11

INAUGURATION OF THE NATIONAL DEAF-MUTE COLLEGE

(1864)

In 1864, during the Civil War, Laurent Clerc traveled to Washington, D.C., to take part in the official opening of the National Deaf-Mute College. For the seventy-eight-year-old Clerc, it must have been a gratifying event to witness. When he had arrived in the United States almost a half-century before, the nation had no deaf education at all. Now, in 1864, there were not only twenty-six residential schools for the deaf, but also a new college, the first of its kind in the world. The college confirmed everything Clerc had worked for during his long career. Authorized by Congress and President Abraham Lincoln, it demonstrated that many Americans had come to share his belief in the intellectual potential of deaf people.

Clerc himself did not lead the drive for a college; others took up that task. The first public call for more advanced deaf education came in 1851, when Jacob Van Nostrand, a hearing teacher at the New York school, published an article in the Annals. He wrote that “something must be done” to help the deaf student “take his place among the scholars and sages of the world.”1 At the time, deaf schools provided only an elementary education and vocational training in such fields as carpentry, shoemaking, printing, and sewing. Although he supported the schools, Van Nostrand said that deaf students did not have enough opportunities. He argued that schools should offer one or two years of additional course work to students who showed promise.

However, Van Nostrand did not advocate a college. Responding to Van Nostrand in the next issue of the Annals, John Carlin agreed that deaf education was too limited but said Van Nostrand did not go far enough. A few years later, in 1854, Carlin published an essay giving a full argument for a college (see p. 100).

If Carlin provided the vision of higher education for deaf people, Edward Miner Gallaudet was chiefly responsible for making it a reality. Born in 1837, Gallaudet was the youngest child of Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet and Sophia Fowler. He grew up signing, since his mother was deaf and the family involved in the deaf community. His father died when he was just fourteen. In 1855, shortly before he graduated from college, Gallaudet accepted a teaching position at the American Asylum in Hartford, which his father had cofounded with Clerc thirty-eight years before. Gallaudet became intrigued with the idea of a college, discussing the concept with a fellow teacher; however, they did not see a way to establish such an institution unless a millionaire could be found to endow it. Ambitious and restless, Gallaudet considered becoming a missionary to deaf people in China, but gave up that idea due to lack of funds. In 1857 he accepted a well-paid position at a Chicago bank. He was preparing to leave when he received an unexpected letter from Amos Kendall, a prominent civic leader in Washington, D.C.

Kendall had had a distinguished career. A former journalist and postmaster general of the United States, he had made a fortune through investments in the telegraph. Now an elderly man, he had become involved with deaf education in 1856, when a person named P. F. Skinner appeared with five deaf children and asked for Kendall’s assistance in opening a school. Kendall gave Skinner a house and two acres of land for the school and helped him to set up a board of directors. He also persuaded Congress to incorporate the new Columbia Institution for the Deaf and Dumb and the Blind and to provide $150 per year for each student. Yet despite such generous backing, Skinner badly neglected the children. When Kendall discovered the situation, he sued for custody of the five deaf orphans and began to search for a new superintendent. Harvey P. Peet, the head of the New York school, suggested Edward Miner Gallaudet for the post. Since Gallaudet was just twenty years old, Peet recommended that Gallaudet’s mother accompany him and act as matron of the school. Kendall agreed and wrote to Gallaudet to offer him the position.

Gallaudet saw the perfect opportunity to establish a college. He shared his dream with Kendall, who promised to help him to achieve it. In June of 1857 Gallaudet moved to Washington, D.C., with his mother, Sophia Fowler Gallaudet. At first, Gallaudet focused on the residential school, adding more students and securing additional funding. Then, in 1862, his annual report to Congress contained a recommendation that a college be established. The proposal came during the Civil War; the capital was filled with wounded soldiers and the school itself surrounded by a military encampment. Still, Congress passed the legislation in 1864 and President Lincoln signed it into law.

