This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

I know it’s only August, but I already know what I want for Christmas.

A DVD boxed set of every DEAF MOSAIC show ever made.

I used to get up every Sunday morning to watch DEAF MOSAIC. It was such an inspiring source of identity, history and news. I still remember the opening credits of one season, where there was an American running in the Deaflympics. It was only when I was at Gallaudet that I discovered the American was one of my friends, Eric Roberts. I still remember the awe I felt when I realized I actually knew people from the show.

I also remember when one of the episodes featured my classmate. One of the shots showed him in a class, with me sitting next to him. “You’re on television!” my family excitedly signed.

And who could forget the opening of each show? Mary Lou Novitsky (M-L) and Gil Eastman (G-on-chin) were the unapologetically cheerful hosts that I felt as if I knew personally. (Note: I did meet them in person when I was 14. I got their autographs then scurried away, starry-eyed.)
Even today, my peers and I mimic the way Gil signed “WORLD” because it was, and is, such a classic introduction. As trivial as these incidents may have been, they show just how much of an impact DEAF MOSAIC had upon my peers and me.

Whenever I had free time as a Gallaudet student, I often went to the lower level of the library to check out tapes of DEAF MOSAIC. I’ve probably seen every episode by now. The years that the show was on television were, to me, years of unparalleled awakening within the Deaf community.

I think that if the shows were put on DVD and sold as boxed sets, they’d sell like crazy. Some of them are actually available for purchase as videotapes today, but I want the entire collection.

By the way, if Christmas is too long from now, my birthday’s in late November.

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

This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

I get this e-zine each week. I don’t know why I subscribe to it. Maybe it’s because I keep hoping that there will be something of interest somewhere in there.

The e-zine bills itself as an “independent-voice, subscriber-based e-newsletter nationwide.” Yet is it really independent? Most of the news bits have personal comments. The editor ties non-deaf issues into the deaf community–some such a stretch that they make me chuckle. The issues are also filled with poorly written sentences and inaccurate information. And the ads!

With all the free time I have, I counted the stories and ads in this week’s two-part issue to see just how many there were. When I saw the final numbers, I was floored.

FIRST PART

Actual news bits: 4
News bits with personal comments: 9
Regular features (captioning bloopers, look back at history, etc.): 5

Advertisements
Ads about the e-zine: 4
General ads: 18
Employment Ads: 10

SECOND PART

Actual news bit: 3
News bits with personal comments: 10
Regular features: 4

Advertisements
Ads about the e-zine: 4
General ads: 19
Employment ads: 11

Overall, that’s about seven news bits, 19 news bits with personal comments, nine “features” and a total of–wait, let me get my calculator–66 ads in every issue.

Of course, ads are the backbone of any publication. But let’s do the math: if the editor charges maybe $20 per ad, that’s at least $1000 a week. Factor in costs for website hosting for a webpage that has no archives and an unappealing design; time for putting together the e-zine and e-mail correspondence–that sure adds up to a cushy salary.

So, with that salary, wouldn’t you think facts would be at least verified? Me, too. But in the past few years, the e-zine has reported quite a few inaccurate tidbits. The most recent blunder was the announcement of a well-known deaf leader’s wife’s death. Usually, the e-zine’s sources are “anonymous” or never credited.

That’s not all. A few years ago, the e-zine reported that a building at Gallaudet would be named after CSD honcho Ben Soukup–when in reality it was a room, not a whole building. The e-zine also incorrectly reported in the last month that Jerry Springer had a deaf son (his child has Down Syndrome); that Saturn star Holly Daniel was an actress; and the list goes on.

Don’t we deserve news bits that are verified, relevant, and unbiased? I don’t care if the e-zine is free; it still has the responsibility of accurate reporting. The e-zine is such a valuable resource for the Deaf community–especially the job listings. The editor claims that its circulation is over 13,000. It frightens me to think of how many readers are being misled by the contents of each issue.

Maybe I should just unsubscribe.

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This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

When I go out with a signing hearing person, I’m often unsure of protocol for ordering. With deaf people, it’s a given that we’ll order for ourselves. With hearing people, I prefer to order for myself–but what if the situation becomes silly and it’s easier to just let the hearing person speak for me? Is that showing I’m not independent enough and “need help”?

