Scholars will search in vain for any mention of Thanksgiving Day in the 18th century Virginia Gazette. Fourth Thursdays in November were no different from other days — runaway slaves, lost pocketbooks, ships deparing to London. Page after page, it is always business as usual. No festivities, no turkey, no stuffing, no sleigh ride to grandmother’s house, in short, no Thanksgiving Day.

There were, however, many days of thanksgiving. Bumper harvests, drought-breaking rains, safe voyages and military victories were made frequent occasions for public prayers and celebrations during the 17th and 18th centuries. The colonists who settled Berkeley Hundred in 1619 carried instructions to give thanks “yearly and perpetually” on the anniversary of their arrival. There were comparable observances in 18th century Williamsburg. Days of thanksgiving were proclaimed to commemorate, for instance, Queen Anne’s health and the “happy agreement” between her Majesty and the Houses of Parliament.

These were all solemn religious occasions. They have only an indirect relationship to the present Thanksgiving holiday, which we should give ungrudgingly to New Englanders. Or better yet, to Old Englanders, for the Plymoth Colony Pilgrims were only celebrating a fold custom that they remembered from England. The Harvest Home, a time of feasting, dancing and gaming after the crops wre safely gathered, was an ancient peasant festival. Bought to all of the American colonies, it thrived best in the small farming communities of New England. Only in 1863 did President Lincoln make Thanksgiving Day a national holiday as a reminder of “peace, harmony, tranquillity, and Union” in a time of civil war. So it turns out that your Thanksgiving dinner in Williamsburg is one of history’s tastier ironies.

Reprinted from King’s Arms Tavern Thanksgiving Day Menu, November 24, 2005.

So writes the true history of the day of thanksgiving — a day to gather among your families to give thanks for a year filled with highs and lows, successes and failures, hopes and dreams.

While my family doesn’t recognize the Thanksgiving Day, we recognize the day to give thanks for having a year filled of positive hope and to hope for a safer future.

As one of the colonial entertainers who entered our dining room during Thanksgiving dinner said at the end of his speech …

“Let’s toast to life, liberty, and family.”

The Quietest KFC In Cairo by Geoff Bendeck, The GW Hatchet Online, Nov. 21, 2005

The first thing that goes through your head when you walk into the KFC in my neighborhood Dokki is not how long it will take for the food to give you a heart attack. The first thing you really realize is how quiet it is. Not an empty quiet, just an odd lack of chatter. The walls were lined with hand signals, the colonel and pictures of an Egyptian state fair I’m pretty sure never happened. As we saddled up to the counter to place our heart attacks, the gentleman manning the cash register had me point at what I wanted, fanned his mouth asking if I wanted it hot or not and pointed at the receipt to show me how much I owed. I was a little surprised; most restaurant employees in Cairo speak English. It was only when he clapped loudly to get my attention that I realized I wasn’t in any KFC. I was in the only deaf KFC in Cairo.

In hindsight, the markings on the wall and the silence was, well, explainable. Just not in words, English or Arabic. I found a few clues to the mystery on the wall near my table. Near several pictures of employees of the month, and the proverbial tack board rubbish, was a small boldfaced announcement of the grand opening of the first KFC in Egypt staffed by the “deaf and dumb.” Every single employee save the manager was hearing-impaired. This was a restaurant completely staffed and run without the exchange of a word. Yet, oddly, it worked flawlessly.

There is a system, an ingenious way in which one gets their food at the Midan Finney KFC. The professional KFCers have the routine down pat, and your first time ordering, like mine, can be both confusing and bewildering. But along the way, like in any foreign territory, you quickly learn the words that you will find most helpful. Some of the first Arabic you learn in Cairo is “shukran,” “minfadlak,” “bya kabira” and “imshee” - or, “thanks,” “please,” “big water” and “go away.” The first sign language you learn at the deaf KFC is a quick fan of the mouth: “I like it spicy.”

