Don Fulk - An Invincible Spirit

An Invincible Spirit

An Invincible Spirit

The Story of Don Fulk

As Signed to Janet Allen

Gallaudet University Press

Washington, DC

Gallaudet University Press

Washington, DC 20002

http://gupress.gallaudet.edu

2019 by Gallaudet University

All rights reserved. Published 2019

Printed in the United States of America

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Fulk, Don, 1942-1998, author. | Allen, Janet (Janet Anne), 1958-author.

Title: An invincible spirit : the Don Fulk story / [as signed to] Janet Allen.

Description: Washington, DC : Gallaudet University Press, [2019] | Fulk is telling his own story, but its as told to Allen --Email from publisher.

Identifiers: LCCN 2018042813| ISBN 9781944838478 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781944838485

(ebk.)

Subjects: LCSH: Fulk, Don, 1942-1998. | Deaf--United States--Biography. | Quadriplegics--United States--Biography. | Deaf--Institutional care--United States. | Quadriplegics--Rehabilitation--United States.

Classification: LCC HV2534 .F85 2019 | DDC 305.9/08092 [B] --dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018042813

This paper meets the requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992

(Permanence of Paper).

For Woody Osburn, who lived his life with
courage and dedication to others.

A special Thank You to
Chase Chambers, for technical assistance with this book.

Chase is a Tulsa University graduate, a freelance
filmmaker, and the 2016 College Awards winner
for the film Deaf Code .

Don Fulk passed away on February 4, 1998. I received the news of my good friends passing around two oclock in the morning. The phone rang, waking me from a deep sleep. When I picked it up, I heard the distinct sound of a telecommunications device for the deaf (TDD or TTY) on the other end. I groped in the darkness for my TTY, placed the receiver on it and typed HELLO GA (go ahead). Immediately Betty typed back that her beloved Don was gone. I sat on my bed and cried. Not so much for Don, because he was free of his wheelchair, but for me, because I would miss him.

I met Don in 1981 when I was working at the Tulsa Speech and Hearing Association as a secretary/sign language interpreter. One day, we received a frantic call. The TTY in our office was a monstrous, gray device that sat by my desk and made a great, rattling noise when it rang. It had a roll of paper that printed what the person on the other end of the line typed. That day, the message read, Help, I am stuck in my house. Our director, Don Hastings, went to help and found Don Fulk unable to open the door. Don was so happy to receive our assistance that he became a regular visitor to our office. I began to understand his unique way of communicating and to look forward to his visits.

Don wanted his story told and asked me to write it down. I told him I would try my best. This was the beginning of decades of a remarkable friendship and a remarkable story. Dons apartment was not far from my house, and he would often visit. He couldnt get up the three steps into my house, so we sat out in the front yard in all kinds of weather. In summers, when it was hot, he would ask that I pour a tall pitcher of cold water on his head to cool him off. He would laugh that wonderful laugh of his every time and ask for more.

We would sit for hours; me cross-legged in the grass, writing furiously on mountains of yellow pads of paper spread across the yard, while Don signed laboriously, lifting his half-paralyzed arms as high as he could, moving his frozen fists in the air, telling stories from countless memories. I promised him I would finish his book one day. This is the fulfillment of that promise.

Don told me he felt it was important that others know about his experiences growing up deaf and, at age eighteen, becoming a quadriplegic, which compounded his challenges. Don had three dreams: to become independent, employed, and married. He achieved all three and much more. The stories he told me were filled with courage, determination, and inner strength, as well as humor and grace. His tenacity and patience showed in every story he told. Don possessed a sweet, yet dogged, determination to make things right, not only for himself but for others who face the same challenges.

I want to thank all of Dons family members who have assisted me with this effort: Kendall Fulk, Laurie Kimball, Steven Fulk, Val Kendall, and Kathy Douglas.

I want to also thank Larry Bishop, Chuck Laenger, Kirby Hodges, Carla Lawson, Janelle Hankinson, Doyle Dye, Glenna Cooper, Kathy Stroyick, Tsianina and Roy Kinney, Leon Hoover, Roland Sykes, Dr. Perry Sanders, Sarah Kennedy, and my son Ryan Tedder.

A special thank you to Woody Osburn, Kathleen Kleinmann, Gerald Davis, and Connie Foster, who were there when Don needed them.

And most of all to Betty Anne Fulk and Chase Chambers, who made this book possible and who stuck by me all of these years. I love you both.

Don began this book himself, so I am finishing it now in his words, as he would have wanted it. It took me many years to finish it, but after I recently retired from teaching, I was finally able to give it the attention it deserved. I had the chance to interview family members and important people in Dons life, thoroughly research his experiences, and speak with everyone he touched in any way.

I am so inspired by Dons courage, wit, will, and positive spirit. When you read his story, I hope you will be as well.

Janet Allen

An Invincible Spirit

My name is Don Fulk. I was born on February 17, 1942. When I was three years old, I contracted spinal meningitis, which left me profoundly deaf. When I was eighteen, I had a swimming accident and became a quadriplegic. This is my story.

Canals run like rivers in my small hometown of Colton, California. When I was eight years old, I often went with my brother, Paul Howard, and two neighbor boys to the canals, where we waded in the water and caught crawdads. We filled our buckets with the crawly little things and took them home. The neighbor boys father cleaned them, keeping the tails, and throwing out the rest. I knew that the family cooked and ate them. I decided I would never go to their house for supper.

Wherever the other boys went, I followedalways behind. They discussed their various plans for adventure, but because I couldnt hear and talk, I was never really included in their decision making. I only followed, curious about where they were going and where they might lead me.

I remember once they came upon a canal in the midst of tall weeds. I was not far behind. The only means of crossing the canal was a wooden pole stretched between the banks, on which the boys lightly skipped across. I happily ran to catch up, but when I came upon the pole, I hesitated. The other boys waited on the far bank, gesturing to me to hurry up. They grew impatient and began disappearing into the weeds and bushes.

The only way I could cross was to get down on my hands and knees, grasp the pole with both hands, and slowly crawl across. My heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird, but I slowly and painstakingly inched my way along, reached the other side, and ran to catch up with the other boys. I didnt know then but later came to understand that my deafness affected my sense of balance.