professionalism among interpreters within the past few years. Yet there is one act of disempowerment throughout this progress that has been deeply, and easily, overlooked: the knowledge imbalance, which creates a major disadvantage for Deaf people.

The RID requires its interpreters to have bachelor’s degrees, among other criteria; this is a fantastic requirement because it ensures that interpreters are educated. Interpreters, to receive certification, must also have the necessary (even if minimal) training in all the aspects involved with interpreters. Yet, this creates a major imbalance in knowledge, and power. Think about it: do Deaf people have the same access to education as interpreters? No. Are Deaf individuals generally trained to work with interpreters, on advocating for interpreter quality, and on how the interpreting process ideally works? No, absolutely not. Deaf people have had to constantly educate each other on a grassroots level on how to deal with interpreting dilemmas.

Is there any training provided to Deaf people in elementary school through adulthood on how to work with interpreters in various settings, or on self-advocacy? Unfortunately, the answer is no once again. There is a deaf self-advocacy training curriculum available through the National Consortium of Interpreter Education Centers, but even this curriculum is limited in its contents and availability. On the flip side, sometimes Deaf people aren’t fully educated on the interpreter’s role. Those individuals might mistakenly claim interpreters are oppressive or not doing their jobs, when in reality they are doing exactly what their jobs require.

Keep in mind that most interpreters receive years of formal, professional training in everything from ASL to ethics to business practices. Interpreters are also tested on their knowledge and skills, and then maybe certified. Interpreters are given the knowledge that Deaf people so greatly need and deserve. When Deaf people do not receive this same knowledge, this has deep-seated repercussions.

Whether we like to admit it or not, interpreters have an incredible amount of jurisdiction over our access to people, interviews, medical appointments, education, phone calls, and pretty much everything else. This isn’t necessarily bad, as long as they use this power appropriately and without malice. But this so-called jurisdiction can create even further potential for conflict and division. On top of that, this power imbalance can become magnified in small towns where interpreters might, by default, rule the roost because everyone knows everyone. This has happened time after time, where Deaf people lose jobs, are rejected for jobs, are perceived as unintelligent, and so much more all because they had conflicts with interpreters.

Understand, Analyze, and Act
The NAD has fought for equality among Deaf people for more than a century, and has produced some of the most remarkable leaders in American history. Yet each and every leader within the NAD, both at the state and national level, is guaranteed to have at least three stories of disempowerment running the gamut of minor to major incidents.

In addition to educating ourselves, we need to learn how to come together to prevent or reduce disempowerment in any form or shape. It’s crucial that we recognize that disempowerment doesn’t always happen on purpose; it’s often by accident. Even so, that doesn’t mean it’s okay. As renowned vlogger and blogger Franchesca “Chescaleigh” Ramsey says, “It’s not about intent. It’s about impact.”

What can we do, as Deaf people, to help lessen disempowerment ranging from simple acts to in- depth, intentional acts? First, we must understand what disempowerment is, how it affects us, and why it affects us. Even the seemingly small acts of disempowerment that we’ve become so accustomed, almost immune to, have major impact on our everyday lives as Deaf people. It is crucial that we, as Deaf people, become fully educated on acts of disempowerment, the interpreting process, on our roles, on our legal rights, and on how to deal with conflict or oppression. This kind of education should start at the earliest stages of our lives as Deaf people, so that we go throughout life knowing what we’re supposed to do. This would help lessen so much of the disempowerment that takes place. It would also help reduce the ingrained frustration that often comes from encountering such disempowerment, because we would have the tools to take the next steps. We must also be careful to remember that if a deaf person expresses frustration, it doesn’t necessarily mean she or he is angry, divisive or separatist. Rather, take a look at the situation, and figure out how all parties have contributed to the situation.

By understanding the gravity of each situation, small or large, we can then come to analyze the steps leading up to that situation and what we can do next. By understanding all the parties involved and their perceptions, and by figuring out what resources we have, we can then determine steps of action. Finally, we can then act on the disempowerment through appropriate steps. We must always strive for access to the same education as our hearing allies (interpreters, parents, friends, and other supporters). By working to minimize disempowerment, we can then have access to equality, to communication, and most importantly, to being human.

The original disempowerment article can be found here.

Copyrighted material. This article can not be copied, reproduced, or redistributed without the express written consent of the author.

