Alice Marie Harris: Five Years a Prisoner in the Attic

 

Listen to the audio version here.

On March 6, 1932, a baby girl was born in Fayette County to Martha Harris, the unwed 27-year-old daughter of a prosperous farmer from Perryopolis. The relationship between Martha and her widowed father, 56-year-old David Arthur Harris, had been contentious for over a year, when Martha became pregnant and gave birth to an illegitimate baby boy named John. A second child born out of wedlock, so soon after the first, would only add further shame to the Harris name, and so the infant girl, christened Alice Marie, was taken to the Fayette County Home in Uniontown.

When applying for her 3-month-old daughter's admission to the children's wing, administrators of the county home needed Martha to provide information about the baby's father, but she refused to provide a name, only admitting that the father of both her children was a 75-year-old neighbor who was a well-to-do farmer from Perry Township. Less than a month later, Alice Marie was placed in the home of a family friend, but was eventually returned to her mother.

Years passed, but very little was seen of Alice Marie. Neither Martha nor her father spoke of her, not even her brother mentioned her. It was almost as if the child had never existed.

The 'Sin Child'

Despite the secrecy surrounding the child, rumors began to circulate, and word of Alice's existence got out. On January 12, 1938, the Western Pennsylvania Humane Society sent officers to Perryopolis to investigate. Their visit to the Harris home left them mortified; in a storage room on the second floor of the old farmhouse they found the five-year-old girl strapped to a wooden rocking chair, her arms tied over her head, surrounded by unspeakable filth. Alice Marie was bloated from malnutrition, her bones softened and deformed from rickets exacerbated by years of solitary confinement. The child was unable to move her arms and legs. She was also unable to speak, communicating with the officers only in grotesque contortions of her sallow, dirty face.

 

The officers remarked that it was one of the most horrible cases of child cruelty they had ever encountered. They ordered Alice's mother and grandfather to bathe the child at once and place her into a bed, while they quietly made plans to rescue Alice from her hellish prison and bring formal charges of neglect and abuse against Martha and David Harris. But this, however, would take time; parental rights being what they were at that time in rural parts of the country, rushing in and removing a sickly, crippled minor was a proposition fraught with peril. The Humane Society had to tread carefully; one careless move and there would be no legal basis for the child's removal. They warned the child's mother and grandfather that they had better shape up and fix things, and said that they would return to follow up.

On the morning of February 4, 1938, Chief Inspector Edwin M. Smith and Agent M.J. Teeter returned to the Harris home, accompanied by probation officer Helen Reagan. Alice had been washed and transferred to a bedroom, but when they peeled back the blanket it was evident that nothing else had been done to improve her living conditions or her overall health. Large bedsores covered Alice's back, the sheets were filthy and unwashed. Alice was unable to eat, and it was learned that the child had never been given solid food. From birth, Alice's lone source or nourishment had been milk. "It's a miracle how the child could have lived so long under such conditions," one of the officers remarked, as Alice was taken to the Uniontown Hospital for an examination.

 

Questioning revealed the obvious-- that poor little Alice had been unwanted from the moment she was born. Passed from hand to hand for the first few months of her life, she returned to Martha Harris at six months of age and was placed in a stiff-backed wooden chair in the dark, windowless attic which had been her prison ever since. If the child had ever known a normal life, she surely would've died; the fact that this waking nightmare was the only life of which she had any knowledge permitted her lungs to keep breathing, her tiny heart to continue beating. Quite simply, Alice didn't know any better than to keep on living. 

When pressed for an explanation, Alice's grandfather said that he didn't want the child around the house because she had been born out of sin. "One mistake might be forgiven," he said, referring to his seven-year-old grandson, "but there's no use in it happening again." As for the girl's mother, she insisted that she didn't know any better, for she was just a simple farm girl who did as her father instructed.

 A Girl Called Brick

Almost as soon as Alice Marie Harris was in the safe confines of a hospital she began to thrive. The frail, blue-eyed girl, known affectionately as "Brick" to hospital staff because of her bright red hair, clung ferociously to the toys and rag doll that were provided to her while Drs. D.F. Newell and J. French Kerr performed their examination. But when a steady stream of well-wishers besieged the hospital, Alice became overwhelmed and frightened; she had never seen so many people in a single room before. 

Satisfied that Alice's condition wasn't immediately life-threatening, she was transferred to the children's wing of the Fayette County Home, to a bed placed beside a window where she could benefit from the sunlight. According to her nurse, Marietta Jackson, Alice was responding quickly to treatment and had only made a sound when she was placed in a tub for a bath. 

Within a few days, she was taking liquid nourishment, but only while lying on her back. Although attempts to feed mashed potatoes to the emaciated youngster failed, Alice was soon able to swallow a watery grain porridge, which the nurses supplemented with fruit and vegetable juice. Alice seemed to enjoy the juice, but responded with whines and a grumpy face whenever nurses at the county home attempted to slip cod liver oil into her liquid diet. The nurses were thrilled by Alice's petulance, however; it was exactly the type of reaction a child should display when given a spoonful of the unpleasant substance.  

