Photograph of San Jose Street, San Juan, Puerto Rico, circa 1915-1920s. Two Model A Ford type automobiles are parked in the sunshine on a commerical street. Wooden buildings and store-front signs line the street. Pedestrians walk down the middle of the street, some wearing round straw hats. Image courtesy of the Centro de Estudios Puertorriquenos.
Anne and Helen remained at Wrentham for another three years after John and Anne separated. During these years Anne and Helen, accompanied by Polly Thomson, earned a living primarily through the retelling of the story of Helen's life in lectures. The constant travel and countless public engagements left Anne exhausted.
In the fall of 1916 Anne had to stop work as a result of pleurisy and (incorrectly diagnosed) tuberculosis. On November 20, she and Polly Thomson traveled to Lake Placid, New York without Helen in order for Anne to recover. While they were there Anne spotted an advertisement for travel to Puerto Rico and immediately bought two boat tickets for herself and Polly. Anne's five months of rest was one of the happiest times of her life. She wrote frequently to Helen, filling her letters with the heady sights and smells of the lush Caribbean island:
You know, Helen dear, Socrates believed in the existence of the Fortunate Isles somewhere beyond the blue zenith of our sky—isles which those who have lived in beauty sailed to after death. Well, I found one of the Fortunate Isles while still alive. Here I find freedom from the vexations of wars and politics and duties that have never interested me. This is the realm of warm delight...
And again Anne writes:
I'm glad I didn't inherit the New England conscience. If I did, I should be worrying about the state of sin I am now enjoying in Porto Rico. One can't help being happy here, Helen—happy and idle and aimless and pagan—all the sins we are warned against. I go to bed every night soaked with sunshine and orange blossoms, and fall asleep to the soporific sound of oxen munching banana leaves.
Full Transcripts of Letters
Anne's Letter to Helen Keller from Puerto Rico (1917, #1)
Helen dear:
You know the little breezes that come in the dawn when we are camping, and bring us the first perfume of the waking day. Well, they are here just the same. Now they are directing a pretty flotilla of red petals from a poinsettia-tree across the road. They float over the bayonet hedge and scatter like rubies on the ground.
Speaking of bayonets reminds me, Harry Lamb had a nasty fall the other night. He was riding home when El Capitan shied at something in the road, and tumbled Harry into a bristling bayonet bush! He thought a band of Italians with stilettos was attacking him. He won't ride El Capitan again for quite a while, he prefers a chair with a soft cushion or his bed.
You know, Helen dear, Socrates believed in the existence of the Fortunate Isles somewhere beyond the blue zenith of our sky—isles which those who had lived in beauty sailed to after death. Well, I found one of the Fortunate Isles while still alive. Here I find freedom from the vexations of wars and politics and duties that have never interested me. This is the realm of warm delight—the land to which Ulysses and his companions came in the afternoon—the land of the lotus-eaters where it is always afternoon. Here is calm and contentment! I tremble when I think I must return to the north with its turmoil, its hypocrisies, its silly fads and sillier conventions.
Didn't I tell you that entering the World War was one of the high purposes Providence had in store for America? The Socialists—the intellectual variety—have behaved in all countries like the proverbial sheep. A few, a very few—Debs, Liebknecht, Jaures and Bertrand Russell (but they killed Jaures, and they will kill Liebknecht when he becomes a menace) have kept their heads. Hatred of Germany will soon transform their idealism into a hundred percent patriotism. I don't believe any of them have read Karl Marx, and if they have, they haven't a glimmering of what it means. Well, so be it; I feel no urge to enlighten them.
Love to everybody,
Teacher.
Anne's Letter to Helen Keller from Puerto Rico (1917, #2)
Dear Helen:
I'm glad I didn't inherit the New England conscience. If I did, I should be worrying about the state of sin I am now enjoying in Porto Rico. One can't help being happy here, Helen—happy and idle and aimless and pagan—all the sins we are warned against. I go to bed every night soaked with sunshine and orange blossoms, and fall asleep to the soporific sound of oxen munching banana leaves.
We sit on the porch every evening and watch the sunset melt from one vivid color to another—rose asphodel (Do you know what color that is? I thought it was blue, but I have learned that it is golden yellow, the color of Scotch broom) to violet, then deep purple. Polly and I hold our breath as the stars come out in the sky—they hang low in the heavens like lamps of many colors—and myriads of fire-flies come out on the grass and twinkle in the dark trees! Harry Lake says that a beautiful Porto Rican girl went to a dance in a gown ablaze with fire-flies which she had imprisoned in black net.
Did you know that in tropical skies the stars appear much larger and nearer to the earth than farther north? I didn't know it myself. Neither Polly nor I have ever seen such stars! It is no exaggeration to say they are lamps—ruby, emerald, amethyst, sapphire! It seems to Polly and me, if we could climb to the bamboo roof of our new garage, we could touch them. We lie on our cots and gaze up at them—the shack has no windows, only shutters and our view is unobstructed—we say over and over the names of stars we know, but that doesn't help us to identify these. Is that long, swinging curve the Pleiades? We are ashamed to be so ignorant. If we could get hold of a book on astronomy, how we should study it here!
Do you remember the big globe in the rotunda at "Perkins?" Well, the moon looks as large as that sometimes, and often it is girdled with pearls as large as oranges, like the metal circle the globe hangs in. And several times we have seen it lighted as by lightning.
The place has cast a spell over me. Something that has slept in me is awake and watchful. Disembarking at San Juan was like stepping upon my native heath after a long, distressful absence. I will tell you more of these strange experiences anon.
Love to all,
Affectionately,
Teacher.
