Alaska Dogs and Iditarod Mushers Read online

  Nome in the early 1900s. The dark colored dog standing broadside to the photographer is Balto. Courtesy of Carrie M. McLain Memorial Museum.

  Kaasen quickly set off for Point Safety, but when he got there, he found his replacement, Ed Rohn, sleeping. Rather than wake Rohn up and wait for him to dress and harness his team, Kaasen decided to make the final dash to Nome himself.

  Balto ploughed through snowdrifts and fought high winds for more than three hours in the swirling, crystalline blackness. When the team arrived before dawn, there was no one to greet them — almost the whole town was sleeping.

  But relief and elation soon spread through Nome like the golden rays of the dawn itself. The diphtheria epidemic was checked! The children of Nome were saved!

  Kaasen and Balto became instant heroes. By daybreak, reporters and photographers had swarmed the exhausted team, asking questions, wanting details. What kind of dog was Balto? What was his racing record?

  A French film crew that happened to be in town asked Kaasen to re-enact his pre-dawn arrival. He obliged, driving the team outside town, then turning around and charging back down Front Street. The citizens of Nome went wild, cheering as if the precious serum were just arriving!

  By the time Seppala and Togo showed up, no one was quite as interested in their story, even though their team had traveled 169 miles to pick up the serum and had carried it almost twice as far as any other team — 91 miles! Kaasen's and Balto's team had traveled 53 miles to pick up the serum and had carried it for only 53 miles. But Kaasen and Balto had the spotlight — there was no room in the winner's circle for Seppala and Togo. The contributions of all the other teams were ignored.

  Seppala was understandably miffed. For starters, he didn't believe Kaasen's story about not wanting to wake Ed Rohn. He suspected that Kaasen, knowing that news of Nome's plight had captured the world's attention, had simply seen an opportunity and taken it. Why not let Rohn sleep and victoriously deliver the serum himself? There was no glory in being the second-from-the-last man to carry the serum. Not that this is what went through Kaasen's mind. But it might have been, though he later denied it.

  To make matters worse, reporters had mistakenly credited Balto with Togo's accomplishments. Now, Balto was the super Siberian — the veteran racer, skilled navigator, loyal leader that never stopped pulling. The distorted stories had been transmitted around the world. Balto was the toast of New York, London, Tokyo.

  But even that wasn't what upset Sepp the most. Togo had run himself to exhaustion on the relay and had badly injured a leg. He would never race again or be able to go on a long run. He would have to retire as Sepp's best leader ever. The sad realization hit Sepp like an icy snowball to the heart. But Balto's celebrity would soon carry him far beyond his simple world into the vast, unimaginable unknown.

  __________________

  *From The Complete Siberian Husky by Lorna B. Demidoff and Michael Jennings.

  Chapter Three

  Goodbye, Alaska

  Sol Lesser loved making movies.

  The young Hollywood producer had gotten his first job in the movie business as a boy, working at his father's nickelodeon, one of the country's first movie theaters. Sol sold ice cream, helped the cashier, operated the projection machine and ushered while the audience — mostly kids — watched short silent films for a nickel — 10 or 12 of them back-to-back: chase scenes, bank robberies, five-alarm fires.

  Movies were in Lesser's blood, and the friendly, talkative Californian loved a good story, especially a good adventure story. By 1925, Lesser had made all kinds of short films and one blockbuster — Oliver Twist, starring the impish child actor Jackie Coogan — the Macaulay Culkin of his day — and based on the famous Charles Dickens’ novel about the adventures of a poor orphan boy in 19th Century London. The full-length film had made a whopping $2 million, enabling Lesser to buy a chain of new theaters that were many times larger than his father's tiny, storefront nickelodeon.

  News reports of the serum run immediately inspired Lesser to send a cablegram to Kaasen: Would he be willing to travel with the dogs to make a short educational film? Lesser wanted the team to re-enact the serum run in the majestic, snow-covered Cascade Mountains of Washington state.

  But the invitation wasn't Kaasen's to accept. So he gave the message to Seppala, who after all, was the dogs’ owner. But Seppala was ambivalent — he had mixed feelings about the offer.