The American restaurant chain, which runs the deaf KFC, opened the restaurant a decade ago. Its general manager came up with the idea as a way to help the little-noticed deaf community in Cairo. For many, this is the first job they have ever had in their lives. They take pride in their work, and are quick to smile at any sign language you can muster. It is also a de facto hangout for the young deaf.

Maybe it is the novelty, but I often times wander over to the KFC. Not for the food, or even the wireless Internet, but the fun that comes with learning a little bit of another language and culture. Had I not wandered upon this neighborhood eatery, amid the quiet streets of Dokki, I would have missed yet another side of Cairo’s dynamic façade. So, if you ever find yourself in Cairo, feel a little lost or simply want to practice your sign language, wander over to the Cairo neighborhood of Dokki to what might be the only deaf KFC in the Middle East.

Have you ever lost a backpack? More specifically, have you ever left someone else’s backpack on the Metro train, walked through the turnstiles, scooted up the escalator, and breathed the night air only to realize that your back feels a little bit light. The kind of light where something was there before and now it isn’t.

But I’m lying. I didn’t even realize that I had left the bag until this other someone (my girlfriend) turned to me and said, “MY BAG!?!” In other words, it wasn’t until I saw her tear-streaked face that I realized that my back felt a little bit light.

Girlfriend, “You Figure It Out.” She stomps away.
You know that cold feeling when you realize that you’ve left the stove on and you’re 10,000 miles away? Or that feeling when your computer crashes in the middle of a Very Important Paper and you can’t get it back? Well, guess what—this feeling was worse.

Because it was someone else’s bag.

Because of me, my girlfriend’s school backpack was riding its merry way on an unidentified train going towards either New Carollton or Largo Town Center. I wonder if it is an aisle camper or if it’s facing down an angryblackwoman glareitus.

The details of the bag were that it is yellow (not quite yellow but more of a goldenrod with touches of honey) and wrapped with deep black and gray trim. It contained Important Girlfriend Stuff like papers, books, and other psychological paraphernalia (such as a WISC test booklet) from her graduate school program. Yes, I lost a graduate student’s bookbag, ok? I realize how horrifying it is to those of you who are graduate students.

I’m watching my girlfriend’s departing back (along with my best friend—he was consoling her) and frantically trying to figure out what the fuck to do. I did the only thing I could think of: Run.

I ran down the escalator and approached the overlord of the Metro system: The Station Manager. But this time I am not only honored by his sullen presence, but two WMATA employees are also there. They loll about, waiting for something.

I do the quintessential Deaf search-and-find-the-most-friendly-face scanning trick. I talk to one of the WMATA employees; he seemed the friendliest. And he was. He helps me identify that the train we were on was the Blue Line, going towards Largo. I explain that my bag (to keep it simple - think I want WMATA employees laughing at me? You…you lost a graduate student’s bag? You idiot. No thanks) was left on the train. The front car. Yes. The front caaar. The station manager mumbles something to me and spends some time on the phone. I look at him. He mumbles. I look. The WMATA employee writes something down for me. I read it. It says, “Wait for 15 minutes and check back.”

So I sit down near the station manager’s hut. Feeling like a hobo, I scowl at the passersby. Every minute that passes, I feel more and more panic. I tell myself, “It will be ok. You’re lucky, remember? Think positive and it will happen. Think positive. You’ll never find her bag. It’s being rifled through by a fatty twoseater who needs a WISC test booklet.”

Fifteen minutes later, I get up to see where the sullen station manager was in his exhaustive search for his phantom itch (believe me he looked everywhere) and my girlfriend’s bag. Unfortunately, by this time the friendly WMATA employees had left and abandoned me to the station manager’s tender mercies. He picks up a phone that looks like it was made in 1920 and calls someone. He talks with the person. I stare. He talks. He scratches. Talks. I fidget.

I’m staring at his back when he suddenly jumps a little. You know, that little jump when you know someone has got good news. Deaf people know it worldwide as The Jump of Good News. Careful people-watchers know this too, not only Deaf people. Sorry.

