Barbara Ann Hinrichs is a social person. She likes people and she likes to talk. When she talks, she uses an animated mixture of Pidgin Signed English and American Sign Language, sometimes mouthing the words and frequently punctuating a statement with a merry laugh or facial expression.

Barbara is a classic case study of the efforts of well-intentioned parents to make their child into something just like a hearing person. Now a grandmother, Barbara survived to become a well-adjusted, active member of the Denver deaf community who retains a great zest for life.

Her husband, Rea, a lanky western outdoors man, doesn't use speech but if he did, he'd drawl. He signs the same way.

Tolerant of each other's personal quirks and interests, they make a good match.

My father was a career Army man and was stationed at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, at the time I was born. When I was eight months old, all the soldiers, their families and civilian employees at the base were required to have certain shots because of typhoid fever. My mother always believed my illness was caused by the shot at such a young age. Well, something went wrong that led to a fever and I got very sick; they said I had only a 50-50 chance of living. I had spinal meningitis. My mother watched me very closely even though she was very sick, herself. We both got better but she was very weak for a long while. After about two months, my mom noticed I didn't respond when she called my name.

She took me to the doctor who already knew that I lost my hearing. He did not want to tell my mother right away. He kept saying, "She'll be all right. Don't worry about it." Then the third time the doctor saw that my mother was going to stand up to him. Finally, he told my parents I was deaf.

That was very depressing to my parents but they didn't waste any time. They started taking me to different doctors to see if I could get my hearing back. One time they took me to a hospital in Tulsa where a famous ear specialist from Austria gave a talk. That doctor gave me many different tests, many different ways to see if I could hear again. I can't really remember what it was like. He told my parents that I was really deaf and that I would never hear again because of damage to the nerves.

My parents visited the Oklahoma School for the Deaf and decided they didn't like the sign language. Then someone told my father about a school where they taught deaf children how to talk and read lips. My father wrote letters to schools all around the country, mostly in the east, and he tried to get transferred back east. That was during the depression and many soldiers with families couldn't get transfers because of the financial situation. But my father asked many of the commanding officers he had worked under for references to show it would be worth it to transfer him and he also explained about my special problem. He wanted me to get a good education at a school where I could learn to talk and read lips. Finally, he got a transfer and we moved to Baltimore, Md., where I went to an oral day school, the William S. Baer School for Crippled Children. That was the word before they changed it to Handicapped. I was six years old at that time.

Before that, my parents tried to teach me to speak--just easy words. Then I had private speech lessons until I was 18. The audiologist at the Baer School recommended that I transfer to a hearing school for the sixth grade. She thought it would be better for me than the Maryland School for the Deaf.

So I went to a private school in Baltimore named Friends School and I made good grades during the sixth and seventh grades, then I lost interest. I missed my deaf friends. After I went to the hearing school, my parents stopped letting me associate with my deaf friends and I was so disappointed that I lost my motivation to study. All through the eighth and ninth grades, I argued with my mother and tried to get her to send me to the Maryland School for the Deaf but she wouldn't hear about it.

I used to argue so much with my mother. I cried a lot. She was very strong-willed and determined that I would learn speech so she arranged private lessons. I had to go two times a week. I tried to explain that the teachers in the hearing school I attended weren't trained to teach the deaf. I would just sit and read everything I could. I didn't have an interpreter at that time and I had to study hard to keep up. I tried to get my mother to let me associate with deaf people on weekends and I'd go to Friends School Monday through Friday, but she just wouldn't allow it. She did let me see my two best girl friends from the William S. Baer School one time every two or three years. They had transferred to the Maryland School for the Deaf. My mother was so afraid that I'd lose my speech if I was exposed to sign language. She thought it would mean a waste of all the time spent developing my speech if I started hanging out with deaf people.

During my growing up, I had five years of tap dancing, ballet dancing, and aerobics. Also later I had five years of taking piano lessons, and I had two recitals.

Oh, I remember, when we lived in Germany I begged my mom to let me go to the deaf club. Finally, she said, "O.K., I give up." Do you know where I was? I was in Germany and there wasn't any club for the deaf. My mom was clever; she finally gave up in a place where I couldn't meet other deaf people. But I'm getting ahead of my story.