A few months ago, I went to a dinner with a hearing friend I hadn’t seen in seven years. When the waiter came around, my friend knew I was going to order a Sprite and spoke for me before I could stop him. I told him that I’d prefer to order for myself, and he was cool about it. But the waiter kept on talking to him, even though I had pointed out my order and had indicated I wanted to write some of the particulars (ketchup, mayo, etc.). Worse yet, the waiter was almost impossible to lipread. I was annoyed, but my friend was an innocent bystander–or was he? Should he have told the waiter, “Please communicate with Trudy directly”? Should I have made a big deal out of it or just let it slide? Where is the fine line between asserting and overreacting?

What about if I’m with a fluent hearing signer? I was at Chipotle’s (a Mexican restaurant with a set-up much like Subway’s), and started to point to a menu–only to find that the order-taker was too short to lean over the counter to see what I was pointing to. So I hurriedly turned to my friend (an interpreter) and asked her to order for me. I felt bad for “depending” on her, especially since she was off duty.

Should I swallow my pride and not worry so much about whether I’m coming across as an idiot to the order-takers, and let the hearing person speak for me for the sake of convenience? Or do I offend the interpreter by “relying” on him/her like many other deaf people do?

Another time, I was at Wendy’s with a CODA. He was new to Deaf culture (although he grew up in it, he didn’t really know about the culture), and I let him order first in order to avoid having him speak for me. As he stepped aside to wait for his food, I wrote my order down. The teenage worker looked at me and spoke. The CODA stepped in to try and interpret, and I signed, “Myself, thanks”–and asked the worker to write. The worker spoke again, and I again gestured for him to write. He suddenly looked behind me, and I knew immediately that the CODA had spoken behind my back. I turned around and said, “MYSELF!” Finally the worker slowly wrote: “Circle one: Single or Junior?”

Should I have just let the CODA take care of it for me? Would the worker have spoken or written, “Circle one” to any other adult? My friend and I apologized to each other later–me for snapping at him, and him for not realizing I wasn’t like his uneducated parents who always relied upon him. He explained later that whenever he went out with his parents and their friends–oftentimes six or seven people–they expected him to interpret for all of them.

So what’s the answer to how protocol should be?

I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

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

This aoriginally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

So what’s the deal with the name contest for Sorenson VRS?

When I saw the announcements, I thought, “Not again!” In my original article about Holly Daniel, the hearing woman who faked being deaf for years and landed a Saturn car commercial where she invented a sign for the brand, I wrote:

Edna Johnston, an educator at Chicago’s Columbia College in the B.A. in Interpreting program and local ASL expert, explains, “The sign she invented . . . does not adhere to the rules set in ASL for the creation of new signs and ASL vocabulary–We have a limited number of signs for various makes of vehicles . . . basically we do not have initialized signs with descriptive motions (i.e. ‘B’ for Buddy and motion made for ‘music,’ ‘L’ for Laura and ‘tall,’ etc.). It’s not done that way.”

Johnston continues, “Another thing–when signs are created–they are usually iconic in nature and not initialized–for instance, microwave, fax, camcorder, etc. Actually right now, the deaf community fingerspells ‘Saturn’.” (Edited for brevity. DeafNation Newspaper, March 1997).

Sure, deaf and hearing people invent signs all the time, such as in the classrooms or workplace–but these signs are supposed to stay in these locations, not to be used publicly. Besides, it’s not really ethical to invent a sign specifically for the purpose of publicity, like the Sorenson name contest. At a conference I went to several years ago, an announcement was made onstage that the new sign for “Verizon” was a V slashed through the air downwards. People talked about it at the conference, but the novelty soon wore off and they started fingerspelling the name again.

When I saw the new sign for Sorenson VRS–shaking the “s” in the air, then fingerspelling VRS–I thought, “But that’s what some people have been signing all along? You had to hold a contest for that?” (The mocking signs like “Sore-VRS” hold no validity for me.) Seeing that Sorenson is a hearing-run company, it makes me even more confounded that they think they can create a new sign. It doesn’t matter if the person who submitted the winning entry is deaf or not.

When you put a group of deaf people together, signs will evolve naturally. The deaf kids at my high school and I had many of our own signs that had no direct English translations. These signs were used among ourselves, away from the influence of hearing teachers/interpreters.

I think we need to stop accepting that it’s okay for hearing companies, hearing people, or even deaf people to invent signs, and start allowing our beautiful ASL to evolve naturally.

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This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

Mary Thornley, a TTMW columnist, wrote a fantastic e-mail in response to my column last week about people asking me to slow down my ASL. Portions of her e-mail follow:

In regard to Trudy’s article about signing rapidly, and that she has never known a deaf person who asked her to sign more slowly; I am deaf and grew up oral. I learned sign only lately, and I have occasionally asked other deaf to ‘pls sign slow for me.’

Everyone thinks a deaf person who is learning sign is ‘odd’ although I don’t know why when we know sign has been targeted for eradication for many years.

I remember in graduate school (not a deaf campus) one professor often said to me, “Oh I love sign language!” every time she ran into me even though I had told her more than once I did not know sign. She didn’t know sign either. Maybe she just couldn’t think of anything else to say.

When I arrived at Gallaudet in 1999 I began attending sign classes. Often I would be the only deaf person in the class. The others, mostly staff, would stare at me as if they were thinking, “What are you doing here?”

The attitude is akin to oralism. Anyone who does not know sign must ‘pick up the language’ through exposure or immersion. No one should ask anyone to repeat or slow down–the same things I was told as a lip-reading child in grade school.

Of course Trudy’s complaint is not about others asking her to slow down but that they present their request as a criticism: she should not be signing fast. Trudy would like to have the same freedom in using her language as hearing people enjoy, and she would prefer that hearing people don’t feel it’s okay for them to criticize her delivery.

Trudy, I might need to ask you to slow down sometime. I hope this is okay.

My mother didn’t learn sign language until she was 17. She knew how to fingerspell, but she functioned as a hearing person growing up. My family has long found this fascinating, considering she’s the most deaf of the family, audiologically-wise.

She is today culturally Deaf, and continues to be able to speak very well. What this has made for is an odd style of ASL. She mouths a lot as she signs, and uses a lot of initialized sign–yet her signing is still ASL in a peculiar way. I’ve long given up on trying to describe it, because her ASL is truly something you have to see for yourself.

Her unique style of signing has created for a lot of nasty situations. When my mom and stepdad were in town one weekend, I took them to a spaghetti dinner benefit at a Deaf club. The clubhouse was packed, and my stepdad, a fluent ASL user, was seated at a table chatting with one of the local deaf leaders. I was in line for my food as I watched them chat.

Mom walked over to sit down at the table. The deaf leader looked at Mom asking my stepdad to get napkins. What she did next, I’ll never forget: she frowned at Mom’s signing, and shook her head in disgust. She then made a show of turning her back to my mother. My heart broke when I saw the hurt and humiliation on Mom’s face.

I got my plate, and walked to the table. The deaf leader lit up as she saw me and said, “Hey! Me introduce you to man…” I told her that he was my stepfather. She smiled as if this made sense. I asked, “Have you also met my mother?” As I pointed to my mother, the deaf leader looked visibly stunned. “That’s your mother? But you two look so different!” I nodded, and ignored her for the rest of dinner.

This, my friends, is why I refuse to ‘reject’ Deaf people who may be oral or slow in their signing. How could I reject my own mother? So, Mary, I will happily sign slower for you. If you’ll be patient with me, I’ll be patient with you.

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

This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

Whenever an ASL student or interpreter approaches me and says, “Gosh, you sign too fast!” I often grimace silently to myself.

I know they don’t mean anything personal by saying that, but it does strike a nerve. It’s not because of my high school interpreter constantly mocking my signing speed. She would, for the benefit of hearing students, mimic my signing speed by speaking quickly using nonsense words. The students would crack up or nudge me knowingly whenever I signed and the interpreter became lost, even if I signed slowly and in English order. She truly had an impact on my confidence about my ASL for years. I’ve written about this many times, and will always write about it because it’s a disgraceful example of interpreting. But that’s not the reason I grimace.

The real reason is because when a hearing, non-native user of ASL tells me I sign “too” fast, the burden of not communicating clearly is placed squarely upon my shoulders. A person who uses ASL as a second language is telling *me*, a native user of ASL, that I am the one who causing the communication barrier? I often respond with a wry chuckle and sign, “Or maybe you eyes-receptive slow!” and throw the hot potato back.

I can certainly understand the need to slow down for presentations and/or workshops–and I *do* sign fast. But is going up to someone and saying, “You sign too fast” really an ideal solution? What is “too” fast? Interestingly enough, when I told other native signers I was going to write about this pet peeve, they all nodded in agreement. One of them said that he is told he signs “too fast” by hearing people all the time, but never by another deaf person. As he said that, I realized that it was true for me, too–never has a deaf person told me that I sign “too fast” or even “fast.” Go figure.

