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AMERICAN PRINTING l HOUSE FOR THE BLIND ^ — „ — — H V)|fc>9-4- (xKrA. K. 92: TP rnemxiA. Ta Helen Keller A Living Proof of the Divine Spark in the Human Brain By Alice Booth This is the fourth portrait and biography in Good Housekeeping’s series of America’s most distin- guished women. Each month hereafter a portrait will be reproduced until the series of twelve is con- cluded. Announcement of the prize-winning letters from our readers appears onpage 108 of this issue /%T NINETEEN months, illness locked the child when it is happy; nodding, smiling, turning her head /A that was Helen Keller in a sightless, soundless from one of us to the other; capping some deft sally cage. She was blind, she was deaf. Her baby with a playful pat of her hand on my arm. lips had learned only a few words. She knew discom- We were gay, over the tea-cups a little interlude fort, and a few primitive needs, but had only a cry in the work with which Helen Keller’s life is filled. to express them. She knew the comfort of her mother’s She is not an idle person. Her working day is longer presence—tenaciously, day after day, she followed her than the law allows in offices and factories. mother about the house, held to her skirts . Since her sophomore year in college she has written In the midst of a happy family life, she was alone in seven books—one of them, “The Story of My Life,” a great silence. Under the blazing southern sun, she in the best-seller class; it has sold over a hundred walked groping in the never-changing darkness. Had thousand copies. Her work for the blind is incessant she thoughts beyond the ordinary human hungers? in its demands—for them she is constantly writing, Impossible—for after all, we think in words, however speaking, appealing. Her heart is full of sorrow for faulty they may be, however inadequate to express them—for they have so much less* than she has, she our greatest emotions, our loftiest aspirations. And says. And always she is reading, studying. It is al- she knew no words. And no one could teach her any most impossible to tell Helen Keller a new fact—she words, for she could not hear. has heard them all already, and from people like Ein- Yesterday, I called on Helen Keller. A smiling stein, and Mark Twain, and Alexander Graham Bell, woman came to meet me—erect, poised, animated. and Edison and Burbank and Andrew Carnegie. We shook hands, and she spoke to me in greeting Hers is a life remarkable in its power and influence yes, spoke. Her voice was forced, breathy—but it was among the finest minds of the day. Her accomplish- a voice—and her shining eyes and quick smile more ments are outstanding even in a seeing, hearing, speak- than recompensed for its deficiencies. ing world. Yet every one of them is made in the black- I could not believe that she was blind. Her eyes are ness of endless night, where no whisper ever breaks the clear, wide-open, with the happy innocence of a child’s. eternal silence. They are a vivid, shining blue that fairly glows with Surely humanity, uninspired by any God above, excitement. could never have torn away the barriers that im- We sat down to talk—her secretary at her side. prisoned her. I had expected to pity her inability to communicate At six Helen Keller had not changed much in in- with me. I was wrong. She was perfectly able to ex- telligence from the baby of nineteen months. She press herself. She talked in a stream, words fairly knew the primitive hungers and expressed them by tumbling from her lips in her haste and eagerness, incoherent wails. She had of her own accord invented while into the hand of her secretary she was constantly signs for eating and for drinking, and used them in spelling words and thoughts—more words and need. Most pathetic of all, she had invented a sign thoughts. It was I who sat apart, unable to communi- for her mother—a touch on the cheek—which signi- cate with her, unable to meet this rapid brain except fied her want of her mother on the rare occasions when through the interpretation of Miss Thomson’s hand she was separated from her. spelling into hers. Her childish hands were constantly touching, feel- I had thought our conversation would be slow, ing, investigating, prying. The garden of the Keller labored, difficult. But it raced. home in sunny Alabama was surrounded by a clipped And again I could not believe that Helen Keller was box hedge, and inside that enclosure Helen groped her blind. Her face was animated by a hundred changing way. She found the flowers by their scent—but no shades and fancies. There was in it none of .the blank one could tell her their names or their colors. One in- patience and endurance that mark the countenances stinct—old as the race persisted in this deaf and of most blind people. She smiled—she laughed dumb and blind child. She had a doll—she loved her easily, naturally, a charming laugh. She was never doll. still—tapping her feet on the floor; bouncing up and Even then a vague feeling came to her that she was down a bit on the deep-cushioned sofa, as a child does different. She used to come ( Continued on page 275) 34 V ; Illustrated by J\[elson Grofe pms Tells the Fascinating Story Of the Evolution Of ^Bird Costumes you are not likely to mistake him for q/ny other bird when you see him thus perched. And we know, of course, that the shrike’s object is to spy out; some smaller bird on which it can pounce.’ But how could tfie chickadee /be ex- pected to know this?'- The shrike is a rare bird hereabouts. We see at mo^t one or two in a season. M$re than lively these chickadees had nevet seen thiir enemy before. How could tl^y recognize him as an enemy, and how Idid / they know that their best / defense would be to sit per- / , ^ - fectly still, facing the &n- / — emy, instead of dashing Bor / some place of shelter? \ l The answer, of course, W that for thou- sands of years shrikes h»ve been mortal enemies of chickadees. Millions of chick- adees have fallen before tne cruel hooked bill of the shrike. Any qhickadee that The gay plumage of the males of attempted to escape a?shrake direct by many species is due to/the fact flight was inevitably lost Chickadees that f that their far-off maternal an- were perhaps too petr/fied with fear to cestors chose onty g&\tdy mates move were overlooked,/and escaped—and thus survived to perpetuate meir species and transmit their individual traits. Ulti- the inheritance and u now instinctive. mately the instinctive tendency of every Yet even now the lesson is not quite fully chickadee to react t® the presence of a learned, for a few of tMchickadees in the shrike as we saw our chickadees react this pear tree did not fade |e shrike. They morning became as ftnuch a part of the presented a profile view mat was unques- mental equipment of/every fledgling as the tionably more bird-li^c thaV the front view instinct to search f</r particular kffids of and if we had not been here\o frighten the food. shrike, probably ondjfof the nan-conformists “But even so,” /aid Felicia, wheV— we swered your question in advance,” I would have paid tHb penalty discussed the mattir in this vein “qven “What we saw thpm do is Ita effect the Felicia considered the matter rather so, it seems strange that the little chirps resultant of million^ of experiments, leading dubiously, watchreg the chickadees care- should face the enamy; for of course tnfeir finally to the conclusion that th\ head-on fully meantime, /presently she nbdded ap- object is to become as nearly invisible ks view is the leyt conspicuous. VNot a proval. / \ possible, and one /would think that their conscious conclusion, of course. Nmchick- “I begin to set that Nature wa\right,” black and white Heads must be the most adee at any stage really knew anything she said. “Wlfen a chick directl\ faces' clearly visible part of them. Would they about the matter, but in the long rum us, there in the tree, he is less conspicuous I not be safer if they turned their gray backs greater number of birds that chanced than in side view. His black crowntand toward the shrike?” race the enemy were preserved; and.so the throat seem no darker than branched of “The chickadees have virtually an- habit of facing the enemy became part of the tree; and the ( Continued on page 2X2) — — : Helen Keller ('Continued from page 34) into the library and find herself walking on papers—newspapers—everywhere strewn about the floor, and she would find her father in his big chair, with a strange thing upon his nose • and hooked over his ears, sitting with one of these great sheets of paper held before him. QDlar dwjjanum toutlnbirusln starts, And though she put on the spectacles and held one of the sheets before her, she could not get ,any sensation from it, or any interest.— Yet somehow there must be interest there or her lxi:o.\*«:iors Stabs! father would not do it so constantly.

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