At the end of the first semester of the ninth grade, I quit the private school and had my first job working as a kitchen steward at the Sanatorium of the Christian Science Benevolent Association in Chestnut Hill, Mass. Three months later, I went back to my parents in Baltimore. The following fall, my mother suggested that I go to another hearing school in Stamford, Conn., a private boarding school named Daycroft for Christian Scientists. I told her that if they put me in the ninth grade, I'd quit. But I went and they put me in the tenth grade after I passed an achievement test. I worked very hard because I didn't want to waste my father's money. It was an expensive school.

I got very good grades but in other ways I missed my deaf friends. I passed on to the 11th grade and then my dad got transferred to Germany. I was planning to stay at the school during the summer and took some of the courses I would have taken in the 11th grade, hoping to graduate a year later. But my father had other plans. He said, "You're going to Germany." I told him I wanted to stay where I was because I thought that once my father was in Germany, I could sneak around and see my deaf friends. But he insisted I go with them; he thought it would be an educational experience for me to see what it was like in Germany after the war.

That was in 1946. So we arrived in Freidburg and after Christmas, I went to a hearing school, a high school for American kids in Frankfurt. After three weeks, it was too much for me. There were too many children in the classroom--from 50 to 75 students in one class. I couldn't learn. In the private school, there would be five to 10 students in the class and the teachers had time to tutor me. In the school in Germany, I couldn't learn a thing.

After three weeks I told the principal I wasn't coming back. He took me at my word. Friday after school I went home and that Sunday night my mom asked, "What's going on?" I hadn't told her that I had quit, that I had told the school that I wasn't coming back. My mom said, "It's time to pack your suitcase." I said, "Well, I'm not going back. I told the principal that I wasn't coming back." Mom couldn't accept it. "What do you think your father will say?" "I'll tell him the truth. I'm not learning anything there. There are too many kids and the teachers have no time for me."

My father was on a business trip at that time. He came home on a Thursday morning and I remember it very well. He woke me up and asked, "Why are you doing this?" I told him I wasn't learning anything at the school. "Why can't I go back to the school in Connecticut?" But he said, "No. You have to stay here." Then he came up with an idea about going to school in Switzerland. I told him, "Daddy, don't be silly. I don't know French or German. Why don't you just send me back to the school in Stamford?" But he said, "No, you stay here." So I stayed.

It was right after the war and there were many fascinating things to see and learn and do. During that time, my mother and I traveled around. We lived in Freidburg, about 20 miles north of Frankfurt, for nine months.

My good German girl friend, Helma, told me that there was a deaf school about three blocks from our apartment. I asked her if we could visit the school and she went to the deaf German school to ask the principal. He said that I was welcome to visit the school. So Helma and I went to visit one class. The children were around seven and eight years old. They used sign language. They did not have any paper and pencils to write or books to read--no pictures or posters on the wall. There was a blackboard on a holder, not on the wall. I noticed the children were afraid of the teacher. He had a bald head and wore a pair of very thick glasses. He wrote something on the blackboard and pointed the words to the children. I felt sorry for the children for the way they acted. I did not know if there was any other class.

Then my father was transferred to Berlin, so we moved again. I went to the American Red Cross to learn how to type, I went to the library, I took painting lessons. Then one day, about two months later, I came home and my mother said, "You have a call from the secretary, the head of civilian personnel. He has a deaf daughter and she would like to meet you." I was thrilled. I thought, "I'm going to have a deaf friend!" I skipped around the dining room table saying, "I'm going to have a deaf girl friend." I was so happy.

My mother told me that they would come the next night. I said, "No, no. Have her come tonight." So she and her parents came and you know who it was? It was Judy Barnett Buzzard, Henry Buzzard's wife. We started right off talking away like we were the oldest of friends. I asked Judy how she knew about me. She said that she was taking a break from Gallaudet and that the girl who showed me around the Gallaudet campus just before I went to Germany, gave Judy my dad's A.P.O. address, along with my name. It didn't say what town in Germany and it was a coincidence that we both happened to be in Berlin and lived only three blocks from each other. Judy said that her father, who was head of civilian personnel, had his secretary looking for my dad's name along with his daughter named Barbara. That was how it happened. Very strange!

We went to the movies, we went to the American Red Cross, we went to the library; we had so much fun. Judy was the first to teach me sign language.

A month later, my father became ill and the doctor thought it might be tuberculosis. He was supposed to stay another year in Germany, but he was sent back to the States. Later the doctors found out that my father did not have tuberculosis.

So we lived in Germany only one year instead of two years, and then we went back to America. My mother and I visited my grandmother in Massachusetts and then we went to Baltimore. My father was transferred to Fitzsimons Hospital in Denver, Colo., and about six weeks later, my mother went to Denver to be near him.

Miss Alice Carter, who had given me private speech lessons for many years in Baltimore, suggested I go to the Kendall School. At that time, I didn't know what the Kendall School was or where it was. I thought maybe it was another oral school or a hearing school and I figured I had had enough of school for awhile and was old enough to find a job. Also, at that time, I was 19 and I wanted to be around deaf people so badly.

My mother listened to my speech therapist and agreed to let me go. She told me if I wasn't happy, I could quit after one week. I said, "O.K. I'll see what it's like." I did not think that my mother knew that Kendall School used sign language until later.

Well, after Christmas I met Dr. Leonard Elstad, the president of Gallaudet College. When he saw the letters from the hearing schools that I had attended, he felt that I could be in the preparatory college class. The reason was that the time was January (middle of the school year), and I had not taken the first few months of classes (from September to December). It didn't matter to me because, as I said, I felt like I had had enough of school and in my mind I was planning to quit one week later. I accepted the suggestion that I do postgraduate work at the Kendall School. Then I entered the girls' dormitory and everybody was signing away. I was just thrilled. I didn't realize at that time that Kendall School was across from Gallaudet College.

So I ended up staying. Then I saw the books; they were the same books I had had in the seventh grade. I didn't tell my parents about that because I wanted to stay in school and get to know the boys and girls at Kendall School and Gallaudet (laughs). That's where I met Marvin. Yeah, we were sweethearts for a while (looks at her husband, Rea, to see if he was maybe just a little jealous; he wasn't). It was great to have deaf friends. We would play around, have a good time. Then the school closed for the summer and I moved to Utah, where Daddy had been stationed at an Army base near a small town named Tooele, on the edge of the desert. It was so different from anything I had seen. I cried my heart out. I kept telling my parents, "What will I do?" It wasn't so much a question as a complaint. I didn't know what I was going to do in the summer time in Utah. I kept complaining and my mother said, "Stop that. You're getting your father upset." I was so depressed but I had to put up with it.

At the beginning of World War II, my father had become an officer; he had worked his way up through the ranks. Two weeks after we moved to Western Chemical Center, the name of the Army base, and we went to the Officers' Club to meet the other officers and their families. My mom was talking to the commanding officer of the post and he asked if I wanted to work during the summer. I said yes and that's how I started working for the government. Two months later, I took the Federal Civil Service exam and passed. I was planning to go back to Kendall School the following September, but my dad said, "Well, you passed the Civil Service exam. Why go back to school?"

In my mind, I was thinking there was nothing for me here, but I continued to work to please my dad. I didn't argue with him like I was always doing with my mom. He didn't want me to leave home because Utah was very far from Washington, D.C. My dad and I were very close.

Several months later, I went to a deaf picnic in Salt Lake City, Utah. The deaf people were nice, but they just didn't bother to talk with me. I was still pretty oral as far as communications went and they were signing away so fast I couldn't understand them.

