24 CHARLOTTEMAGAZINE.COM // JUNE 2019
THE GOOD LIFE
Then it’s pop quiz time. Heynen calls
on people seated around the patio in
a lightning round with words spoken
and spelled in the ASL alphabet. “Bar!”
“Whiskey Warehouse!” “Yoga!” “Tattoo!”
Everyone responds quickly and correctly.
He continues to call on people, tough-
ening the challenge. “I want a drunk hip-
pie riding a bicycle!” “I want a tattooed
bartender at Snug Harbor!” “I want a
hippie drinking beer at Common Market
aer going to yoga!” No sweat. One aer
another, people set down their drinks,
get through the signs, and bask in the
cheers and ASL applause (hands held
in the air, twisted a few times). Heynen
stumps no one.
Next, Heynen yields the stage to volun-
teers. People assemble into groups to act
out skits using the signs they just learned.
Laughter lls the patio as Heynen, just o
stage, interprets the skits and oers com-
mentary via speech and sign.
This is improv comedy meets speed
learning. I’m a junkie for classes—from
guitar to gardening, sewing to Spanish—
and this might be the most fun class
I’ve attended. I walked in knowing only
the ASL alphabet I learned as a kid, but
within 15 minutes, I’m able to sign a tat-
tooed hippie who bikes to yoga. That, to
Heynen, is the goal. He learned ASL in
a bar with a deaf friend, and he gured
that others would want to learn that way,
too. One of his best friends is deaf. Their
conversations over texts evolved into ASL
lessons over beers. Those lessons became
mutually benecial: Heynen learned not
only to sign but to translate between his
friend and women at the bar. “I got the
wingman-of-the-year award,” he says,
“three years in a row.
“People are fascinated by ASL, but (the
gap between) having an interest in it and
going out and learning it is where the
disconnect is,” Heynen adds. “If we can
provide a bridge that lets people check
it out before they take a class, then that’s
awesome.”
The group is diverse not only in age,
race, and style but in ASL and hearing lev-
els. Some, like me, barely know any sign
language. Some, like Heynen, are hearing
but have deaf friends. Some, like co-leader
Hope Turpin, are deaf and can speak and
read lips; some are deaf and can’t. Some
are certied ASL interpreters; others are
learning to be. Yet in any conversation,
people translate into sign or speech toinclude everyone. If someone doesn’t
know a sign, the rest will pause to teach it
before moving on. The learning is as col-
laborative as it is kind.ABOUT 11 MILLION PEOPLE in the
United States are deaf or have serious dif-
culty hearing. About one in 1,000 babies
are born deaf, and many more lose hear-
ing from chronic ear infections, excessive
noise, or aging.
ASL is the third most-studied lan-
guage in the country behind Spanish and
French, and interest in it is growing. Ivy
League schools made news for address-
ing student demand for more ASL classes:
Harvard, Princeton, Yale, and Cornell all
added ASL programs or have included
ASL in their language requirements in
just the past couple of years. Yet fewer
than 10 percent of four-year colleges and
universities in the country accept ASL as
part of their language requirements.
Of Charlotte colleges, Central
Piedmont Community College oers
the most options for ASL learners. About
165 students enter beginning ASL classes
each fall. Some just want to learn the
basics with the rst-level course. Somecontinue until ASL fullls their language
requirements. About ve percent become
certied interpreters.
Even as ASL attracts more students,
people who know ASL are a rarity, which
isolates the deaf. Archie Fortner enjoys
Wine ‘n’ Sign because here, he can joke
around with a big group, and his deaf-
ness is not a barrier. Elsewhere, he usually
relies on writing to communicate with
the hearing.
“It’s wonderful to come across some-
one who can sign,” Fortner signs, “a pleas-
ant surprise.”
Turpin, the Wine ‘n’ Sign co-leader,
wants to make Charlotte a deaf-friendly
city. She teaches ASL in private and
group classes, and she’s in the process
of becoming a certied deaf interpreter.
She’s profoundly deaf, meaning she can’t
hear anything at all, yet she can translate
between the deaf and hearing through
sign and lip reading. Turpin envisions a
city where more people know at least
the basics of ASL—especially people who
work in restaurants, retail, schools, and
emergency response. “I want to train
everybody,” she says.
The week before my rst Wine ‘n’ Sign,Hope Turpin (above, left) is a
leader of the weekly meet-up,
where participants practice sign
language and make new friends.