Filed Under: Business, Community resources, Culture, Deaf Community, Deaf education, Deaf-Owned Businesses, Disempowerment, History, Humanity, Interpreting, Language, Media, Politics, RID, Stereotypes

Giving Credit Where It Wasn’t Due

March 25, 2016

Video description: Trudy, a white woman with shoulder-length brown hair, is wearing a deep royal blue sweater. She is seated in the corner with brown bookshelves on her right and a sea blue wall on her left.

I was the keynote speaker at a world languages ceremony at a public high school last year, and I thought this would be a fantastic opportunity to highlight American Sign Language (ASL) as a bona fide language along with its history of being oppressed. I sent my speech in advance to the interpreters, and arrived early to ensure that I could establish a rapport with them, since they would be controlling my voice and how I would be perceived by hundreds of hearing parents and students in attendance—many of who had never seen or met a deaf person before. I had shared my reservations about the interpreters’ ability to voice for me with the sign language coordinator, but I wanted to believe they would do just fine.

As I sat through the first part of the ceremony, I was reminded of my years as a mainstreamed student: rather than integrating me into the activities, they were providing me with minimal access — and therefore I was isolated just as I had been in school. One of the interpreters sat at the very far left of the stage, even though I was seated near center right in the front row in a reserved seat. It was very difficult to see her in the dimmed lighting. I discreetly asked her to move closer to me, but she couldn’t understand me. After repeating myself twice, she responded that she wouldn’t move because she was fine where she was. I decided to let it go, since I was more focused on my presentation.

Once I got onstage, I began to sign, only to realize that the interpreter was immediately faltering. The other interpreter wasn’t involved at all, not even in a supporting role. Fortunately, the hearing (and fluent) ASL teacher Ms. Doe, who had invited me to the ceremony, was standing next to the interpreter. I quickly asked her to take over the voicing, so she did, and the speech went well in spite of this initial stumble.

At the end of the ceremony, the director of the ESL, World Languages, Bilingual Education and Performing Arts department came onstage to give closing remarks. As the interpreter signed, I did a double take, but decided to hold any reaction until I could confirm what had actually been said. I emailed that director later on to request a copy of her comments. As I read the copy a few weeks later, I realized with a sick feeling that I hadn’t misunderstood, nor had the interpreter misinterpreted. Below is a direct copy-and-paste from the director’s remarks, which she read from onstage:

Before I start, one thing I need to comment on is the power of Ms. Suggs’ presentation. Aside from teaching us so much about the history of ASL, she and Mrs. Doe performed a very beneficial role reversal for us tonight. So often, as speakers of the dominant language of our culture, we take for granted that we are going to understand everything that is told to us. The broadcast news is geared to us, with the little sign language translation box is in the corner —sometimes. Tonight, most of us were totally dependent on Mrs. Doe for comprehension. That brings about many emotions, maybe even negative emotions. Think about how you felt during that presentation, totally dependent on a translator. Were you bored? Frustrated? Engaged in the challenge of trying to decipher it? What about if Mrs. Doe had not been there to help us? Please remember what you felt tonight when you encounter speakers of other languages, in particular the over 800 students who are currently considered English Language Learners in our [town name deleted] Public Schools family. What you experienced tonight is what they experience every day. I would also like to recognize Mrs. Doe’s extraordinary talents. Simultaneous interpretation is one of the most demanding language tasks, and her interpretation was first-rate.

Her comments spotlighted Ms. Doe and the “helplessness” instead of focusing on the message I shared — which was the incredible history behind signed languages, and their equality to spoken language. Ms. Doe was made the hero of my presentation, instead of focusing on signed languages. To add insult to injury, the two interpreters’ failure to work together or adequately prepare for the presentation was converted into a “challenge of trying to decipher” what I was signing, rather than outright incompetency. And let’s not even talk about the “little sign language translation box in the corner” comment.

To be fair, the way the challenges were framed — “. . .bored? Frustrated” and “negative emotions” — were probably intended to remind people about the importance of respect. Yet these very words seemed to imply that signed language was “boring,” as if I didn’t communicate myself clearly and was difficult to “decipher.” If the interpreters had done their job properly, nobody would be bored, frustrated or negatively responding. Finally, “What if Mrs. Doe had not been there to help us?” is a perfect example of deficit thinking.

Deaf people have always found a way to communicate, and it’s our words that interpreters are voicing, even if haphazardly at times. There is no helplessness involved; there is no dependence involved. Unfortunately, this perception of helplessness remains, even among people who are fully educated on how ASL is a separate language and in no way correlates with helplessness.

How do we address this? I’m not quite sure, because it seems like everything we’ve tried in the past few centuries hasn’t worked. I do know that we must educate people about giving interpreters, or in this case, someone who happened to sign fluently, so much credit. We also must have them start shifting the focus onto the message, rather than the modality or translation process. If only the director had listened to what I said in my presentation: “All this stems from the mistaken notion that one language is superior to another . . . .and one way to combat this is as you continue to study languages, embrace their peoples, history, and cultures, and celebrate all that the language stands for.”

This article can not be copied, reproduced, or redistributed without the written consent of the author.

Filed Under: Blog, Culture, Deaf Community, Deaf education, History, Humanity, Interpreting, Language, Stereotypes

It’s Not Just About Knowing Signs

August 28, 2013

This article originally appeared at i711.com on June 29, 2006, and was updated on August 28, 2013.

On the first day of my American Sign Language (ASL) class years ago, I found it puzzling that many of the students signed with their mouths shut in a tight, horizontal line, with not one natural movement. This was a level two class, so these students weren’t new to the language. I asked each of the students who their ASL I teacher had been. It turns out that this teacher—who was deaf and from a deaf family—had told them that they were to never move their mouths when signing, not even for descriptions (CHA, OO, et cetera). It took me the rest of the semester to undo this.

As someone who teaches from time to time, I’m always fascinated by those who believe they can teach ASL but are sorely unqualified. I taught my first ASL class when I was 18, and I shudder to think of my lack of teaching skills back then. I had absolutely no formal training in the language, other than having signed all of my life. Even though two people in that class have gone on to become top-notch interpreters, I cringe at how I conducted class back then. Over years, with age and experience, I’ve come to see that the requirements of teaching any language are, in a nutshell: fluency, attitude, teaching skills and experience (and that spells out FATE, I know).

Fluency is a must for teaching any language. Many of us have horror stories of people—deaf or hearing—who think they’re fluent enough to teach ASL. In 2005, an interpreter came to my doctor’s appointment. She was outfitted in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt jacket, hardly proper attire for an interpreter. Her signing skills were mediocre, but I was so sick that I only cared about getting medicine from the doctor. After some polite chatting, she asked if I would be part of a panel for the advanced ASL class she taught. I asked her to repeat, to make sure I understood right; this woman—obviously not fluent in the language—was teaching ASL to hearing people who trusted her to be fluent? She said, “It’d be great to have you; we have a panel about deafness every year and this is the first time I’ve been able to find a deaf person.”

The consequences of someone not so fluent in ASL teaching the language are far-reaching: future teachers and community members have to retrain these students, if possible. The students then go out into the world mistakenly thinking they’re fluent and go on to maybe interpret or teach deaf children. Then deaf children or consumers deal with mediocre signing skills… and then the students are puzzled by why they get criticized if their teachers said they were fluent. And so on.

Then there’s attitude. This is critical; attitude can make or break the learning process. The teacher has to love the language and be willing to share what he knows. The teacher has to really embrace teaching. And he has to be open to new ideas, since language is always changing. It doesn’t matter if the teacher’s relatives are deaf, if he is deaf or hearing, or if he is astoundingly fluent in the language. It’s a no-brainer; attitude is what motivates students to come to class.

Next is the issue of teaching skills. So many signers think they can teach the language because they’re fluent in it and have a good attitude. What often happens is that the teachers come to class, teach vocabulary from a book and then administer tests. Nothing more. That’s a recipe for failure. ASL programs need to have a curriculum in place, with a strong support system. At one ASL program I taught in, I had no curriculum to work from, nor did I have any supplemental materials other than the textbooks I was given.

The next semester, I started teaching at a different college and was blown away by its resources. There were four file cabinets, four drawers each, with materials for each week of each course, at each level of ASL. The support system at this college, along with the incredible leadership of the program coordinator, taught me more than I could have ever learned in any other program. This is why I think training workshops like those offered by the Signing Naturally creators are so essential. Workshops like this teach a curriculum that emphasizes language and culture, rather than just vocabulary.

Finally, there’s experience. What this refers to is the Deaf experience. In a discussion on this topic, ASL instructor John Pirone of Massachusetts pointed out that if two candidates — one Deaf, one hearing — possessed each of these components, the Deaf teacher likely would be  more qualified. This is because the Deaf teacher has the “Deaf experience”–that is, s/he lives life as a Deaf person, and is more likely to teach the language’s and community’s nuances that even the most culturally-knowledgeable hearing teacher cannot.

