08/29/2024
LITTLE MISS SPITFIRE AND THE MONSTER FROM ALABAMA
There was a real orphan named Annie, but she’s not the basis of the long-running cartoon, and her story is not at all funny. When you first learn of this Annie, you’ll want to give her a big hug. Her parents forsook Ireland in 1847 to escape the potato famine only to find more hardship and poverty in America. Annie’s mother Alice suffered from Tuberculosis and walked with crutches for most of Annie’s memory of her.
Annie was born April 14, 1866, in Feeding Hills, Massachusetts. By the time she was seven, Annie suffered from Trachoma, a bacterial eye disease that left her almost completely blind. When she was eight her mother died, leaving Annie to help care for her derelict Dad and several younger siblings. Her father eventually abandoned his children to relatives who later dropped Annie and her beloved younger brother Jimmy off at Tewksbury Almshouse, a filthy, overcrowded facility where the children were exposed to many others with serious physical and mental ailments. When Annie arrived, she had never had a comb or a gown.
Likely due to the wretched corruption she witnessed at Tewksbury, Annie suffered from “violent rages and terrors” for the rest of her life. She would later write that her experience at the Almshouse left her with “the conviction that life is primarily cruel and bitter.” All this little orphan Annie had in this sad world was her little brother Jimmy who had a tubercular hip and walked on crutches – sweet, helpless, crippled Jimmy.
It would be hard to imagine how deep the heartache was for Annie six months later when she lowered her weeping eyes before little Jimmy’s newly dug grave. She also had to endure the grief of two unsuccessful eye operations. Poor Annie – a sad, blind orphan, now, all alone. I told you you’d want to give her a big hug.
But if you were one of the staff at the Tewksbury Almshouse, you might not want to give Annie a hug after all. Ask her to cooperate and she storms off in a fiery rage. You see, ten-year old Annie was self-willed, defiant, and unruly, so much so that she acquired the nickname, “Little Miss Spitfire.” You now know her story and your heart breaks for her, but you didn’t have to take care of her around the long weary clock of a day in the 1870’s in the stifling surroundings of Tewksbury.
Little Miss Spitfire had a lot in common with “the Monster” from Alabama. The Monster was a six-year old tyrant who smashed lamps and dishes and terrorized her family with her screaming and tantrums. It was her own relatives who regarded her as a monster and felt she should be committed to an institution for it was obvious her desperate parents couldn’t do anything with her. But we’ll catch up to the Monster a little later.
After Brother Jimmy’s death, Little Miss Spitfire found some unexpected solace in the small Tewksbury library. She couldn’t see, and couldn’t read if she could see, for she hadn’t been to school a day in her life, but she talked some of the staff into reading to her. This fueled her heart’s desire for an education, and one day in 1880, when a Mr. Sanborn, an official for the State Board of Charities of Massachusetts, came to inspect Tewksbury, fourteen year old Annie flung herself at his feet crying, “Mr. Sanborn, Mr. Sanborn, I want to go to school!” Annie’s plea to Mr. Sanborn was rewarded with her being enrolled in the Perkins School for the Blind, a pleasant and quiet place in stark contrast to Tewksbury. Two more operations over the next two years improved Annie’s sight tremendously and Little Miss Spitfire went from being made fun of for being unable to spell the simplest words to being chosen Valedictorian of her class in 1886.
It was in August of the same year that she got the letter asking if she would be willing to become “governess” to the Monster from Alabama. The letter explained that the wild six-year-old had been blind and deaf since the age of nineteen months due to a severe illness. Annie learned of the parent’s desperation and of the child’s tyranny on the house. She accepted the position. Annie remembered another little girl who was contrary and unmanageable, locked in a world of dark despair. Grateful for the lasting difference made in her own life, Annie was determined to try to make such a difference in the life of another whose story was much like her own.
I probably don’t have to tell you the rest of the story, for you most likely know by now that the Monster from Alabama went on to become one of the most famous women in all of history. She wouldn’t have, of course, if it hadn’t been for Little Miss Spitfire who opened the understanding of her little charge by spelling w-a-t-e-r into the girl’s hand as water gushed onto it from a pump. It’s an unforgettable scene from The Miracle Worker, a movie made thrice, that chronicles the amazing story of Little Miss Spitfire and the Monster from Alabama. For yes, that Monster was Helen Keller, and her governess none other than our orphan Annie, Anne Sullivan, who would stay by Helen’s side for forty-nine years, a one pupil teacher. Now, wouldn’t you be glad you had given her a big hug!
Near the end of Anne’s life, Temple University wished to confer an honorary degree upon both her and Helen. Anne stubbornly declined the offer saying that she didn’t think her work worthy of such recognition. At the event where Helen received the honor, Anne sat quietly in reflection. The president then expressed to the large crowd assembled that it was the wish of the University to award Anne Sullivan as well, and asked everyone who felt she deserved the honor to stand. The response was enthusiastic and immediate - Anne Sullivan, orphan Annie, Little Miss Spitfire was the only person still seated. Why was she so recognized, and why do we still read and write about her today? She was a child in whose life a lasting difference was made. She then made a lasting difference in the life of a child.
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“I thank you from the bottom of my heart…”
A portion of a letter from Anne Sullivan to Sophia Hopkins, her patron while at Perkins School for the Blind:
I need not tell you, dear, that this has been a hard year; but I do not forget the many pleasant spots in it. I have lost my patience and courage many, many times; but I have found that one difficult task accomplished makes the next easier. My most persistent foe is that feeling of restlessness that takes possession of me sometimes. It overflows my soul like a tide, and there is no escape from it. It is more torturing than any physical pain I have ever endured. I pray constantly that my love for this beautiful child may grow so large and satisfying that there will be no room in my heart for uneasiness and discontent. And, dear, I am glad that my success has been such a gratification to you. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the motherlove you gave me when I was a lonely, troublesome schoolgirl, whose thoughtlessness must have caused you no end of anxiety. It is a blessed thing to know that there is someone who rejoices with us when we are glad, and who takes pride in our achievements. I know you feared that my quick temper and saucy tongue would make trouble for me here; but I am glad to be able to tell you, at the end of the first year of my independence, that I have lived peaceably with all men and women too.