I worked as a clerk/typist for one year in the Purchasing and Contracting Department. Then my father was transferred to San Antonio, Texas. We stopped in Denver on the way because my parents had some business papers they had left in a bank safe deposit box when they went to Germany. We stayed in Denver for a few days and one night I told my father I'd like to go to the deaf club. "Please, Daddy, let me go." He was willing, but he didn't know where it was. He called the Chamber of Commerce and they called back. They had found two clubs for the deaf. One was the Silent Athletic Club for the Deaf and the other was a club for hard of hearing people. They had socials on the same night. For the hard of hearing, they were having square dancing; for the other club, just a social. I thought, well, if I go to the deaf club maybe they won't accept me because I was still very oral; so I decided to go to the hard of hearing club and that's where I met my first husband, Dick Anderson. Anyhow, we were dancing and I gave him my address. Then my parents and I went on to Texas.

When we got to San Antonio, I got a job with Kelley Air Force Base as a typist in the Mailing Room. My father started to help me. He was really interested in my social life and wanted me to be happy, but he didn't say much. He tried to help me on the sly but my mother wasn't in favor of it. My father looked for a deaf club and found out where deaf people bowled every Friday night and I started going there and improved my signing.

The following Christmas, my mother invited Dick to come and spend two weeks with us. (Wryly) I guess he was her idea of a suitable match. At the end of his vacation, he asked me to marry him and I accepted his proposal. Let's see. He came to visit in Texas in December and I went to Denver in July to get married. A month later I went to the Department of the Interior, Bureau of Reclamation Building. The Branch Manager of the Stenographic Pools read my records from the Western Chemical Center (Tooele, Utah) and Kelly Air Force Base (San Antonio, Texas) and within 15 minutes I got a job as a typist. He had a blind woman working for him; he believed that handicapped people were hard workers. I was the only typist of all the Stenographic Pools and Media Unit for 35 years. I was the top typist and I had three awards and many compliments from the engineers for whom I typed reports, letters, and theses. One time for about a year I typed two volumes of specifications in Spanish. The author thought it would take about two years to type, but I finished it in one year. Of course, I did not proofread all of my works; the proofreaders read my works for me. For 20 years, I operated a typewriter with 57 interchangeable type bars and 106 interchangeable type faces for typing mathematical equations in technical reports.

My first husband was like me: an oral deaf person with a similar background. When I was first married to him, we went to the hard of hearing club. We would argue about whether to go to the hard of hearing club or the deaf club. I wanted to use sign language and he wanted to go to the hard of hearing club where they used mostly speech. Finally, I gave him an ultimatum: The hard of hearing club or me. I guess I was pretty mean (laughs). So we dropped the hard of hearing club and started going to the deaf club. And for years, my mother kept asking me, "Why do you waste your time going to the deaf club?" I tried to explain: "I belong in the deaf world, don't you see? I'm deaf and you have to accept it." But my mother just couldn't accept the word "deaf," And she didn't to the day she died. She thought I was just fine. In some ways, my mother was a cold woman; in many other ways, she was great. I guess I inherited her strong will and that was one reason we were always arguing. I got along better with my dad. He was strong-willed, too, but could be flexible. My deaf friends liked him. Maybe being an only child had something to do with their attitude toward me. Both are dead now.

How did all this help my speech? (Thoughtfully) Well, people who know me well understand my voice but when I meet people for the first time, they have trouble understanding me. Usually, after just a few days, they can understand me. Every once in awhile, I'll meet someone who never seems to understand me. When I started working for the Colorado Clearing House for the Hearing Impaired at the Denver Ear Institute, I assumed my boss would take awhile to be able to understand me, but she did from the first day we met. She had a deaf son and was very oral, so I thought that was unusual. I thought that she was reading my lips but she understood my voice. We got along so well. She took time to explain about deafness and how the hair cells in my cochlea had been damaged when I had meningitis. It was really interesting and I used to ask her many questions. After just over a year working with the Colorado Clearing House for the Hearing Impaired, I got the clerical job, where I'm now working at the Center on Deafness. I enjoy my job very much.

Dick and I had a ceramics business in our basement for five years. We had a state license. We had two kilns, greenwares, molds, and ceramic paints and tool supplies. Many deaf and hearing women came to our shop. They enjoyed making Christmas trees, plates, figurines, vases, and other objects. When there were hearing ladies who needed help or questions, Laura interpreted for me. She was about 11 or 12 years old. I had a demonstration with Laura interpreting at a ceramic show one time. It was fun.