On June 28, 1864, people assembled for the inauguration of the new institution. Representatives of several other colleges, including the president of the University of Pennsylvania, were present. Both Clerc and Carlin signed speeches, which are included here. Clerc talked of the joy the college would bring to deaf people, while Carlin noted that the institution marked a “bright epoch in deaf-mute history,” a time of increased opportunity and possibility. The college was such a dramatic step forward that even Clerc and Carlin expressed some uncertainty about what deaf people would accomplish. Clerc, in his old age, struck a cautionary note: “On account of their misfortune,” he signed, “they cannot become masters of music, and perhaps can never be entitled to receive the degree of Doctor in Divinity, in Physic, or in Law.” The younger Carlin was more optimistic: “Is it likely that college for deaf-mutes will ever produce mute statesmen, lawyers, and ministers of religion, orators, poets, and authors?” he asked. “The answer is: They will, in numbers … few and far between.”

Carlin received the first degree awarded by the college, an honorary Master of Arts. The school was renamed Gallaudet College in 1894 in honor of Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet. In 1986 it became Gallaudet University.

Address by Laurent Clerc

My dear friends: The President elect of your Institution, Edward M. Gallaudet, has invited me to come and attend the inauguration of a “National College for the Deaf and Dumb” in Washington, the Capital of the United States, to take place on Tuesday, June 28, 1864.

I have accepted the invitation with much pleasure, and here I stand before you to say that I feel a just pride in seeing that the American Asylum at Hartford, Conn., has been the means of doing so much good and has produced so many evidences of intelligence and learning. Our school at Hartford was the first of its kind ever established in America, not only through the exertions of the late Rev. Dr. Thomas H. Gallaudet, and your humble speaker, but also by the generous subscriptions and contributions of both ladies and gentlemen in Hartford and other towns of New England. It has broken that barrier which had separated for several centuries the deaf and dumb from those who hear and speak. It has repaired the wrongs of nature in enabling them to replace hearing by writing, and speech by signs. It has also enabled many among you to become the teachers of your unfortunate fellowbeings. It has qualified your kind Principal and many gentlemen and ladies who hear and speak, to teach deaf and dumb persons in this and other schools which have since sprung up in several other portions of the United States.

Laurent Clerc (ca. 1850) in a portrait by John Carlin

Now, my dear friends, let me ask what is the object of the foundation of a college? It is for the purpose of receiving such graduates of the other institutions as wish to acquire more knowledge in Natural Science, Astronomy, Mathematics, Geography, History, Mental and Moral Philosophy, and Belles-Lettres.

Science is a most useful thing for us all. It is one of the first ornaments of man. There is no dress which embellishes the body more than science does the mind. Every decent man and every real gentleman in particular ought to apply himself above all things to the study of his native language, so as to express his ideas with ease and gracefulness.2 Let a man be never so learned, he will not give a high idea of himself or of his science if he speaks or writes in a loose vulgar language. The Romans, once the masters of the world, called the other nations, who did not know the language of Rome, barbarians; so, now that there are so many schools for the deaf and dumb in the United States, I will call barbarians those grown up deaf-mutes who do not know how to read, write, and cipher.

Finally, a well educated man, a gentleman by example, ought to add to the knowledge of one or two languages, that of Ancient and Modern History and Geography. The knowledge of History is extremely useful. It lays before our eyes the great picture of the generations that have preceded us, and in relating the events which passed in their time, we are taught to follow what is good and to avoid what is bad in our own time. It lays before us the precepts of the wise men of all ages, and acquaints us with their maxims. The crimes of the wicked are of no less use to us. Seldom does Divine Justice let them remain unpunished. The fatal consequences that always attend them preserve us from the seduction of bad example, and we endeavor to become good as much through interest as inclination, because there is everything to lose in being wicked and everything to gain in being good.

The degree of Master of Arts can be conferred on the deaf and dumb when they merit it; but, on account of their misfortune, they cannot become masters of music, and perhaps can never be entitled to receive the degree of Doctor in Divinity, in Physic [i.e., medicine], or in Law.

