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In January, his silence could sing the loudest
© St. Petersburg Times, published November 19, 2000 Tom Cooney held up one arm in front of his chest, flexed his wrist and extended his hand, palm down. He made his other hand into a fist, with just his index finger extended, and stuck that finger under his other flattened palm. His gesture was one step in that eloquent hand ballet called sign language. This sign means The Top. When Tom used it, he was telling me that to sign the national anthem at the Super Bowl next January would be the greatest event of his life. The Top. Silverware was scraping against plates in the Clearwater restaurant where we met. At the bar, a cheer went up at the latest figures on Bush's lead over Gore in Florida. Forgettable pop music thumped through speakers and across the room. I instinctively raised my voice to be heard, but there was no need. Tom is utterly deaf. Otherwise, he is a most ordinary man, Republican, divorced, with dark thinning hair, an old car, and two grown sons he fiercely loves. Until he moved to Florida, he lived in New York, where he edited a newspaper called the Silent News. He made a living as a file clerk at one of New York City's corporate giants, AT&T, and so his remarkably understandable speech has the kind of accent you expect out of a guy in the nosebleed section at Yankee Stadium. I said he was ordinary, except for this. He has turned his deafness into a gift. "If I weren't deaf," he said, "I wouldn't be sitting here with you." He wouldn't be doing a lot of things. At 65, he is famous in a small way, although he would probably challenge my use of the adjective small. Tom Cooney is famous in the bay area for showing the hearing what it means to be deaf. He was the first deaf person to serve on a jury in Pinellas County. He also ran for the Pinellas School Board. His campaign literature never mentioned his deafness, although now that I think of it, why should it have done so? Only last week did he do his annual thing, teaching sign language to schoolchildren at the Great American Teach-In. He comes to lunch with a fat file of pictures of himself signing at some of New York's legendary playing fields, while standing next to some of New York's legendary sports heroes. He watches my lips to understand me, and when he speaks, he opens my eyes. Many deaf people are as fanatical about sports, he said, because a game is all action, and action can be understood without words. So can the national anthem. When Tom signs it, his lips move like those of a mime speaking in the dark. His arms and hands rise in the air, then fall. They bend up and down and back onto themselves. I think of two swans, mates for life, conversing in a private, perfect lyric. The play-by-play of Super Bowl XXXV will be closed-captioned, as it is every year. A decision on who will sign the anthem will be made in two weeks. Forty people have applied, and according to Bob Best, the Tampa producer of the post- and pre-game shows, Tom Cooney is among the top five contenders. When I told him, he said the only number he was interested in was One. Remember? The Top. He is obsessed with the idea of signing the national anthem at Super Bowl XXXV. He has stacks of letters to show how often he has tried to ask to do the anthem for the Super Bowl, how often he has been denied. His face wrinkles up in frustration as he talks about trying again. "Everybody has feelings, and these feelings are very powerful to them. That's what I want to say to the NFL. Give Tom Cooney a chance." "They think I am deaf and dumb. I am deaf, but I am not dumb. I can't hear, but I can make my words be heard."
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