“Endurance, Fidelity, Intelligence.”
Centennial of a pandemic AVERTED!
For those of us in the 48 contiguous states, thoughts about Alaska tend to run hot and cold, probably mostly cold, if you’ll pardon the expression. Frankly, we don’t think often about Alaska unless we’re planning a trip there – well worth it! – or a major Alaska event captures our momentary attention.
My purpose today is telling just such a story, one that played out a century ago, routing international interest toward isolated Nome, Alaska, population, 3,639. In 1925, Nome had less than half this number: 1,400 residents. By comparison, during the gold rush, 1896-’99, Nome somehow accommodated 28,000 people.
In 1925, Alaska was still a U.S. territory, purchased from Russia almost six decades earlier for two cents per acre (even cheaper than the Louisiana Purchase, at about four cents per acre). After the gold rush, a quarter-century passed before Alaska’s next big story reached “the states” – a pandemic! (More accurately, a pandemic averted.) It’s a dramatic tale, told in novels and non-fiction books, children’s stories, TV programs, and movies, with various degrees of accuracy as one might expect, including productions by Steven Spielberg and Walt Disney Pictures.
In a nutshell: In January 1925, a diphtheria outbreak threatened to devastate Nome and kill hundreds if not thousands if antitoxin medicine didn’t arrive. Without essential medicine, mortality rates were estimated to range from 75% to 99.99%. Due to extreme weather conditions, antitoxin couldn’t be delivered via train, ship, or plane… so it had to be carried by dogsled. Heroic dog teams relayed antitoxin 674 miles, from Nenana to Nome, braving perilous topography, gale force winds, -85 degree temperatures, and sustained whiteouts. Lifesaving serum arrived in Nome within 127.5 hours (5+ days), without a single broken vial.
This miraculous relay effort involved 20 mushers and about 150 sled dogs. The most prominent name given to this accomplishment is “the Great Race of Mercy,” something commemorated annually in the Iditarod Sled Dog Race, although the route isn’t quite the same. In the aftermath of this journey, mushers and their dogs became heroes in newspaper headlines throughout the U.S. and on the emerging medium of radio. “Balto,” lead dog for the final 55-mile stretch into Nome, became a canine celebrity, with statues in Central Park, New York City, and in downtown Anchorage.
Meanwhile, “Togo’s” team covered the route’s most dangerous sections and ran the farthest, 261 miles. Although Togo didn’t receive as much initial fame, more attention has been directed recently toward his contribution toward the mission’s success. For example, Togo now has a statue in New York’s Seward Park; in 2011, Togo was named history’s most heroic animal by TIME Magazine.
On Balto’s Central Park statue, the inscription reads, “Dedicated to the indomitable spirit of the sled dogs that relayed antitoxin 600 miles over rough ice, across treacherous waters, through Arctic blizzards, from Nenana to the relief of stricken Nome in the winter of 1925.” Three additional words appear below: “Endurance, Fidelity, Intelligence.”
Like the sled dogs, ALL mushers were heroic, with one being particularly noteworthy. Leonhard Seppala (1877-1967) was born in northern Norway, descended from Finnish peasants and fishermen. Toward the end of the gold rush, Seppala emigrated to Nome to work for a mining company. During his first Alaska winter, Seppala became his company’s dogsled driver, often traveling 50 to 100 miles daily.
In 1914, Seppala received his first personal sled dog team. The colleague who recruited him to Alaska had brought puppies from Siberia as a gift for explorer Roald Amundsen to aid Amundsen in his North Pole expedition. Seppala was given responsibility for training these dogs. When Amundsen cancelled his trip, these dogs were given to Seppala who, in turn, introduced Americans to the breed now known as Siberian Huskies.
This story has many happy endings. The Nome diphtheria death toll was kept to a minimum — a half-dozen people. Dogsled relay teams set a world record covering 674 miles in extreme subzero temperatures, near-blizzard conditions, and hurricane-force winds. Balto and Togo toured the U.S. to adoring crowds. And Seppala earned a silver medal at the 1932 Winter Olympic Games in Lake Placid, New York, where sled dog racing was a demonstration sport.
A century later, we revel in this remarkable journey of mercy, being commemorated right now in Nome with a week-long centennial celebration. I salute all involved, both two-legged and four-legged, with heartfelt admiration… and a hardy hooray!
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I’m pleased to be part of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. My talented colleagues: