The sense of utter helplessness and the heart chill which envelop a deaf person suddenly plunged into darkness are indescribable. For example, of course, I know perfectly well that the darkness does not of itself carry evil or extra danger; I have come through it repeatedly without harm, yet in spite of all that I can think or do I invariably experience an instant of paralyzing fear. Persons who have never known perfect hearing do not feel the full terror, I think, but there is tragedy in the sudden withdrawal of light for those who have gradually, perhaps imperceptibly, come to substitute eyes for ears. They may recover their mental poise after a moment of mental struggle but for a brief space, before they can adjust the mind, they will come close to insanity. I can assure you that at such a time the moments are hours. I know of at least one deaf man, a farmer, who will vouch for the truth of my statements, though you with good ears may contend that it is fantastic to be so affected. ’Gene Wilson had come to depend on his wife and children as interpreters in his communications with others. Many a deaf person has lost the habit of listening, of paying close attention, through his perfect confidence in the family interpreter. In any case, many men of middle-age are inclined to shirk the responsibility of effort if they can find some one willing to assume it. The deaf man loses his _will to hear_ if not his actual hearing, the man of middle years thus is inviting old age; both by effort could extend the “years of grace.” ’Gene Wilson had sent a car load of potatoes to the city and had followed to sell them, with his wife and little girl. During the crowded noon hour he attempted to cross Broadway at Forty-second Street. A policeman stood on guard to direct the traffic, but ’Gene did not understand the signals. He tried to run across just as a big car started uptown—of course the policeman shouted, but ’Gene could not hear him. The driver could not stop in time and the deaf man was smashed to the ground, where he lay stunned and bleeding. There was the usual call for an ambulance, and ’Gene was hurried to a hospital. The deaf do not cry out when injured or frightened; probably they lose the habit of this form of expression since they do not hear others use it. Instead there comes a whirling, a roaring of the head and a sort of mild paralysis of the brain, but when this clears away it leaves the mind most acute and active. ’Gene Wilson lay in this half-dazed condition, conscious only of a fearful pounding at his brain. The doctors questioned him, but he did not hear. They finally put him down as idiotic or at least half-insane. Several deaf friends have told me how this label was attached to them when they met with accidents while among strangers. One can scarcely blame hurried, over-worked hospital doctors and nurses for paying scant attention to such cases, and the afflicted must suffer.