By Greg Elwell
Born on the outskirts of New York City in 1885, Tom Little was the third of four children in an Irish family that was long on discipline and short on affection. The family wasn’t rich, but as a mechanic, his father brought in a stable income and no one went hungry.
Tom was an athletic child and gregarious, to boot. He wasn’t much of a student, but his parents didn’t particularly care, so long as he did what he was told at home. And he usually did.
But one cold day, 9-year-old Tom slipped beneath his mother’s radar, snatching a ladle of hot liquid simmering on the stove. So involved was the youngster in gulping what he thought was soup that he didn’t catch the scent of lye as he held the ladle to his lips. The caustic chemical went down the hatch, searing his esophagus as it went.
