Miss-Delectable
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Seymour Summit | Columns | PE.com | Southern California News | News for Inland Southern California
Years ago, when we were between dogs, my wife announced our next sheepdog would be named Seymour.
"All that hair!" she said. "They can't see."
The joke name stuck and as time passed various people told me there was another Seymour Bernstein in town -- a human who could see. But he was deaf.
I cringed at the thought of picking a joke name for a dog who couldn't see and inadvertently naming him after a man who couldn't hear. Did the human Seymour have a sense of humor? Last week, I found out. The "other" Seymour Bernstein came to breakfast.
He arrived with Mary Pope, a mutual friend and tireless sign language interpreter. He is 75 and "retired." But this Seymour doesn't sleep 20 hours a day.
He was born deaf, to deaf parents. He graduated from Gallaudet University in D.C., and settled in Riverside 50 years ago to work at California School for the Deaf. His resume is as impressive as it is misleading: counselor, PE teacher, coach of varsity sports. But spend a few minutes with Seymour Bernstein and what really comes through is that he is an ambassador for the deaf.
He once gave a speech to a bunch of TV execs, warning, in sign language, that Martians had invaded and their lives were in danger. Only when a costumed Martian appeared did the audience have an inkling of what Seymour was describing. His point: How are deaf people supposed to know what's happening on TV without captions? They gave him a Standing O and, eventually, captions.
"Many people think because deaf people can't talk, we're dumb. Many of us have gone to college. We speak English. Sign language is a shortcut of English. Our job is to teach hearing people we're normal."
It's not easy. Some retailers believe deaf people have little money and no value as customers. It's a perception that's inaccurate and infuriating.
Seymour co-chaired a Model Deaf Community task force bent on making Riverside a deaf-friendly city -- whether it's a 911 call or a night at the movies. He credits MayorLuv for helping get captioned movies at RivPlaza. And the mayor, acquainted with both Seymours, obviously prefers the human. Making Riverside a better place for deaf citizens "is his life," said the mayor. "He's a good man."
A happy one, too. Seymour and Holly, who is also deaf, have been married 31 years. Two children are deaf. One is not -- and she's an interpreter. Holly retires next year as a CSDR math teacher.
We covered a lot of ground that morning. Seymour once played a deaf lawyer in a "Barney Miller" TV episode. (He was springing a deaf hooker from a jail.) He says, with touching sadness, that he misses music. Even though he's never heard a note, he can feel the beat. He was a jitterbug champ in college "and I can't hear anything."
But this Seymour can see. And when he saw the large beast who shares his name, the human Seymour seemed delighted. "I was hoping he would be a big dog. He looks like me." (Both have gray-white beards.) Intros completed, the dog snoozed at the man's feet.
As he left, we agreed there should be captioned movies at Galleria @ Tyler's new theaters. I said I'd write about it.
"You carry a lot of weight," he said. I nodded, cradling my gut.
"In sign language," said Seymour Bernstein, "you just told me you're pregnant."
Years ago, when we were between dogs, my wife announced our next sheepdog would be named Seymour.
"All that hair!" she said. "They can't see."
The joke name stuck and as time passed various people told me there was another Seymour Bernstein in town -- a human who could see. But he was deaf.
I cringed at the thought of picking a joke name for a dog who couldn't see and inadvertently naming him after a man who couldn't hear. Did the human Seymour have a sense of humor? Last week, I found out. The "other" Seymour Bernstein came to breakfast.
He arrived with Mary Pope, a mutual friend and tireless sign language interpreter. He is 75 and "retired." But this Seymour doesn't sleep 20 hours a day.
He was born deaf, to deaf parents. He graduated from Gallaudet University in D.C., and settled in Riverside 50 years ago to work at California School for the Deaf. His resume is as impressive as it is misleading: counselor, PE teacher, coach of varsity sports. But spend a few minutes with Seymour Bernstein and what really comes through is that he is an ambassador for the deaf.
He once gave a speech to a bunch of TV execs, warning, in sign language, that Martians had invaded and their lives were in danger. Only when a costumed Martian appeared did the audience have an inkling of what Seymour was describing. His point: How are deaf people supposed to know what's happening on TV without captions? They gave him a Standing O and, eventually, captions.
"Many people think because deaf people can't talk, we're dumb. Many of us have gone to college. We speak English. Sign language is a shortcut of English. Our job is to teach hearing people we're normal."
It's not easy. Some retailers believe deaf people have little money and no value as customers. It's a perception that's inaccurate and infuriating.
Seymour co-chaired a Model Deaf Community task force bent on making Riverside a deaf-friendly city -- whether it's a 911 call or a night at the movies. He credits MayorLuv for helping get captioned movies at RivPlaza. And the mayor, acquainted with both Seymours, obviously prefers the human. Making Riverside a better place for deaf citizens "is his life," said the mayor. "He's a good man."
A happy one, too. Seymour and Holly, who is also deaf, have been married 31 years. Two children are deaf. One is not -- and she's an interpreter. Holly retires next year as a CSDR math teacher.
We covered a lot of ground that morning. Seymour once played a deaf lawyer in a "Barney Miller" TV episode. (He was springing a deaf hooker from a jail.) He says, with touching sadness, that he misses music. Even though he's never heard a note, he can feel the beat. He was a jitterbug champ in college "and I can't hear anything."
But this Seymour can see. And when he saw the large beast who shares his name, the human Seymour seemed delighted. "I was hoping he would be a big dog. He looks like me." (Both have gray-white beards.) Intros completed, the dog snoozed at the man's feet.
As he left, we agreed there should be captioned movies at Galleria @ Tyler's new theaters. I said I'd write about it.
"You carry a lot of weight," he said. I nodded, cradling my gut.
"In sign language," said Seymour Bernstein, "you just told me you're pregnant."