Ep. 40 Iditarod: How Heroic Sled Dogs Saved the Children of Nome, Alaska

You can't compare it to any other competitive event in the world. A race covering 1,000 miles of the roughest, most beautiful terrain Mother Nature has to offer. She throws jagged mountain ranges, frozen river, dense forest, desolate tundra, and miles of windswept coast at the mushers and their dog teams. Add to that, temperatures far below zero, winds that can cause a complete loss of visibility, the hazards of overflow, long hours of darkness, and treacherous climbs and side hills. And you have the Idyterod, a race extraordinaire, a race only possible in Alaska. That's straight from the Idyterod website, describing the famous dog sled race known as the last great race on Earth. The Idyterod race happens every March as dog teams and their mushers race from Anchorage in South Central Alaska to gnome on the bearing sea coast to the west. The race began in 1973 as a way to save a laskin sled dog culture as Huskies were being phased out and replaced by snowmobiles. It also sought to preserve the historic Idyterod trail which started as a male and supply route during the hay days of the gnome Gold Rush. But did you know, in 1925, a perilous six-day crossing of the Idyterod was less fun in games and more a matter of life and death. As mushers and their heroic dogs raced to deliver a lifesaving serum to a town on the brink of disaster, let's fix that. [Music] Hello, I'm Shayla Fontaine and you're listening to History Fix where I discuss lesser known true stories from history you won't be able to stop thinking about. I'm coming at you this week with what I hope will be a more lighthearted story. So much of history is just really heavy and sometimes hard to bear and with the holidays approaching, I figured we could all use something more inspiring heartwarming. So that is this story. But it's not all fluff. There's a lot to this story of a deadly epidemic, threatening the lives of children, a perilous journey through the snow and a race against time to deliver a lifesaving antitoxin. But really, it's a story about man's best friend, the sled dogs who made this feat possible and two of them in particular, Balto and Togo. Underdogs, no pun intended, who rose to the top as the heroes of gnome Alaska. So let's go to gnome. gnome is a picturesque small town in western Alaska. So picture Alaska on a map. Picture the west coast. gnome is about halfway up the west coast. Even today, it's small with a population of only around 3500 people. But that wasn't always the case. At the turn of the 20th century, the population of gnome had exploded to as much as 20,000 over the course of only a few months. But let's back up even more than that. Before that, gnome was home to indigenous enupiate people who had been living in that area since prehistory. In 1898, three Scandinavians discovered some gold along Anvil Creek near Cape Nome. And this triggered the gnome gold rush that would transform the area from a small village of indigenous people to a bustling mining camp known as Anvil City. Eric Lindblum, John Brinston and Jeffette Lindbergh, who were the first to find the gold, became known as the Lucky Swedes, although Lindbergh was actually Norwegian. This triggered a stampede of prospectors and gold miners hoping to strike it rich in Anvil City. A lot of these people arrived too late to state claims along Anvil Creek, so they just set up camps on the beaches. There, they soon discovered that there was gold on the beach. This was incredible because it meant they could reach the gold by boat and they didn't have to haul a bunch of heavy gold and gear through treacherous mountain passes as in nearby Klondike gold rush. Plus, beaches are publicly unknown, can claim the beaches, so anyone could just set up shop there with buckets and shovels and rockers to separate the gold from the sand. According to a Smithsonian National Postal Museum article, "A town exploded into life along the beaches. What had been a prospector's campsite turned in a few months into a town of over 20,000 people. Nome sprung to life almost overnight on the frozen tundra. It transformed into a bustling city filled with congested streets, 100 saloons, and dozens of stores, restaurants, and hotels, intense and quickly constructed wooden buildings. It goes on to say, "In the summer of 1900, Nome was the largest general delivery address in the U.S. Postal System. In his book, Alaska's first free male delivery in 1900, letter carrier Fred Lockley noted that the postal clerks had to use five filing boxes just to sort letters for people named Johnson." So this place is bustling thanks to that gold. The miners wanted to call it "amville city" officially. They thought it was too confusing to call it "nome" since it was about 12 miles away from Cape Nome. So since they were kind of two different places, it was weird to give them the same name. But it was officially named "nome" anyway, and