Alumni News & Notes
Jeremiah Ford, C.A.S.’91: Hear and Now
by Lory Hough
Principal Jeremiah Ford, C.A.S.’91, is standing behind a row of tiny chairs arranged in a semicircle.
The preschoolers sitting in the chairs, five in all, are excited to see him. Dominic, a four-year-old with a Beatles-style haircut and a sense of humor, asks “Mr. Ford” to take off his shoes. It’s Stinky Feet Day and shoes aren’t allowed, even for the principal. Ford doesn’t hesitate: he slips off his worn brown shoes and jokes that he hopes he’s not wearing socks with holes. The students laugh and start to jump out of their chairs.
“Zip, zap, zup,” the teacher says, making a zipper motion across her mouth as she gets the students to sit back in their chairs. “Dominic, what do you call Mr. Ford?”
Dominic smiles and yells out, “Chicken Legs!” The class is in hysterics again.
“Let’s shake out our itchies,” the teacher says, and the little students jiggle their arms and legs. Eventually they settle down and get back to business: They want to show Ford how much they’ve learned about dinosaurs. They know what dinosaurs ate, what the spikes on their backs were for, and the names of various species, including complicated names like Spinosaurus and Tyrannosaurus rex. Johnny even knows that the Triceratops has three horns. Ford is impressed.
“Wow, I can’t say those words,” he says, clapping for the students. He talks about the importance of teams and says they are the school’s dinosaur team.
“You’re the experts,” he says. “You’re the dinosaur experts.”
A few minutes later, in the next classroom, Ford sits with four kindergarteners as they learn about tigers. He raises his hand every so often and asks them questions. They seem eager to answer. The room is covered in artwork and posters. Buckets of crayons, makers, and art supplies cover every available surface. Before he leaves, one girl gives him a hug. Another asks when he’s coming back.
It’s a typical day for Ford, visiting classrooms and joking with students. In some ways, it’s also a typical public school in a big city (in this case, Boston): the walls need painting and the linoleum is badly worn. The PA system is on the blink, too, crackling every so often as someone in the office tries to get it fixed.
What’s not typical is the student body: They range in age from three to 22 and most have small wires hanging behind their ears or plastic implants attached to the side of their head. They are all deaf, hard of hearing, or, like Dominic, can hear, but have a deaf sibling at the school.
At the Horace Mann School for the Deaf, which was founded in 1869, Ford is the self-described cheerleader for the 145 students and 100 teachers. Earlier in the day, he visited the rooms where the MCAS test was being given to middle schoolers.
“I was there to rah-rah,” he says. “I realize that positivity brings positivity and negativity brings negativity.”
As he walks through the halls, students say hello, some verbally, some using American Sign Language, the school’s official language. Some kids give him hugs and share ongoing jokes. He knows every student by name, first and last.
Although he insists many times that this isn’t the “Jerry Ford Show,” he clearly is in his element working with the deaf community. What started as a summer job in high school — he was part of the maintenance crew at a private school for the deaf in Randolph, Mass. — has become his passion. (He even comes in on Sundays.)
“It’s about leaving your footprint. It’s a way to give back,” he says of his commitment. “I believe you should make every day your first day and your last day. Who knows how long you’ll be here. And on top of that, this is just a very special place.”
photo by Ed Malitsky
