Monette's Musings: 01/01/2009

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Yikes ... It's Hurricane Ike!

By Monette Benoit

Galveston’s history has a personal interest. In 1900 my maternal grandmother’s family walked 500 miles from Gilmer, Texas, to Corpus Christi, Texas, with livestock, farm equipment and four covered wagons.

My grandmother’s father, Adolphus D. Floyd, twice a 7^th Regiment Texas Infantry Civil War Prisoner of War, POW, struck oil in Gilmer. Post-war, he studied “the best soil in Texas to grow cotton.” Then Adolphus saved $99.00 for the family relocation. After their move to Corpus Christi, my family planned a large Galveston family reunion.

September 8, 1900 a Category 4 hurricane hit Galveston, Texas. An entire “branch” of my grandmother’s family was swept off a hotel roof. Reports estimate 6,000 men, women and children perished.

Had the hurricane struck two days later, my grandmother, Monette Rae Floyd, her father, mother Marjorie Howard Floyd, nine siblings and four “extras” (as they were called), white and black children, would have been in Galveston for their family reunion.

Monette Floyd was a four-year old piano prodigy. Later, she became the first music teacher in Corpus volunteering her time in the schools. Later, she had her own orchestra. Later, she worked as a Corpus court stenographer. Siblings and “extras” not in Galveston that day in 1900, later built a life knowing ‘what might have been’.

I grew up listening to detailed history of Galveston, Texas coastal storms and the phrase, “There but for the grace of God go I.”

Sheryl Stapp, CSR, RPR earned her certifications in 1998. She has worked as adjunct professor, Del Mar College, and as an official in Corpus and Sinton, Texas. Currently, Sheryl lives in Houston working as a freelance deputy official. I asked Sheryl to share her story.

September 11, 2008, weathermen asked, “Where will Ike land?” Corpus Christi, my hometown, was targeted. I’ve been in Houston since 2003; I return every few months. My best friend, Diane, whom I met in seventh grade, lives there. I’ve been playing bunco with girlfriends, true treasures, since 1995.

I called Corpus friends, “Come to Houston. Run like a rabbit,” as I was raised to do if a hurricane headed your way! Soon they phoned, “Get out of Houston. Come home!" We were not in mandatory evacuation; we stayed put.

On Friday, September 12, 2008: My parents, roommates, Fletcher and Elaine, were nervous. Near 10:30 a.m. precious Mama had “that funny feeling.” I gave her Advil and tucked her in. Daddy and I put plywood over the patio doors. Soon I heard, “I can’t breathe.” I called 911 praying, “Please, Lord, not yet.” The ambulance arrived in 15 minutes; paramedics put her on oxygen. Again I said, “You’ll be fine, Mama. I’m following right behind.”

The hospital was preparing for lockdown during Hurricane Ike. The emergency room staff worked with ice chests, blankets, sleeping bags and radios. Three crews were staying through Monday.

Mom was intubated and sedated. I headed to the chapel. Then came the really hard part – leaving. Lockdown meant only emergency vehicles in or out. Daddy left his “child bride” (they married in 1955 at 22 and 23 years of age). Talk about tough.

We returned home. Meteorologists had Hurricane Ike down to a science. Ike would blow in 10:00 p.m. and depart the Magnolia City early morning. Rain and wind pounded all night.

I arose at 8:00 a.m. There was no wind, rain or flooding, and there was no phone, TV or Internet. Dad and I walked the house. No broken windows, shingles. We had been spared.

True Texans, neighbors, barbecued freezer meats, and it was the Saturday Night Live Happy Hurricane Party! We had flashlights inside and lanterns outside; ice chests held beer and sodas.

Battery-operated radios shocked us with Galveston’s devastation only an hour away. Pictures in the Houston Chronicle were unfathomable: A Category 2 landfall annihilated that historical coastal town.

