When you’re having a bad day, think of her.
She was born in Agawam, Massachusetts. One year after the Civil War. The daughter of Irish immigrants.
They were poor. It’s hard to imagine how poor. Her mother routinely skipped supper to feed her three children. Her little brother was sickly. Her father was an alcoholic, and beat them.
When she was 5, she contracted a bacterial eye disease. She laid awake at night, with painful infections that made her nearly blind. At age 8, her mother died from consumption. At age 10, her father decided to abandon his three children.
The state split up the siblings. She and her younger brother were sent to an overcrowded orphanage-hospital and almshouse in Tewksbury. Her sister was sent to live with an aunt.
Tewksbury was more prison than orphanage. It was the stuff nightmares are made of. A place where inmates were sexually assaulted, where there were reports of cannibalism. The institution was inspected by the state, time and again, but the powers that be always turned a blind eye.
Only a few months into their stay, her brother’s health deteriorated, and he died of tuberculosis.
And just like that, she was alone.
She slept in flea-infested bunks. She ate bad food. Orphanage workers often shaved little girls’ heads to keep the lice away.
Meantime, her vision kept getting worse. She underwent two eye operations that didn’t work.
Finally, her eyes got so bad they sent her to a hospital for more operations. Those didn’t work either.
While in the hospital, instead of being treated as a patient, she was made a lowly chambermaid.
She helped the nuns empty chamber pots, launder soiled sheets, and bandage open wounds. Orphans occupied the lowest rungs of society in those days. She was little more than a serf.
Her eyes worsened. The hospital sent her to the city infirmary as a last resort. She underwent more unsuccessful operations. Nothing worked. She was mostly blind now.
And just when things couldn’t get any worse, she was transferred back to the horrible orphanage.
This time, she went against her will. She kicked. She bit. She drew blood. She did not want to go back. They had to pin her down. “Get your hands off me!” she cried, as the men in police uniforms overcame her.
At Tewksbury, this time they didn’t house her with orphans and sick children. They put her with the adults. In a place where nobody can hear you scream.
By age 15, the almshouse was investigated and found to be a cesspool. It was during this very inspection that the girl threw herself in front of inspectors and screamed, “Please! I want to go to school!”
Her plea was granted.
Within weeks, the girl was enrolled in Perkins School for the Blind, in Watertown.
She had a difficult time fitting in. She’d been living like an animal at the orphanage hospital. She was used to fighting for food. Fighting for safety. Fighting away adult predators. Fighting to stay alive.
But eventually, she learned. She blossomed as a student. She connected with teachers. She discovered pieces of herself she didn’t know existed.
One of her closest friends was a woman named Laura Bridgman, the first blind-deaf person to be educated at Perkins. Laura and the young student bonded. And the child exceeded every expectation. In fact, she was a savant.
In a period of only five years, the girl learned all there was to learn. Braille, sign language, and a new method of communicating by use of a manual alphabet.
She graduated at age 20. Valedictorian of her class. The brightest student, perhaps, the school had ever seen. In her graduation speech, she spoke to an audience of mostly blind alumni.
Here is what she said:
“Every obstacle we overcome, every success we achieve tends to bring man closer to God…”
Later that same year, she would meet a 7-year-old deaf-blind girl from Alabama, named Helen. She would become the child’s lifelong companion until death. She would revolutionize special education forever. She would bring light into The Darkness for millions.
Her name was Anne Sullivan, but most would forever call her the Miracle Worker.