 The Depart Company, maker of better things for better living through chemistry, presents the Cavalcade of America, starring Jean Tierney. Here's Jean Tierney. Tonight on Cavalcade, I see a woman who is suddenly in prison behind a terribly, deadly, nearly starlit. This is the true story of that woman, and how she came from behind that wall. Jean Tierney, as Marie Haynes. You're in for all the silence. You never know when it's going to happen. You lead your life normally. You laugh, you sing, you go to a dance. That's how it began with me. Yes, there was a winter dance at the Cosset Plaza in Boston. I was a sophomore at Simmons College. I was young and I was happy. And it was a big dance of the winter season. Marie? I never would have to tell you. What? Let me show you dance. Nope, not the way. Not another one like Marie Haynes. Oh, really, not the way. Anyway, let's not talk at all. Let's just dance. I love to dance. I don't know why, now shut up and go to sleep. You know something, Flo. The only thing wrong with tonight... I'm not in... Where's it Henry wasn't there? Oh, no, not Henry, Heiner. He is nice. Marie Hayes in 10 seconds... That's very good, I bet. You ever gone to sleep as I did that winter night in 1926? My flesh tingled, I was warm. I felt asleep dreaming of the voices in the music of a sounding world. It did go off moving. The roommate has nothing more serious than the case of influenza. The doctor, she can't... Yes, I know, she can't hear. Happens. The infection spreads. She'll get better. Now just see that she takes these pills. Get plenty of fluid into her. Well, nothing to worry about, not a thing. I saw his lips move, but I didn't hear a single word he said. When your ears have been busy bringing you the sounding world for all your life, the absence of sound, the abrupt unexpected end of sound is like the death of consciousness. That's how it was for me in 1926. I got well, but my hearing had only partially returned. In order to hear, I had to strain all the time. It was like having to stand on my toes while everyone else was relaxed and comfortable. Just sit tight, Marie, darling. I'll get you an eggnog. Eggnog? Yes, Marie. You need building up, darling. Do I, Mother? I'm really much better, you know? That's fine. Are you glad to be home again? What? Iggy Cleveland will welcome sight again. He didn't say so. Mother, you did ask me if Henry Heiner was signing to call tonight. That's what you asked Mother, wasn't it? Yes, of course, Marie. I'll have your eggnog in a moment. Darling, there's a new doctor in town. I hear you, Mother. There's really no need to raise your voice. Oh, excuse it, darling. I was saying that there's a new doctor in town who seems to have a national reputation as an oncologist. That means ear specialist, you know. Why don't you and I pay him a visit tomorrow morning? Now, Marie, just one more time while I strike the tune fork like this, at places here, like this. Yes, Marie? Exactly the same as before. Not much different? None much. No. I think that will be all for now. She's really considerably better than she seems. Wouldn't you say so, Doc? Oh, yes, Mrs. Hayes. Only a slight impairment, which will improve with time. Nature, you know. Evade a wait. Go on up your car, please. Just a moment, please. I'm going down. Up, going up. What's the door, please? Don't you dare close that door in my face. I'm going down. This car goes up. What's the matter, lady? Wake up. Hi, darling. Mother. Darling, I can't show the neighbors. Mother, I'm sorry. I didn't expect you in before. Oh, darling, darling. You were never afraid to be alone before. You live among friends, Marie. You don't have to bolt the door in broad daylight. You don't have to. How are you, darling? Fine, Mother. Just fine. I had become afraid. Afraid of not hearing. And not being able to hear, I listened increasingly to the fantasies of my imagination. I imagined conspiracies against me everywhere. I bit a heart. Two diamonds. What were they whispering for? Waiting for you, Marie. What was that smile for? What were they saying about me? Two diamonds, Marie. You certainly can be mistaken about a person who's known all your life. What do you mean? You grow up thinking a person is pretty quick on the trigger. Oh, for heaven's sake, have a little piece, Marie. Oh, you can say anything you want. Everybody knows she's deaf as opposed. Every moment of the day, you die a little. But there are moments when you die faster. I pretended that I hadn't heard. That was foolish. But even more foolish, I pretended that I heard when I heard nothing. I wanted to be normal. And a normal