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Nothing Daunted: The Unexpected Education of Two Society Girls in the West Kindle Edition
In the summer of 1916, Dorothy Woodruff and Rosamond Underwood, bored by society luncheons, charity work, and the effete men who courted them, left their families in Auburn, New York, to teach school in the wilds of northwestern Colorado. They lived with a family of homesteaders in the Elkhead Mountains and rode to school on horseback, often in blinding blizzards. Their students walked or skied, in tattered clothes and shoes tied together with string. The young cattle rancher who had lured them west, Ferry Carpenter, had promised them the adventure of a lifetime. He hadn’t let on that they would be considered dazzling prospective brides for the locals.
Nearly a hundred years later, Dorothy Wickenden, the granddaughter of Dorothy Woodruff, found the teachers’ buoyant letters home, which captured the voices of the pioneer women, the children, and other unforgettable people the women got to know. In reconstructing their journey, Wickenden has created an exhilarating saga about two intrepid women and the “settling up” of the West.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherScribner
- Publication dateJune 21, 2011
- File size11646 KB
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Editorial Reviews
Review
Praise for Nothing Daunted
"From the elite ethos of Smith College to the raw frontier of northwestern Colorado, two friends dared to defy the conventions of their time and station. Dorothy Wickenden tells their extraordinary story with grace and insight, transporting us back to an America suffused with a sense of adventure and of possibility. This is a wonderful book about two formidable women, the lives they led—and the legacy they left."—Jon Meacham, Pulitzer Prize-winning author of American Lion
“In Nothing Daunted, Dorothy Wickenden has beautifully captured a world in transition, a pivotal chapter not just in the life of her bold and spirited grandmother, but also in the life of the American west. Dorothy Woodruff and her friend Rosamond are like young women who walked out of a Henry James novel and headed west instead of east. Imagine Isabel Archer wrangling the ragged, half-wild children of homesteaders, whirling through dances with hopeful cowboys, and strapping on snowshoes in the middle of the night to urge a fallen horse onto an invisible trail in high snowdrifts, and you’ll have some idea of the intense charm and adventure of this remarkable book.”—Maile Meloy, author of Both Ways Is the Only Way I Want It
“A superb, stirring book. Through the eyes of two spirited and resourceful women from the civilized East, Wickenden makes the story of the American West engaging and personal. A delight to read.” —Susan Orlean, author of The Orchid Thief
“The adventures of two well-bred Yankee ladies in the still wild West makes a remarkable, funny story. But evoked through Dorothy Wickenden's skillful use of letters, diaries, and memoirs, Nothing Daunted is also a slow parade through young America. Cowboys carefully-mannered before the ladies; the bare-legged, ragged children in their brand-new school; winter sleigh rides under the new moon—all these moments have been preserved, their colors fresh for modern wonderment: A haunting evocation of a vanished world.”—Caroline Alexander, author of The Bounty and The War that Killed Achilles
“Dorothy Wickenden was lucky to have such intriguing forebears...but the satisfying depth and vivacity of Nothing Daunted, the intimate, report-from the ground American saga the author has created with that correspondence as a foundation, have nothing to do with good fortune. Wickenden’s talents for research, observation, description, and narrative flow turn this unfaded snapshot of these early-20th-century women in the West into something even more resonant—a brightly painted mural of America under construction a century ago, personified by two ladies of true grit who were nothing daunted and everything enthusiastic about where the new century would take them.”—Entertainment Weekly
“Wickenden has painstakingly recreated the story of how that earlier Dorothy and her friend Rosamond Underwood embarked on a brief but life-changing adventure, teaching the children of struggling homesteaders... Wickenden lets their tale of personal transformation open out to reveal the larger changes in the rough-and-tumble society of the West...Fascinating...scenes emerge with a lovely clarity”—Maria Russo, New York Times Book Review
“A superb biography... Wickenden summons up the last moments of frontier life, where books were a luxury and, when blizzards hit, homesteader’s children would ski miles to school on curved barrel staves... Nothing Daunted also reminds us that different strains of courage can be found, not just on the battlefield, but on the home front, too.”—Maureen Corrigan, Fresh Air
“An enchanting family memoir…A brilliant gem of Americana.”—Washington Post Book World
“Wickenden brings to life two women who otherwise might be lost to history and who took part in creating the modern-day West.”—Publishers Weekly
“A compelling story...”—Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
“Wickenden is a very good storyteller, and bracingly unsentimental. The sweep of the land and the stoicism of the people move her to some beautiful writing.”—Joan Acocella, Newsweek