Anyway. He tells me they Found the Bag at the Largo station as the train pulled in. I ask, “So I’ll drive there and get it?” He says, “NO.” I say, “So I’ll drive and get it?” He says, “NO. TAKE THE TRAIN.” I say, “The train?” He says, “Take THAT TRAIN. HURRY HURRY.”

He was referring to the train that had just pulled up. Its doors were open. I was 1,000,000 feet away. Its doors were open. That means its doors were going to close mighty soon. He points.

Ok. I run as fast as I can down the escalator and squeeze in the train just as the doors close.

Now, I don’t know if any of DeafDC.com readers travel via Metro to Largo Town Center but let me tell you that its bloody far away from Capitol Hill. Don’t let that sly Metro map fool you. It’s a solid 20, 30 minute train ride. I arrive in Largo Town Center (oo nice, a new station… how shiny) and walk to the Station Manager’s Hut. Inside, a very overweight black woman was sitting with her back to me.

I knock on the door and point to my girlfriend’s backpack which was on another chair inside the Hut. She turns slowly to face me and smiles ever so slightly. She points at the bag, and turns around again.

Oh, so, I’m supposed to enter the Hut? The Magical Station Manager’s Hut? Alright, I open the door and grab the bag. I ask her, “When’s the next train to DC?” She turns slowly back to face me and says, “15 minutes.” Fifteen minutes? I groan inwardly.

Forty-five minutes later, I walk in the door at home and start laughing and plop the bag on the bed. My girlfriend was laying down… and thankfully, she started laughing too.

Folks, don’t leave bags on the Metro. Your graduate student friends and girlfriends will thank you.

When making an Instant Messaging relay call, I’ve been using Hamilton IP Relay (hiprelay) strictly because their operators start relaying my messages as soon as they’re received, rather than waiting for a GA. Sometimes, when my message is long, it’s a nice gesture for the hearing caller. Text-based Relay service is miserably slow for hearing callers, so I’m always looking for ways to speed up the phone call so they are willing to use relay services again in the future.

Today I received a newsletter from Sorenson which surprised me. It read:

Sorenson IP Relay is the first IP Relay service to not require GA or SK.

I do not know if Hamilton by policy require GA and SK, which may be ignored, but I know that I haven’t typed GA with Hamilton for ages, several months long before Siprelay, Sorenson’s IP Relay, was launched in September. Did Sorenson make a false claim?

At first, I was impressed with how proactive the ETS folks who designed the gre.org website were.

Right there, under the link to register for the GRE, was a link to register with testing accomodations. Impressive. Usually when I need an interpreter or something, I get sent off on a wild goose chase, clicking link after link until, by some miraculous act of divine intervention, I finally find someone who’ll promise I’ll be provided with whatever service I need and to which I am entitled. Not so with the ETS — you’re instantly provided a choice: standard testing or testing with accomodations.

I clicked on standard, and was again presented with a line about how if I had a physical, hearing, or other disability, I should click on this link to register for testing with accomodations.

So I decided to go ahead and give ETS’s disability services a call, just to make sure I would be okay if I registered for standard testing when I took the GRE. Sure, the woman I spoke to, said. It’s entirely optional, and if I think I don’t need accomodations, then, by all means, register on my own for standard testing.

Cool. That was easier than it usually is.

I go back to the standard testing link, and my computer all of a sudden spazzes out on me. I can navigate all the way down to the test date and time reservation page, but, for some reason, cannot choose my chosen time.

So I call the general registration line instead, thinking I can just register over the phone instead of wrestling with technology.

“I’d like to register for the December 14 date, please,” I tell the woman who answers.

“Okay, that’s fine,” she says… and then she hesitates. “But…but, but, but… don’t you need some accomodations? We do provide them for people who need them.”

“Well, no. I’m only using the relay service because I’m deaf. As far as I know there’s no spoken component to the GRE and I already spoke to disability services and I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“But, don’t you need something to help you?”