Initially, one generator powered four houses. We needed the generator for Dad’s continuous positive airway pressure (C-Pap) machine, so we made the purchase. I’m a city girl. There I was with my 76-year old father, 100-degree heat, reading the manual to assemble this generator! Later, I felt I could do this! We wheeled the generator onto the porch. I realized, again, how little I knew. That generator was loud! It sounded like an 18-wheeler!

I was thankful because that noise ensured I’d hear Dad’s C-Pap machine. I’d listen and think, "Thank you, Lord. Daddy’s lungs need it.”

I thought I’d lose weight since I couldn’t cook, right? Wrong! Everyone asked, “Do you have food? Need something to eat?” One Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) Point of Distribution (POD) volunteer went house to house, gifting Meals Ready to Eat (MREs) water, cookies and non-perishables!

It was humbling to walk into the courthouse with wet hair (no hairdryer), wrinkled slacks and shirts (no iron), no make-up (you cannot apply makeup by flashlight)! I was not alone. We all laughed, “This is not a problem. We are so fortunate.”

One lady shared she worked with a Galveston court reporter who had e-mailed everything to her scopist. Even when natural disasters strike, court reporters get the job done! Our technology has come so far and it continues to keep us on our game, on the cutting edge.

My friend, Monette Benoit, called. She caught me at the library checking e-mail – after waiting an hour! Once assured that Mom, Dad and I were okay, she shared her view of captioning Hurricane Ike from a local, national vantage point. Monette always reminds me what we do is unique, an in-demand skill. It’s life-affirming to know court reporters and broadcast captioners are helping deaf and HOH every day. My mantra during our conversation: “I love court reporting!"

Daily, we called the intensive care unit, ICU, to check on mom; she was improving. Mom’s our glue; she raised five children in the 1970s on a schoolteacher and construction materials salesman’s salaries.

On Monday, Mom thought it was Friday! She’d been sedated for four days. While Houston was without water, TV, air conditioning, she had comforts. Hospital staff was good to Dad. He’d get a hot meal each time Mom did; they filled his ice chest before he departed the hospital.

Mom came home two weeks later; we still had no power. The respiratory company brought the oxygen machine. At 4 a.m. on Saturday, our generator ran out of gas. I’ll never forget going to check it, flashlight in hand. Daddy, with C-Pap tube dangling from his headpiece, brought the gas cans. He looked like Snuffleupagus! I thought, “Lord, let us get this cranked up so Mom gets oxygen and her Texas-sized heart can keep on ticking!!” After a few stops/starts it was fine. Twenty-four hours after Mom’s return home, here come trucks down our street.

A light switch that turns on one lamp becomes a treasure.

My personal Hurricane Ike experience was humbling: Stress riding it out, leaving Mom, watching Dad feeling lost and anxious without her. After Ike arrived and left, it was the daily hassles of draining and refilling ice chests, visiting the ICU in staggered hours, sitting in lines at the gas stations, filling generator tanks and having no air conditioning (just plain brutal!). I always said, “I can’t complain. We were fortunate. Mom was in the best place she could be; our home is intact; friends and family are safe.”

Galveston’s stories put everything in perspective. I was reminded of Daddy saying, “I complained because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet.” I'm so grateful, realizing how blessed I am.

You boost my self-esteem, Monette. I tell my little Ike story and think, “Who cares?” You hear my Ike story and think, “Great story! Let’s share.”

I’ve not mentioned this article to my parents because it’s about them, not me. I’m going to frame it and gift it as a Valentine gift to Fletcher Robinson Stapp and Elaine Hansen Stapp.

Monette: Yes, indeed. “There but for the grace of God go I.”

Sheryl may be reached at ssdepo@aol.com.

About the Author:

Monette Benoit, B.B.A., CCR, CRI, CPE, is a JCR Contributing Editor for the National Court Reporters Association, NCRA. She is the author of multiple books to include the national and state RPR, RMR, RDR, CSR ‘Written Knowledge Exam’ Textbook, Workbook, a companion Study Guide, ‘The CRRT WKT’ CD Software Program, Advanced SAT, LSAT, GRE, Real-Time Vocabulary Workbook and ‘CATapult’ Dictionary CD Software Program series.