"With proper care, this child should develop into a normal healthy girl within a year," predicted the Fayette County Home physician, Dr. James Van Gilder. Probation officer Helen Reagan told reporters that her plan was to have Alice Mary Harris committed to the Polk State School (later known as the Polk Center) for the developmentally disabled, but this plan never came to fruition.

 
D.A. Files Charges

Martha Harris and her father were charged with "cruel and barbarous treatment" of a child and ordered to appear before Magistrate Fred Munk. On Monday, February 7, they arrived in Connellsville for their first court appearance. They waived their preliminary hearing and were released under $1,000 bond while awaiting the decision of a grand jury. In charge of the prosecution was District Attorney James A. Reilly, who stated that a conviction would carry a penalty of up to two years in prison. 

Martha and David Harris retained attorney J.K. Spurgeon for their defense, who forbade the defendants from making any statements to the press. When questioned by reporters, Spurgeon smiled politely and said that the case should be tried in the courts rather than in the newspaper. On February 28, while the grand jury convened in Uniontown to consider the charges, District Attorney Reilly ordered a psychiatric evaluation of Martha Harris at the Torrance State Hospital. On March 1, just a few days before Alice's sixth birthday, a Fayette County grand jury indicted both Martha and David Harris on charges of child cruelty, and the defendants were ordered by Judge Horatio Dumbauld to stand trial.

David Harris, entering the courthouse with Martha and her son.

 

The 'Sin Baby' Trial

The commonwealth's case against David Harris was brought to court on Monday, March 14, with Judge W. Russell Carr presiding. The case against Martha Harris, who initially was to be tried jointly with her father, was put on hold pending the findings of the Torrance State Hospital psychiatric report. The defense's motion to have the indictment quashed due to negative publicity was immediately overruled by Judge Carr, and a jury comprised of five women and seven men was selected.

The first witness called was M.J. Teeter of the Western Pennsylvania Humane Society. Teeter testified to the conditions of the Harris home during his investigation, as did the next witness, Chief Agent Edwin M. Smith. Photographs of Alice and her living conditions were presented as evidence. Also taking the stand was probation officer Helen Reagan.

"Mr. Harris said he knew he was doing wrong, but if he didn't come down on Martha, there would be more children in the home," she testified. Mrs. Reagan also explained that Harris had told her he would gladly pay for the child's transportation to a state-run institution, but had refused to pay the boarding costs.

After the probation officer's testimony, the defense entered a demurrer challenging the sufficiency of the testimonial evidence-- essentially the legal equivalent of saying, "Yeah? So what?" The jury never even got a chance to deliberate; Judge Carr abruptly dismissed the case, ruling that the commonwealth's testimony alone was insufficient.

David and Martha Harris

 

On Tuesday, the case against Martha Harris was presented by District Attorney Reilly. After a fierce argument between the prosecution and the defense, Alice Mary was presented to the jury. She squirmed and cried in the arms of a probation officer as her bare, spindly limbs were bared for all to see. As soon as the jury completed its inspection, Alice was returned to the county home and Milo R. Stevens of the Torrance State Hospital took the stand to report his findings.

According to Stevens, a staff pathologist, he had given Martha an intelligence test designed for an eight-year-old child and determined that Martha's results indicated a "very low mentality". The defense objected, pointing out that Stevens was not a physician and was therefore unable to make such a determination. Judge Carr overruled the objection. Also taking the stand for the prosecution was Dr. Kerr of Connellsville, who stated that the child's condition, both mental and physical, was the most deplorable he had seen in his 37 years as a practicing physician. He said that records indicated that Alice Marie Harris had been born perfectly healthy, but when he examined her at the county home she weighed only 31 pounds, had "the expression of an imbecile", and, for all intents and purposes, was unable to see or hear.

Judge Carr granted the defense a continuance, and the case against Martha Harris was postponed until the June term of court. Charges of cruelty and neglect were later dropped on account of Martha's low intelligence, and Alice's mother and grandfather never faced any punishment for their barbaric actions, not even a small fine.

 

The Road to Rehabilitation

By summer's end, the child known as "Brick" was eating soft foods and had managed to gain seven pounds. But she was still unable to walk or speak. It became clear that the child would need more specialized care, probably for the remainder of her life, and a level of rehabilitation that the staff the Fayette County Home was unable to provide. According to Mrs. Mead, the matron of the county home, Alice had made great strides in her physical health, but she had the mental age of an 8-month-old infant.

In August, Alice was released into the custody of a foster parent, a 60-year-old widow named Jennie Rowan, who, along with secretary Eleanor Mecklenberg of the Child Welfare Bureau, made plans to eventually enroll the child in the Margaret Duer Judge School in Milford, one of the two private schools in Pennsylvania for sub-normal children.

"This school is one of the finest private schools for cases such as Alice Harris," explained Miss Mecklenberg. "Each child is studied individually and given special care and treatment in an effort to elevate them to the plane of normal children. The results already accomplished by this school truly are remarkable."

