In Memoriam: Jerry B. Crittenden.

Abstract

Jerry B. Crittenden, a longtime professor at the University of South Florida and St. Petersburg College, passed away on November 7, 2014. He was 80 years old.Dr. Crittenden received his bachelor of science degree from Eastern Michigan University and his master's in psychology from Michigan State University. He also received his doctorate (PhD) in psychology/ deaf education from Michigan State. Dr. Crittenden held a professorship at Southern Illinois University, Carbondale, from 1966 to 1969. He then worked at the University of Puerto Rico, San Juan, from 1970 to 1971. Dr. Crittenden's principal academic association was with the University of South Florida, where he taught from 1971 to 1996. He also was a visiting professor at the University of Tel Aviv during the 1980-1981 academic year. At the time of his death he was an adjunct professor at St. Petersburg College.Jerry will be remembered most as a professor/teacher who peppered his lectures with jokes and quips that not only enhanced his major points, but also elicited as well as chuckles from his captive classroom audiences. His passing represents a personal loss for me; Jerry was my mentor/adviser for my undergraduate and master's degree programs at the University of South Florida, Tampa. To capture the gist of our relationship as professor and student, and later as colleagues, it is best that I convey a few snippets of our personal conversations and interactions, and to relate a few of Jerry's maxims. It is important also to present these snippets in a style that Jerry would have admired-that is, a style that elicits groans and chuckles.My first encounter with Jerry was a bit of a culture shock. He was quite an imposing figure, with a mostly bald head and a corpulent body housing a fairly enormous protruding stomach. I remember my first impression: Here was the Buddha-albeit, at the time, I did not know much about the Buddha. Apparently, I was not the first one to think this about Jerry. Of course, he milked it, and told a story of teaching a class dressed up (or perhaps down) and acting like the Buddha, pontificating deep insights while in a yoga-like sitting position on a desk.At first, one might harbor a feeling of disbelief about the above scenario (and several subsequent others). However, before long, it became difficult not to believe what Jerry said. With his speaking style and demeanor, he really had most of his students in his classrooms eating out of the palm of his hand- and sometimes the students were holding their sides to keep from splitting in two. You could say that given Jerry's experiences and family background-his parents were deaf and he had a deaf brother-we students became enlightened. That was what Jerry told us-we needed to become awake in order to understand deaf individuals.In Jerry's eyes, understanding deafness meant, at the least, that one had to pay a visit (several would be preferable) to the robust Deaf club in the area. For me, Jerry remarked quietly, attendance was mandatory I had learned to sign in his class; it was my first signing experience-and I was not the best student in this class, not even close. For some reason, Jerry got a hearty, devilish laugh out of this. I had an eye-opening, shocking, humbling experience trying to make sense of the fast-moving hands and fingers of the participants at the Deaf club. In any case, this scenario represented one of Jerry's major maxims: Experience is necessary if one is planning a career working with deaf children and adolescents.During my time at the University of South Florida, Wendy's opened its first fast-food restaurant in the area. After I ate my first hamburger, I visited Jerry during his office hours-simply to tell him that he had to try Wendy's hamburgers. His wide-eyed look, expressing confusion and surprise together, became one of his trademarks. This was a look on a countenance that commanded attention. His reply? Only your mother-or maybe your grandmother- makes the best hamburger. …