woman has two ears. Small ears, long ears, thin ears, thick ears, pretty ears, silly ears, but functioning ears, ears to hear the sounds of the world. When the wall of silence begins to close in, one by one, all the shared pleasures of life are taken from the heart of hearing. First to go is music, the conversation of friends, the voices of birds, the drip of water, all that remains is the emptiness of vanity, which forbid truth. I sound increasingly left me. I went from doctor to doctor. Listen now. Now we shall try the whistle from this side. Pay attention, please. Did you hear that, Miss? Oh, yes, Doctor. Much better. Could you blow it a little louder? That was loud enough, Miss Hays. What am I saying? Much better, Doctor. Miss Hays, you didn't hear a thing. I am writing down a name and a thread. Take it. Go to Miss Elliott. She teaches lip-reading. A woman is created whole. She has hands for touching and lips for speaking and a palate for case. A nose is intended for smell and eyes for sight. Ears for hearing. We are created whole. The world is a whole world. And now, now I was a partial human being. Shut off from the sound of the human voice, the sound of laughter, the sound of my own crying. Shut off. Have you ever been shut off? And you know the fright of silence. Who's there? Is there someone at the door? A young American woman, Marie Hays, has lost her hearing and finds herself in a lost world alone, behind a wall of silence. Panic is also a wall. When the panic left, I felt better. And I heard a little better. But it was a black time for me. And it was at that time that Henry Highland came and asked me to marry him. All right, Marie, so you don't hear. Henry, I may get wind. Yes. You can't marry someone totally deaf. I don't want to marry your ears, darling. I want to marry you, hearing or not. Hearing makes no difference. It isn't true. You have to hear. You have to hear what a husband says. You have to hear children when they fall down, when they're sick, when they cry. I was gambling with the safety of my children, my children's children. I didn't know. No one tells you these things. Yes, I became Mary Hayes' child. It was easy to be happy with Henry. He understood. He pitched his voice to my needs. He spoke clearly and directly to me. He never talked to me from the next room or from behind me. You young folks have done this room up very well. John, what a sweet prayer. Marie, where did you get it? Darling, Mrs. Lewis likes the print as much as we do. Oh, my thank you, Mrs. Lewis. I bought it yesterday. A real bargain. Marie buys only bargain, whether she needs them or not. Ha, ha, ha. Blastness should be heard, not seen. It's hard to share happiness that consists only of a head thrown back, smiling eyes, hearted lips, from which no sound is heard. You can read lips for speech, but you can't read a lip for the cause of laughter. It made me lonelier than before. There was vanity on my side, and considerations for me on the other side. They meant to be kind. It was a cruel sort of kindness. Deathness is a progressive thing. It goes downhill. There are days and weeks of improvement, but there are delusions. The progression is down. I decided to go to a famous doctor in Chicago. Mr. Rickman, come here please. Marie, you do hear a little better, don't you? Yes. I'm not as good. It's plain that you should hear better on a noisy screen during a railroad station, but the noise helps, doesn't it? Don't give me him. Oh, don't be absurd, darling. Forgive you for what? For all the crises. Oh, no, I've got it all. Forgive me for making simple things frightful, for making small things oversized, and for making quiet things dramatic. Henry, why am I so frightened? Donnie, I wish I could go with you to Chicago, but maybe it's better for you to do it alone. I'm helping, and your doctor is helping, but, Marie, you have to do it by yourself. The grown people have to do things by themselves. Will you sit down, Mrs. Heiner? The doctor's face was kind. A little brown gnome of a man with a lined face and soft eyes, and a leg that dragged when he walked. We begin, yes? Six, three, two, message. I tried to hear. I tried, yes. Horror, horror, mood. It lasted for hours. This is a monocle. Listen. Now, listen to the buzz. The beast is moist from the dust. He sat facing me, and not speaking for a while. Have you noticed, Mrs. Heiner, that I limp? I am limp. You are hard of hearing. Mrs. Heiner, that isn't the worst thing in life. The doctor, I live in a prison. My dear Mrs. Heiner, truth is a healing thing when you are brave enough to accept truth. The truth is that you will