Tale of a Tub

Mrs. Dorothy Douglas has never been in business, but she has an instinct for it.

Last spring, when she inherited $100, she looked around for something to invest her money in. In Annsville Creek, N. Y. she spied just the thing: a 22-foot motorboat, which she was sure could be flossied up and converted into a profit.

In 1934, the boat had done service as a flower tub on the lawn in front of a Lake Oscawana hotel. A Scandinavian carpenter bought her for $5, emptied out a petunia bed, replanked her and launched her in nearby Annsville Creek. He sold her for a neat profit. Mrs. Douglas, who is short, roly-polyish and handy with tools, was sure she could do the same thing. She bought the boat, christened it Dottie.

The Douglases live in an apartment over the Busy Bee Beauty shop, in Manhattan. On weekends, keeping an eye out for possible customers, they began puttering around the creek. One day they had a nasty shock. Annsville Creek, starts in a sand and gravel pit, flows under a railroad bridge and into the Hudson River. The Douglases discovered that Dottle's cabin was too high to get under the bridge.

At that point a prospective customer showed up with an offer of $800--if he liked the way Dottie acted. He wanted a demonstration on the river. The frantic Douglases wrote to the New York Central Railroad. The bridge, formerly a draw, had long since been permanently spiked down. Over it the Central ran such crack trains as the Twentieth Century Limited.

Nevertheless, the Douglases wanted to get through. Since Annsville Creek is a navigable body of water, they were within their rights. Would the company please raise the bridge?

On an appointed day, with the prospective customer aboard, they chugged down the creek, only to be met by a railroad official who proclaimed that, as they had not given the required 96 hours' notice, he was sorry but the bridge would not budge. Back to her mooring sputtered Dottie. Away vanished the customer. Down sat Mrs. Douglas to write a letter to the War Department, which has jurisdiction over inland waterways. The War Department wrote back, promising to remind the New York Central of its obligations. All that Mrs. Douglas had to do was give due notice when she wanted the bridge tipped up. Mrs. Douglas took note.

On a midsummer Sunday, Mr. & Mrs. Douglas, Mrs. Douglas' mother, their daughter Dorothy and a friend, all caparisoned in yachting caps, boarded Dottie, prut-prutted down Annsville Creek. This time on the railroad bridge stood a silent group of 30 men: the division engineer and his assistant, the superintendent of bridges, a lawyer, electricians, signal crew, bridge and section-gang men. The waiting section hands seized clawbars, heaved at the rails. Finally the track was taken up and Dottie flirted triumphantly through into the Hudson. At Bear Mountain they went ashore and had sodas to celebrate. The silent gang rebound the tracks, replaced fishplates, spikes, stood by to rip them up again when Dottie returned. Pretty soon she did. Up came the rails, up the creek chugged Dottie.

Forgotten was the customer. The Douglases devoted the rest of the summer to exercising their rights. Eight times, on weekends they hup-pupped out of Annsville Creek. At each outing, a sweating, silent railroad crew was on hand. So was a crowd of cheering spectators. The Douglases were invited to appear on a We the People program, which they did. Fan mail poured in, including an anonymous note on New York Central stationery which said that the writer had worked for the railroad for years and he thought the Douglases were doing a fine job.

It was the most interesting summer the Douglases had ever put in. At its end they looked forward with pleasure to another. But fortnight ago a blow fell. The railroad had petitioned the War Department for a change in their ruling on the Annsville Creek drawbridge. Secretary Stimson ruled that henceforth 30 days' notice would be required, that there would be no openings on Saturdays, Sundays, legal holidays or the day before or the day after, that the bridge could be raised only between the hours of 11 a.m. and 2 p.m.; and that no boat could have it raised more than twice a month.

The Douglases' defiant decision last week was that Dottie could not be shaved off to fit under the bridge. Mrs. Douglas still hoped to sell her, looked around for a customer who could moor Dottie somewhere else. She was sure that Secretary Stimson was "a rich guy who probably owns railroad stock." For more formal quotation she gave out: "I really feel that Washington bowed to the railroads."

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