Learning a language, obviously, is also learning the culture, boundaries, and the nuances of the community that uses the language. I’m not really saying anything new here, but it still amazes me how many people lack the FATE components of teaching. It’s important to recognize just how much impact  ASL teachers have so upon the community at large, often more than they’re given credit for.

The local ASL teacher at the high school here, who is a CODA, has hundreds of students in her ASL classes each year, so it’s only natural to assume that the impact she has upon deaf people here is minimal given the volume of her work. The opposite is true: even with this sheer number of students, the impact she’s had upon the community is phenomenal. I go to the food store, restaurants, gas stations, even the car dealership, and people there sign because they took her class. This is why it’s so crucial to ensure that an ASL teacher has all of the FATE components. Such ASL teachers make this country become just a bit more harmonious.

Copyrighted material, used by permission. This article can not be copied, reproduced, or redistributed without the written consent of the author.

Filed Under: Community resources, Culture, Deaf education, Language Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Workshop: June 29, 2013 | Think of a Word, Quick! (New Jersey RID)

July 29, 2013

Think of a Word, Quick! 
New Jersey Registry of Interpreters for the Deaf, Eatontown, NJ

Trudy’s thoughts:

This workshop was filled to capacity, much to my happiness. It’s is one I have taught since 2000 in at least 25 locations around the nation.

Although the workshop has evolved over the years, the basic premise is always the same: use it or lose it. What I emphasize in this workshop is that one must use language in order to expand it. This seems like a no-brainer, but too many approach this from an academic standpoint rather than an everyday, basic perspective. To help drive this point home, I provide hands-on activities that help expand interpreters’ ASL and English vocabularies.  They’re activities that can be done anywhere, whether it be at home, on the train going somewhere, or even waiting at an appointment. They are such basic activities that I do all the time for my language development and expansion, because they really do work.

It’s also fascinated me to see how the very same reactions to the activities I present take place every time I do this workshop. It’s a wonderful sociological observation for me, and I always learn so much from those responses and coping strategies (because people who have attended my workshops know I never make the activities too easy–that’d completely defeat the point, right?).

This workshop is my all-time favorite workshop, and I hope to present it for many years to come.   Many thanks to the NJRID participants who made it so much fun, and especially for their kind words, openness, and willingness to discuss stumbling blocks in their interpreting work.

Evaluation comments:

Enjoyable. A combination of education and fun.

Excellent, and enjoyed the safe, fun environment.

Would love to have her back for a full workshop.

Hands down, one of the best workshops I’ve attended in a long time. Helped expand my thought process, made me think outside my habitual box, and made me laugh!

Great! So funny! Love your humor! Thanks.

Great workshop and practice I can use at home.

Good activities. They were fun!

Loved this workshop!! Would love an all-day version!!!

Filed Under: Community resources, Culture, Deaf education, Interpreting, Language, Workshop Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

Better Does Not Always Lead to Best

February 26, 2013

Better opportunities is a phrase I see thrown around casually, sometimes defiantly. It often comes from parents of deaf children who reject certain educational settings or American Sign Language (ASL) for their children, saying, “I want better opportunities for my children.”

Yet this phrase often unintentionally serves as subtle oppression. Several years ago, an expectant parent told my husband, “I really hope the child is hearing, because it’ll mean better opportunities for her/him.” This parent had two other children—one hearing, one deaf. Why would this parent belittle the deaf child by saying that having another hearing child would be better? Why in the world would being deaf equate to less desirable opportunities? [Read more…]

Filed Under: Culture, Deaf education, Language, Parenting

The fight of her life: Ronda Kopatich-Johnson

February 16, 2013

Ronda Kopatich-Johnson was my children’s teacher aide last year in preschool, and my children went ga-ga over her. My children came home with new words every single day. I could easily identify the words that came from Ronda, because of the signing style — and that always made me smile. They ask about Ronda every day, and talk about stories she told them such as her trip to Hawaii. She is gentle, loving, and firm but so incredibly sweet and giving. I could list a million positive adjectives about her, and I still wouldn’t get to the heart of who she is. So let me share a story.

