The Story of My Life
Daniel C. Gilman, who wrote in 1893, when he was President of Johns
Hopkins University:
"I have just read... your most interesting account of the various steps
you have taken in the education of your wonderful pupil, and I hope you
will allow me to express my admiration for the wisdom that has guided
your methods and the affection which has inspired your labours."
Miss Anne Mansfield Sullivan was born at Springfield, Massachusetts.
Very early in her life she became almost totally blind, and she entered
the Perkins Institution October 7, 1880, when she was fourteen years
old. Later her sight was partially restored.
Mr. Anagnos says in his report of 1887: "She was obliged to begin her
education at the lowest and most elementary point; but she showed from
the very start that she had in herself the force and capacity which
insure success.... She has finally reached the goal for which she strove
so bravely. The golden words that Dr. Howe uttered and the example that
he left passed into her thoughts and heart and helped her on the road
to usefulness; and now she stands by his side as his worthy successor
in one of the most cherished branches of his work.... Miss Sullivan's
talents are of the highest order."
In 1886 she graduated from the Perkins Institution. When Captain Keller
applied to the director for a teacher, Mr. Anagnos recommended her. The
only time she had to prepare herself for the work with her pupil was
from August, 1886, when Captain Keller wrote, to February, 1887. During
this time she read Dr. Howe's reports. She was further aided by the fact
that during the six years of her school life she had lived in the
house with Laura Bridgman. It was Dr. Howe who, by his work with Laura
Bridgman, made Miss Sullivan's work possible: but it was Miss Sullivan
who discovered the way to teach language to the deaf-blind.
It must be remembered that Miss Sullivan had to solve her problems
unaided by previous experience or the assistance of any other teacher.
During the first year of her work with Helen Keller, in which she taught
her pupil language, they were in Tuscumbia; and when they came North
and visited the Perkins Institution, Helen Keller was never a regular
student there or subject to the discipline of the Institution. The
impression that Miss Sullivan educated Helen Keller "under the direction
of Mr. Anagnos" is erroneous. In the three years during which at
various times Miss Keller and Miss Sullivan were guests of the Perkins
Institution, the teachers there did not help Miss Sullivan, and Mr.
Anagnos did not even use the manual alphabet with facility as a means
of communication. Mr. Anagnos wrote in the report of the Perkins
Institution, dated November 27, 1888: "At my urgent request, Helen,
accompanied by her mother and her teacher, came to the North in the
last week of May, and spent several months with us as our guests....
We gladly allowed her to use freely our library of embossed books, our
collection of stuffed animals, sea-shells, models of flowers and plants,
and the rest of our apparatus for instructing the blind through the
sense of touch. I do not doubt that she derived from them much pleasure
and not a little profit. But whether Helen stays at home or makes
visits in other parts of the country, her education is always under
the immediate direction and exclusive control of her teacher. No one
interferes with Miss Sullivan's plans, or shares in her tasks. She
has been allowed entire freedom in the choice of means and methods for
carrying on her great work; and, as we can judge by the results, she
has made a most judicious and discreet use of this privilege. What
the little pupil has thus far accomplished is widely known, and her
wonderful attainments command general admiration; but only those who
are familiar with the particulars of the grand achievement know that the
credit is largely due to the intelligence, wisdom, sagacity, unremitting
perseverance and unbending will of the instructress, who rescued the
child from the depths of everlasting night and stillness, and watched
over the different phases of her mental and moral development with
maternal solicitude and enthusiastic devotion."
Here follow in order Miss Sullivan's letters and the most important
passages from the reports. I have omitted from each succeeding report
what has already been explained and does not need to be repeated. For
the ease of the reader I have, with Miss Sullivan's consent, made the
extracts run together continuously and supplied words of connection and
the resulting necessary changes in syntax, and Miss Sullivan has made
slight changes in the phrasing of her reports and also of her letters,
which were carelessly written. I have also italicized a few important
passages. Some of her opinions Miss Sullivan would like to enlarge and
revise. That remains for her to do at another time. At present we have
here the fullest record that has been published. The first letter is
dated March 6, 1887, three days after her arrival in Tuscumbia.
...It was 6.30 when I reached Tuscumbia. I found Mrs. Keller and Mr.
James Keller waiting for me. They said somebody had met every train for
two days. The drive from the station to the house, a distance of one
mile, was very lovely and restful. I was surprised to find Mrs. Keller
a very young-looking woman, not much older than myself, I should think.