  On the one hand, letting Kaasen and the dogs make a movie would make them even more famous than they were already. On the other hand, it would get them out of his sight — at least for awhile. Seppala had kept his disappointment over the serum run to himself, but he had paid a price: It was eating him up inside. He quickly agreed to lease the team to Lesser for 10 weeks for $200, plus traveling expenses. Kaasen would go along as handler.

  But the Bering Strait was frozen, and tiny Nome was icebound. So Kaasen, his wife, Anna, and the 12-dog team set off by sled for Nenana, a trip that normally took two weeks. But under the terms of Lesser's contract, the dogs had to be delivered in perfect condition — there could be no injuries or deaths along the way. So this time, Kaasen drove the team at a normal pace, stopping for the night at small native villages and taking short, frequent rest stops.

  At Nenana, the team caught the train to Anchorage, where they boarded The Alaska Steamship Company's steamship Alameda for Seattle. It was Balto's first real adventure! The run to Nenana had been his longest ever — a month-long romp across long stretches of glittering white flatness and up and down mountains. And the boat trip was thrilling! He and the other dogs had never been at sea before or seen whales, walruses, seals, glaciers — though some of them, including Balto, did get seasick. (Don't ask.) That was no fun! But they ate well — fresh salmon stew with rolled oats, rice or cornmeal. And they were petted lavishly by the captain and crew, who treated them like prized pets, not common work dogs. But where were they going? What lay ahead? And would they ever return to Alaska?

  Chapter Four

  Hello, Seattle!

  On March 22, the ship arrived in Seattle, a city of 340,000 people on the sparkling coastal waters of Puget Sound, an eerily deep bay of the Pacific Ocean.

  Beneath the sound's deceptively smooth surface, menacing creatures lurked — octopuses with six-foot-long arms, 10-ton killer whales that sent shock waves rolling when they breached.

  The city was watery and mysterious, too. So much water surrounded the downtown that it seemed like an island, and in the distance loomed the spectacular, dream-like Cascade Mountains. Balto could see snowy Mt. Rainier, the second-highest peak in North America at 14,410 feet — after Alaska's Mt. McKinley. (Balto had never actually seen Mt. McKinley — it was even farther from Nome than Nenana — but Togo had — once, on Alaska's first big relay race to save the life of a banker.)

  The dogs were eager to get grooving, jerking and pulling at their harnesses and jumping all over Kaasen. They were sled dogs, after all, and they wanted to run — to the distant mountains, the only snow they could see anywhere. There was no snow in wet, rainy Seattle.

  But when the dogs scampered across the boat's gangplank, they were engulfed by a tidal wave of reporters, photographers and cheering fans — many more than had welcomed them in tiny Nome after the serum run.

  Flashbulbs popped. Children chanted: “Balto, Balto, Balto.” Kaasen stepped forward, dressed for the occasion in a squirrel fur parka with a wolverine fur hood, wolverine leggings and walrus hide boots. In his sing-songy, Norwegian-accented English, the ruggedly handsome frontiersman shyly answered questions about the serum run. The Boy Scouts showed Kaasen a telegram from their national headquarters instructing them to help the team in any way they could. And Balto was presented with the key to the city — in the shape of a bone!

  “For Balto, there was the first sight of a big city, a first ride in an automobile and everywhere hundreds of outstretched hands eager to touch the famous dog,” the Seattle Times wrote in a story the next day. “He accep
ted it all with modest dignity becoming to a dog who has acquired such fame.”

  But the team had work to do. Lesser's film crew was waiting to whisk them to Mt. Rainier National Park, a vast wilderness area about 50 miles southeast of Seattle. The entourage left by truck that very evening — the happy dogs once again barking, yipping and howling as they got closer and closer to snow!

  Betty Ann and Shirley Gene Quackenbush on Balto's arrival at Seattle.

  Courtesy of Special Collections, Cleveland University Library.

