"Nothing Daunted" – a Q&A with Dorothy Wickenden
Dorothy Wickenden talks about how her grandmother and her best friend – society girls from the East – headed West for adventure in 1916.
One day Dorothy Wickenden came across a stack of forgotten family letters penned by her grandmother Dorothy Woodruff in 1916-17. That year Woodruff, a restless debutante from a wealthy Auburn, N.Y., family, convinced her best friend, Rosamond Underwood, to move with her to Elkhead, Colo., so they could become rural schoolteachers. (Both young women were Smith College graduates but neither had really ever expected to work. “No young lady in our town,” Woodruff would later recall, “had ever been hired by anybody.”)Skip to next paragraph
Subscribe Today to the Monitor
Dorothy and Ros stayed for a year, which Ros would later recall as the best of their lives. They boarded with a family of homesteaders and taught in a stone schoolhouse from which they daily watched “cowpunchers ... tearing around the schoolhouse and down the hill at breakneck speed.” They rode to work on horseback, cohabited with wild animals and desperados, and learned to cope with blizzards and students – mostly kids from hardscrabble homesteading families – who sometimes could only reach school by skiing there on barrel staves.
Wickenden, who is also the executive editor for The New Yorker, has written about her grandmother’s real-life adventures in Nothing Daunted: The Unexpected Education of Two Society Girls in the West. She recently spoke with me about her book.
Teaching in a rural school was such a wild and unexpected adventure for two society girls like your grandmother and her friend. Why did they accept these jobs – and how did they adapt to them?
The president of Smith College often asked students, “Are you a leaner or a lifter?” Dorothy and Ros did not want to be leaners, and the opportunities for women in the East seemed far too limited. Once they got to Elkhead, if they were taken aback by the living conditions, they were too proud to admit that to their parents. And their admiration for the stoicism of the settlers helped them shake off any complaints.
What was most unexpected to you about what happened to Dorothy and Ros out west?
What really surprised me was how quickly these two cosseted girls adapted. From the moment they stepped off the train in the tiny town of Hayden in the Rockies, they greeted every challenge either with exclamations of pleasure or with earnest determination.
The America of 1916, as seen through the lens of “Nothing Daunted,” seems at the same time both more innocent and more dangerous than life today. How would you characterize it?
During their time in Colorado, [Dorothy and Ros’s] close friend Bob Perry was kidnapped by two Greek miners – a story so shocking it was front-page news across the country. But the kidnappers, while holding him at gunpoint, were deferential and solicitous about his comfort. As Dorothy grew older, she saw the Holocaust and other horrors of the 20th century, but even late in life she retained her belief that her grandchildren were part of a world that was heading roughly in the right direction. Today I’m not so confident.