“Like?”

“Err…. um… like extended testing time? Don’t you need that?”

“No, thanks. My brain works at normal speed.”

“Are you sure? I mean, don’t you need…. well, we do provide a braille test, would you like that?”

“Nah, my eyes work fine too.”

“Oh!” And all of a sudden this woman is brisk and professional and she takes the rest of my registration information without a hitch.

It takes all of my willpower not to spout a stream of vituperative at her before we hang up, and I’m astonished for a long time after.

You’d think that an organization that makes such an effort to be conscious of their consumer’s needs would have some awareness or some tact. Maybe she was following protocol or a script, but, seriously, I find the whole thing stupid and insulting.

And of course, my experience is far from unique. I’ve foreverheard stories of deafies who walk up to airport counters asking forboarding time updates being offered wheelchairs; deafies at the Mickey D’s counter asking for a pen and paper and instead being given a braille menu.

Stupid questions abound: The guy who responds to a deafie’s written note with, “Can you read?” and people asking deafies who have just gotten out of their car to enter a store, “Can deaf people drive?”

But I always assumed these things came from stupid, uneducated people who had nothing to do with providing services to both “able” and “disabled” people, whatever those adjectives mean.

Many times when I heard these stories, I assumed they were from the midwest, from times long gone, or even completely made up urban deaf myths.

I guess not. As much as we deafies like to pat each other, especially in this country, and remark on how far we as a people have come and how educated our society is about us, stupid hearing people are still a plague.

For every stupid hearie we meet, we meet a hundred, a thousand not-stupid hearies and unconsciously administer, without their knowledge, the test of trust that signals they’re not gonna perceive us as only a big ear with a slash through it.

And of course, like my mother always told me, “it’s not their fault. They just don’t know.”

Last time I discussed moviegoing as a deaf patron, I rattled off the basics about the current state of affairs. Today, there are quite a few options compared with twenty years ago, but there are still some of the same problems: limited show times, limited venues, and a limited number of films prepared for captioned showings, in whatever format.

On the legal front, the move to change this state of affairs has gone through the courts, in places such as Oregon, New Jersey, and Washington, D.C. The lawsuit in New Jersey, filed by the state Attorney General against movie companies such as Regal, resulted in a mixed verdict– in the first instance, the companies settled by installing RWC, while in the case against Regal, Regal decided to implement DTS-CSS technology.

In all these cases, the danger is that theater owners will subscribe solely to one technology– usually RWC, while most Deaf people I know prefer captioning, either through OC or DTS. This is what happened in the D.C. settlement, with AMC and Loew’s Theatres. Luckily, in New Jersey, the settlements included both RWC and DTS. Future challenges depend on the circumstances of each individual case and the vagaries of the court system, including the disposition of the judges involved.

While lawsuits have occurred and I’m sure will continue as people challenge the theater owners to provide equal access, that’s the stick part of solving the problem. Too many times nothing is done until a lawsuit– then BAM! The lawyers scurry out and the process drags on. But sometimes it helps to work within the system for a while, using the carrot part of the approach.

But the carrot depends on YOU. This doesn’t mean you have to (nor should you!) attend each and every movie that’s ever captioned. As consumers, we retain the right just like anyone else to decide which films to attend. But until captioning is a given, we will continue to have to advocate. One way to do this is to write a letter (you can e-mail, but an old-fashioned letter is generally better) to theater managers and corporate brass. Even better, direct a letter to one, and cc to the rest. Don’t just fire off a missive to complain either; sometimes a little honey goes a long way too. If there’s something you liked, or if a theater chain has just started offering captioned movies in your area, WRITE. Tell them how happy you are they are offering captioned movies, that you are looking forward to attending, and that you hope that the times and offerings will expand as soon as possible.

