A Letter in the Life: 18 February 1962

As Craftsbury Old Home Day approaches this weekend, we though that you might enjoy an unusual “Craftstory;” a letter from Augusta Crafts Dustin (1913-2005) to her mother, Helen (Paterson) Dustin (1881-1971).

February 18, 1962

Dear Mother,

“Jolly good” to talk with you last night!  Be nice to have been there.  I was going to do all sorts of worthwhile and necessary things after that and go to bed early; I did do a few very necessary things, although no French, and then went to Aida’s to deliver some groceries and got involved in T-V and the “Late-Late Show” and never got home until 1:30!  But nevertheless I awakened at a not too late morning hour, feeling almost cheerful and quite encouraged about life in general; and it occurred to me that although the New Year had gone badly for me, regardless of all my fine resolutions, there was no reason why My Own Year should not be a glad and gay one, and that here is a chance to start over; and that is just what I am going to do.

My birthday was observed! I was taken out to lunch, at nice place called The Red Lobster and had delicious curried shrimp.  Came time for desert and I didn’t want any but the others did and talked me into having strawberry pie and as we were waiting for it to come the soft background music suddenly began the Happy birthday air and I said facetiously why that must be for me! It swelled, in came the waitress bearing a little cake with a large burning sparkler in it and set it before me!  The music was terribly loud, the sparkler was terribly bright, I was terribly touched and the people turned around and looked and some sang and called Happy Birthday and I thought that sparkler would never burn out!  But wasn’t that gay? Then I came home and opened my present from Laura, a pair of beautifully soft leather footgear, lovely leather! And a couple of cards, read your letter again, then went out to the Helffensteins for the evening.  So wasn’t that a nice birthday?  The real reason I thought I ought to go to Rochester was because Edna had wanted to give me a birthday party, or so she had said and I thought she would be vexed with me if I didn’t even come at all.  But she apparently had given up the whole idea and wasn’t even there.  But because it gave me a good chance to call on Miss Todd, who by the way and of course asked for you; as did the Fairmans, also by the way and of course, and as usual.  Edna is so funny about my taking time to call on ELt and others when I am there.  It was not that I am so fascinating either, probably that she thinks she must be!

