41
Rebecca and Amy
For years, Amy has spent more time at school than she does at home. I’m happy she does not cry or complain when her worn blue trunk is brought up from the basement each August. I loved going to school, so I understand why she’s excited to return to her friends, but as her mother, I wish she showed a bit of regret when she leaves. Only Jupiter, her cat, gets a fond farewell complete with tears.
I was excited when I could move from the second floor of the girls’ dorm to the first for my high school years. As Mother and John prepared to carry things into the dorm, I said to John, “Don’t worry. You don’t have to carry my rock of a suitcase upstairs this year.” I don’t recall what he said, but I am sure he felt relieved. But, he still had to haul all my stuff to my room anyway.
Inside the dorm, a house parent said, “This year things have changed. Ninth, tenth, and twelfth grade girls will all be in the hall to the right.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because there are so many eleventh-grade girls, about fifteen. They fill the entire left side.”
“Wow! I get to be near the seniors.”
In my freshman class there were only four girls, so in my hall there were only a total of eleven students: four freshman, three sophomores, and four senior girls. Since there were not as many girls in the dorm this year, or during any of my high school years, I had a room all to myself with two beds, two closets, and two dressers. What a blessing to have two closets and dressers. I had plenty of room for all my clothes. From the angry looks my freshman classmates and I received from the seniors, we knew they disliked hanging around with us, but for the most part, we had a blast living with the senior girls.
By April of 1984, our European trip plans are complete. I’ve booked a three-week tour; we’ve obtained passports, bought travel books, and purchased foreign money. Since we will be traveling for three weeks, I allow two “ultimate choice” votes. Amy invokes this right for the Little Mermaid statue in Copenhagen and Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum in London. John and I agree on visiting East Berlin, Post-jana Cave in Yugoslavia, and the Vatican museums, specifically the Sistine Chapel. We will fly to London two days after John finishes his junior year. But, as often happens, the best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray; my scheduled life is thrown into confusion when Mrs. Ferguson, the NSD school secretary, calls me in the middle of May.
“Allegations of improprieties have been lodged against Superintendent George Collins and some of the NDS dorm staff,” Mrs. Ferguson tells me.
“Why? What’s happened?” I recall my father’s concern that students at NSD might be treated like the orphans Dickens wrote about in his novels.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” she says.
A torrent of questions fills my mind. When did this start? Who’s involved? Why hasn’t Amy said anything? I ask the most important question. “Is Amy all right?”
“Yes, the children are fine. I called to inform you the school is being closed, pending a full investigation. All the children must go home tomorrow. They’ll return to finish the school year the second Monday in June.” Her voice sounds weary and rote. Having to telephone one hundred and sixty parents has taken a toll on her usual pleasant demeanor.
“Return in two weeks! Amy can’t do that. We’re leaving for Europe on May 29th. I can’t change our plans.” I pace the kitchen floor, gnawing on a fingernail.
“Don’t worry about that.” Mrs. Ferguson sighs. “Other children have similar problems. A trip to Europe is a great educational opportunity, one few children have. None of our students have traveled abroad. Go to Europe, enjoy yourself. I’m sure her teachers will agree, but check with them tomorrow when you come to get Amy.”
After hanging up, I mumble, “It’s always something.”
The next day, the NSD staff is silent, as confused about the investigation as the parents are. Perplexed by the situation, I search for Amy. She and her friends are having an animated conversation when I arrive at the dorm. Their fingers fly with determination. Their worried, angry expressions tell me they are as upset about the school closing and the allegations as I am. As her friends tote Amy’s belongings to the car, I’m amazed that they can converse in sign while carrying boxes and clothes on hangers. Their faces portray a range of emotions that the best actors in the world would envy. After bidding a tearful good-bye to her friends, Amy sits in the front seat.
“It’s not true what they said.” Amy’s voice is full of anger, almost to the point of hatred.
“Who? What did they say?” I ask. “What’s going on?”
Before the school was closed, investigators asked me if I would like to be mainstreamed into a school in my hometown. I said, “NO! If I am mainstreamed, I would not be able to understand anything in the classes or participate in any school events such as drama, cheerleading or sports.”
Since I was already in the ninth grade, switching to a public school at that time would be the worst thing for me, like moving to a strange land. High school is supposed to create a student’s best memories, and I doubted I would have any good memories if I were mainstreamed into a Grand Island school. Not only that, who could I talk to during lunch or recess?
“NSD,” I said, “is a much better place for me to attend due to language communication through ASL.”
Mother asked me, “What happened?” when we were driving home. I was upset. I signed, “They said Mr. Collins did something wrong, but I don’t know what. He’s never done anything wrong.5 We all love Mr. Collins and think of him as “our father.” He knows the names of all students. He would never hurt us.”
Mother asked, “Who said he did something?”
“Some people from outside NSD. They come to the school to ask questions and interview to us kids. The investigators even asked the younger students to answer the questions. Some of the questions were off the point or nonsense. Basically, they just wanted us to answer the questions either “no” or “yes.” They collected information from all students at NSD. They decided who was “good” or “bad” staff on the NSD campus. Then police arrested some of them. The worst part was they did it front of students in the cafeteria. All of us were so shocked that they would do that.”
“Who were these people that started asking all these questions?” Mother asked.
“Different people came to school and asked about what happens in the dorms and school. They make problems for Mr. Collins and other staff. They say the school is not good. I don’t like them.” I would not say anymore. I did not like the people who made the trouble. The story was told through TV news and newspapers, too. It was a very dark moment for Deaf people in the Deaf community.
I was puzzled and wondered what will happen to NSD. I didn’t know what was actually happening in Omaha. All I know was I received tons of homework from them. They mailed homework packages to every student.
The people in the Deaf community thought the state legislature and Lt. Governor were trying to destroy the deaf school. They tried to put all the NSD students into mainstreaming programs. I was told they had been trying to do that for several years, but were unsuccessful.
Amy crinkles her nose and snorts. I’ve seen her make this gesture many times. It’s her final statement on a subject. The discussion is over. I try to pry more information from her, but she shuts me out by turning toward the passenger window, eliminating visual contact with me. We leave for Europe as planned not knowing the fate of NSD.
5. Mr. Collins had been the NSD superintendent for many years. He replaced Mr. Thompson when he retired. Mr. Collins had a wife and family.