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.