In closing, let me express to you my dear young friend, Mr. E. M. Gallaudet, President elect of this Institution, the earnest hope that in the great work which is before you, you will be blessed and prospered, and receive for your efforts, in behalf of the deaf and dumb, such proofs of its benefits as will reward you for the glorious undertaking.

John Carlin’s Oration

Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen: On this day, the 28th of June, 1864, a college for deaf-mutes is brought into existence. It is a bright epoch in deaf-mute history. The birth of this infant college, the first of its kind in the world, will bring joy to the mute community. True, our new Alma Mater has drawn its first breath in the midst of strife here and abroad; but as the storm now raging over our heads is purifying our political atmosphere, the air which it has inhaled is sweet and invigorating—how favorably this circumstance augurs its future success!

I thank God for this privilege of witnessing the consummation of my wishes—the establishment of a college for deaf-mutes—a subject which has for past years occupied my mind. Not that the object of my wishes was to enter its precincts with the purpose of poring once again over classic lore, but it was to see it receive and instruct those who, by their youth and newness of mind, are justly entitled to the privilege.

To begin its history, I find it a very pleasant task to introduce here its founders. Yale College had its Elihu Yale, through whose munificence it has lived long and prosperously, enjoying a position high in our esteem; Harvard and Brown Universities had their John Harvard and Nicholas Brown, whose memories are embalmed with perpetual fragrance in the hearts of their students. The founders, if I may so express myself, of this college are—allow me, I pray you, to carry your memory to the Federal halls of legislation. You remember it was several weeks ago; a month wherein you saw thousands and thousands of patriots passing through your streets on their way to the horrid Moloch of War; our good President, ably assisted by his Secretaries of War and Navy, labored most incessantly to ensure Grant’s success … and the members of both the Houses were busily occupied in what their country expected to see, the salvation of Columbia.3 Was it to continue the sanguinary strife? Yes; to save our Union. Sacrifice thousands of lives and millions of dollars in order to save the Union? Yes; to preserve our liberty and religion. In the midst of their arduous labors of patriotism they paused awhile to listen to a few humble petitioners; they considered the memorial; they probably remembered the unenviable condition of their unfortunate brothers, sisters, daughters, sons, and friends, and, notwithstanding the rapidly increasing debt, they did not hesitate even for a moment to grant the boon embodied in the memorial.

Such are the founders, so far as dollars and cents are regarded; for, without their co-operation in this laudable act of philanthropy; the labors, however great, of their private fellow-founders would have come to naught. In behalf of the mutes I beg leave to tender to them my most hearty thanks. …

Is it likely that colleges for deaf-mutes will ever produce mute statesmen, lawyers, and ministers of religion, orators, poets, and authors? The answer is: They will, in numbers, like angels’ visits, few and far between. No doubt this assertion strikes you as unsound in logic as it is contrary to the laws of physiology, since, in your opinion, their want of hearing incapacitates them for exercising the functions of speech in the forum, bar, and pulpit, and therefore the assumption that mutes, no matter if they are learned, will ever appear as legislators, lawyers, and preachers, is untenable. Be this as it may, I shall have only to remark that they, such as may appear with extraordinary talents, will be able to speak to audiences exactly in the manner my address is now read to you. At all events, as to the appearance of mute Clays and Websters, remembering the fact that every graduate of Dartmouth College, which produced a Daniel Webster, is not a Webster in colossal intellect, you will have too much sense to hurry yourselves to Mount Vesuvius this summer to witness its next eruption which may perchance take place on your arrival there. It may occur in ten years or later instead of this year.