Last year, my children’s school hosted a regional basketball tournament. The school gym is straight out of a movie–it is old, with a wooden, low ceiling that volleyball players use to their advantage during matches. The bleachers shake whenever people climb them, and reverberate with amazing energy when fans cheer. During the tournament, I realized my older daughter was nowhere to be seen, and I figured she was probably in the gym basement, playing with other children. I walked down to check on her, and saw a sight I’ll never forget.

About 15, maybe 20, children — both deaf and hearing — were seated in a circle. Ronda was explaining the rules for Duck, Duck, Goose to the captivated children. I watched from a distance as she taught them and then joined in on the fun.

Nobody asked her to do this, but Ronda knew the children were in need of activities after being cooped up in the gym all day long. Never mind that she already worked with preschoolers all week, and this was her time off.  After a while, I asked if she was all right, if she needed me to get the other parents so that she could watch the game; she was, and is, a renowned basketball player, and I knew how important basketball is to her. She shook her head and said she was just fine, that she was happy to help parents, including me, get a little respite.

I couldn’t stop thinking about this amazing deed on her part, because upstairs, there were hundreds of parents enjoying the games, clueless to the fact that one woman had chosen to go downstairs and entertain children who weren’t hers.

That, my friends, is what a true role model is.

Ronda is now fighting the harshest battle of her life: cancer. Since she is not covered by her wife’s health insurance, they have to pay for her medical expenses out of pocket. She was in the hospital for more than a month, days away from death. She is now home, and slowly but surely fighting her way back to “normal” (whatever that is). Her family is amazingly devoted to her recovery, especially her wife, Kelly.

Maybe you could spare a dollar or two, and help. Go to www.giveforward.com/rondakopatichjohnsonfund and read more there.

My children are really looking forward to having Ronda back at school. I am, too.

Update: The donation website is now inactive. Ronda passed away on July 18, 2013, and fought to the very end.

Filed Under: Blog, Community resources, Culture, Deaf Community, Deaf education, Humanity, Notable People

An Epilogue: Can I Speak Now?

January 10, 2013

This is a follow-up to an article I was invited to write for the NAD Monograph in 1997. To read the original piece, click here.

“A year to the day I was born, PL 94-142 was created. That’s when bureaucrats began to speak for me.”


– From the 1997 “Can I Speak Now?” article 

My Can I Speak Now? piece, written over 15 years ago, is one of my most popular articles. People often tell me that what I shared resonated with them because they, too, had similar experiences and frustrations. As I reread it today, I find it interesting how my perspectives have changed only slightly. The biggest change in my perspectives—at least until 2026—is that I will speak for my deaf children, but nobody else. It fascinates me how my children’s educational experiences are already so different from mine, and yet so similar.

I have chosen to enroll my four children—the oldest being five and the youngest being one—at a deaf school, because it’s clearly the best environment for them at this point in their lives. I also love the close-knit community here. But what I am most grateful for is my children’s unfettered access to communication 24 hours a day in school and at home. This comes from a Deaf-centric—and child-centric—educational environment and home environment.

With that said, one comment I got in response to the 1997 article stands out. Back in 1998, I shared the article with a mother of a deaf six-year-old; I was her supervisor at my then-job at a nonprofit agency serving the deaf community. She was still somewhat coming to terms with her child being deaf, and had chosen an ASL environment for her child’s education.

After she read the article, I asked for her thoughts. Her response was that I “sounded so angry like most deaf people.” This was the last thing I expected her to say, especially given our shared views on deaf education and communication options. Now, in retrospective, I realize it was because she was still new to the community and didn’t yet fully understand that this article and my experiences weren’t written in anger. Rather, it was a honest look at how the educational system has been for so many deaf people. Interestingly enough, later that year during a meeting with me, she got upset at not receiving a pay raise. As I looked away at the end of the meeting, she grabbed my jaw and turned my face so I’d look at her. Looking back at that incident, I realize now she was the one dealing with anger and I happened to be the nearest outlet for her.  I’d love to talk with her today and see if she still has the same perspectives she did back then. Her child is now college-aged, and doing very well from what I understand.

Back to the point: I continue to speak only for myself, because we each have such different experiences, perspectives and needs. I only hope that my children will grow up to become the best experts on what they need—not school professionals, not my husband or me, not anyone else. When they can speak for themselves, that’s when I’ll know I’ve done my job as a parent.

Filed Under: Blog, Childhood, Culture, Deaf education, Gallaudet, Language, Parenting
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