Chapter 3

Meanwhile the desire to express myself grew. The few signs I used became less and less adequate, and my failures to make myself understood were invariably followed by outbursts of passion. I felt as if invisible hands were holding me, and I made frantic efforts to free myself. I struggled—not that struggling helped matters, but the spirit of resistance was strong within me; I generally broke down in tears and physical exhaustion. If my mother happened to be near I crept into her arms, too miserable even to remember the cause of the tempest. After awhile the need of some means of communication became so urgent that these outbursts occurred daily, sometimes hourly.

Meanwhile, my desire to express myself grew. The few signs I used became less and less adequate. Whenever I failed to make myself understood, I burst into a rage. I felt as if invisible hands were holding me, and I struggled frantically to free myself. Struggling did not help, but the urge to resist was strong within me. I usually ended up crying and physically exhausted. If my mother happened to be nearby, I crept into her arms. I was too miserable even to remember what had caused the outburst. After a while, my need for a way to communicate became so urgent that these outbursts happened daily, sometimes hourly.

My parents were deeply grieved and perplexed. We lived a long way from any school for the blind or the deaf, and it seemed unlikely that any one would come to such an out-of-the-way place as Tuscumbia to teach a child who was both deaf and blind. Indeed, my friends and relatives sometimes doubted whether I could be taught. My mother's only ray of hope came from Dickens's "American Notes." She had read his account of Laura Bridgman, and remembered vaguely that she was deaf and blind, yet had been educated. But she also remembered with a hopeless pang that Dr. Howe, who had discovered the way to teach the deaf and blind, had been dead many years. His methods had probably died with him; and if they had not, how was a little girl in a far-off town in Alabama to receive the benefit of them?

My parents were deeply saddened and unsure what to do. We lived far from any school for the blind or the deaf. It seemed unlikely that anyone would come to a remote place like Tuscumbia to teach a child who was both deaf and blind. In fact, my friends and relatives sometimes doubted that I could be taught. My mother's only ray of hope came from Dickens's "American Notes." She had read his account of Laura Bridgman. She vaguely remembered that Laura was deaf and blind, yet had been educated. But she also remembered, with a feeling of hopelessness, that Dr. Howe had been dead for many years. He had discovered how to teach people who were deaf and blind. His methods had probably died with him. And even if they had not, how could a little girl in a distant Alabama town benefit from them?

When I was about six years old, my father heard of an eminent oculist in Baltimore, who had been successful in many cases that had seemed hopeless. My parents at once determined to take me to Baltimore to see if anything could be done for my eyes.

When I was about six years old, my father heard of a well-known eye doctor in Baltimore. The doctor had successfully treated many cases that had seemed hopeless. My parents immediately decided to take me to Baltimore to see if anything could be done for my eyes.

The journey, which I remember well, was very pleasant. I made friends with many people on the train. One lady gave me a box of shells. My father made holes in these so that I could string them, and for a long time they kept me happy and contented. The conductor, too, was kind. Often when he went his rounds I clung to his coat tails while he collected and punched the tickets. His punch, with which he let me play, was a delightful toy. Curled up in a corner of the seat I amused myself for hours making funny little holes in bits of cardboard.

I remember the journey well. It was very pleasant. I made friends with many people on the train. One woman gave me a box of shells. My father made holes in the shells so I could string them together. They kept me happy and content for a long time. The conductor was kind, too. When he went through the train collecting and punching tickets, I often held on to his coat tails. He let me play with his ticket punch, which was a wonderful toy. Curled up in a corner of the seat, I spent hours making funny little holes in pieces of cardboard.

My aunt made me a big doll out of towels. It was the most comical shapeless thing, this improvised doll, with no nose, mouth, ears or eyes—nothing that even the imagination of a child could convert into a face. Curiously enough, the absence of eyes struck me more than all the other defects put together. I pointed this out to everybody with provoking persistency, but no one seemed equal to the task of providing the doll with eyes. A bright idea, however, shot into my mind, and the problem was solved. I tumbled off the seat and searched under it until I found my aunt's cape, which was trimmed with large beads. I pulled two beads off and indicated to her that I wanted her to sew them on my doll. She raised my hand to her eyes in a questioning way, and I nodded energetically. The beads were sewed in the right place and I could not contain myself for joy; but immediately I lost all interest in the doll. During the whole trip I did not have one fit of temper, there were so many things to keep my mind and fingers busy.

