Deaf Peddler: Confessions of an Inside Man

prologue

prologue It's 5:40 on a Friday evening. Imagine yourselfsitting in a crowded gate area at O'Hare International Airport in Chicago . It's been atoughfour days at atrade show, and atough three nights attending meetings and entertaining clients. You're tired, eager to see your family. But at least the trade show was a success. As you wait for your flight home to be called, aman approaches you. He doesn't say anything, just holds out a small brochure that says something about deaf education. Oh great, you think impatiently. This is just what you don't need right now. But then you realize this man must be deaf, poor guy. He looks clean cut, "normal," and not at all likeavagrant. In all youryears in the corporate world, you've only known one deafworker, Jimmy, who worked in the mailroom . You look at the pamphlet. It has pictures ofsigns and jingerspelling,and is stapled to atiny tool set in aplastic case. There's an awkward moment. Does he want you to keep this? The silencebetween you is touched by both pityandirritation . You look backat the pamphlet and read, $2 donation. You want to end this encounter, but you want to do it kindly xxiii xxiv Prologue so you fish two dollars out ofyour wallet and hand it to him. He accepts the money with asmile, mouths "thank you" and moves on. Though the encounter took no more than aminute and a half, it's made you think. You find that it feels good to have helped out apoor deafguy who can't work. d!iii0 From 1985 to 1996 I participated in thousands of such encounters, despite the fact that deaf peddling had never even been part of my vocabulary-not as a child growing up on a farm in Ohio, not as a straight-A student inhigh school, and not as a college undergraduate. Once I did discover peddling, it was only a weekend job-but one which usually tripled my income. I peddled mainly in airports, malls, and restaurants. The people I approached with my wares knew two things about me: that I was deaf and that I got around in a wheelchair. What they didn't know was that they were dealing with a hardworking, former farm boy with a bachelor's degree and a pilot's license. They didn't know that I was a computer engineer during the week, or that I was preparing for graduate work. Most people treated me with a mixture of impatience and pity, but there were a few who showed genuine concern and others who reacted with outright hostility. For example, one Sunday morning in Chicago I was peddling at O'Hare International Airport. Iapproached a gate area with only a few people scattered about. A peddler likes crowds, a situation in which he or she can make the most money in the shortest period oftime. But for some reason, I decided to give it a try. I passed out Prologue xxv my wares, one to a man of about forty who struck me as interesting. There was something subtly watchful about him, and when I made my rounds again to see if I had any takers, he pulled out a gold money clip engraved with an initial and dramatically pulled a onehundred dollar bill off the stack. I thought he was going to be a smart aleck and ask if I had change for the hundred , something that did happen on occasion. Instead, he folded the bill and handed it to me discreetly. Iraised my eyebrows and mouthed the words, thank you, signing it at the same time. He grinned and nodded. At the opposite side of the spectrum was the body builder I approached at a mall. He was eating dinner with a young woman, and I left my pamphlet on his table and went off as I usually do. I saw him look at the pamphlet, pick it up, and tear it into little pieces. He was a big guy, well over six feet, and he must have weighed three hundred pounds. Still, I went over and asked if he wanted to buy the pamphlet, which was now shredded. His attitude was less than cordial. Ithad beena long day, and Imade a sign that clearly indicated the size of his brain for destroying my wares. He stood up, furious-ready, I thought, to...