incorporated as a town in 1901. The name "nome" though is most likely based on a mistake. Apparently, a British cartographer had misread some writing on a nautical chart. It actually said, "question mark name" next to an unnamed cape. But the map maker read it as "see nome" for Cape Nome. So he named it that. And then the town was named after the cape. So that's pretty silly. But that population of 20,000 people didn't last. It decreased dramatically by 1903 as the gold fines and easily accessible mining areas basically dried up. People packed up and went home. By 1920, the population had fallen to only 852 people. This drop was mostly due to gold miners continuing to leave, but it was helped along by an influenza outbreak in 1918. So this was the Spanish flu. You've probably heard about Spanish flu during all the COVID madness because it was kind of the last time we had a worldwide pandemic like that. Black and white photos of folks wearing masks and such. It was really bad. According to the Pan American Health Organization, the Spanish flu claimed more lives in just the United States than World War I, World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War combined. And estimated 50 million people died worldwide from Spanish flu. It hit Alaska pretty late because of how isolated it is, but it was particularly bad there. The cold climate led to an increase in pneumonia and other respiratory issues caused by the disease. Plus, when everything froze up in the winter, they were isolated, trapped, and they didn't have easy access to assistance in fighting the flu. So the Spanish flu took a toll on the population in Nome and surrounding areas on the Seward Peninsula, where it claimed around 750 lives, and most of them were Alaska natives. By 1925, the population was sitting at around 1,600 in Nome itself, and up to 10,000 in surrounding areas, a mix of indigenous Alaska natives and white European settlers who had come there mostly to mine gold. So let's go to Christmas of 1924. That's when the only doctor in Nome, Curtis Welch, noticed an uptick in the number of children coming in complaining of sore throats. At first, he diagnosed them with tonsillitis, but then they started to die. He pretty quickly realized, as more and more children died of sore throats, that they were dealing with something much more serious. Diptheria. And yes, this is my lighthearted, puff-piece episode, "Children dying on Christmas." Sorry guys, it's unavoidable. But let's talk about diptheria. According to the CDC, diptheria is a bacterial infection caused by a bacteria called "Cornbacterium Diptheria." That makes a toxin. The toxin kills tissue in the respiratory system, and this is kind of gross. The dead tissue forms a thick gray coating called a pseudo membrane that builds up in the nose and throat, making it hard to breathe and swallow. If the toxin gets into the bloodstream, it can also cause heart, nerve, and kidney damage. So basically, people die of respiratory failure. They're no longer able to breathe. It's extremely contagious. It's spread through respiratory droplets when people cough or sneeze, and it's most deadly in children. It has a 20% death rate in children. So that's one in five. And children are also more likely to contract it, which is why Dr. Welch was mostly seeing child patients with sore throats. Now we're vaccinated for diphtheria, the TDA, tetanus, diphtheria, and protasis. It's one of those many mandatory vaccines they give babies. And because of that, diphtheria is not really an issue anymore. Back in 1925, they didn't have the diphtheria vaccine yet. That came in like the 40s. But they did have a way of treating it in antitoxin. So this was kind of a crazy little science experiment concoction. Scientists grew diphtheria bacteria in a science lab, like in a petri dish. Then they harvested the toxin that it gave off. They then injected horses with this toxin and waited for the horse's body to produce diphtheria antitoxin as an immune response. They collected blood from the horse, separated out the antitoxin serum from the blood, purified it, and injected people with it as medicine to treat diphtheria. They started using this mess in like the 1890s. And it worked, which is crazy, mostly without incident. In 1901, some kids died when the antitoxin serum became infected with tetanus. So that was bad. And actually partially led to the formation of the Food and Drug Administration, the FDA. But for the most part, if you had diphtheria, this horse blood antitoxin serum was what you needed. You can actually still get this stuff. It's called DAT for diphtheria antitoxin, but you have to like special request it from the CDC. It's not like you can't just go to a pharmacy and like pick up some DAT. It's used to counteract the toxin put off by the diphtheria bacteria in combination with antibiotics, which kill the bacteria itself. But, like I said, diphtheria is not really an issue in countries that regularly