The Surprising Story Of Dorothy Bell

Against your goodwill, we had a war, but, Dorothy is
  really a friendship doll, even after these many years.
She shows children how it is important to love, not hate."
-Masahiko Kohno

Effanbee Doll

(1920's)

In the early 1920's my husband was appointed pastor to
the Methodist church in Albany, Texas, a beautiful little town
nestled in a valley surrounded by rolling green hills.
In 1926, a Methodist minister's wife was accepted
as an unpaid associate.

Predictably, I was asked to give the children of our parish
some much-needed religious instruction.  One Monday afternoon,
the children were invited to gather to help organize a Junior 
Missionary Society.  They came, loaded with pent-up energy,
ready for almost anything but religious worship.

Before attempting to convert children who preferred roller-skating
and running games, I directed a play period on the large grassy lawn
of the church.  After a short play period, the children filed into the
Sunday school classroom.

They were ready to get acquainted with me and to test me, so I
found myself unable to curb their restless wriggling. Realizing I
must find a definite project to occupy their minds, I dismissed 
 them and hurried home to search for material.

That evening as I read the newspaper, my attention was drawn to
a boxed message. The World Friendship for Children invited children's
groups to join in sending a boatload of dolls from American children
to the children of Japan.  The idea seemed perfect for girls,
but would the boys be interested?

The following Monday I found my little group had doubled.
We played together first, then sang songs, and I presented a short
Bible message.  Finally, I presented the idea of showing our
friendship to Japan by sending a doll to their children.
Not only were they willing to participate, they were willing
to contribute their allowances to buy the doll.

Girls from the Boston YWCA were among the many American children
who sent friendship dolls to the children of Japan. 
(1926)
Photograph courtesy Alan Scott Pate Collection/Natural History Museum

At the next meeting, the children brought their nickels and pennies.
I bought the prettiest doll on the store's shelf.  She was dressed in 
traveling clothes, neat dress, pretty hat, shoes, and socks.
When I presented my purchase to the class, she captured
their hearts.  A mischievous boy raised his hand and darted
from the room.  In seconds, he returned with a tiny chair
from the nursery.

"This is just right for the doll to sit in," he said, his eyes bright.
"Now the doll needs a name."

His interest quieted my uneasiness that the boys might not participate,
and after a great deal of discussion, we named her Dorothy Bell Albany.

Through the reports of their children, parents became interested and
many offered to help. Our project came to the attention of Lizzie Dodge,
an expert seamstress who made most of the baby clothes in Albany.
Handicapped from birth by lower limbs that hadn't developed,
Miss Lizzie navigated by crawling.  This determined lady
presented our class with an exquisite wardrobe for Dorothy Bell.

Though I encouraged the children's participation in dressing the doll
and procuring her passport, I placed the greatest emphasis on the fact
that our doll was a symbol of love and friendship towards
the children of Japan.

"If we grow up always thinking of foreign people with love," I told
them earnestly, "war would be impossible."

As the day of Dorothy's departure neared, the children planned
a farewell party.  Parents brought ice cream and cake, expressing
gratitude that their offspring had become involved in a project of love.
Since the children had become attached to Dorothy Bell, I waited until
all had gone home before I wrapped the doll for her overseas journey.
She joined 13,000 other little messengers of peace.

In the weeks that followed, the children asked often,  "Have you
had a letter from any of the Japanese children yet?"
And time after time, I had to disappoint them.

But one morning, the mail contained an unusual round package
with a strange return address-from Japan.  Eagerly, I opened it
and found beautiful, hand-painted pictures.  Before the next
meeting, I sent word to all that we had heard from the
Japanese children, and all the children came to see the pictures.

"The colors are beautiful!" one little girl exclaimed.  They look
like crayon colors, but, they're a lot brighter."

The children took turns sharing the pictures with their public
school classmates and teachers, and the friendship idea expanded.

Time flew by, and the delightful experience slipped into my past.
Tension grew between nations, and soon America was at war with Japan.
I wondered if I had underestimated the value of building world friendship.

In 1943, Japanese military authorities ordered all the friendship dolls
destroyed.  They were removed from honored niches, pierced or smashed
with bamboo spears, doused with gasoline and set afire.

But a few defied the order and hid the dolls away.

Twenty-eight years passed, and I celebrated my 80th birthday.
One afternoon the phone rang, and a strange woman spoke to me.

"Mrs. Boyd?  This is Elsa Turner, social editor of The Albany News.
Do you remember mailing a doll to Japan back in 1926, as a friendship
gesture to Japanese children?"

"I remember it well.  Why?"

Else Turner's explanation answered the question that had haunted
me for over half a century.   Had our long-ago gesture of friendship
been a waste?   Had it accomplished anything?
The answer was a heartening "Yes!"

From Mrs. Turner I learned the story:  In March of 1978, a Japanese
reporter received a tip that a mysterious and very old doll had been
discovered in a closet at Takedate Primary School in Aomori, Japan.

Stored along with the passport, written in both Japanese and English,
with American and Japanese flags stamped on it.  The paper had yellowed
and cracked with age, but the writing was clear.

Along with the passport was a letter I'd written to the Japanese children.
Intrigued, the reporter, Masahiko Kohno, sent a copy of the passport, the
letter, and two color photos of the doll to the newspaper in Albany, Texas.
His letter asked for the history behind the dolls-especially who had
sponsored the idea and what they had hoped to accomplish.

Not long after the call from Elsa Turner, I received a letter from Mr. Kohno.

"When Dorothy was found, I wrote a story for our evening news show," wrote
 the correspondent for the Aomori Bureau of Japanese Broadcasting Corporation.
"Also, the story was broadcast on our nationwide network.  We had quite a good
response from our audience.  The story warmed the hearts of people from here.
We had many letters and calls from people who remembered their friendship dolls."

Kohno had included two color photos of the doll, and I hurried to my souvenir
collection to compare them to my own black-and-white photo. 
Indeed, the recently discovered doll was Dorothy Bell Albany.

Once more, I returned to the letter from Masahiko Kohno.

"Schoolchildren at Takedate Primary School were surprised and excited
to find Dorothy was a special gift sent by your Albany people to the
children of Japan more than 50 years ago," he wrote.  "She is now
a treasure in the school.   Against your goodwill, we had a war, but,
 Dorothy is really a friendship doll, even after these many years.
She shows children how it is important to love, not hate."

Alone in my apartment, I smiled.   After 50 years, I knew that our
gesture of friendship had paid dividends.  Thirteen thousand dolls had
been shipped, and one doll was given to each school.  Each child had
been touched by the message that American children loved them
and desired peace between their nations.

Our gesture of friendship had spread like ripples from a rock,
dropped into a pool of water, creating ever-widening circles
 that touch more lives than anyone will ever know.

"The Surprising Story Of Dorothy Bell"
By Mary Boyd as told to Etta Lynch
From the book, "Good Old Days 
Remembers Bringing In The Sheaves"
Edited by Ken and Janice Tate
House of White Birches
(2000)