"Wickenden uses personal history to illuminate the larger story of manifest destiny." —The New Yorker
"A great story, with a richly appealing character at the center...a tale of the triumph of determination over adversity...wonderfully American." —Slate
“Dorothy Woodruff and Rosamond Underwood come alive in Nothing Daunted, Dorothy Wickenden’s fascinating slice of social history... Their story is blessed with a cast of supporting characters that novelists would envy.”—USA Today
“Wickenden is a lucky and talented writer... Both women spring to life in this wonderful book.”—Houston Chronicle
“Lovingly pieced together.”—Los Angeles Times
“Scrupulously researched... Both an entertaining and an edifying read, bringing early 20th-century Colorado to vivid life.” —Bookpage
“Century-old letters composed in the wilds of Colorado by two young schoolteachers provide the backbone of this stirring narrative.” —Newsweek
“Dorothy Wickenden’s recounting of her grandmother Dorothy Woodruff’s treacherous cross-country journey is as charming as it is rugged... This is Little House on the Praire in petticoats, and it is enchanting.”—Rachel Syme, NPR.org
“Dorothy Wickenden has crafted an exquisite book.”—Boston Globe
“A rich narrative... Nothing Daunted is an extraordinary book.”—Denver Post
“An intimate and joyful work that captures the best spirit of the 1910s—and today.”—Shelf Awareness
“Woodruff’s breezy letters could easily have stood on their own, but Wickenden chose to shape them into a narrative...Her instinct was right: Nothing Daunted is at once enjoyable and enlightening.”—American Way
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
PROLOGUE
One weekend afternoon in the fall of 2008, at the back of a drawer in my old wooden desk at home, I came across a folder I had forgotten. “Dorothy Woodruff Letters, Elkhead 1916–17.” My mother had given me the file when my children were young, and I had put it away, intending to look through it, but life had intervened. I glanced at the first letter. Dated Friday, July 28, 1916, it was written on the stationery of the Hayden Inn. At the top of the sheet was a photograph of a homely three-story concrete-block house with a few spindly saplings out front. The inn advertised itself as “The Only First-Class Hotel in Hayden.” Dorothy wrote: “My dearest family: Can you believe that I am actually far out here in Colorado?”
She and her close friend, Rosamond Underwood, had grown up together in Auburn, New York. They had just arrived after a five-day journey and were preparing to head into a remote mountain range in the Rockies, to teach school in a settlement called Elkhead. Dorothy’s letter described their stop overnight in Denver, their train ride across the Continental Divide, and their introductions to the locals of Hayden, whom she described as “all agog” over them “and so funny.” One man could barely be restrained “from showing us a bottle of gall stones just removed from his wife!” She closed by saying, “They are all so friendly and kind—and we are thrilled by everything. We start now—four hours drive. Goodbye in haste.…”
Dorothy Woodruff was my grandmother. As I began reading the letters, I recognized her voice immediately, even though they were written by a young woman—twenty-nine years old, unmarried, belatedly setting out on her own. An avid correspondent, she captured the personalities of the people she met; the harsh landscape; her trials with a classroom of unruly young boys; and her devotion to Rosamond, known to my brothers and me as “Aunt Ros.” I also was struck by their unusually warm friendship with two men: the young lawyer and rancher who hired them, Farrington Carpenter; and Bob Perry, who was the supervisor of his father’s coal mine. They were eighteen hundred miles away from their families, and from decorous notions about relations between the sexes.
The letters revealed the contradictions of Dorothy’s upbringing. She was a daughter of the Victorian aristocracy. Her forebears, like Rosamond’s, were entrepreneurs and lawyers and bankers who had become wealthy during the Industrial Revolution. In 1906, the young women were sent to Smith, one of the earliest women’s colleges, and afterward, they were indulged for a year with a grand tour of Europe, during which they saw their first “aeroplane,” learned how to blow the foam off a mug of beer, expressed disdain for the paintings of Matisse, and watched Nijinsky dance. Then, like other girls of their background, they were expected to return home to marry, and marry well.
Yet they had grown up surrounded by the descendants of some of the most prominent reformers in American history, including the suffragists who organized the first women’s rights convention in Seneca Falls, fifteen miles west of Auburn; and the man who overturned barbaric penal practices at the Auburn state prison, Sing Sing, and penitentiaries across the country. Auburn was a stop on the Underground Railroad, and some of the families they knew had hidden runaway slaves in their basements. Dorothy’s grandfather lived next door to William Seward, President Lincoln’s secretary of state. One day when she was visiting my family in Weston, Connecticut, she recorded an oral history, speaking with unerring precision about her childhood and about her time in Colorado. Retrieving the transcript of the tape, I was reminded of the breathtaking brevity of America’s past.
I remember Dorothy as white-haired, impeccably attired, and sometimes stern. The second youngest of seven children, she grew up in a big hipped-roof clapboard house staffed by servants. Her bedroom and that of her younger sister, Milly, were in the nursery, reached by the back stairs. Raised largely by their nursemaid, they rarely stepped into the kitchen. When Dorothy’s four children were growing up, she didn’t know how to cook anything except creamed potatoes and hot cocoa. Every night she brushed her hair a hundred strokes with a French boar-bristle brush. She joked to us about her height—four feet eleven and shrinking every year. To reach her high mahogany four-poster bed, inherited from her parents, she had to use a footstool upholstered in needlepoint.
She gave me tips in etiquette: how to file my nails, how to set a formal table, how to avoid acting “common.” When I was a slouching teenager, she showed me how she had been taught to walk across the room with a book balanced on her head. On my eighteenth birthday, she wrote to me: “To be happy it is necessary to be constantly giving to others. I do not mean to give in work alone—but all of your self. That means interest in other people—not only by affection—but by kindness.” She didn’t like the fashions of the 1970s—curtains of hair, tie-dyed T-shirts, and tight bell-bottoms—and once told me haughtily, “I never wore a pair of trousers in my life.”
For all that, she was spirited and funny—not at all the deferential young woman she had been brought up to be. After she and Ros returned from Europe, they attended friends’ weddings, along with traditional luncheons and balls, but six years later, they were still uninterested in the suitors who were interested in them. Chafing at the rigid social routines and not getting anywhere with the ineffectual suffrage work they had taken on, they didn’t hesitate when they heard about two teaching jobs in Colorado. The nine months my grandmother spent there seemed to have shaped her as much as her entire youth in Auburn. She was full of expansive admiration for the hardworking people of Elkhead, and when she faced great personal difficulties of her own, she called to mind the uncomplaining endurance she had witnessed in the settlers and their children.
She and Ros, like other easterners going west, were time travelers, moving back to the frontier. Although they ventured out after the first settlers, and went by train rather than covered wagon, their destination felt more like 1870 than 1916. They took with them progressive ideas about education, technology, and women—and postcards from their travels abroad. The homesteaders—motley transplants from across the country, Europe, and Russia—lived almost twenty miles north of Hayden. Effectively cut off from modern life by poverty and the Rocky Mountains, the pioneers found the two women as exotic as Dorothy and Ros found them.
Although World War I was looming, such a cataclysm was unimaginable to Americans who knew nothing of combat. Dorothy sometimes talked disparagingly about her grandfather’s brother, who had avoided service in the Civil War by paying a substitute to take his place—a common practice among wealthy families in the North. Just weeks before Dorothy and Ros left for Colorado, President Wilson averted war with Mexico. The prevailing spirit among the elites of Auburn, the industrialists of Denver, and the homesteaders of Elkhead was an exhilarating optimism about the future.
These people were swept up in some of the strongest currents of the country’s history: the expulsion of native tribes; the mining of gold, silver, and coal; the building of a network of railroads that linked disparate parts of the country and led to the settlement of the West; the development of rural schools; the entry of immigrants, African-Americans, and women into the workforce and the voting booth; even the origins of modern dance. Their lives were integral to the making of America, yet the communities they built, even their idioms, had all but vanished.
As I got to know the children and grandchildren of the people my grandmother told us about, I began to see her story as more than a curious family history. It was an alternative Western. There were strutting cowboys and eruptions of violence, but the records the residents left behind turned out to be full of their own indelible characters and plot twists. Dozens of descendants in Denver, Steamboat Springs, Hayden, Elkhead, and Oak Creek had kept their family memorabilia from that year. Rebecca Wattles, a rancher in Hayden and the granddaughter of the secretary of the Elkhead school board, showed me the 1920 yearbook of the first five graduates of the school, all of whom had been Ros’s students. They wrote: “It isn’t the easiest thing in the world to buck trail for two or three miles when the trail is drifted and your horse lunges and plunges; nor yet to ski, when the snow is loose and sticky. But, if as we are told, it is these things that develop grit, stick-to-it-ive-ness, and independence—well, the children who have gone to school in Elk Head, ought surely to have a superfluous amount of those qualities.”
One Sunday in early October 2009, my husband and I pulled up to an old white Georgian house on a cul-de-sac in Norwalk, Connecticut. We were greeted at the front door by Peter Cosel, one of Ros’s grandsons. He appeared to be mildly amused by my mission: a search for the letters that Rosamond had written from Elkhead. For a year I had been pestering him about going through the boxes he had in storage there. Peter called his brother Rob, also a lawyer, who arrived just as we finished a cursory examination of the attic treasures, including a trunk filled with papers dating back to the 1850s from a branch of the Underwood family that had settled in Chicago.