Captain Keller met us in the yard and gave me a cheery welcome and a
hearty handshake. My first question was, "Where is Helen?" I tried with
all my might to control the eagerness that made me tremble so that I
could hardly walk. As we approached the house I saw a child standing in
the doorway, and Captain Keller said, "There she is. She has known all
day that some one was expected, and she has been wild ever since her
mother went to the station for you." I had scarcely put my foot on the
steps, when she rushed toward me with such force that she would have
thrown me backward if Captain Keller had not been behind me. She felt
my face and dress and my bag, which she took out of my hand and tried to
open. It did not open easily, and she felt carefully to see if there was
a keyhole. Finding that there was, she turned to me, making the sign
of turning a key and pointing to the bag. Her mother interfered at this
point and showed Helen by signs that she must not touch the bag. Her
face flushed, and when her mother attempted to take the bag from her,
she grew very angry. I attracted her attention by showing her my watch
and letting her hold it in her hand. Instantly the tempest subsided, and
we went upstairs together. Here I opened the bag, and she went through
it eagerly, probably expecting to find something to eat. Friends had
probably brought her candy in their bags, and she expected to find some
in mine. I made her understand, by pointing to a trunk in the hall and
to myself and nodding my head, that I had a trunk, and then made the
sign that she had used for eating, and nodded again. She understood in a
flash and ran downstairs to tell her mother, by means of emphatic signs,
that there was some candy in a trunk for her. She returned in a few
minutes and helped me put away my things. It was too comical to see her
put on my bonnet and cock her head first on one side, then on the other,
and look in the mirror, just as if she could see. Somehow I had expected
to see a pale, delicate child--I suppose I got the idea from Dr. Howe's
description of Laura Bridgman when she came to the Institution. But
there's nothing pale or delicate about Helen. She is large, strong, and
ruddy, and as unrestrained in her movements as a young colt. She has
none of those nervous habits that are so noticeable and so distressing
in blind children. Her body is well formed and vigorous, and Mrs. Keller
says she has not been ill a day since the illness that deprived her
of her sight and hearing. She has a fine head, and it is set on her
shoulders just right. Her face is hard to describe. It is intelligent,
but lacks mobility, or soul, or something. Her mouth is large and finely
shaped. You see at a glance that she is blind. One eye is larger than
the other, and protrudes noticeably. She rarely smiles; indeed, I have
seen her smile only once or twice since I came. She is unresponsive and
even impatient of caresses from any one except her mother. She is very
quick-tempered and wilful, and nobody, except her brother James, has
attempted to control her. The greatest problem I shall have to solve is
how to discipline and control her without breaking her spirit. I shall
go rather slowly at first and try to win her love. I shall not attempt
to conquer her by force alone; but I shall insist on reasonable
obedience from the start. One thing that impresses everybody is Helen's
tireless activity. She is never still a moment. She is here, there, and
everywhere. Her hands are in everything; but nothing holds her attention
for long. Dear child, her restless spirit gropes in the dark. Her
untaught, unsatisfied hands destroy whatever they touch because they do
not know what else to do with things.
She helped me unpack my trunk when it came, and was delighted when
she found the doll the little girls sent her. I thought it a good
opportunity to teach her her first word. I spelled "d-o-l-l" slowly in
her hand and pointed to the doll and nodded my head, which seems to be
her sign for possession. Whenever anybody gives her anything, she points
to it, then to herself, and nods her head. She looked puzzled and felt
my hand, and I repeated the letters. She imitated them very well and
pointed to the doll. Then I took the doll, meaning to give it back to
her when she had made the letters; but she thought I meant to take it
from her, and in an instant she was in a temper, and tried to seize the
doll. I shook my head and tried to form the letters with her fingers;
but she got more and more angry. I forced her into a chair and held her
there until I was nearly exhausted. Then it occurred to me that it
was useless to continue the struggle--I must do something to turn the
current of her thoughts. I let her go, but refused to give up the doll.
I went downstairs and got some cake (she is very fond of sweets). I
showed Helen the cake and spelled "c-a-k-e" in her hand, holding the
cake toward her. Of course she wanted it and tried to take it; but
I spelled the word again and patted her hand. She made the letters
rapidly, and I gave her the cake, which she ate in a great hurry,
thinking, I suppose, that I might take it from her. Then I showed her
the doll and spelled the word again, holding the doll toward her as I
held the cake. She made the letters "d-o-l"' and I made the other "l"
and gave her the doll. She ran downstairs with it and could not be
induced to return to my room all day.
Yesterday I gave her a sewing-card to do. I made the first row of
vertical lines and let her feel it and notice that there were several
rows of little holes. She began to work delightedly and finished the
card in a few minutes, and did it very neatly indeed. I thought I would
try another word; so I spelled "c-a-r-d." She made the "c-a," then
stopped and thought, and making the sign for eating and pointing
downward she pushed me toward the door, meaning that I must go
downstairs for some cake. The two letters "c-a," you see, had reminded
her of Fridays "lesson"--not that she had any idea that cake was the
name of the thing, but it was simply a matter of association, I suppose.
I finished the word "c-a-k-e" and obeyed her command. She was delighted.
Then I spelled "d-o-l-l" and began to hunt for it. She follows with her
hands every motion you make, and she knew that I was looking for the
doll. She pointed down, meaning that the doll was downstairs. I made