THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, June 5, 1994 TAG: 9406040032
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: G1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: LAWRENCE MADDRY
DATELINE: 940605 LENGTH: Long
The leftfielder for the Ottowa Lynx slaps a long single through the infield and digs toward second stretching it into a stand-up double. But he's unable to hear the cheers from the dugout.
{REST} He can't hear anything . . . the crack of the ball on the bat . . . the noise in the stands . . . the umpire's shouts of balls and strikes.
But it doesn't matter.
Curtis Pride knows that Dale Vanderwall, the slight blonde woman in the pink baseball cap and pink sweatshirt, is in the stands rooting for him.
Pride, the first deaf major league player in 50 years - who is waiting for a hand injury to heal before returning to the Montreal Expos - plays the game surrounded by an invisible balloon of silence.
But his profound deafness doesn't mean he's short on memory. That's why he was sure there were plenty of tickets for Dale Vanderwall and her family at the park gate for the game with the Tides.
Dwarfed by the stocky centerfielder with the number 27 stitched on his uniform, Vanderwall stands as tall as the roof covering Harbor Park in Pride's eyes.
She taught him to read lips and speak more than a decade ago.
It was an hour before game time, a few feet from the wall separating spectators from the playing field. Hands on the wall, squinting into the late afternoon sun, his former teacher watched number 27 shag balls in the outfield.
After fielding the ball, Pride tossed so effortlessly that the loud snap of ball slapping the leather of a teammate's glove was surprising.
``Hey, Curtis,'' Vanderwall screamed.
No. 27 read the lips of a player standing beside him in the outfield and turned toward her, waving his glove, a curving smile creasing his face.
It was the first time she'd seen him since their days together at Weller Road Elementary School in Rockville, Md. Curtis was about 11 years old then.
``He hasn't changed a bit,'' she said. ``He's simply an amazing athlete.
``He set records in all the track and field events at Weller. They still stand.''
Pride was born with an inoperable nerve deafness called sensory neural loss. He cannot hear a base coach shouting to take an extra base. At the plate he reads an umpire's calls of balls and strikes by glancing at his hand signals.
Vanderwall said Pride - who his former Expo teammates have said has the power and speed to become another Ricky Henderson - would not be where he is today without special parents.
``They taught him to look at his deafness as a challenge and never an excuse,'' she said.
Pride has dealt with challenges all his life. An article about him in the May issue of Reader's Digest tells about his batting slump in 1992. At the time he was playing for the Binghamton (N.Y.) Mets.
While undressing in the locker room, Pride glimpsed a pair of teammates. One was gaping stupidly, mocking him. Another cupped a hand behind his ear as though deaf.
Angered, Pride approached the ball players with fists clinched, stopping when his powerful body was only inches away.
``I can't hear you, but I can think and I can feel, just like you,'' he said, his voice under control but rising. ``My handicap is deafness. Yours is intolerance. I'd rather have mine.''
When the fielding practice was over at Harbor Park, Pride sauntered over to the low wall with his characteristically rolling gait, and gave his former teacher a hug.
She thanked him for the tickets, told him his mother wanted him to phone.
``So how are you feeling?'' he asked. Vanderwall, who lives in Virginia Beach where she grew up, has multiple sclerosis. An Old Dominion University graduate, she became a lawyer after her stint as a teacher of the hearing-impaired. But she's had to abandon her law practice because of the tiring effects of the disease.
``I'm OK,'' she said, moving so that she stood directly before his face.
``How about you?''
``Not 100 percent,'' he said.
``Come on. How much, Curtis?''
``I'm about 85 percent,'' he said.
The next night Vanderwall watched the game on television. Pride went three for three against the Tides, driving a home run over the rightfield wall.
Not bad for 85 percent, Vanderwall said. She phoned him at the hotel the next day, with Pride's roommate interpreting. ``He told me he was trying to get his numbers up so Montreal will have to do something soon.''
She was pleased with the progress Pride has made with his speech as well as his hitting.
``When I first met Curtis he spoke every word in the same tone. Now he has a natural rhythm in his phrasing that he didn't have when he was in my class.''
Pride had been in a classroom of hearing deprived youngsters before he came under her instruction, first at Rock Creek Park Elementary School (1976) and at Weller Road Elementary School (1977-78) in Rockville.
Vanderwall taught him to read lips and speak so that he could be understood. ``We would sit by a table that had a mirror on it. There are sounds that can't be seen on the lips . . . the M's, P's and B's. I'd put Curtis' hand on my nose so he could feel the `m' sound. When I wanted him to do the `p' sound I'd let him blow a cotton ball off my hand.''
She said he was the brightest student she ever had. Most of the credit for overcoming his impairment goes to his parents, she believes. John and Sallie Pride had insisted that their son learn to cope with the speaking world rather than withdraw into the company of other deaf students who communicated with their hands.
``The Prides pushed his teachers to challenge him in all his classes,'' she recalled. ``They taught him to look on his condition as a challenge rather than an excuse.''
Pride attended John F. Kennedy High School in Silver Spring, Md. where he was a straight-A student and a high school All-American in basketball. After graduation from high school, he was drafted by the New York Mets and was recruited as a basketball player by over 200 colleges. He chose William and Mary, where he became an outstanding guard.
In 1991 he joined the Binghamton AA team and in 1993 was promoted to the Expos' AAA farm team in Ottowa, where he was a steady hitter. Last September he was called up to the majors. He got the news by reading his manager's lips as he spoke into the phone receiver with an Expo official in Montreal.
Speed and hitting are Pride's strong suits: He stole 50 bases in 54 attempts during his last year in the minor leagues.
Pride was used as a pinch hitter with the Expos last year. He had a batting average of .440. In nine times at the plate he got four hits, including a double, a triple and a home run.
But he was returned to the minors this spring because of the hand fracture.
Vanderwall says that phone call summoning Curtis back to the majors could come any time.
``The kids used to make fun of him all the time in class,'' she said. ``He learned to stick up for himself. But he still has that sweet personality and smile, you know.''
Right. And he also has a nice way of remembering old friends.
by CNB