Histories

Daddy and Raggedy Ann

 

By Terri Elders

 

 

One afternoon when Grandma visited me at my hospital bed, she said that Daddy would visit me on Sunday. I knew some things, like all the names of the days of the week, but I didn’t know how many days it was until Sunday. I’d just turned five that summer of l942, and was so proud I could hold up a whole hand full of fingers when anybody asked my age.

 

When Grandma first brought me there I’d heard the doctor who poked around my chest say it would take a miracle to save me. So I wanted to ask Daddy what a miracle was. Every time I heard footsteps by the door, I prayed it would be Daddy. He was in the Navy and I longed to see him in his sailor suit.

 

Then one morning, just after the nurse finished pounding on my chest and had made me breathe in some horrid nose drops, Daddy appeared in his navy blue bell bottom trousers and shirt trimmed with white stripes. He carried a big brown bag.

 

I was so happy to see him that I’d tried to sit up, but as soon as I lifted my head from the pillow I broke into a chorus of coughs. Daddy hurried over and leaned down to kiss my forehead. “She feels awfully warm,” he said to the nurse, placing his bag on the floor next to my bed.

 

“That’s to be expected with pneumonia. But she’s past the worst part, we think.”

 

“Daddy, I fell down at the Piggly Wiggly,” I said. “My chest hurts.” I remembered shaking so hard that my teeth chattered when Grandma carried me to the car and drove me to the hospital. When the doctors said that my lips had turned blue because I had double pneumonia, she started to cry and that scared me.

 

Daddy sat by my bed for a long time. He said he soon would sail off to fight in the war. To cheer himself up he’d gone to see a movie called Yankee Doodle Dandy. Daddy said he could tap dance just as well as James Cagney in that movie. He sang one of its songs for me, “Grand Old Flag.” I had been to the movies once with Grandma, and had seen Dumbo. But I didn’t remember the elephants singing or dancing. I told Daddy I would love to be able to tap dance, just like Shirley Temple whose picture I saw on the covers of Grandma’s movie magazines.

 

When the nurse brought me some warm apple juice, he encouraged me to sip some, even though I found it so hard to swallow. “If you finish your juice, I’ve got a surprise for you in the bag.”

 

Even though it hurt, I downed all my juice. Then Daddy opened the bag and took out a doll with two button eyes, red yarn hair and a cute little triangle nose. She wore a blue flowered dress.

 

“It’s Raggedy Ann,” I cried with delight. I hugged the doll close, and then remembered I had something to ask Daddy about.

 

“Daddy, what’s a miracle?”

 

“What do you think it is, Terri?

 

“I thought it might be a big dog. I heard that some dogs save people who get lost in the snow. The doctor told Grandma that it would take a miracle to save me.”

 

“No. A miracle isn’t an animal. It’s just something wonderful that happens, that you don’t expect. For instance, let’s unbutton your doll’s dress.” Daddy helped me slip the buttons out of the loops. I was surprised to see the little red heart on her chest. It had some letters on it. “It says ‘I love you.’ I want you to remember that I love you after my ship sails out. And when I get home after the war maybe we can tap dance together.”

 

Weeks passed before Grandma finally took me home, but I had Raggedy Ann there to comfort me through the coughing fits, runny noses and headaches. When I finally got up from that hospital bed I couldn’t quite remember how to walk because I had been down so long. It took a few days before once again I grew steady on my feet. It might be a while before I could start to learn to tap.

 

Two years later when Daddy returned from the war, he came to Grandma’s house and I showed him how I had learned to tap dance. We danced together, humming “Grand Old Flag.”  Daddy said he had danced aboard his ship when they had a talent show, and his shipmates agreed he was just as spry as Cagney.

 

Several years later I learned that in l942 it was still commonplace for children to die of bronchial pneumonia. I indeed had been lucky to survive. It wasn’t until the close of World War II that miracle drugs appeared on the home front in the form of penicillin and other antibiotics, and countless children’s lives were saved.

 

Decades later, I worked for Peace Corps, providing technical assistance to health projects in dozens of developing countries. To my astonishment I learned from the World Health Organization that pneumonia is still the forgotten killer of children, causing two million deaths worldwide, more than any other disease…more than HIV/AIDS, malaria and measles combined. I urged our child and maternal health program managers to train Peace Corps Volunteers how to alert parents in developing countries to the symptoms of this deadly disease so their children could get access to needed treatment.

 

That my life was spared in childhood so that I could help spare the lives of other children might just be coincidence…but I think it might have been a miracle. I only regret that when I looked at Raggedy Ann’s heart on her chest I forgot to look to see if she had wings on her back. As for Daddy, well, he was never an angel, but he sure could dance like one!