Well, my friends, with regard to mute literati, Dr. Kitto, the great Bible commentator, himself a mute, rather semi-mute, for he lost his hearing in childhood; James Nack, of New York, and Professor Pelissier, of Paris, both semi-mutes of high repute, and Professor Berthier of Paris, a born mute author, fully demonstrate the possibility of mute poets and authors, with minds maturely cultured at college.4

The avenues of science, too, are now about to be opened to the mute in this college, and as these are not interfered with by the necessity of speech, its scholars will be enabled to expand their minds as far as their mental capacities can allow. Thus we may safely expect to see among the graduates a distinguished astronomer, scanning the starry field, tracing the singular yet beautiful courses of Ursa Major and Ursa Minor—measuring mathematically the exact, if possible, distance of the Nebulae—ever and anon exploring the solar spots, and making deductions from his researches and demonstrations as to whether the moon is really a huge, rugged mass of white metal, utterly devoid of water, vegetation, and breathing creation; a chemist, in his smoky laboratory, analyzing unknown substances, ascertaining the exact qualities of ingredients embodied in each, and with the industry and learning of a Leibig or a Faraday, setting forth works on his discoveries; a geologist roaming, hammer in hand, the rocky fields, diving into the fossiliferous strata for a stray Ichthyosaurus or a Megatherium, or perhaps, a fossil man, in order to sound the correctness of the Lamarckian (development) Hypothesis.5

Though, by no means impossibilities, these and mute poets are rarities. So you will please remember Mount Vesuvius. But mute authors of respectable ability and clerks of acknowledged efficiency will be found here in a number quite as satisfactory as may be wished.

These observations being duly and candidly considered as correct, you cannot but feel the indispensability of this pioneer college to the advancement of intelligent mutes to the point from whence they will be able to employ their minds in still higher pursuits of intellect, or in attending their professions with credit. Such are its advantages which cannot be afforded by our existing institutions, excellent establishments as they are for the initiated. Nowhere but in this college the field of knowledge, replete with aesthetic flowers of literature, can be roamed over with a full appreciation of the pleasure so freely given by its benefactors.

However flattering the prospect of its success, it must be borne in mind that, by reason of the peculiar character of the deaf-mute’s mind, of which I shall by and by treat, and of the popular modus operandi of instruction, now pursued at our institutions, which, it must candidly be admitted, is as yet far from being the ne plus ultra of perfection, he—now a college-boy—cannot be expected to compete with the hearing college-boy in the extent of literary acquirements and in the accuracy and fluency of language. …

The mute’s sensorium, in consequence of his deafness, is all blank—speaking of oral impressions. True, it receives impressions of all objects which he has seen, felt, smelt, or tasted. It continues so until he goes to the deaf-mute school-room at the age of twelve years; perhaps older than that. What a sad spectacle this poor child presents! Looking into the depths of his mind, whether he has any distinct idea of Deity, you are shocked to find him an absolute heathen. A heathen in your very midst! At home his brightness of expression that seems to imply high yet dormant intellect, all affection which his kin can possibly lavish on him, and the Christian influence of religious persons with whom he uses to come in contact, cannot deliver him from the thraldom of abject heathenism. Nothing useful or ornamental can ever emerge from his dark mind. Where no schools exist for the benefit of mutes, the unfortunates move in a most pitiful condition, and in certain places are believed to be possessed with devils; in India and elsewhere mute infants are murdered lest they should grow up dead weights on their kin; and even in civilized nations where deaf-mute schools flourish, uneducated mutes are often regarded hardly above beasts of burden, and therefore are employed in the drudgeries of life. In short, an uneducated mute—an innocent outcast, with a mind semblant to a gold nugget still embedded in the earth, yet to be brought up and refined in the crucible—drags a miserable existence.

He enters school—remember, as a general rule, young mutes are admitted to schools at not less than twelve years of age. It may be worthwhile to say that the New York Institution, much to her credit, took last fall the courage to receive them four years younger than that. So much the better. It is much to be hoped that this example will be extensively imitated. Our youth’s mind begins to develop its faculties—the seeds of knowledge one after another take root—they now germinate in a manner warranting the success of a mode of instruction altogether different from that of the hearing. See here what a triumph of art! Whoever be its inventor, let him be blessed now and forever! Thomas H. Gallaudet and Laurent Clerc are none the less entitled to our gratitude for their introduction of the art into our midst. Shall I expatiate here on their noble disinterestedness—their patient labors in the school-room—their devotedness to their welfare and the affection and veneration of the mutes for them? This is hardly necessary, for you all know them. Dr. Gallaudet is now asleep in Christ. Ere he departed this life, he, like Elijah of old, flung his ample mantle upon his two sons, Thomas and Edward.6 This mantle is the love for deaf-mutes. When it alighted on those sons, it divided itself into two, and pleasing to say, each of the two portions is equal to the original mantle in the extent and depth of the sentiment. And Mr. Clerc, the venerable father of American instruction is still in the land of the living. He is shortly to be an octogenarian. O, may he enjoy many more golden days of peace and happiness in the midst of his loving friends.