This was the day of the “ice dive.”  It was 9 above at 9:00 but was to warm up to 30, and that seemed all right even with a cold wind blowing off Lake Erie.  I mobilized all sorts of woolen layers and new heavy plastic sacks for my boots and knew I should bee all right.  Ed called me at about 11:00 to see whether my courage was high and I was not quite sure whether he wanted it to be or not; but it was and I told him if he wanted it not to be to say so and he didn’t.  The dive was to begin at 12:30, off Grand Island.  We arrived at 12:30, Ed all dressed in his Underwater Demolition gear and I in all my layers—haven’t been so warmly dressed since I went fishing with Laura and Cleo off Widby Island!   It was 13 [degrees]! we got to the place and found all sorts of cars but not a soul in sight.  We went into an ale house nearby and found that all that was ailing lack of ale.  It was packed with people, all male, except me, in all sorts and phases of dress and undress.  I found myself gazing directly at a man divesting himself of every stich and although I have no particular delicacy about such matters I thought I ought to look elsewhere, so I averted my eyes to the left and there was another just stepping out of his pants.  I modestly turned my back and found a third propping himself against a post while he removed his underthings.  Everywhere there were guns on the hip, cameras on the shoulder, aqualungs on the floor.  I was the only female in the whole room; even the barkeeper’s wife had not got there yet.  I put on my dark glasses!  For this episode there were two who were to do the dive and two standbys, also all kinds of assisting and supporting staff but only those four in “costume.”  First they removed every stitch, then they donned “wet suits,” then over that dry suits,” then they ensured the ceremony of “the seal.” Which means a method whereby the two parts of the dry suit are united in a water-tight way.  Then the face is covered with Vaseline, or cold cream, then rubber helmet is donned, then the mitts.  By that time the individual is almost unrecognizable; and only the Adonis type should participate in such a venture because there is something about rubber which is very revealing.  Finally the heroes were accoutered; the Sheriff’s Men adjusted their holsters; the helpers picked up the lungs and flippers; the Doctor picked up his little black bag, and we all sallied forth to the ice, making our way down a sort of pier, with open water lapping coldly on each side (I tried not to look).  We assembled at the hole.  It was just the tiniest little hole, hardly looked big enough for even me, though I did not try it for size!  The T-V man was snapping, both photos and commands; the Press was snapping and all sorts of friends were snapping.   By that time even a few “camp followers” had arrived and they were snapping too (worse than at Niagara Falls—I think I was the only one who did not have either a camera or a job.  One nice home touch I thought was an old patchwork quilt on which was the aqualungs lay and a large bath towel.  It was all still 13, or maybe it had dropped to 10, and the wind was blowing.  It was grey and the ice kept forming on the water at the hole and had to be cleared by one of the squad from time to time.  We stood around; the Heros were further equipped—weights around the waist, straps here and there, the lungs, the mouthpieces, the safety ropes, the guy-lines. Then the underwater lights were immersed (for testing?).  The Heros stood forth in full regalia, one in a yellow suit, one in a black, both with yellow lungs on their backs, one with a red face mask, one with a yellow, both with huge light blue flippers, which look especially incongruous on the snow.  No. 1 Hero lowered himself into the hole; then No. 2.  There was a little quiver of excitement, although I couldn’t see what the matter could be.  No. 2 reappeared with his light; No. 1 Sheriff whipped out his knife and severed the cord; No. 2 disappeared beneath the ice, leaving only rising bubbles and one fast moving rope.  They were gone, absolutely and completely gone, and the only clue to even the direction was the slant of the rope.  We stood gazing at the tiny hole.  “My god, you look cold” remarked a standby to me (McKenzie I think his name and quite a gay guy) he was all equipped to go under, except, of course for all of the added attachments, but hoped “to god” he wouldn’t have to.  There must always be two standbys ready to heave-to at a second’s notice in case of “trouble” beneath the ice; and any sort of trouble would indicate itself, as far as I can see, by nothing more than the movement of the rope.  I staunchly replied that I really was not cold at all, only my face; but then I thought if I really looked that bad (having looked around at several others who really did look awful and who had not been signed out for such a comment) I had better give up and go back to the refuge.  Ed had to stay incase of “trouble” so I scrambled back up the pier by myself and into the warmth of the alehouse.  They were to stay under for an hour (I am sure I do not know the point in that) so I settled myself to watch from the window.  I had a lovely time.  If I could have admitted to being “Mrs. […]” I am sure the Press would have given me an interview, but when I was forced to bashfully deny any such association they turned instead to the wife of Hero No. 1, Betty by name, asking her (of course) what she would give her husband for dinner tonight.  […] The oddest assortment of people go to these things, it’s fascinating!

After only about a half hour, standing at my window, telling Sheriff’s Man No, 1 that I should think his ears would be cold in that ridiculous hat, I suddenly saw a flash of yellow, and there sure enough was our Hero “surfacing” followed by our other Hero.  I hadn’t even had time to go out to observe! I couldn’t imagine what could have happened because it certainly wasn’t an hour but there seemed to be no special commotion and Ed was not down on his knees administering first aid for an air embolus or even a case of frost bite.  They unhasped the aqualungs, disengaged the ropes and straps, picked up the patchwork blanket, placed the bath towel over the shoulder of No. 1, and came trooping across the ice and up the pier, leaving only the tender to cover up the hole with a large piece of plywood.  Then all of a sudden the room was full of cold.  People in off the ice, aqualungs covered in ice, rubbersuits dripping with ice, blue faces, Ed trying to look professional in his huge baggy demolition pants and ratty windbreaker and cap tied (with a hard knot) under his cold chin, dashing off to “upstairs to “go over the men.”  Then I learned what had happened.  One of the men had caught his suit on something abd had suddenly filled with water; so they had to come up; but Sheriff’s man No. 1 assured me that the dive was “a success.”  9I still don’t know why or why not, but let that pass.)  We had a drink with No. 1 later on, sitting in front of the “stove” and he was still shaking.  He is a railroad man, it seems, but a Sheriff’s Underwater Corps man on the side and the rest of the time he builds swimming pools (has built 85).

Then we stopped to call upon Ed’s cousins, [… ] They have invited us for dinner two weeks hence but Ed will think of some excuse if he can I am sure.  And I am invited (with Ed of course) for swimming in the Michel’s swimming pool next summer (Betty even had a picture of it in her billfold!).  I can hardly wait for summer!  I did tell you, didn’t I, that I bought new wool slacks for the occasion?  I like them very much—even Laura will approve!  And now those old things which I had ten years ago can go into our next rug!  We do need a touch of black don’t we?

Love A