In the Beginning…
It’s hard to imagine the world of hearing loss without the internet, texting, cell phones, and assistive listening devices. But those of us who had to deal with it had to be totally resourceful, and self-deprecating, not to mention fast on our feet to keep up.
I was four years old and living on Long Island, NY when a series of high fevers, strep, and massive doses of Streptomycin ultimately caused a hearing loss.
I was tested and found that my hearing was normal so everyone – parents, teachers and doctors forgot about it and continued on. It wasn’t detected for six more years.
I went to St. Dominic’s Catholic School in Oyster Bay (Teddy Roosevelt’s hometown) NY. It was the beginning of the baby boomer era. The teeming surge of kids were packed into classrooms that were short in supply.
In my second-grade class, there was one nun, 102 students, and no aide. Seriously. There were six long rows of squirming children, but my teacher, a religious sister whose name I can’t recall, kept strict order. Not a peep was heard. Because I was the smallest in my class, I was in the front. Unbeknownst to me, I was learning to lip-read. I excelled in class and loved the environment. Nuns had the power, that’s for sure.
And then it changed. In fifth grade, we were seated alphabetically. Because my maiden name was Linke, I was placed in the middle of a sea of students. My grades plummeted. My focus waned. I wasn’t connecting the academic dots. My worried parents and Sister St. Rita couldn’t come up with a reason for the change.
It wasn’t until Thanksgiving, that the answer surfaced. The class was assigned to draw a picture for Thanksgiving. On the Wednesday before the holiday, Sister St. Rita went up and down the rows complimenting each child on their beautiful versions of turkeys. When I handed her my picture, she was really taken aback. “This is a beautiful… turtle,” she added and promptly hung it with the 101 birds above the chalkboard. Now, it all made sense. She was on the phone before the buses pulled out.
“Your daughter is deaf!” My parents were in disbelief when they got the call. My mother was sure that my hearing was perfect. The fact that at home, the television blared whenever I watched a show or never came when they called me, did not factor into the equation.
My father was the personal manager for Andy Griffith (and was for 40 years) In 1960 when The Andy Griffith Show was about to premiere, we moved to California. They waited until after the move to take me to an audiologist and be tested.
A side note: my German grandfather, Paul, and my Austrian grandmother, Rose, moved with us. Now Rose had had a hearing problem for many years but adamantly denied it. There was a huge stigma to hearing loss then. She declared that I would only be fitted for hearing aids “over her dead body.” Well, it was the afternoon of her funeral when I picked them up! She was true to her word! Also, a Thanksgiving weekend. (second side note – I was born on Thanksgiving).
Arthur Holcombe was my audiologist who happened to be 78 years OLD (trust me, in 1960 that was ancient). Mr. Holcombe wore hearing aids himself. I think I was his youngest patient ever. He tested and diagnosed me in the moderate to profound range. I was fitted with “state of the art” hearing aids that went into the temples of my glasses. They were a silvery blue to match my new glittering life in Hollywood! (not)
I was enrolled in sixth grade at Marymount Junior School in Brentwood. It was the polar opposite of St. Dominic’s – only 20 girls per class and they all came from wealthy and famous families. On the first day, I was brought to the front of the room and looked down at what seemed to be canyons of rows while introduced as having a hearing loss. They pretty much ignored me until I came back with my new hearing aids.
Once again, I was brought to the front of the class to show off my new aids. They were ecstatic – “Nancy Linke can hear!!” they screamed. They would watch me hear new sounds and then identify what I had just heard. A light switch; a carbon copier; a car signal indicator, etc.
It was all overwhelming and wonderful. After my final adjustment, Mr. Holcombe sent me off and waved “Have a nice life!”
After that, I never met another person with hearing loss (or anyone who looked like me) until I was 43 years of age. 33 years later!
I managed to get through Providence High School, a private all-girls school in Burbank. The classes were small, and the teachers made invisible adjustments to make sure I was up to speed.
The social scene caused my parents a lot of worry. I didn’t use a telephone (not that there were cell phones) but it didn’t stop me from accepting a date over the phone from a guy that I had no clue as to who it was. My father was there to open the front door to look him over before I was sent off.
I’d leave my glasses (along with my hearing aids) at home when I went to dances and mixers. I have no idea how I survived the high school social scene intact and deaf. Thankfully, BTE hearing aids had just come out. My mother’s relief was pronounced.
College. Ohio University in Athens, Ohio was an entirely different experience. There were lines and no one-on-one help in a chaotic auditorium. Just noise and few classes remaining to take. A tsunami of college freshmen. Overhead announcements were garbled blasts of noise.
As part of the “orientation,” I had to take a hearing test (in the middle of an auditorium with 5,000 other students). My perfect speech didn’t give me away. I told them not to bother. I was hearing impaired and wore hearing aids.
Well, that landed me into speech therapy with some students who had very deaf speech. It took a few weeks before I convinced them it was a waste of both of our times and was let loose. I didn’t look deaf and act deaf until someone turned around.
My first class had 200 students in it. My mother’s advice to “let them know I couldn’t hear” seemed kind of lame given the circumstances. There were no ALDs, CART, or even note-takers. There was no ADA until it was signed into law in 1990.
Every time the professor turned his back on the class, I was lost. Beards and accents stymied me; my notes looked like swiss cheese. I couldn’t understand why my notes were so incomplete.
Remember the mantra of the times: Don’t ever use your hearing loss as an excuse.
Nanci Linke-Ellis is the 2024 President of HLAA-CA and is passionate about advocacy, learning to live with cochlear implants, and fighting for hearing loss rights.
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