To return to the youth. In a month or two he ceases to be a heathen, though by no means familiar with the Scriptures, and through his term—seven years—he acquires sufficient for his general business of life. Owing to the brevity of his term and the fact that knowledge does not reach him through one main avenue, his knowledge is exceedingly crude, his grammar wanting in accuracy, and his language not quite as fluent as that of a hearing youth of twelve. Should he, if he be a bright scholar, enter the high class (there are but two of this kind in our country, one at the New York Institution and the other in the American Asylum at Hartford), he would certainly, with ambition stimulating his mind to make efforts, acquire as much literary treasure as his short term could afford. Still his language is found to have come short of perfection, and his intellectual appetite is, therefore, not satisfied. Like Oliver Twist, he is still asking for more.7 In other words, he wants to go to this College. He knocks at her gates for admittance.

Alma Mater—young and comely, and breathing with the most healthy vigor of life under the aegis of Columbia—behold this youth! See how he thirsts after knowledge! Open your gates wide, that he may joyously cross your threshold! Oh, stimulate his heart to the pursuit of the coveted prize—ripe scholarship! Unfold to his eager mind the hidden beauties of classic literature! Like Aristotle, instructing his scholars while rambling under the azure arch, you will lead him through the walks of sacred lore under the souldelighting canopy of Heaven, formed of angels and cherubims, with their wings spread out, watching the world and counting every pilgrim that seeks to be admitted to the Celestial Abode. And in time, send him forth into society, a man, to whom the world will give the respect due to him, a gentleman, whom all will delight in making acquaintance with, and a student, still enlarging his store of knowledge at home, always remembering you and your Congressional patrons, to use Massieu’s words, with the memory of the heart—Gratitude!8

1. Jacob Van Nostrand, “Necessity of a Higher Standard of Education for the Deaf and Dumb,” American Annals of the Deaf and Dumb 3 (July 1851): 196–97.

2. Clerc’s calling English a “native language” here is somewhat ironic, since he and other writers had argued that English is a foreign language to those born deaf.

3. At the time, Ulysses S. Grant (1822–1885), the commanding general of the Union Army, was attempting to break through the Confederate forces and go to Richmond. However, although he had numerical superiority over southern troops, in a series of bloody battles he had failed to make much headway.

4. For information on Kitto, Pelissier, and Berthier, see p. 104, n. 11.

5. Carlin refers here to Justus von Liebig (1803–1873), German chemist; Michael Faraday (1791–1867), English chemist and physicist; an Ichthyosaur, an extinct marine reptile; and a Megatherium, an extinct gigantic sloth. The Lamarckian Hypothesis held that environmental changes caused structural changes in animals and plants, which were then passed on to offspring.

6. In 2 Kings, chapter 2, the prophet Elijah ascends to heaven in a fiery chariot, leaving only his mantel behind for his disciple, Elisha, who then uses the garment to perform a miracle. The Rev. Thomas Gallaudet (1822–1902), Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet’s eldest son, served as rector of St. Ann’s Episcopal Church, which he and Carlin helped to found for deaf people in New York. He also advocated sign language services for deaf people in churches across the nation.

7. In chapter two of Charles Dickens’ novel, Oliver Twist (1838), the children in the Poor House are given very little gruel to eat. Oliver famously says, “Please, sir, I want some more,” and is immediately placed in confinement for daring to doubt the adequacy of the dietary provisions.

8. At one of Sicard’s public exhibitions, Jean Massieu (see p. 133, n. 5) was asked to define gratitude. He wrote, “Gratitude is the memory of the heart.”