My aunt made me a big doll out of towels. The makeshift doll was a comical, shapeless thing, with no nose, mouth, ears, or eyes. There was nothing that even a child’s imagination could turn into a face. Strangely enough, the missing eyes bothered me more than all the other flaws put together. I pointed this out to everyone again and again, but no one seemed able to give the doll eyes. Then a bright idea came to me, and the problem was solved. I scrambled off the seat and searched underneath it until I found my aunt’s cape. It was trimmed with large beads. I pulled off two beads and let her know that I wanted her to sew them onto my doll. She raised my hand to her eyes as if asking a question, and I nodded eagerly. She sewed the beads in the right place, and I could hardly contain my joy. But immediately afterward, I lost all interest in the doll. During the whole trip, I did not have a single tantrum. There were so many things to keep my mind and fingers busy.

When we arrived in Baltimore, Dr. Chisholm received us kindly: but he could do nothing. He said, however, that I could be educated, and advised my father to consult Dr. Alexander Graham Bell of Washington, who would be able to give him information about schools and teachers of deaf or blind children. Acting on the doctor's advice, we went immediately to Washington to see Dr. Bell, my father with a sad heart and many misgivings, I wholly unconscious of his anguish, finding pleasure in the excitement of moving from place to place. Child as I was, I at once felt the tenderness and sympathy which endeared Dr. Bell to so many hearts, as his wonderful achievements enlist their admiration. He held me on his knee while I examined his watch, and he made it strike for me. He understood my signs, and I knew it and loved him at once. But I did not dream that that interview would be the door through which I should pass from darkness into light, from isolation to friendship, companionship, knowledge, love.

When we arrived in Baltimore, Dr. Chisholm welcomed us kindly, but he could do nothing. He said, however, that I could be educated. He advised my father to consult Dr. Alexander Graham Bell of Washington. Dr. Bell could tell him about schools and teachers for deaf or blind children. Following the doctor's advice, we went straight to Washington to see Dr. Bell. My father was sad and full of doubts. I was completely unaware of his anguish and enjoyed the excitement of traveling from place to place. Even as a child, I immediately felt the tenderness and sympathy that made so many people love Dr. Bell. His wonderful achievements also won their admiration. He held me on his knee while I examined his watch, and he made it strike for me. He understood my signs, and I knew he did. I loved him at once. But I had no idea that our meeting would be the door through which I would pass from darkness into light, from isolation to friendship, companionship, knowledge, and love.

Dr. Bell advised my father to write to Mr. Anagnos, director of the Perkins Institution in Boston, the scene of Dr. Howe's great labours for the blind, and ask him if he had a teacher competent to begin my education. This my father did at once, and in a few weeks there came a kind letter from Mr. Anagnos with the comforting assurance that a teacher had been found. This was in the summer of 1886. But Miss Sullivan did not arrive until the following March.

Dr. Bell advised my father to write to Mr. Anagnos, director of the Perkins Institution in Boston. The institution was where Dr. Howe had done his great work for blind people. Dr. Bell told my father to ask whether Mr. Anagnos had a teacher qualified to begin my education. My father wrote at once. A few weeks later, a kind letter arrived from Mr. Anagnos, reassuring us that a teacher had been found. This was in the summer of 1886. But Miss Sullivan did not arrive until the following March.

Thus I came up out of Egypt and stood before Sinai, and a power divine touched my spirit and gave it sight, so that I beheld many wonders. And from the sacred mountain I heard a voice which said, "Knowledge is love and light and vision."

So I came out of Egypt and stood before Sinai. A divine power touched my spirit and gave it sight, so I saw many wonders. From the sacred mountain, I heard a voice say, "Knowledge is love and light and vision."