Her bond with Daddy Warbucks is immediate, and legendary, of course, the main relationship that survived into the movie and the stage play. But shortly after her arrival in Chez Warbucks, "Daddy" (Annie's still calling him that in quotation marks) has to go to Siberia on business, and the snobbish Missus ships Annie back to the orphanage in a borrowed coat she has to leave in the car, and Annie finds herself auditioning for a series of potential adoptive families. This being an Annie story, a world where children are taught that Santa Claus doesn't exist for orphans, she ends up with the worst possible children-shoppers: a family who takes her home to work in their store, as long as she spends Sundays back at the orphanage, so they can save a day of feeding her, and the orphanage can continue to get state money for her care.
But it's in these miserable circumstances that Annie meets what appears to be her first friend her own age. Tony is the janitor's son, who tells Annie that of course Santa Claus comes for orphans, and helps her feed her dog Sandy, whom she saves from a crowd of kids who are tormenting him. In return, Annie makes sure that Tony doesn't get a spanking meant for her, even when he tries to take the blame. Annie's fearlessness is marvelous. She's got a vocabulary chock-full of indignant interjections, and a strong sense of righteousness. It's insane for her to adopt a dog while living under such tenuous circumstances--she feeds him her own mush, and rescues Sandy repeatedly from the gang of kids--but she can't resist him, calling him her "little brother," something she's wished for repeatedly throughout the comics.
I think it's that fearlessness that attracts father figures to Annie, whether it's Daddy Warbucks, or the kindly tradesmen Annie meets as she wanders the streets of her city. A butcher gives her a bone for Sandy and a discount on dog meat. A friendly policeman promises her she doesn't have to get a license for Sandy, and when a dogcatcher disagrees, the policeman frees the captive mutts, locks the nasty civil servant in his own dog cage, and pushes his van down a steep hill. And when it looks like there's no reasonable way for Annie to keep her dog, the policeman hooks her up with a mobster-ish Irish steakhouse owner who promises to take good of Sandy for her, and is impressed when Annie won't take money for him, declaring "You're the class and so is Sandy--he's your dog always, see? And you come around anytime you can get out--we'll both be tickled to see you."
All those men display a much kinder sense of cross-gender solidarity with the little girl and her dog than the dynamic between Don Draper and Peggy Olson that Ta-Nehisi described yesterday. But Annie wins the respect and admiration of so many men around her because she is so relentlessly independent. With the exception of Miss Fair, Annie has no real female friends or admirers. In the orphanage, another little girl, Violet, is singled out for adoption by Mrs. Lotta-Coin over Annie (though she is ultimately abandoned). Annie is the butt of orphan proprietress Miss Asthma, and practically disgusting to the hypocritical Mrs. Warbucks. But men seem to see Annie in a way that women can't, and not in a way that is remotely problematic. No one is sexualizing our curly-topped moppet inappropriately, or taking advantage of her. Rather, whether with Daddy, Tony, the butcher or the policeman, there are markings of rich and immediate friendship. It's such a pleasant diversion from the near-constant cruelty of women that the friendliness of men is a relief, for us as well as for Annie.
The first edition of the Comics Club can be found here.