vaccinate for it. So, Dr. Welch is seeing all these children come in with sore throats. They start dying. By January 20th, so it's been like a little less than a month since the very first case on Christmas Eve, a three year old named Billy Barnett comes in and Welch finally realizes it's diphtheria. It's definitely diphtheria and his heart sinks because he knows their stash of antitoxin is expired. It's like seven years old. It's not good anymore. He had requested fresh antitoxin just this past summer, but by the time the request made it to the health commissioner in Juneau, it was too late to get the serum to them before everything I stepped for the winter. The port was closed. So, all he had was this bottle of expired antitoxin. And he was afraid, number one, it wouldn't work. And number two, it would actually weaken his patients even more. So, he decides not to give it to Billy Barnett, and the boy dies the next day. That same day, a seven year old girl comes in with late stage diphtheria. She's in bad shape. Welch decides to give it a go. He injects her with the expired antitoxin in a last ditch effort to save her life, but she dies later that day and his fears are confirmed. The serum is no good. Welch is like, this is bad. This is really bad. He calls a town meeting and announces that they are in the beginning stages of an epidemic that could become absolutely catastrophic if he doesn't get his hands on this antitoxin serum. They set up a quarantine and Welch sends a telegram to the governor of Alaska to get the word out about what's happening in Nome. He sends a second telegram to the U.S. Public Health Service in Washington, D.C., pretty much begging them for more diphtheria antitoxin serum. And this telegram read, quote, "An epidemic of diphtheria is almost inevitable here. Stop. I am an urgent need of 1 million units of diphtheria antitoxin. Stop. Male is the only form of transportation. Stop. I have made application to Commissioner of Health of the Territories for antitoxin already. Stop. There are about 3,000 white natives in the district. Stop." End quote. I don't really know what 3,000 white natives means that seems contradictory. I think he's referring to the number of white people, but I don't know why he calls them natives. And it annoys me to know in that he thinks that detail matters. Get the serum to us ASAP because there's white people here as if the indigenous people don't matter. But I mean, this is 1925, so it was what it was. The response they get reveals that there are around 300,000 units of antitoxin enough to treat 30 people stored in Anchorage, Alaska. So it's not enough, but it's better than nothing. They could hold off the epidemic until more serum can arrive from Seattle, because there's more in Seattle. They just have to figure out a way to get it there, everything's all frozen up and stuff. They're working on it. But now the question becomes how do we get this serum from Anchorage to Nome? As Welch said in his telegram, the only way to reach them now is by male. It's January. They are unreachable by sea or by air at this point. The only planes they have are from World War I and they have open cockpits and are water cooled, so they aren't operational in sub-freezing temperatures. Plus, the only two guys who know how to fly them are like halfway across the country right now. But there is that I did a rod male and supply route that was set up during the gold rush that runs precisely from Anchorage to Nome. They're able to get the serum to Nana by train, which is a little less than half of the total trip. But getting it the 600-ish miles from Nana to Nome is the problem. So a dog sled relay is basically the only option. Typically, a team of dogs can make this round trip in about 30 days. That includes a lot of stopping to rest and eat and sleep and whatnot. They don't have 30 days. So they figure a relay is the fastest way. One team sets off, runs straight as fast as they can to a checkpoint or another team takes over. That way they don't have to account for time to rest, sleep, etc. This relay included 20 muskers, who are the humans, two-thirds of them indigenous and their collective 160 dogs. Conditions are absolutely horrendous. It's winter, so they're down to just 7 hours of sunlight a day. A storm moves in with driving wind and snow near white out blizzard conditions. Temperatures down to -85 degrees Fahrenheit, which is -65 degrees Celsius, with the wind chill and these guys and their dogs just press on. Here is a play-by-play of the relay courtesy of AlaskaWeb.org. The first musher is named William Wildbill Shannon. He gets the package with the antitox and serum in it from the train station in Nana and leaves immediately with his 9 dogs, despite terrible weather conditions. The leader of this team is a 5-year-old dog named Blacky, but the other 8 dogs are pretty inexperienced. Shannon actually runs alongside the sled for parts of the trip to keep warm and he arrives