Some pics from Talladega…
This is the historic home of my several-generations-back cousin
J.L.M. Curry:
It was overcast this day, but this Carpenter Gothic style house (and the other one at the end) is wonderful:
This home was once owned by the president of the Talladega National Bank:
This house has gone from a daycare center back to being restored into a lovely home:
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The young man that is our
Little Brother attended the
Alabama School for the Blind here in Talladega. He went on to graduate, win the state championship in wrestling, and goes to college now at my school, Troy. He is wonderful. So is our Little Sister who is now a mommy and goes to college to be in the healthcare field!
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One other thing about the Alabama School for the Blind and Deaf: there’s
a fantastic article about the football team at the deaf school. They’re called the ‘Silent Warriors’.
Underestimate the Alabama School for the Deaf (ASD) if you want. They like it that way. You won’t know what hit you until you’re facedown in the turf, inhaling the scent of fresh-mown grass and Alabama soil, staring at the final scoreboard, which illuminates your flawed logic. ASD, billed as “home of the champions” and winner of four national football titles against hearing and nonhearing teams, is one of only 30 deaf high schools in the US playing 11-man football. The team shows up ready to compete.
The shady, oak-strewn campus sits in the heart of downtown Talladega, Ala., a city known mostly for its international speedway. But it is heavily influenced by the presence of the 150-year old Alabama Institute for the Deaf and Blind (AIDB), of which the ASD is a part.
The institute began as a school for the deaf and hard of hearing and expanded to include students ages 3 through 21 who are blind or vision-impaired. Local restaurants offer menus in Braille. Churches and businesses have deaf interpreters. The fire department provides strobe smoke alarms. Every aspect of life in Talladega and at AIDB is geared towards helping residents live independently.
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But on Friday nights, in a state where there are two religions, football and football, there’s only one game in town – ASD’s weekly matchup. Every week, fans flock to the stadium to see the Silent Warriors trounce their competition and prove something you’ll hear a lot around here: Deaf people are like everyone else; they just can’t hear.
As you enter the stadium, two things are immediately apparent – the Warriors are winning and the game is loud. Though the players can’t hear them and 70 percent of the fans can’t hear either, they chant with the cheerleaders anyway, stomping their feet against the metal seats and keeping rhythm with the drum, an integral component not only of deaf football, but deaf culture.
The game flows smoothly. ASD head coach Paul Kulick sends plays via sign language to the quarterback, who signs them to players in the huddle. Someone on the sideline then bangs the snare drum, which the players feel, and the play begins. At times, deafness becomes a strategic advantage. Since no offensive play can begin until Mr. Kulick signals for the drum sequence, he controls the tempo – even when the opposing team has the ball.
More here.
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