  Chapter Five

  Back to Alaska, Sort of

  Mt. Rainier National Park had been set aside as a national park in 1899. The pristine wonderland was the country's fifth oldest national park — after Yellowstone, Yosemite, General Grant (now part of Kings Canyon) and Sequoia. The huge park was like a chunk of Alaska — one of the best chunks — with old-growth forests, coldly silent glaciers, tremendous snowfields and summer meadows bursting with wildflowers. Small lakes sparkled amid the dense forests like hidden gems — emeralds, sapphires, lapis lazuli, turquoise. The truck made its way to Paradise, in the park's center, where 20 feet of snow blanketed the landscape like a fluffy quilt.

  Paradise was one of the snowiest place on earth, with more than 52 feet of snow a year! Guests at the Paradise Inn clomped around on snowshoes and broke trails through the powder on cross-country skis — except on days when there were avalanche warnings.

  The huskies were in paradise, all right. The beauty and the silence inspired them to sing the husky songs for which they were so famous — something they hadn't done since leaving Alaska. Their high-pitched voices echoed through the tall Douglas fir trees, which bristled up from the mountain plateau like spears, their branches bent and snow-laden.

  For the film crew, shooting the re-enactment of the serum run was hard work. But for the dogs, it was non-stop fun. Kaasen hooked the dogs up to their beloved sled and mushed off into the wilderness. Then he turned the team around and mushed back toward the cameraman, who had his camera rolling.

  But sometimes the sky would turn heavy and the sun would disappear, or Kaasen would forget not to look directly at the camera. So the crew had to call for take after take, which was fine with the dogs, who got to run their hearts out — for the first time in weeks!

  The were blissed out, completely happy just to be alive and to be huskies. They were happy beyond a gazillion dog bisquits, happy beyond a gazillion pounds of frozen salmon to be back in their familiar world of sun, snow and sub-zero temperatures.

  But not for long.

  Chapter Six

  Balto Goes Hollywood

  The dogs had hoped to make the white Washington wilderness their new home. But within days, they were back in gray, rainy Seattle, where they were herded onto another train. Heading south, they soon left the mountain behind them — forever.

  The farther south the dogs traveled, the less likely it seemed they would ever see snow again. And train travel was getting old fast. In fact, it was no fun at all. The dogs were separated from one another on the trip, packed up individually in crates set in a stuffy, unrefrigerated cargo car.

  In California, the landscape became lush and sweet-smelling, with field after field of orange trees, lemon trees, grapefruit trees, red and green grapes, lettuces, cucumbers and avocados, bright red strawberries and tomatoes. Fields of apricots, melons, olives and asparagus ran together like squares in a patchwork, stretching for 450 miles down a long, wide valley, with towering mountains to the west and east.

  California was one big salad bowl! In Alaska, fresh vegetables usually were had only in dreams. There were none in winter, and few in summer — the growing season was extremely short, and people were too busy mining, hunting and fishing to plant gardens.

  But this land was something new! California was alive with color — teeming with it, screaming with it — like the ever-changing patterns in a kaleidoscope. Fresh fruits and vegetables could be had year-round, and backyard gardens were little Edens abloom with vines and flowers.

  At last, the team arrived in sun-drenched Los Angeles, land of swaying palm trees, golden beaches and glamorous movie stars.

  In 1920, Los Angeles had been the country's tenth largest city — but by 1925 it was closing in on fifth place fast, behind New York, Chicago, Philadelphia and Detroit.

  The city's young motion picture industry was booming. Each month, more than 10,000 new residents poured into the city of nearly 1 million: actors, writers, directors, publicity agents, movie industry wannabes.

  Others were attracted by the near-perfect weather, which was almost always sunny and balmy — sun-kissed, like the state's oranges. Thousands of people from other parts of the country visited Los Angeles on vacation, hoping to see movie stars and their palatial mansions. Los Angeles was a city of dreamers, hopefuls, up-and-comers and success stories.

  At 35, Sol Lesser was definitely a success story. The young producer and theater owner knew how to make things happen — how to bring together the many elements needed to make a movie. He could take an idea and make it real, see a movie through from conception to completion.