My first marriage lasted 14 1/2 years and we have one child, a daughter. Laura was a preschool teacher for the deaf at Fletcher Miller School for Handicapped Children in Lakewood, Colo., for 9 years, and for two years as a parent-teacher for the deaf babies at the University of Washington in Seattle. She is now a certified interpreter in Dallas, Texas. She was also a teacher of deaf preschool children in Plano, a suburb of Dallas, for three years.

This is also Rea's second marriage. We've been married over 21 years and we're happy together. All the children are married, except Rea's and my daughter Rae Ann, and she lives on her own. But we're too busy to feel lonely.

For 35 years, I was in several steno pools and I believe that's where I improved my English through typing so many letters, telegrams and engineering reports. I was a computer assistant for seven years before I retired. So, all together, from Utah to Texas to Colorado, I worked for the Federal government for 37 years, then I decided it was time to retire.

I wasn't quite ready to stop working. I thought I'd find a job with a private company--something for a change. Well, I looked for five months and filled out many applications but I think I made a mistake by putting the word "deaf" on my applications. Nobody called me until the Center on Deafness called and said they had a part-time job.

I have several hobbies. I have 17 volumes filled with articles that I have collected from magazines and newspapers about deaf people and deafness. I started collecting them in 1948. My friends are always saving articles about deaf people for me and every time we go on vacation, I buy newspapers and look for more articles on deafness. Sometimes Rea gets tired of having the car filled with newspapers. Plus, I have one book full of information that I have collected about the history of the deaf from 1852 onward. I go to the library and do research and make copies from microfilm to add to the collection. I find it very interesting. I like to quill, which is a lost art (it was born over 500 years ago. Narrow strips of paper are rolled, scrolled, fluted, and fringed, and then arranged on the edges to create beautiful designs), to collect pictures, to do our family genealogy, to paint. I'm always going from one thing to another.

(Following our eyes around the room) And those owls. I don't know if it's a hobby or a weakness. I'm always looking for statues of owls that are old or ugly or cute. If I see one that's life-like, I'm not interested, but if it's something that's different, I'll buy it. I do it just for fun. Last time I counted, which was several years ago, I had over 250 and now I'd say over 400, maybe even 450. There's not much room left.

I've been talking too much. Come with me and I'll show you my scrapbooks.

(The collection was more than interesting and impressive; it was overwhelming. Seventeen very large, very thick scrapbooks full of clippings related to deafness. A wealth of information for future historians.)

Let me get some lunch--just sandwiches. (While Barbara was setting the table and while eating, Rea talked.)

Rea Hinrichs on May 28, 1973 at the Stardust Hotel in Las Vegas..

Rea: We're active members of the Silent Athletic Club of the Deaf. We used to have a clubhouse but we sold it. The older members had worked so hard over the years, and we were trying to get the younger members to help out, but they weren't really interested. They wanted the money for their activities, but they didn't show any interest in helping out. So we ended up selling the clubhouse. Before we did that, we gave the youth group $2,000 so that they could start a group of their own, then we sold the club. Four times a year, we have banquets and meet other deaf friends. Usually, we use a private room in a hotel.

Maybe some day we'll buy another clubhouse . . . I really don't think so because we don't have the help of the young people.

We love to go camping and fishing. (Barbara broke in: He likes to fish; I like to get together with the girls and talk or read.) We have what we call the Good Sams Talking Hands Club. There are about 25 of us. We have a fifth-wheel travel trailer and we get together at different lakes to camp out and go fishing. We're getting ready for another campout in Nebraska.

In the winter, we go snowmobiling. Not too many women go any more, so Barb sold her snowmobile because we were afraid its value would go down if we kept it. If she hears enough women are going, she'll come along. I'm president of the Rocky Mountain Snowmobile Club for the Deaf and we'll sponsor a national snowmobile race at Grand Lake in 1989. We're working on fund raising right now.

Gail Hyde
Project Coordinator, Web Design