at a roadhouse at 3am, his face blackened by frostbite. He warms the serum by the fire to keep it from freezing and rests for a few hours. He also leaves 3 of his dogs there that are in too bad of shape to continue on and then he sets out again. He arrives in Tolovana, the next checkpoint at 11am and hands the serum over to the next musher, whose name is Edgar Callins. This takes time to warm the serum by the fire again because they can't freeze so they're having to warm it up each time they get to one of these rest areas or checkpoints or trade-off spots. And then he heads out and he makes the 31 mile trip to the next checkpoint, arriving with his hands frozen to the handle of his sled. They have to pour hot water on them to free him from the sled. Dan Green takes over and then he hands it off to Johnny Fulcher. Now we're 2 days in. On the third day, the serum is passed off to 6 different musher and their teams. Sam Joseph, Titus Nikolai, Dave Corning, Harry Pitka, Bill McCarty and Edgar Nolner, and together they cover 170 miles. That night Edgar Nolner hands it off to his brother, George Nolner, who carries it on for 18 miles before passing the serum to Charlie Evans. His leg of the trip does not go well. He heads out into a patch of ice fog, which sounds hellish, and two of his dogs collapse. He puts them in the sled and he ends up leading the team to the next checkpoint himself. But sadly, when he arrives, the two dogs have died. A moment of silence for those poor fur babies. Tommy Patsy heads out next. Meanwhile, they're up to 27 confirmed hypotheria cases in Nome. And remember, they only have enough serum in the sled to treat 30 people. So they really need to get it there before that number can climb much higher. If it goes above 30, it's not really going to stop the epidemic. They have to like cure it. everybody who's sick right now to put a stop to it. So they've got to get the serum to gnome before they hit 30 cases. A newspaper reports, quote, "All hope is in the dogs and their heroic drivers." Nome appears to be a deserted city, end quote. Patsy runs 36 miles and then he hands the serum over to a driver who's just known as Jack Screw. I imagine he was quite a character. And then he passes it on to Victor and a gik. He takes it 34 miles to Miles Goningan. Goningan, hmm, Goningan, whose team then carries it 40 more miles to a checkpoint in Shaqtulik. Okay, at this point, an experienced mushroom named Leonard Sapala is supposed to carry the serum the longest and most dangerous leg of the trip, a shortcut across the frozen Norton Sound. He was specifically chosen for this leg. Leonard had won the All Alaska Sweepstakes, which was a famous dog sled race three times. He went it three times. So he was like the best of the best. He also had an eight year old daughter back in gnome who was at great risk of contracting and dying from diphtheria if they didn't get the antitox in there in time. And yeah, that's all the motivation I would need. But Sapala had gotten some bad communication. And he thought he was running all the way from gnome to this halfway checkpoint at Shaqtulik. To meet another guy who was coming halfway from Nana to Shaqtulik. Apparently they had added a bunch of extra muskers to the relay without communicating that to Sapala. So he's already been running for a while before he even gets to the checkpoint, which seems crazy. I mean, maybe tell the main guy the plan at least. So Sapala's late. He's not there yet when Goningan arrives. But he finds another driver named Henry Ivanov waiting there just in case. So Ivanov sets out with the serum to try to find Sapala, who he is sure is nearby. But his dogs get distracted by a reindeer. They try to run after it. They get all tangled up in their harnesses and leashes and stuff. And I love this because at the end of the day, they're still just dogs. I love that they're doing this important, serious life or death job. But they still take a minute to just be dogs and get all excited about a reindeer. But now Ivanov is stuck trying to untangle his dogs. Luckily, he spots Sapala and his dog team passing nearby heading towards the checkpoint, hollers to him, and he's able to hand the serum off to him. Sapala's team was led by a 12-year-old Siberian sled dog named Togo, which 12 is insanely old for this. But he was the clear choice as leader for Sapala, who described him as, quote, "the best dog that ever traveled the Alaska Trail." But it wasn't always that way with Togo. He was apparently a really bad puppy. He was wild and mischievous, smaller than the other dogs, and often in bad health. Sapala was convinced early on that Togo was a dud. And he actually gave him a way to be a house pet when he was six months old. Togo spent a few weeks in his new home before jumping through a closed window, breaking the glass, and running several miles back to Sapala's kennel. And Sapala was impressed, to say the least. And he decided that Togo was not, in fact, a dud, this won him over. He turned out to be an incredible dog team leader, which is why Sapala chose him to lead this leg of the relay, even though Togo was basically an old man dog at this point. They crossed the frozen Norton Sound overnight, 84 miles straight. It's pitch black dark. The whipping snow is blinding. Sapala couldn't see anything. So he just trusted Togo to lead them in the right direction, which he did, navigating through dangerous ice flows in the dark and delivering them safely to the next roadhouse to rest and warm up the serum. The ice covering the sound broke just hours after they made it back to land. They set off again into a raging storm with winds up to 65 miles per hour. They climb a 5,000 foot mountain? I'm not making this up. This is insane. They finally get to the next checkpoint after running over 260 total miles and hand the serum off to Charlie Olsen. At this point, the storm is so bad, they pause the relay for a bit. They're like Charlie, chill out for a sec. The winds are at 80 miles per hour. They figure it's better to delay the arrival of the serum some than to lose it entirely. Once Olsen gets the okay to run, he sets off, but it does not go well. He's blown off the trail, suffers extreme frostbite on his hands while attempting to put blankets on the dogs. And he arrives at the next checkpoint, in bad shape, and hands the serum off to Gunner Kason. Kason was kind of like an apprentice to Saipala, his protégé. And he was added pretty last minute to the relay. His team is actually led by some of Saipala's dogs, Balto and Fox. He waits a few hours before leaving because the storm is just so bad, but it's just getting worse and worse as he waits. And he's worried that the trail will be hidden by snowdrifts. So he sets out while he can still kind of see the trail. The conditions are as bad as it gets. Visibility is poor. At times he can't even see the dog harnessed closest to the sled through the wind whipped snow. He actually passes the checkpoint. He doesn't realize it for a couple of miles. And then he makes the decision to just press on to the next one instead of turning back. The winds get so strong they actually flip the sled over, lifting the dogs up into the air. The antitoxin serum flies out of the sled and lands in a snowdrift. And Caseen desperately starts digging through the snow looking for it. He takes his gloves off to feel for it, leading to frostbite on his hands. But eventually he finds the package, writes the sled, and sets back out. When he arrives at the next checkpoint, the last one before known, he finds the next mousher at Rome asleep. Instead of waking him, Caseen just sets back out for known. He worries it'll take too long to wake Ron up and wait for him to harness up his dogs. So he just presses on himself. Plus, the weather has improved some. He rides the last 25 miles to gnome, pulling up around 5.30am in front of the merchants and miners' bank. He collapses in front of a gathering crowd of early risers. Witnesses report that the only words he manages to mumble are quote, "Damn fine dog." And he's talking about Balto. There, of course, Balto was one of Saipala's dogs. But he was never even meant to be on a dog sled team, much less lead one. He was bigger and stalkier than the other dog. So Saipala had assigned him as a hauling dog, who just carried stuff around. He was like a work dog. He wasn't a racing dog. So it was an interesting choice to make Balto a lead dog on this run. But he did amazing. He completely surprised everyone. And really, Balto got all the fame and recognition for the whole thing. He was an instant dog celebrity. He even got a statue in New York City's Central Park. And he got to attend the unveiling himself. This annoyed Saipala to no end, who felt that Togo should be the dog to get the recognition. He had led his team through the longest and most treacherous part of the trip. But Balto was kind of stealing all the glory just because he's the one who came rushing into Nome to deliver the antitox and just in time to save the town. Some people even think Kason chose not to wake up Ron at the last checkpoint so that he could be the one to deliver the serum to Nome and claim all the credit in glory. Another dog named Fox helped Balto lead Kason's team, too. But he wasn't even mentioned in the newspapers. They thought his name, Fox, would be too confusing. Like readers would think he was a fox and not a dog. So poor fox got no recognition at all. And Togo kind of got the shaft, too. And honestly, this really damaged the relationship between Saipala and Kason, who were kind of like buddies before this. But who cares? Dogs don't care about that kind of stuff. That's petty people worries. Balto and Togo eventually both got their own movies, whatever. If someone wants to make a movie about Fox, though, that would be great. He's not a fox. He's actually a dog. But what happens to these dogs after they're done racing? Well, typically