So, how about this: if you’re a hearing signer who truly finds someone’s signing faster than you can understand, ask with a smile, “I’m slow at understanding ASL, would you mind slowing down a bit?” Accept the responsibility of being the one who carries the communication barriers, rather than dumping it on the deaf person. And please don’t sigh and say “Too fast!” as you shake your head in disbelief. This will bring increased patience on both sides of the issue. Or at least for me, anyway.

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

This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

Mrs. Most, Mr. O’Donnell, Mr. Kendrick, Mrs. Hummel, Mrs. Bruner… That’s how I remember my teachers: by their last names. Of course, I don’t sign the “Mr.” or “Ms.”–I sign their last names (or in Mrs. Hummel’s case, a K-H diagonally across my chest). Ask me their first names, and I’ll have to think a bit before responding.

Yet, last week, I watched as kids at a track meet talked about teachers, the principal and the superintendent by their first names. Name signs were used, but when spelling out, the first names were always used instead of the last names. Coincidentally, a friend had paged me about this same topic and said he couldn’t imagine ever calling his teachers by their first names even though he grew up at a deaf school and came from a deaf family.

I started asking friends who worked at deaf schools to see if this was the “Deaf way” or more of changing times. Most said students call them by their first names, or more commonly, their name signs. Their name signs usually were initialized signs of their names (i.e. R-S, J-J, S-B, and so on). But those who didn’t have name signs were called by their first names. However, one person also noted that older teachers–those well into their 60s, or already retired–often had name signs that used the last names only, which he felt was a sign of changing times.

Do students today feel more comfortable using first names because we are such a close-knit community, or because they have less understanding of the line between student and teacher?

My name sign is a “T” on the chest. Most people call me “Trudy,” though. I’m fine with either, regardless of how old you are.

******

Many months ago, in Week #3 of this column, I wrote asking where the deaf people were at captioning companies. To date, I’ve learned of one hard of hearing guy who works for NCI; and then two who work for private, small captioning businesses. But I still don’t know of any deaf people who work at NCI, CaptionMax, or any of the other heavy-hitters in the captioning industry. Make what you will of that.

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

This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

I first saw DEAFULA in the mid-1990s, and for the next 10 years, I searched high and low for a copy of the movie. A couple of weeks ago, a friend finally found it on a website that specialized in hard-to-find movies–and I was thrilled. I quickly ordered it.

As soon as I got the DVD, I sat down to watch it. I was once again transported into the 1974 movie’s cheesy and hilarious dialogue. The movie, an adaptation of Bram Stoker’s DRACULA, is done entirely in sign language with voice-overs. The lead character, Steve Adams/Deafula, is played by the movie’s producer, Peter Wolf (Wechsberg), who went on to produce movies like THINK ME NOTHING and I LOVE YOU, BUT. . .

Although the costumes were a bit tacky (Deafula had an unrealistically huge nose), and the dialogue made me roll my eyes sometimes, I was captivated by the eloquent sign language. Even though it was easy to identify which actors were hearing and which were deaf, the signing was something I seem to only see in films from the 1970s. I’m not quite sure what it is, but the signing from these days just seems different.

In fact, I have some footage of my dad as a high school student at the North Carolina School for the Deaf during the late 1960s. Students who are now in their 50s are seen signing the Pledge of Allegiance, Star-Spangled Banner, and poems. I also have other footage of my parents as twenty-somethings (were they ever really that young?!), signing on camera.

One thing is common among my parents, the students, and the DEAFULA signers: they all signed with their mouths shut. I don’t know if this is what made their signing seem unique, especially since many signed in English order. Yet their signing seemed like beautifully executed ASL (except for Amy in DEAFULA, who signed “W” for wonder and “H” for help). Sometimes the signing did seem unnatural, especially when there were no mouth movements that are customary for specific signs. Perhaps this was because they were being filmed, but their signs still seemed expressive.

As I chatted with people about the movie, I remembered so many signs I used as a child that I don’t use anymore: the “don’t” or “not” sign with both hands down by my stomach, as if gesturing “safe” in baseball; wiggling my fingers for “brown” (instead of the B-on-cheek I now use); and many others. I’m not sure why I stopped using these signs–gradual evolution of the language, I suppose. We also use mouth movements much more today. I don’t know if this is good or not.

But boy, is DEAFULA a great blast into the past. Watch it to gain some insight on how far we’ve come in filmmaking and ASL. You won’t be disappointed.

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

This article originally appeared in The Tactile Mind on May 5, 2004.