Being an advocate doesn’t mean spending a lot of time or energy, but it does mean taking the time every once in a while to pick up your pen or sit down at the keyboard and bang out a letter. It doesn’t have to be long either; just a way to either suggest a change, make a complaint, or give a positive review. For example, I noticed that Regal here in the Los Angeles area started offering OC showings at their theater in Marina Del Rey, which is a lot closer to me than the old locales at Burbank and Anaheim. But after a few weeks, I noticed they hadn’t been showing anything for a couple of weeks. I sent off a polite e-mail saying that I enjoyed attending movies at that particular theater, that I looked every week for the new movies that would be playing, and I was hoping that they had not decided to stop offering captioned films.

Within a day, I received a response from a regional manager, assuring me that they would continue to offer captioned movies. Since then, they’ve had a movie every week, and usually for a week at a time, at different times, almost akin to how RWC movies are offered. A far cry from just a one-time showing of a film!

That doesn’t mean I don’t complain, though; when I went to see a movie with fellow blogger and friend Tayler Mayer, we looked forward to seeing a first-run film a short walk from our respective homes. Unfortunately, the DTS equipment wasn’t working that day for whatever reason, and we ended up leaving, our time spent for nothing. As Tayler noted, he wasn’t happy; but while he talked with the manager about our general frustrations (there were other deaf people there too, for the same movie), I simply stood there in the middle of the lobby, pager at the ready, and fired off a complaint letter to the regional manager in charge of captioning. Within 48 hours, I had letters from another general manager apologizing for the matter. Now, up and down the chain from the actual theater’s manager to the bureaucrats, everyone was aware that A) there WERE deaf viewers, B) we wanted captioning provided and C) they had better damn well make sure it all works next time!

The ticket sales person and the ticket taker aren’t going to care if you’re deaf or not; but the manager and his or her superiors certainly will. People aren’t mind readers though, so although sometimes it’s a pain to have to go out and educate and advocate, we need to make sure we’re visible at every stage of the game.

So even though working our way through the courts is great, it’s exciting, and it may force long-term changes, it’s also up to us to work in tandem with our lawyers and legal advocates. While they carry a legal stick, we offer the carrot of our patronage. In places like DC, there are plenty of theaters and captioning options to choose from, but this is not the case everywhere. Even where there’s a fairly broad selection, it’s a pain if the movie you want to see is in Silver Spring, but you live in Fairfax, or if the flick you’re dying to check out is in Burbank, but you live in El Segundo. Hearing folks can just walk down the street to the local bijou– we often have to drive or take public transportation. So write to theaters, ask them to bring captioned films to your local theater. Once they do, write and thank them, and keep encouraging them. If there are problems, write, call, or e-mail and let them know.

Mmm… now I’m in the mood to watch something. Wonder if there’s any popcorn left in the cupboard?

The article, titled, “Deaf Techs Make Their Voices Heard,” was featured in the Oct/Nov issue of Diversity/Careers in Engineering and Information Technology. It’s actually a great article about deaf professionals succeeding in predominately hearing environments such as Intel, Hewlett Packard, and IBM.

Deaf people featured in this article are: Kathleen Croteau (HP, Palo Alto, CA), Darlene Steiner (IBM, White Plains, NY), Charlie Murphy (Boeing, St. Louis, MO), Lindsay Buchko (Intel, Hillsboro, OR), and DeafDC.com’s own Rob Rice (BayFirst Solutions, Washington, DC).

Okay, so DeafDC.com wasn’t actually focused upon in the article, but still, it’s great when websites like this get nationwide exposure. But that really isn’t the point. The point is, as we already knew, that deaf people can work anywhere they want. It’s a common myth that deaf or hard of hearing people always go into deaf-related fields (i.e. teach at NTID; be a residential counselor at Texas School for the Deaf; or work at DCARA in San Francisco).

We all know that simply isn’t true. Five bloggists here work in hearing environments; five people on our DeafDC.com committee do the same. Sure, it’s always so much more scarier. They sure have more headaches - meetings, ‘terp requests, conferences, water cooler chats, but they probably wouldn’t have it any other way.

