And really, who's better at keeping things quiet than a librarian?
Seber was tasked with safeguarding details of the project from spies, political enemies, and sometimes her own bumbling staff. These numbskulls would leave classified documents laying out in the open, take out research books from the Santa Fe public library under their own names, and generally run their mouths off so often that she wound up working 75-hour weeks keeping the world's most dangerous weapon hidden.
Unfortunately, her hard work was rewarded with accusations of being a dirty communist for daring to be liberal-minded (she had once raised funds for anti-fascism during the Spanish Civil War, and had chaired a League of Women Voters in Urbana, Illinois). She wasn't booted off the project, but when it was over, she was doomed to become a production assistant at a theater, as her political affiliations kept her from getting another high-profile librarian job. Though becoming an actual librarian after being a bookish James Bond for so long probably would've driven her insane with boredom.
"Danger" and "knitting" are not words that go together in a sentence, unless that sentence is "Grandma didn't know the danger she was in, knitting in that dinosaur park while strapped to that pillar of meat." Face it, nobody's going to look at your new scarf and say, "Oh look, how brave!"
However, during times of war, ladies would occasionally make danger-knitting their lives. Crafty spies realized long ago that codes could be knitted into your average baby bonnet, turning local housewives into domestic James Bonds. They would do things like count train cars and monitor their comings and goings, sneak plans for bombs and aircraft, and generally be around to code messages while listening in on important plans, because who suspects the knitter? This allowed grandmotherly spies like Molly "Old Mom" Rinker to sit on a hill, knitting and observing British troops, all the while passing her eagle-eyed observations straight to George Washington.
This explains the famous myth of Washington's woolen teeth.
But by the time the big wars came along, knitting spies had kicked it up a stitch or two. Nobody suspected Phyllis Latour Doyle, knitter extraordinaire, who parachuted into Normandy during WWII, to be a secret agent working for Britain. Once there, she simply grabbed a bike and rode into enemy territory with a sunny smile and a helpful disposition, chatting with German soldiers like they were old neighbors. When she heard some juicy military intelligence gos, she used a variety of codes from her spy lexicon of about 2,000 knotted messages, which she would put into a silk yarn that she would wrap around a knitting needle. That needle would go into a flat shoelace, which she used to tie up her hair and simply bike right out of enemy territory again. That's artsy and crafty.
Which just goes to show that Philip J. Fry was right: Never trust grandmother types during times of war. They'll stab your right in the back with those needles.
You can challenge Dawn to a fist fight @dawnsmash, or do the same thing but with Dungeons & Dragons over on Discord.
Learn every stitch known to mankind so you too can knit wartime secrets!
If you loved this article and want more content like it, please support our site with a visit to our Contribution Page.
Also check out 15 Terrifying Jobs It's Shocking Anyone Has the Balls to Do and 4 Common Jobs That Are Way More Dangerous Than You Think.
Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out 6 Jobs It's Shockingly Fun to Watch People Be Awesome At, and watch other videos you won't see on the site!
Follow our new Pictofacts Facebook page, and we'll follow you everywhere.