they go to be used as studs to sire new racing dogs. And Togo was. After he retired from racing, Saipala sent him to live in Maine to be bred as a stud. So he lived out his final days in luxury, just enjoying the finer things in life. For Saipala, it was hard to see Togo go. He remarked, quote, "It was sad, partying on a cold gray March morning, when Togo raised a small paw to my knee as if questioning why he was not going along with me. I never had a better dog than Togo. His stamina, loyalty, and intelligence could not be improved upon. Togo was the best dog that ever traveled the Alaska Trail. "After Togo died at the ripe old age of 16, Saipala had his body preserved and mounted and it's still on display at the Idyterod Trail sled dog race headquarters museum in Wasilla, Alaska. Bauto could not be bred though, he had been neutered as a puppy. Because Saipala never considered him a racing dog, he was just a work dog, so he wouldn't have been sought after as a stud. Instead Gunner Kason toured the Vodville Circuit for two years with his team of dogs before selling them to a dying museum in Los Angeles, and basically just pocketed the money and moved on for getting about them. During a trip to LA, sometime later, a Cleveland businessman named George Campbell discovered the dogs and was shocked to find them in bad shape, mistreated and sickly. He was appalled by this and he decided to do something about it. He established the Bauto Fund and raised $2,000 in 10 days to purchase Bauto and the rest of his team. When they arrived in Cleveland, they were given a hero's welcome with a parade through the public square and they were sent to live at the local zoo where 15,000 people visited them on their first day in their new home. They lived out the rest of their lives there in comfort, loved and adored by the people of Cleveland. Bauto died at the age of 14 and his body was also taxidermied and it's still on display at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History. Although Alaska has been fighting to have Bauto's body returned there pretty much ever since. According to a PBS article about Bauto, schoolchildren campaigned way back in 1999 to have Bauto's body moved to the Idyterod Trail Sled Dog Race Museum where Togo's body is, but Cleveland wasn't having it. They argued that Bauto had spent half his life in Cleveland and should remain there. And to this day, Bauto is still in Cleveland. So I guess the Alaskan schoolchildren lost that one. So I hope you've enjoyed this lighthearted tale of determination and teamwork this week where 20 daring dog sled muskers and their canine friends braved raging blizzards, unstable ice flows, frostbite and hypothermia to deliver a life-saving serum that saved the children of no Alaska from a terrible fate. Maybe you got at least a little bit of a warm fuzzy feeling from this one. It gives me a whole new appreciation for dogs and their unwavering loyalty to their humans. It makes me wish humans were more deserving of that kind of love and devotion. I feel unworthy. And I see that unworthiness of humans in the way Kason kind of stole all the credit and glory for himself and Bauto. It detracts from what was otherwise a really beautiful and selfless thing. But human ego always creeps in. We can't help ourselves. And then in the end, Kason just sort of abandoned his dog team to a miserable fate, mistreated and neglected at a dime museum in Los Angeles. He sold out, cashed them in for a profit and just didn't care what happened to them, didn't look back. Then, you look at Sipala and Togo and it's a totally different story. They didn't get the recognition they deserved and really they were the true heroes of the whole thing. Sipala genuinely cared for Togo. He loved that dog and though it almost broke him to do it, he gave Togo up to ensure that he would live out the rest of his days in comfort and happiness. According to a book about the serum run called The Cruelest Miles, Sipala wrote in his diary at the age of 81, quote, "When I come to the end of the trail, I feel that along with my many friends, Togo will be waiting. And I know that everything will be alright." Thank you all so very much for listening to History Fix. I hope you found this story interesting and maybe you even learned something new. Be sure to follow my Instagram @HistoryFixPodcast to see some images that go along with this episode and to stay on top of new episodes as they drop. I'd also really appreciate it if you would rate and follow this podcast on whatever app you're using to listen. That'll make it much easier to get your next fix. Information used in this episode was sourced from Encyclopedia Britannica, Smithsonian National Postal Museum, Pan American Health Organization, CBC, the National Library of Medicine, the CDC, AlaskaWeb.org, dog tales by dog watch, Wikipedia, PBS, History vs Hollywood, and Sports Illustrated. As always, links to these sources can be found in the show notes.