They are the ones who lead the way towards changing the working world’s attitudes towards deaf and hard of hearing people. That is no easy task, but it’s one to be proud of.

To read the PDF version of the press release, click here.

Basically, this boils down to what? That we’re now able to cull all information on captioned films city-wide (and area-wide, too). It was a long process that was jumpstarted by NCAM MoPix’s decision to end their weekly RWC film listings last May. Slowly, one by one, theater chains started to advertise their OC/CC films on their websites, while DeafDC.com got showtimes directly from other chains.

Last week, the last major theater chain got onto the bandwagon, enabling full access to all captioned films through DeafDC.com. This is no small feat; over two dozen theaters are listed. Last Halloween weekend, we had more than a dozen different captioned films.

Think about that. If you watched a movie every night, you’d need two weeks to cover all possible captioned films playing in any one weekend. Compare this to many other cities, where the D/HH population is limited to far less movies and theaters. Clearly, the theater industry has recognized the large demand for accessible films in the D.C. area, and adjusted their strategy accordingly.

This development is something we’re all proud of here at DeafDC.com. We’re all about providing information to the deaf and hard of hearing community around here. The more information, the better. Thank you for visiting DeafDC.com today - and we’re glad that you’ll be able to keep coming back to check out our movie listings. Don’t forget our other features, too - blogs, DPHH, local organizations, and more. And our sponsors! They’re what makes this website possible, so click on their ads and check out their offerings, okay?

Thanks!

There’s a thing called peer pressure. And there’s a thing called plain stupidity.

Apparently there are a number of Gallaudet students who have shown plain stupidity in the last several weeks.

It all started with the conclusion of the Homecoming Ball at the Hyatt Hotel in Washington, DC. After the Ball, when several students returned to rooms they got for the Ball, that’s when plain stupidity started.

These students started making loud noises, shouting obscenities, pulling fire alarms, and scaring the beejeezus out of paying customers of the hotel.

All of this is reminiscent of past Homecoming Balls that ended in disaster. The cruise ball in the 1990s that got so many students drunk (think Minnesota Vikings, without the strippers), and the Hard Rock Café vandalism in the mid-1990s. Time and time again, Gallaudet students continue to prove to the D.C. community how immature they are.

Then, last Sunday, in a festive mood turned bad, a group of Gallaudet students, largely composed of freshmen – in the manner of large Division I colleges, tore down the goalposts on Hotchkiss Field in celebration of Gallaudet’s first unbeaten season in history.

What makes this “festive mood” sour was that it turned into a riot, a freshman was arrested, one was hospitalized, and another jumped onto a D.C. police car, bending the roof.

Sure, it’s easy to compare Gallaudet students to other college students. Hey, University of Maryland students started a riot after their NCAA championship in 2002. They burned mattresses, marched on route 1, and did property damage. Yes. But, we are not other colleges. We are Gallaudet.

It’s harder for Gallaudet students to act properly and show it at the same time because of the unique fact that we are a Deaf university. If one D/deaf person acts such, then everyone is labeled that way. It is sad, indeed.

For decades, perhaps centuries, since the time of Plato, D/deaf have been labeled as secluded from society in general. That because we’re always gonna be viewed by outsiders as representative of every D/deaf person out there, our every action takes on added meaning. Should we handicap our true feelings or monitor our behavior as to conform to mainstream society’s rules of “how a D/deaf person should act?” No, we shouldn’t — but sadly — we are.

So, is it fair that the Student Body Government may have to pay for lost revenue by Hyatt and their customers, and not to say, possible lawsuits? No. Reality check: we may have to.

By standing by and encouraging your classmates to act properly and respectfully, others are as responsible as the next person to you. With the actions of these aforementioned Gallaudet students who wistfully created destruction and disturbance, other students lose their unit fees on expenses that could be better used, and Gallaudet loses face.

But it shouldn’t be that way for Gallaudet’s sake or for the reputation of deafkind. It should be because of self-respect and because of respect for others.

This is where plain stupidity is just…stupid.