NEW YORK: Tale of a Tub

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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.