David Gentry and his father, Bill, are both quiet, gentle men with a lot of faith and strong convictions.  Whether those personality traits grew out of their tragic situation or would have been there under normal cir­cumstances is a pointless question — the trails are there, and they have helped the two men through a life of trials.

David was born with cerebral palsy and without hearing - a devastating double handicap that could have ex­cluded him from society and the chance for an education. When he was small, most people assumed he was retarded; friends told his family that education would be a waste. Bill and his wife knew better. David, even as a small child, showed remarkable intelligence and perception even without the tools of communication he picked up later in life.
By Nancy Sparks

Of the Gazette Staff
In fact, he was graduated from the Arkansas School for the Deaf as salutatorian,  received the highest pre-college test scores in language and math in the school's history, and recently received his bachelors degree in economics from Gallaudet College for the deaf at Wash­ington D.C.

His graduating class gave him a stand­ing ovation when he rolled his electric wheelchair to the podium to receive his diploma.

Now David has returned to Little Rock, where his father has built them a roomy house with wide halls and wheelchair ramps. The two men --- Mrs. Gen­try died a few years ago of an illness with symptoms similar to cerebral palsy --- share the space with the easy carelessness of two bachelor's with the love of a father and son. They communicate awkwardly in sign language, something Bill has picked up in bits and pieces from the Deaf School and from his son, who reads and signals fluently. David carefully forms letters and shapes sig­nals with his hands and Bill speaks the words aloud as he reads; when the mes­sage doesn't come across, they resort to a yellow legal pad, where long, written conversations flow smoothly every day. Occasionally they get impatient with each other when conversation breaks down; they sputter and gesture and try again.

Bill never treats his son to a session of excessive pity, nor does he dwell on Da­vid's debilitation. After 29 years, they accept it without discomfort. When de­scribing David's physical problems, Bill points out that his son can't roll his eyes up but must lift his head to change his scope of vision. When he /spelled out what he was saying aloud --- "You can't roll your eyes up like this"--- he added with the slow smile he saves for David "But that's okay, too."

They eat together, sharing a little breakfast or a snack at the kitchen table, and later driving over to a nearby cafe­teria for a full meal. David has a bath­room of his own near his bedroom, equipped with two stools that allow him to ease in and out of the tub or sit com­fortably at the counter. His bedroom is packed with books; sports posters cover the walls, and a typewriter and Teletype — for talking with friends on the phone — stand along one wall. A picture of his sister Susan hangs by the closet door.

Bill, has been retired from Southwestern  Bell Telephone for several years, and spends his days working with the United Methodist Church and with various volunteer causes. David, 29, reads voraciously — every word of the Gazette every day, Time, U.S. News and World Report, heavy books on his­tory (his current project is a hefty Naval Documents of the American Revolution from his father's shelves.) He follows current events closely, firing off letters to congressmen when he feels the urge.

David also is looking for a job, and re­cently has completed a resume of his ed­ucation and experience. His goal: To become a librarian, to work in a library.

There are many things that are holding David back from getting that library job. His intelligence is not one of them.

When he was born, David spent three months in the hospital, his motor control seriously damaged by Rh factor conflicts between his parents' blood types. "We knew he had some motor problems butwe didn't know he was deaf," his father said. The parents noticed the infant wasn't responding to noises outside his crib and realized the additional hand­icap. "You just have no idea," Bill said, pressing his fingers to his eyes and re­membering. "It was just awful."

Even with that cruel revelation, the Gentrys didn't guess how overwhelming their task was going to be in raising David. "We didn't realize that the deaf­ness was more debilitating than the cere­bral palsy," Bill said.

To help David develop some motor control, doctors prescribed special exer­cises the parents could use, working his legs back and forth regularly. Bill finally realized that the exercises were more therapy for the parents that the child, and gave them up.  One doctor placed David in braces from the neck down, so that he couldn't walk and had to be carried by parents who held him under the arms.  (Continue to next page)
Arkansas Gazette announces graduation from Gallaudet: