The Red Flannel Rag

Pauline Shifflett

Grandpa Austin’s daughter, Pauline, was deaf and mute. She had never been

educated and couldn’ t speak in sign. Other deaf children born in the next generation

were sent to the Virginia School for the Deaf and Blind about fifty miles from Hopkins

Gap.

I was always scared of Aunt Pauline. Her most effective way to communicate

was to let out a heart-stopping scream to get people's attention. Then she waved her

arms in the air and pointed to different parts of her body. Her behavior scared all the

children in the Gap. As I remember her now, I recognize how painful it must have been

for her to grow up deaf and mute in a hearing and talking family.

According to my mother, Pauline had suffered when she was very young. She had

gotten pregnant as a young teenager. Grandma Molly took her across Little North

Mountain to a doctor in Mt. Clinton. He performed an abortion, and Pauline got a very

serious infection. Mom told me, “They had to take out all her ‘female’ parts. She never

got pregnant again.”

Over the years, Pauline had worked out a language that everyone in the

immediate family understood, but it was just a basic language with no place for humor

or trivial conversation such as "hello," "goodbye," "I'm sorry," or "how are you?" She

lived her life in a pragmatic and no nonsense manner. I discovered this the day of

Grandpa Austin's funeral.

It was winter when he died and the remains of a recent snow resulted in the

funeral crowd tracking a lot of mud into the house. I watched Aunt Pauline as she

looked at the feet of everyone who walked in. I knew she was getting madder and

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