Books, CDs, private tutoring, mentoring services and articles may be referenced http://www.crrbooks.com/

Monette is an experienced consultant, instructor, realtime court reporter, tutor, life coach, CART provider, columnist.

She teaches, tutors and coaches home-study students, college students, court reporters and professionals. Monette speaks to groups at state, national and international conventions about motivation, technology, expanding skills and Deaf, Oral Deaf, Hard of Hearing.

Monette Benoit, B.B.A., Certified Court Reporter, Certified Reporting Instructor, Certified Program Evaluator, Paralegal, may be reached at: http://www.crrbooks.com/ http://www.catapultdix.com/ and http://www.artcs.com/

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Yes, We Can, And Yes, We Did

Yes, We Can – And Yes, We Did

By Monette Benoit

Recently I was out of state on business far from home when I encountered another “memory moment” (deaf term) that will stay with me. I work as a court reporter, court reporting instructor, tutor and coach. Of this I know to be true: if more of us could truly hear and see what’s around us, we would change the world as we know it – one person, one “moment” at a time. Yes, we can, and yes, we did.

After a long day, early evening, I stopped at a hardware store. I needed a few items. On a long (single) line in the busy store with my cart, I heard a familiar sound. I tilted my chin up. “Ahhhhahh,” a woman was pointing a man to another counter. I blinked knowingly. I smiled, she looked away.

I then debated: Could I? Should I? The line wasn’t moving as I leaned on my cart.

I smiled, quickly gestured upwards with the flick of my wrist – and waited. She looked up. Again I smiled. We looked at each other for a few seconds before I thought, “Oh, what the heck.” I began to sign (ASL) to her.

She watched and did not respond, but she was smiling. I signed that I have worked with deaf people in Texas. I had not signed in a while: “My sign stinky now.” Her smile beamed from ear to ear. She started signing so quickly, I had to remember the first sign I learned: “Slow down.”

My line barely moved toward the cashier. She and I were soon signing (ASL, American Sign Language) and communicating. Children stopped complaining, whining about standing on line in the hardware store. Adults looked stunned, clearly staring, as we laughed, spelled, signed. I had a great time; it felt good to sign again! As I approached the cashier, she nodded a brief good-bye and went back to work.

The cashier smiled. I asked if many deaf people worked there. “No, her husband works here.”

I asked the (hearing) cashier if there were interpreters. “Nope, that lady worked ‘at a deaf place’ and used to come to the store every evening. The boss would say: You don’t have a job. He wasn’t going to pay her. But she continued to show up each night. Soon she began counting the money in each register, and she was very good at it. The owner hired the lady.”

I said, “You know, she’s reading lips, communicating with others; no one’s interpreting for her. She’s very smart. Trust me.”

As I left, I turned and waved good-bye to the deaf lady. The boss arrived at her register with more money, she smiled, I nodded … off I went … or so I thought.

My car would not start. The lights turned on, but not the engine. It was now dark; I was in an unfamiliar city and stores were closing.

I strolled back into that store, flicked my wrist and signed, “Me car broke.”

The lady immediately signed to her husband, who sprinted out to my car.

Four men who worked with the couple appeared. One man moved his truck and popped our hoods to “jump” the battery. No one spoke to me; they were busy.

Within minutes, six men were in and out of my car: “What the hell’s this? What does this go to?”

They popped fuse boxes, flipped switches. I was stunned. When I looked up, the deaf lady was signing, “You no worry. My husband. You OK.”

The men fervently worked; I turned my back on my car. It was too painful to watch and no one was answering my questions; they were busy.

She and I signed and signed and signed, laughing, enjoying the nice breezes.

When my car was “fixed,” I was diagnosed with a neutral safety switch problem. Each man who had worked on my car quickly vanished into the dark.