never hear any better than you hear now. It will get worse. One foolish people groped in half darkness because they were ashamed to wear eyeglasses. There is no indignity in wearing glasses, and there is no indignity in wearing a hearing aid. Henry and I shopped for a hearing aid. It was as simple as that. Does this sound better, Mrs. Heiner? No, it makes me dizzy. This more comfortable, Mrs. Heiner? No, I don't think so. Tell me if this is better, Mrs. Heiner. One, two, three, four. Better. That is better. Take it home, Mrs. Heiner. Wear it. Try it out. It takes time to get used to it. Don't be impatient. What do you look at if you found a million dollars? I have. Listen. I don't hear a million dollars. Do you hear it? I have to put in a new washer. That dripper driving me. Oh, don't just touch it. Let it drip. What a waste of water. Let the sound alone. I never realized until now how far I'd gone in silence. Let it drip forever. I want to hear it. All right, darling. I'll arrange for all the dogs in the neighborhood to fire. Yes, by all means. And we've got to get a new whistling ticket. Yes, Henry. And wear shoes this week and eat celery and snap your fingers and cough and sneeze and sing and yell. I want every single sound. I sit here again. For a week, a month, almost a year, I was drunk with sound. And then I remembered that there were others. Others who still could not hear, who were afraid, who needed help. All right, call me a woman with a call. I went to the Cleveland Hearing and Speech Center. I began to work with the all deaf, and the half deaf, and the nearly deaf. I worked with deaf children. Mrs. Heiner, this one's name is Betsy. How old is she? She's four. Deaf and dumb. You're new here. When you're around longer, you'll know she can't speak because she's deaf. Hello, Betsy. Hello, Betsy. Put your hands on my face. Like that. Good. Feel the sound, Betsy. Hello, Betsy. Say it, Betsy. Hello. That's fine, again. Hello. Hello. Good job. She learned. I should have said what I did. You know, well, I just haven't ever thought about deaf children before. I know. Deafness can't be seen. It's invisible. Here, that's it. This is for you. Take it. Good girl. That's it. Take it. Hold it in your hand. Open it. Feel the sound. The deaf are set apart. They withdraw into their own silence. But now they must listen to me because I've got something to tell them. Can you hear me? There are between seven and 15 million Americans who must be made to hear. There are children like little Betsy who are born deaf. They must be taught to speak. There are the old people. They sit in a room and suddenly it seems to them that the last door has closed. There are men and women like me, anxious, afraid, lonely. There are prisoners behind the wall of silence. Seven to 15 million Americans. Listen. I have lately come from where you are. And now I open the Bible to your place. And in that day, shall the deaf hear. Our star, Jean Kearney. There's one thing I would like to be now, not as Marie, but as Jean Kearney. And that is to bring you the real Marie, whose story we told tonight. And here she is, Marie Haley Tiner. Thank you, Miss Kearney. If my experience has helped other people, I am repaid. Today, there are many organizations working among the deafens, particularly the American Hearing Society. Programs like Tonight's Cavalcade and Understanding on the Part of All of Us will help shatter the great wall of silence and imprison so many of our fellow citizens. Good night. Next week, Cavalcade will present one of the screen's most irrepressible personalities, Mickey Rooney. Our play, South of Cape Horn, is the story of a boy who failed to seize to discover a lost potterman. Be sure to join us. Tonight's Cavalcade play, The Wall of Silence, was written by Morton Wichengrad and was adapted from the book, Hearing is Believing by Marie Hayes-Heiner, published by the World Publishing Company. All royalties being turned over to organizations working for the deaf. The program was directed by Arthur Pryor, music composed by Arden Cornwell and conducted by Donald Voorhees. Your announcers, Ted Pearson and Bill Hamilton. Our star, Gene Tierney, appeared to the courtesy of 20th Century Fox and can soon be seen in the Puro Pool. May we remind you when you buy Christmas gifts this year, buy a lot. Thank you. Cavalcade of America comes to you from the stage of the Balasco Theater in New York and is presented by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware. Makers of better things for better living through chemistry. Stay tuned for The Baby Snook Show followed by Bob Hope on NBC.