I sat on the floor in front of a sagging box, blackened on the bottom from mildew and eaten away in spots by a squirrel, and began to unpack it, setting aside a stack...
Product details
- ASIN : B004G8QNG2
- Publisher : Scribner; 0 edition (June 21, 2011)
- Publication date : June 21, 2011
- Language : English
- File size : 11646 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 306 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #342,783 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #529 in Biographies & Memoirs of Authors
- #618 in Travel (Kindle Store)
- #813 in History eBooks of Women
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Dorothy Wickenden is the author of "The Agitators" and the New York Times bestseller "Nothing Daunted," and she edited "The New Republic Reader." "Nothing Daunted" was a Times Book Review Editors' Choice, and named a best book of the year by The Washington Post, The Atlantic, Entertainment Weekly, and The Boston Globe. The executive edtior of The New Yorker, Wickenden also writes for the magazine and hosts its weekly podcast Politics and More. She and her husband live in Westchester, New York.
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The author of “Nothing Daunted,” Dorothy Wickendon, is the most fortunate of biographers. She had a treasure trove of letters, news clippings, and family remembrances on which to develop her story. Historical researchers and writers are ecstatic when finding such abundant material.
Her grandmother. Dorothy Woodruff, and close friend of eighty-three years, Rosamond Underwood, will be two of the most likable and adventurous women the reader will ever meet. In their late twenties, with open spirits and inquisitive minds, the two ladies signed on to be teachers in the remote high country of Colorado. They knew nothing of being a teacher or of subsisting in a turbulent environment, but overcame all the hurdles with their eager and resolute attitude.
The amazing thing about their comments is the absence of complaints or odious remarks about anything or anybody they encounter. It’s almost Pollyannaish in its reading, yet refreshing and delightful in our contemporary world of distasteful literary efforts.
Dorothy’s letters are filled with insight and amusing anecdotes. I squirmed when reading of the flea infestation found in the straw flooring of Parisian carriages. And I understand her perplexed look at Matisse paintings. She was opinionated and set in her ways, but in an agreeable and down-to-earth manner.
There are interesting glimpses at Isadora Duncan, Nijinsky, and Agnes de Mille, who, as a thirty-year-old dance instructor, wanted to see a real square dance. She came to Elkhead, witnessed and joined in the locals’ dance, and ended up in the sagebrush when she was pitched through the door at the end of a “crack the whip” step. Seven years later she danced the lead in her ballet, “Rodeo,” to Aaron Copeland’s rousing score, crediting her trip to Elkhead as the inspiration.
There’s not a disagreeable character in story. Perhaps the most intriguing is Ferry Carpenter, a local lawyer, who hires the two women and becomes their guardian angel. He is about their age, kind and solicitous, and I sense a romantic entanglement never acted upon until Ros marries him after the death of her husband many years later.
This book is an uplifting look at the goodness in people, not only in Dorothy and Ros, but also in the people they encounter. That feeling of benevolence is extended to the author as she interviews the expanded group of family members from the early days of Elkhead, Hayden, and Oak Creek. Wickendon’s gift for language, passion for research, and painstaking construction of complex relationships will fascinate you.
Schuyler T Wallace
Author of TIN LIZARD TALES
Finding letters from her grandmother, author Dorothy Wickenden retells the story of how Dorothy Woodruff and her best pal Rosamund Underwood leave the safety of Auburn, New York to travel into the western wilds to serve as "schoolmarms" in a tiny school in Elkhead, Colorado. In the year they spend educating the youths, they experience a little drama, a little crime, a little romance, and lots of good natured socializing among the people they encounter. This is the west not seen in movies, one where automobiles are just starting to make their mark on the land, but dinner was provided by whatever game was killed that evening. Whenever Wickenden centers her story on these two remarkable women, the story compels you to read.
Occasionally, seemingly in order to flesh out the novel, Wickenden wanders away from Ros and Dot and then, sometimes the novel does drag down a bit. While the history of how the train reaches across the mountainous state of Colorado is interesting, it does tend to be a bit long and a little distracting from the narrative. However, on some of Wickenden's excursions, do little bits of wonderful facts slip out, including one wonderful remembrance of Harriet Tubman in her last days in Auburn.
This is such a wonderful book for many reasons. Auburn, being the center of social activism for decades, is a great setting for a story. The West is also equally a harsh, hard, and conquerable setting. But the true glimmer of this story is in Dot and Ros. You care about them, you care about how much they care about their students (many of them dirt poor), and you care about what happens to them in the future. You've never quite seen the west like this before. They were the original Thelma and Louise, but instead of "thieving" their way across the west, they educated it, and conquered it just the same.