To start, I wanted to confirm that events she wrote about in her letters were accurate in her telling, so I checked details on the Internet. Everything I read that addressed her story contradicted what Etta had written and what I knew about her. And the more research I did, the more discrepancies accumulated. I decided that I needed to do in-depth research on documents and texts located in archives in Alaska, so in 2003, I obtained a grant from the Alaska Humanities Forum to travel there. After that, I made four more trips at my own expense.
My search took me to the National Archives, the Aleutian/Pribilof Islands Association, the Loussac Library, and the University of Alaska, all in Anchorage. I uncovered more material at the Elmer E. Rasmuson Library, University of Alaska Fairbanks. I pored over Congressional records, Bureau of Indian Affairs records, archival documents, newspapers, and Australian and American texts. I interviewed and corresponded with key people who were involved, directly or indirectly, with Etta’s story.
Etta was a prolific letter writer. Her engaging writing places the reader alongside Etta and her gold-prospector husband, Foster, when they lived, worked, and taught in remote Native communities—Athabascan, Yup’ik, Alutiiq, and Aleut—in Alaska in the 1920s,’30s, and’40s. Etta’s and Foster’s backgrounds were as diverse as the landscape of the Northland, but they were both conscientious and diligent workers. Hardship became part of their chosen way of life, and they embraced it. Their goal was not to change Native cultures; rather, as conveyed in her letters and other documents, it was to teach their students reading, math, and some domestic skills.
Etta’s language vernacular differed somewhat from today’s usage; for example, she used the word “Japs” because it was a commonly used term in the United States during World War II. I have edited her letters for clarity and relevance. Her letter writing depended on the random delivery of mail in remote Alaska villages, so sometimes she added postscripts after she had signed off and was waiting for the mail to arrive. Or, when the mailman arrived unexpectedly, she would hastily compose brief letters to be mailed immediately.
Etta also wrote a fascinating sixty-four-page manuscript in 1945 that was never published. It is full of facts and impressions that give the reader special insights into life in territorial Alaska. I have included excerpts from Etta’s manuscript throughout this book’s narrative. Likewise, in 1967, Foster’s prospecting partner and friend Frank Lundin wrote an unpublished manuscript, in which he described their experiences during Alaska’s gold rushes in the early 1900s. Excerpts from Lundin’s manuscript are also woven into the narrative.
The photos in the book are primarily from Etta’s collection. For the captions, I’ve used the information Etta wrote on the back of the photos. If there was no inscription, I gathered information from her letters and unpublished manuscript. Regarding the photos of Attu,I’ve used several of Etta’s pictures of the Aleut Natives to document these disappearing people.
I have created a Web site to accompany this book, where the reader may find further material on Etta’s story, and a schedule of author appearances and book signings: www.lastlettersfromattu.com.
This book portrays events as they happened to Etta and Foster Jones. Qualities we often hear about, such as resolve and courage, are qualities that defined Etta Schureman Jones. She was a pioneer in Alaska Native villages. She was a remarkable woman who survived profound adversity. She played a significant role in a pivotal but less-known event in America’s history.
Etta Schureman, age 4, Ellen (Nan) Schureman (Etta’s sister, and the author’s maternal grandmother), age 6, Vineland, New Jersey, 1883.
1
To Alaska
Etta Jones stood on the deck of the ship, staring across the gray water of the Pacific. It was July 14, 1942. Years ago, she had seen that ocean with different eyes. Twenty years earlier, she and her sister Marie had embarked on the adventure of a lifetime, traveling to the Last Frontier. Impetuous Marie soon returned to the East Coast, but Etta fell in love with the untamed spirit of Alaska and a man named Foster Jones.
Etta felt her chest tighten and her breathing quicken as she again became aware of hostile voices prattling in the background. For a moment, she considered paying rapt attention to their conversation. Although she didn’t know their language, she might be able to pick up on something that would tell her where the ship was going.
A curly strand of gray hair worked itself loose from the unkempt bun at the back of her head and began lapping at the side of her face. With her hands folded in front of her, Etta maintained her rigid posture. She didn’t react to the hair that had begun to obscure her view. She never turned her head or acted as if she were aware of the activity behind her.
It didn’t matter where they were going because there would be nothing there for her—nothing but memories of the life she had before that unthinkable day. She feared that day would be the only thing she could think of for the rest of her life. She was too numb to be concerned with whether the rest of her life would last for a few days or a few years, and she couldn’t decide if she cared. The images in her head blurred as the cold mist blew across her face.
Etta was paralyzed by shock and grief, but self-pity was something she didn’t spend time on. She could honestly look back on her life knowing she had lived vigorously, taking nothing for granted. She envisioned that life through the eyes of the relatives to whom she had faithfully composed so many letters over the years. Etta and Foster had made their home in some of the most remote and sparsely populated villages in the world. Yet, her correspondence was the diary of a content woman who always seemed right at home.
Etta didn’t know if she would be allowed to write another letter. She knew her loved ones would worry about what had happened to her, but she couldn’t see herself writing again, no matter what. Letters were about living and loving and being in that place where you knew you were meant to be. For the first time, she felt lost, like she had woken up a million miles from nowhere. How could you write a letter from “nowhere?”
Her mind drifted back to the happiest of those days, but every comforting thought was interrupted by the violence of her last few days. The sounds of the Natives’ screams and the sight of human blood on the snow would haunt her for years to come. Etta was scared. Her world had changed. The whole world had changed.
The ship on which Etta stood was on course for Japan. As the sky grew darker, one of the grimy soldiers used the blunt end of his bayonet to prod her into a stifling cabin below deck. She curled up on the ragged cot that was suspended from the ceiling by two chains like a hammock. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, but if she closed her eyes and concentrated on the motion of the water, she might be able to find rest in the memory of the last time she took a long voyage to an unfamiliar shore.
After high school graduation, Etta Schureman successfully completed course work at Connecticut State Normal College in New Britain, Connecticut, then taught in the primary grades for five years. While teaching, she became interested in the nursing field, so she enrolled in and graduated from the Pennsylvania Hospital Training School in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. She had applied her nurse’s training and been involved with industrial social work for fourteen years when Marie talked to her about going to Alaska.
Always adventurous, in 1922, Etta’s sister Marie had already lived in the West as well as on the East Coast, something that was rare for a single woman in the 1920s. Her teaching certificate had been the ticket she needed to get to Montana, some two thousand miles from her hometown of Vineland, New Jersey. Now in Yonkers, New York, she had a comfortable position and she enjoyed her students and colleagues, but she was thirty-nine years old and still single.
Some