I first saw DEAFULA in the mid-1990s, and for the next 10 years, I searched high and low for a copy of the movie. A couple of weeks ago, a friend finally found it on a website that specialized in hard-to-find movies–and I was thrilled. I quickly ordered it.

As soon as I got the DVD, I sat down to watch it. I was once again transported into the 1974 movie’s cheesy and hilarious dialogue. The movie, an adaptation of Bram Stoker’s DRACULA, is done entirely in sign language with voice-overs. The lead character, Steve Adams/Deafula, is played by the movie’s producer, Peter Wolf (Wechsberg), who went on to produce movies like THINK ME NOTHING and I LOVE YOU, BUT. . .

Although the costumes were a bit tacky (Deafula had an unrealistically huge nose), and the dialogue made me roll my eyes sometimes, I was captivated by the eloquent sign language. Even though it was easy to identify which actors were hearing and which were deaf, the signing was something I seem to only see in films from the 1970s. I’m not quite sure what it is, but the signing from these days just seems different.

In fact, I have some footage of my dad as a high school student at the North Carolina School for the Deaf during the late 1960s. Students who are now in their 50s are seen signing the Pledge of Allegiance, Star-Spangled Banner, and poems. I also have other footage of my parents as twenty-somethings (were they ever really that young?!), signing on camera.

One thing is common among my parents, the students, and the DEAFULA signers: they all signed with their mouths shut. I don’t know if this is what made their signing seem unique, especially since many signed in English order. Yet their signing seemed like beautifully executed ASL (except for Amy in DEAFULA, who signed “W” for wonder and “H” for help). Sometimes the signing did seem unnatural, especially when there were no mouth movements that are customary for specific signs. Perhaps this was because they were being filmed, but their signs still seemed expressive.

As I chatted with people about the movie, I remembered so many signs I used as a child that I don’t use anymore: the “don’t” or “not” sign with both hands down by my stomach, as if gesturing “safe” in baseball; wiggling my fingers for “brown” (instead of the B-on-cheek I now use); and many others. I’m not sure why I stopped using these signs–gradual evolution of the language, I suppose. We also use mouth movements much more today. I don’t know if this is good or not.

But boy, is DEAFULA a great blast into the past. Watch it to gain some insight on how far we’ve come in filmmaking and ASL. You won’t be disappointed.

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

This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

Over $8,000.

That’s how much I’d have to pay as a small business owner for an exhibition booth at each of the various expos and conferences this year alone. With booth rates varying from $350 to $800 for deaf-owned businesses (and not much cheaper for nonprofit agencies), that’s a staggering price.

That doesn’t include airfare, hotel, lodging, and transportation, either. Even if I wanted to go to these conferences and expos only as an attendee, I’d pay regular rates of well over $500, plus airfare, transportation, lodging and meals.

Though the return on such booths and marketing may be high–new clients bring more money–deaf-owned businesses still often can’t go to conferences because of the costs of registration and lodging, not to mention all the other little expenses that add up. Most people don’t exactly want to bunk up with 10 other people sleeping on the floor in order to pay for a week’s worth of rooms.

I certainly understand the ramifications of such high costs. I wonder, though, how we can make these conferences more accessible to small businesses or deaf-run organizations that would really benefit from the events yet can’t afford them. Many conferences and expos do not allow booth sharing, where two businesses or individuals share the cost of one booth. For example, some deaf artists live from paycheck to paycheck, yet these conferences are their main source of making money by selling their art. How can they afford booths if they’re already financially strapped and can’t share their booth with other artists? It’s a Catch-22 situation.

I think it is possible to find cheaper booth rates by using less pricey hotels or locations. For instance, the Intertribal Deaf Council conference rates are amazing. Booths are only $175 to $225, and registration fees are only $75 for members. And the fees include meals, craft materials, and a museum tour. Lodging is between $5 (yes, $5) and $50. Their booths are also in the area of where the workshops will be held, so exhibitors will be able to benefit from the workshops.

Even so, some feel that utilizing cheaper locations may downgrade the professional image or ‘class’ of such events. Others also ask if it’s really the responsibility of organizations and expos to make booths less expensive for small businesses or organizations. Or is the name of the game for business owners to spend money to make money? What about scholarships–is it possible to create a fair process in place to determine who gets financial assistance? Yet, on the other hand, would it be appropriate to give scholarships to people in order to help them make money?

It’s a complicated issue, one that needs to be addressed not only by conference and expo planners, but by deaf-owned businesses, too. After all, aren’t we supposed to be helping each other in the community?

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