Alice being brought into court by probation officer

 

Alice remained with Jennie Rowan through the holidays. She had never heard of Christmas, or Santa Claus, and Mrs. Rowan reported that the girl laughed and waved her arms as she played with other children during a Christmas party. Her eyes sparkled with joy. "We'll have a Christmas tree for her, but we haven't decided on gifts," she explained to reporters in December. "The child is wild about a little toy dog but I don't think she is inclined to like toys. She prefers to get her arms and legs in motion," explained Mrs. Rowan. "She walks a little if you lead her, and she can stand alone for a few seconds. Alice is no trouble at all. She doesn't cry except when she had been on her feet for too long. She sits down and scoots about the house, taking care of herself."

Alice was enrolled in the Margaret Duer Judge School for Exceptional Children in September of 1939, and taken to Milford by child welfare officers. Mrs. Judge sent progress reports to Fayette County authorities, and, in January, remarked that Alice was making encouraging progress on her long road to rehabilitation. Within a year, Alice was able to walk under her own power and was even beginning to speak. She learned all the colors of the rainbow and was able to pronounce their names, and she was capable of bathing herself and brushing her teeth. 

And then, from out of nowhere, misfortune reared its cruel head.

A much healthier, and happier, Alice Harris at the home of Jennie Rowan

 

A Tragic Outcome

While Mrs. Rowan's decision to send Alice to the Margaret Duer Judge School was made with the best of intentions, it resulted in tragedy. In the summer of 1942, Alice, now 10 years of age, suffered an attack of jaundice, which later developed into pneumonia. Alice Marie Harris died on August 5.

Not surprisingly, Martha and David Harris expressed little emotion over the child's death, and they refused to claim Alice's body, which was laid to rest on August 10 more than three hundred miles from the place of her birth, in a hillside graveyard near Dingman's Ferry overlooking the Delaware River. Only three people were on hand as the tiny coffin was placed in an unmarked grave; Reverend Harry Fenwick, undertaker Colin S. Black, and Margaret Duer Judge. Only one floral arrangement was placed on the grave, sent by Jennie Rowan, who was devastated by the news of Alice's death and unable to travel the long distance. As the Harris' wanted nothing to do with the matter and the widow Rowan was in no financial circumstances to pay for the funeral, the bill for Alice's burial was footed by the Fayette County Commissioners.

Built in 1890 as the Winsor Hotel, this Milford landmark served as the Margaret Duer Judge School until 1966.

 

Aftermath and Legacy

Not long after her acquittal, Martha Harris married a man from Lebanon County named George Irvin Eisenhaur and left the area, eventually settling near Philadelphia. She passed away in 1959 at the age of 57. Her son, John, died in Perryopolis at the age of 47. As for Martha's father, he died in 1948 at the age of 71.

David never remarried after his wife's death in 1929, and since Martha was the only child still living at home at the time of Alice Marie's discovery nine years later, rumors circulated for years that he was really the father of both of Martha's children. This claim, however, has never been proven and might've been merely a result of public hostility toward the Harris' after their acquittal. Yet, one has to wonder about the motivation behind Martha's staunch refusal to divulge the name of the man who fathered her children. Perhaps the man was married, or perhaps he had been shunned by the community as an unsavory character.

One also has to wonder why David Harris allowed Martha's first-born illegitimate child to roam freely about the house while demanding the second be tied up and cruelly imprisoned in a windowless room. His excuse of "forgiving the first mistake, but punishing the second," seems somewhat suspicious, considering that an innocent child wasn't just punished, but tortured. The question as to the father's identity, other than an old well-to-do farmer (which would've been an apt description of David Harris himself), will probably never be answered.

At any rate, while Alice Marie's mother, father and grandfather have disappeared into the chasm of the forgotten, the sweet, little red-haired child is still remembered-- not just in Pennsylvania, but across the country. Her case of extreme isolation attracted the attention of several notable sociologists, such as Professor Kingsley Davis of Penn State University, whose reports on Alice were published in the American Journal of Sociology. And while there is no marker for Alice Marie Harris at Delaware Cemetery, where her bones repose beneath shady boughs of the graveyard's edge, the location of her grave is easy to find, as it has been pointed out for generations: It is the grave where admirers still leave bundles of flowers, painted pebbles and stuffed animals to this day.  


 

Sources:

Uniontown Evening Standard, Feb. 4, 1938.
Uniontown Morning Herald, Feb. 5, 1938.
Cincinnati Enquirer, Feb. 7, 1938.
Uniontown Evening Standard, Feb. 7, 1938.
Connellsville Daily Courier, Feb. 10, 1938.
Uniontown Evening Standard, March 1, 1938.
Uniontown Evening Standard, March 14, 1938.
Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph, March 15, 1938.
Somerset Daily American, Aug. 29, 1938.
Sunbury Daily Item, Sept. 10, 1938.
Ephrata Review, Dec. 22, 1938.
Uniontown Morning Herald, Sept. 28, 1939.
Uniontown Morning Herald, Jan. 12, 1940.
Uniontown Morning Herald, Aug. 8, 1942.
Uniontown Morning Herald, Aug. 8, 1942.
Connellsville Daily Courier, Aug. 10, 1942.