  So Lesser produced an elaborate reception for the team when it arrived in Los Angeles on April 2 — this one even more overwhelming than the one in Seattle. The city's elite turned out and Kaasen and the dogs were treated like dignitaries. Balto was given another “bone to the city,” which meant nothing to him, of course. His regular diet was fish; he would have preferred a frozen salmon. He sniffed at the bone politely, then left it.

  He didn't have much response to Clara Horton, a glamorous movie star, either, when she placed a collar of white roses around his thickly furred neck.

  As for Kaasen, when Miss Horton kissed him, he blushed deeply, saying, “I was never treated like this before.”

  But everything was unfamiliar, strange. Kaasen and the dogs experienced culture shock, a feeling of confusion and anxiety that can set in when a person — or dog — is first exposed to a culture or environment very different from his or her own. With its large population — almost 700 times the size of Nome's — movie culture and dry, warm weather, Los Angeles was a double-whammy: It turned their world upside down, like a roller coaster ride on an alien planet.

  “It all seems strange here,” Kaasen quietly told a reporter in an interview in his suite at the luxurious Biltmore Hotel. “The crowds, the buildings, the traffic — and the climate, it is so different. It's strange to Balto, too, and the other dogs. We must go back north soon.”

  Dressed in a loose-fitting — and unfashionable — plain black suit, Kaasen looked out of place in the lavish surroundings. Standing by a tall, richly draped window, he looked down fearfully at the busy street eight stories below. “I won't dare to cross the street alone for several days,” he mused. “With all those automobiles and streetcars, it is a wonder you don't kill more people than you do. Alaska is safer than this country.”

  And where was Kaasen's pal Balto? Lesser had put him up in a fancy room at the Biltmore, too! The other dogs were staying in swank kennels on Lesser's Hollywood movie lot, waiting to complete, Balto's Race to Nome.

  The movie took two more weeks to finish. One day during a break, the dogs were trucked to Third Street Elementary School, where Lesser's son, Bud, 9, and sister, Marjorie, 7, were students.

  “It was a nice day — not raining,” Bud would recall many years later, when he was in his eighties. “The school went outside to see Balto — about 200 kids. I was so jealous of those dogs getting all the attention — and here I was, lost in the crowd! But walking back to class, I was the hero. Everyone knew the dogs were there because of my father.”

  The dogs loved being petted by so many pairs of loving, little hands, and Kaasen was gaining confidence in his new environment. But deep down, the whole team felt deeply unsuited to the California lifestyle. Big cities and warm weather were getting old fast — just like train rides — despite all the luxury and attention. They wanted to go home — and they though
t they soon would.

  Chapter Seven

  What Serum Run Is This?

  Balto's Race to Nome was only about 20 minutes long, but it was a smash. The whole country wanted to see it. As Lesser said, “Man and dog were fresh from the frozen north and their heroic performance was still fresh in the minds of the nation.”

  Kaasen and Balto attended the film's premier at one of Lesser's Los Angeles theaters. Then the film was released nationwide, along with a press release so hyperbolic (HIGH-purr-bah-lik), or exaggerated, it would have embarrassed the dogs had they been able to read it!

  “It is unnecessary to build up interest in Balto or Kaasen,” Lesser assured theater owners in the press release. “It is only necessary to arouse discussion of the fact that you have obtained this picture for your theater. The deed of Balto and Kaasen has gripped the imagination of every thinking adult in America. Now it is within your power to let them see the man, the dogs and the actual saving of Nome re-enacted before their eyes! No more gripping drama has ever been thrown upon the screen than the picturization of the historic exploit of a canine hero!”

  The re-enactment “dwarfs fiction,” wrote Lesser. In fact, it was fiction. In Lesser's version, Balto not only saved the team from running into ice water on the serum run, he saved Kaasen's life when the driver fell through the ice!

  According to Lesser, Balto wasn't Kaasen's first choice as leader — or his second, third or even fourth choice! Balto was promoted to the lead position only after the team encountered a fierce blizzard and the lead dog — unnamed in Lesser's press release — “hesitated, then stopped.”