I yelled “thanks” to their backs as they silently left.

As I turned to get into my car, the husband asked, “Do you have someplace to stay tonight?” I paused. He asked again. Standing under the street lamp, alone, stores closed, I hesitated.

Then I heard the deaf lady yelling, signing, “You OK. He my husband. You safe.” I laughed, answered his questions, and we signed for the lady, his wife.

She then signed, “Firestone. You go tomorrow.”

I started to think this would make a great SNL, Saturday Night Live, skit clip. She’s standing next to her car four spots away, signing to me. Her husband is next to me signing into the air, so she can “hear,” and I’m trying to remember all the signs my rusty fingers used to know.

I asked, “What are your names?” His reply, “Go to Firestone. Tell them Mike and the deaf lady sent you.”

“What is her name?” I asked. He said, “They just know her as the deaf lady. They’ll know who you mean.”

The third time, I asked slowly, “What is her name? What do ‘you’ call her?”

He smiled and said, “I’m Mike. She’s Millie. We work at Johnny’s.” And he continued to sign (interpret) our conversation.

I signed up into the air, “Nice meet you, Millie.”

She tapped her heart, “You not worry. Go Firestone. You OK.”

I began to giggle when I looked around. People were sitting in their cars in the dark, motionless, viewing this entire scene.

Since my car engine was running, I was afraid to turn it off. Mike continued to stay with me, smiling.

Then I asked Mike what I had signed to Millie in the store. Earlier I’d asked, “Do you watch TV?” She had said that she kept busy. Mike said, “She doesn’t like TV.”

I signed into the air, “Millie’s Big D. Signing her first language. She’s having trouble viewing captioning because too fast. Practice, reading improves.”

Mike agreed that was the reason she did not watch television. “She struggles with reading captions.”

I stopped signing to concentrate and concisely explain how broadcast captioners and CART providers help deaf and hard-of-hearing children and adults. I discussed the work I’d shared with many deaf and HOH (hard-of-hearing) groups and a deaf mass since 1993.

I signed across the parking lot, “You watch TV. Captioners help you, better reading.”

Finally, Millie said, “Yes, I watch. I will. Promise. Yes, I can.”

As I left, I thanked God for my new friends and wondered why the only place my car had broken down in 17 years was somewhere I’d just had fun and shared with a new deaf friend.

Mike and Millie at Johnny’s … if only “you” could sign, hear, see, you would shift.

I’m writing about this, yes, we can, and yes, we did because the reactions of court reporters and friends have been interesting.

All deposition court reporters and officials asked, “Why didn’t you just call a tow truck?”

The CART providers and sign interpreters said, “Yeah, I get it.” Another confirmation, to me, of the differences in our consumers and possibly future clients.

I know Mike and Millie will watch captioning. If you could sign, hear and see, you too could feel that your skills are wonderful.

Our court reporting and broadcast captioning profession is a gift to others. We’re not reminded often enough … but my heart knows. It feels so right “in the moment” to communicate, help, sign and laugh.

Mike and Millie confirmed my life path (again); another “sign” from the universe. Come and join us. It’s fun. You’ll meet many people. They’ll appear anywhere during the day, the night, even in a hardware store.

Mike, Millie and I agree … yes, we can. Yes, we can sign, hear and see together as one.

Each time a deaf person taps his or her heart and smiles at me, I have another “memory moment.” It’s mine to keep forever. Do you ever wish you could have these moments? Trust me: yes, you can. Yes, we can.

About the Author:

Monette Benoit, B.B.A., CCR, CRI, CPE, is a JCR Contributing Editor for the National Court Reporters Association, NCRA. She is the author of multiple books to include the national and state RPR, RMR, RDR, CSR ‘Written Knowledge Exam’ Textbook, Workbook, a companion Study Guide, ‘The CRRT WKT’ CD Software Program, Advanced SAT, LSAT, GRE, Real-Time Vocabulary Workbook and ‘CATapult’ Dictionary CD Software Program series.