Timothy Birdnow

Jack Kemp (not the late politician)

(Part I may be read here http://tbirdnow.mee.nu/the_hearing_aid_wars_part_i )

 We argued back and forth about Hearing Aid War strategies into March, when I got a call very early on a Friday morning, two days before my scheduled flight to Florida. My dad, in a weakened voice, asked, “I don’t feel good. I want to go to the emergency room. Should I take an ambulance?”

            My answer was, “Why don’t you call a cab? It will be simpler and quicker.”

            My dad agreed and went to the emergency room, to the same hospital where he had his bladder cancer operation. The doctors there now stabilized his situation, giving him some mild painkillers and sent him home that afternoon, also in a cab. Two days later, I arrived at his Florida apartment, minus the hearing aids, figuring they were the least of our concerns. I would now be with my dad, no matter what, for that year. I did not take the hearing aids with me, knowing the trip to Minnesota was a far from settled issue.

            In New York, I had been reading about anticancer nutrition on the internet. When I got to Florida, I put my dad on a health food regimen, and he rallied his strength somewhat.  Still openly upset about his hearing aid purchase, he fluctuated almost every day between wanting to send me to Starkey headquarters alone and wanting to go with me to Minnesota. After a number of sit down strategy sessions in the Hearing Aid Wars, he decided that I should go alone to Minnesota. But on the evening I was logging onto the internet in his living room to actually buy airline tickets for solo flights to New York and Minnesota, the full repercussions of the situation sunk in for him. My dad realized – and said – and feared — that he didn’t now want to be alone for two weeks. He did not suggest we call off the trip to Starkey headquarters altogether because of his cancer and its’ priorities. Wanting to hear and be heard was a cause that energized him, gave him purpose, a challenge that he could face with a chance of victory, more likely than his other problem. Despite his misgivings about the company’s ability to fix his in-the-ear hearing aids, my dad finally agreed to go on our last adventure together to the Middle of America.

            We first flew to New York to pick up the hearing aids, allowing a week for a rest at home before going further. Simon was strong enough to walk through the airports and drag his wheeled, half-empty suitcase behind him. We then flew to Minnesota and I drove him to a motel near the Mall of America, our local command post for the Hearing Aid Wars. There he rested the weekend and even met my Twin Cites friends briefly before preparing for our Monday morning appointment at Starkey headquarters.

            My father was still repeating his main complaint about the hearing aids not being large and powerful enough and so they could not be fixed. As we were getting dressed, readying to leave for Starkey headquarters Monday morning, he turned to me and said, “You know this whole trip is shit.”

            I replied, “I’m not as smart as you. I say it’s 50-50 they can fix them. Let’s give them a chance.” Despite our differing opinions, we were now ready to face the conclusion of our quest.

            The moment of truth loomed at Starkey headquarters, making both of us apprehensive. After wanting little or no breakfast in the hotel room, my dad got hungry as we started to drive. We got off the highway where a diner provided us with some comfort food. It was still early as we returned to the highway, but after getting to Eden Prairie, we couldn’t find the street number for Starkey. I then realized the mistake I made weeks ago. At that time, I had plugged the wrong street name and number into an internet map program to produce a printed map. In my hand were perfect computer-generated driving instructions on how to get lost in Eden Prairie, Minnesota. Fortunately, I also had a second store-bought Twin Cites map and some papers from Starkey with the exact address we needed. But none of this was registering in my racing, confused mind. Pulling into a gas station, which also had a surrounding area street map on its office wall, someone explained to me that the crossroad outside the front door would lead to the Starkey headquarters address. Calming down enough to listen to good advice from a local citizen, we took that road and were able to find the right industrial park and arrive at Starkey’s parking lot only fifteen minutes late. We had made it to our goal, despite all the fears and misgivings.  

            My dad and I walked into the Starkey headquarters building and were directed to the inner area towards the back where the walls were full of pictures of celebrities who owned their hearing aids: Kirk Douglas, Imelda Marcos, former Sec. of Defense William Cohen, Grandpa Jones of Hee Haw, Lou Ferrigno (the Incredible Hulk on television), etc. It was a cross section of America and the world and I sensed we had come to the right place, that we would get what we were looking for. We then met Mr. Greg Austin, the son of the president and founder of Starkey, Bill Austin. Like his father, Greg is a tall Midwesterner with glasses and a calm disposition. He was personally handling customer repairs that day and he treated my dad like royalty - Minnesota royalty. After finishing with another client, Mr. Austin examined my dad and his hearing aids. Putting them aside, he took new wax impressions of my dad’s ears. As the technicians in the back worked on “rebuilding” them, we waited in chairs and talked. I now saw that my dad was probably right about the old ones not being able to be fixed because I strongly suspect Starkey replaced them entirely, perhaps salvaging some technical parts for later use.   

            We spent the whole day at Starkey. Greg Austin even was kind enough to let us have lunch, without charge, in the employee’s cafeteria, rather than having us wander the local roads looking for a diner. The fine tuning of the digital components were not complete by the end of the day and we were told to return the next morning. We did just that, and Mr. Austin got the hearing aids in working order by around noon. My dad thanked him for all that he did. Although he didn’t say much, my dad lost the bitterness in his voice when talking about his hearing aid problems and the people who sold them. We left Eden Prairie and returned to our motel room where we booked a flight to Florida, via telephone, and soon checked out.

            After returning from that trip to Eden Prairie, my dad never voiced another complaint about his purchase. He found some peace, wearing that pair for the rest of his life. The Hearing Aid Wars were over and he got what he wanted. My father could hear and was definitely well heard - and respected – in a part of  America he had never known. A few weeks later, I wrote Mr. Austin an email, concluding by thanking him “for giving my dad back a great part of his dignity.”

            My dad’s given first and middle names from Europe were “Joseph” and “Simon.” He was called the Hebrew/Yiddish “Josef Shimon” as a boy. In adulthood, he dropped the use of his first name and everyone called him “Simon,” including his family. The name “Simon” derives from the Hebrew verb “to hear” and my worn Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary (1961 ed.) Naming Guide says it means “hearing.” The name “Joseph,” according to that same dictionary, means “to add.” So my dad’s true given names translate into English as “to add hearing.”

            Did my dad know the legacy of his given names, as he sought satisfaction from various hearing aid retailers towards the end of his life?  He may have, but I will never really know.
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