11

A Lifetime Commitment

“READ THIS!” Vicki said, handing me a long roll of TTY conversations from the day. I took the paper and pulled her in for a kiss before placing them and my briefcase on the table. “Let me get my coat off first!” I teased her. Our little kitchen was filled with warmth and the delicious smell of homemade pasta sauce made with basil and oregano from Vicki’s windowsill herb garden. It was almost 9:00 at night, and I was tired from working at McDonnell and then attending night classes at St. Louis University, but reading the conversations between Sally and Vicki was always one of the highlights of my day. I hung up my coat while Vicki served the pasta into two big bowls. Bernard, who had dinner hours ago, was in his crib in our room, asleep. I sat and read the day’s exchange with Sally. Here were intimate details and thoughts about their lives as mothers of small kids, their families and friends, and current events. When I got to something especially interesting, I stopped to ask Vicki questions. Their conversations let me be in touch with her thoughts and feelings, and I felt lucky. How many spouses had a chance to read, verbatim, everything their spouse had said to a best friend earlier in the day?

Our first TTY.

Vicki and I had many friends in St. Louis, and I was active in several different organizations. I played softball with members of the Bell Club. I also was a member of the St. Louis Chapter of the Missouri Association of the Deaf and Central Institute for the Deaf Alumni Association (CIDAA). I was continuously interested in focusing on civic and advocacy activities because I was concerned about the civil rights and quality of life of deaf and hard of hearing people. I felt strongly that I was lucky—with my college degree (a rarity among deaf people then) and my supportive family and in-laws, with my wonderful wife and network of friends. So many other deaf people were being left behind because of a system and society that seemed stacked against us.

My first stab at community advocacy and a leadership role was with CIDAA. I was impressed with the alumni association’s many outstanding leaders who displayed skills in running meetings using parliamentary procedures. At our reunion in 1966, I ran for president of CIDAA and was surprised to be elected even though there were older and more experienced candidates. Paul Taylor, who was Vicki’s friend Sally’s husband, was elected vice president, Vicki was elected secretary, Bill Sheldon treasurer, and Sally Taylor as the newsletter editor.

CIDAA officers: Sally Taylor, editor; me, president; Paul Taylor, vice president and reunion chair; Richard Meyer, treasurer; and Vicki, secretary.

IN MAY 1970, I received my master’s degree in electrical engineering. I was fortunate that McDonnell Douglas Corporation had a very generous tuition reimbursement plan. It required employees to first pay for a course, and if we got a B or better, we’d be reimbursed for half of the tuition. After I completed my master’s program, I got a check for half of my cumulative tuition! Vicki and I used the money to purchase a brand-new royal blue four-door 1970 Chevrolet Impala.

With Vicki and Bernard in front of our new Chevy Impala.

Around that time, our friend Paul was invited to Rochester for a job interview at NTID as an assistant educational specialist for deaf majors in the College of Engineering at RIT. Paul had graduated from Georgia Tech with a bachelor’s degree in chemical engineering and received his master’s degree in operations research from Washington University in St. Louis. He was a chemical engineer at Monsanto Chemical Company after a stint at McDonnell as an operations research engineer. After the interview at NTID, Paul got the job offer but turned it down since Sally was pregnant with their third child and didn’t want to relocate.

“Paul recommended me for that job he was offered at NTID,” I told Vicki at dinner. Paul had told Dr. Victor Galloway, the director of technical studies at NTID, that he should invite me to apply.

A week later, I received a letter inviting me to Rochester for an interview with one of the NTID faculty members, my old friend Lyle Mortenson, who was the educational specialist for deaf students in the College of Engineering at RIT. During our earlier days as softball players in the Midwest Athletic Association of the Deaf tournaments, Lyle and I got to know each other pretty well, and I liked the idea of possibly working with him.

First, I wanted to see what Dr. S. Richard Silverman, the director of CID, had to say about the opportunity. Maybe he’d have advice for me before my interview. “It’s a great opportunity!” he told me. He excitedly opened a drawer in his file cabinet, which was filled with his work as the chairperson of the National Advisory Committee on Education of the Deaf. This committee had been responsible for designating RIT as the host university for the establishment of NTID. “By all means, go for the interview! I think you’ll be a good fit for NTID,” he told me.

Dr. S. Richard Silverman (to my right), his wife, Sally, Paul and Sally Taylor and Arthur Simon at an NTID reception .

“Maybe I’ll work at NTID for three years and then come back to St. Louis,” I said, explaining how the thought of leaving a city where we had such deep ties was unsettling.

“No, Alan,” he said to me. “This should be a lifetime commitment if you get and take this job offer. It would be choosing a path, a good one, but there’s no turning back.”

On May 5, 1970, the day before I was to fly to Rochester for the interview, I was scheduled to take my oral exams as a final requirement for my master’s degree. Upon arrival at the St. Louis University campus, I was surprised and puzzled to see many students walking around with posters protesting the bombing of Cambodia by US military forces. There were no captions on TV, so I had no idea what was going on. When I learned that there had been a shooting massacre by the members of the Ohio National Guard at Kent State University the day before, I wasn’t sure if my oral exams would commence. With my briefcase, I was able to enter the building after walking through a cluster of protesters. I was relieved to see the committee of faculty members and the department chair waiting for me in a second-floor classroom. I went ahead with my oral exams—remember, there still were no interpreters in those days, and so we used the blackboard to communicate with each other. I wrote down most of my responses on the blackboard and continued to converse with the committee to be sure that everyone understood my responses. I was not comfortable speaking in front of a group. After I was told I passed the exams with flying colors, I breathed a sigh of relief and headed straight to the airport for Rochester.

As our airplane descended from the clouds, I saw that Rochester was covered in snow. It was May. Inside the terminal, I expected to be greeted by Lyle, whose name was listed next to “Rochester airport” on the itinerary they’d sent me. I looked around at the rushing businesspeople, the families pulling bulging suitcases, the student types with backpacks slung over their shoulders. I couldn’t find Lyle. Outside, I gaped at the amount of snow on the ground and took a cab to my hotel.

After a good night’s sleep, I awoke early to be ready for breakfast with Lyle. Still, he didn’t show, so I ate breakfast alone and took a cab to RIT. It was a huge campus with about 1,400 acres and brand-new brick buildings—giant brick dormitories, some eight stories high, on one side of the school, and on the other were the academic and administrative buildings. Connecting the two sides was a long, straight walkway called the Quarter Mile. It was a very new campus, only occupied by RIT since 1966, when the university had moved from its downtown location where it had been since 1829. As I walked around, a cold wind blew, bending sparsely planted young trees.

I found my way to Dr. Victor “Vic” Galloway’s office at the College of Engineering in Building 9.

“Lyle didn’t show up,” I mentioned to Vic. “I hope he’s OK.”

Instead of responding to my concern, Vic encouraged me to proceed with the interviews for the day. He also informed me that due to the Kent State shooting two days earlier, both NTID Director D. Robert Frisina and NTID Dean William E. Castle had to reschedule and go to the congressional hearings in Washington, DC, that day.

“Oh, excuse me,” he said when he received a video call from John Kubis, NTID mathematics department chair, on a Vistaphone.

“Is that a video call?” I asked, fascinated. I had never seen one before.

“Stay, join us in the conversation!” Vic said. It was an eye-opening experience. When he hung up, he said, “There are seven Vistaphone units on campus.” Their placement on the 1,400-acre campus was limited, he explained, by the forty-foot-long cables that connected the units. It was not until thirty years later in the 2000s that we finally had videophones for video-relay services and point-to-point video calls. Nowadays, of course, we can easily use video on our smartphones as well.

At the end of a day full of interviews with various people and groups, I was back in Vic’s office for a wrap-up.

“Although you’re being interviewed for the assistant educational specialist position, Alan,” he said, “I believe you have the qualifications and talents to fill in as an educational specialist.”

I wondered, again, what might have happened to Lyle, who was supposed to hold that role already. I learned later that he indeed had left RIT for personal reasons.

As I was getting ready to leave for the airport, Vic asked if I could stay for a few more hours since Dr. Castle had just returned from Washington, DC, and wanted to meet with me. Although I knew I needed to get to the airport to catch my flight back home, I agreed. After having a very lively chat with Dr. Castle, I rushed to the airport with no time to spare.

About a week later, I received a letter from Dr. Castle. It was a job offer. I would be a faculty member responsible for serving as an educational specialist for engineering students with an annual salary of $13,000, the same as my salary at McDonnell Douglas. Vicki and I were excited at first, but soon Vicki got cold feet. “No,” she said, “I don’t think I want to move.” But then a few days and some weeks later, she said, “Okay, let’s go,” but by then, I’d changed my mind and didn’t want to go. We went back and forth like that for the next three months. Even though this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, we were so settled in St. Louis, and Bernard was just a year old. And on top of that, Vicki’s mother was very upset with the idea that we might be moving away.

In late June, I attended the A. G. Bell convention in Philadelphia to interact with deaf and hard of hearing adults interested in meeting with parents and teachers of young deaf children. When I ran into Bill Castle and his wife Diane, he unsurprisingly asked if I would accept the job offer or not.

“Could we meet in private to discuss it?” I asked him.

“Sure. Let’s go up to my room,” he said.

Once we had the privacy of a room, I said, “I am very excited about the opportunity, and I’m grateful for the offer, but I want to make sure my wife Vicki and I are of one mind about this before I accept.” I also told him that the salary they’d offered was not an increase from what I was making at McConnell Douglas.

“We’ll pay you $14,000, then,” he said immediately. I felt that the pressure to accept had just doubled.

“Let me talk to Vicki one more time. I promise I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve talked with her.”

“OK,” he said, “please do.”

At home, I shared the good news with Vicki about an increase in the salary, and we both decided that I should accept the job. But I was worried that we would continue to have a problem with her mother, who was very upset about the whole thing. I got in touch with Vicki’s father and asked him to meet me for lunch near his office. We had a great talk, and I mentioned my hesitancy about accepting the offer. Jack asked me why I was concerned, and I told him I was worried about Irene’s reaction to the idea of us moving away. He told me to move on and accept the job, as he believed it was a great opportunity that would open doors to my future.

William "Bill" Castle.

“You kids should not let Irene’s feelings stop you. Let me take care of Irene.”

That settled it, and in late July, I told Dr. Castle that I would accept the job offer starting on September 1, 1970.