In January 1925, a diphtheria epidemic spread through Nome, Alaska, killing the city’s children. Nome’s children needed the antitoxin, a serum that could counteract diphtheria, but Nome’s only supply was small and had expired. The only way to get the life-saving serum to the ice-bound city was by dogsled across the harsh Alaskan Interior.

Ultimately, a relay of approximately 20 men and their dog teams carried 300,000 units of serum the 674 miles from the train station at Nenana to Nome.

Around 5:30 a.m. on February 2, 1925, Gunnar Kaasen and his team of dogs, led by a black Siberian Husky named Balto, finished the final leg of the relay and entered Nome with the serum, becoming instant, world-famous heroes.

Diphtheria Strikes Nome, Alaska

Nome, a very small city in Alaska with a population of 1,400, had only one doctor -- Dr. Curtis Welch. Dr. Welch worked alongside three nurses at the Maynard Columbus Hospital and was responsible for not only Nome’s population but also approximately 10,000 others who lived in the surrounding areas.

The first cases of diphtheria began to appear in the fall of 1924, but Dr. Welch was not certain it was diphtheria at first. Diphtheria, often referred to as “the strangler,” first manifests itself as a sore throat. It then progresses to lethargy, a strong cough, and fever. Later come ulcers in the patient’s mouth and throat that eventually grow so large that the child (diphtheria usually attacks children) is slowly suffocated.

Since these first symptoms are common to many other ailments, it wasn’t until three-year-old Billy Barnett died on January 20, 1925 that Dr.

Welch confirmed that there was a diphtheria epidemic in Nome.

Schools were closed down, public events were cancelled, and many homes were quarantined at the slightest sore throat. And still the airborne child-killer diphtheria spread. The town of Nome needed help. Dr. Welch had ordered more antitoxin in 1924, but it had not arrived before the city was frozen in. The only supply that Dr. Welch had on hand was extremely limited and six years old.

Nome needed the serum and needed it quickly. But how can one get medicine to a city that is icebound seven months of the year?

Why Not Just Fly the Serum to Nome?

The Wright brothers had invented the airplane in 1903 and great strides had been taken over the following two decades in making flight safer and more durable. However, by 1925, no one had ever flown in Alaska during winter.

A number of people strongly advocated for flying the serum to Nome and they pressed Washington D.C. hard to allow them to do so. If successful, the serum could have made it to Nome in one day – saving many lives by arriving so much earlier than the dogsleds.

However, that was the crux of the question – would the airplane arrive safely? Alaskan winters are harsh, very harsh. And during this particular time, a snowstorm was tearing across the territory. Temperatures reached 50 and 60 degrees below zero. Airplanes in 1925 were still open cockpit and there was a real potential that the pilot would literally freeze to death while making the flight.

There were other concerns as well. There was no place to refuel, instruments in the plane might break in the cold, navigation would be off because of the proximity to the Magnetic North Pole, and short daylight hours all made an attempt at flight over the Alaskan frontier during winter much more perilous.

If the flight took off and then crashed, all the serum would be lost, and it was a slow process to get more. In the end, Alaskan Governor Scott Bone made the decision that it was safer, albeit slower, to carry the serum to Nome via dogsled. Preparations were made for a dogsled relay.

Preparing the Serum

Finding large quantities of the diphtheria antitoxin wasn’t easy and had to be gathered together from multiple locations in order to send. Luckily, a smaller batch of 300,000 units (enough to cure about 30 people) was found in Anchorage, Alaska.

To prepare the glass vials of the amber-colored serum for its long and freezing journey, Dr. John Bradley Beeson placed the vials into a padded container, wrapped the container with a quilt, and then placed that entire package into a wooden crate.¹ At each stop along the relay, the drivers would have to remove this packaging and set the serum near a fire to warm the vials up.

On January 26, 1925, six days after the announcement of the diphtheria epidemic, Dr. Beeson took the package of life-saving serum over to the railway station in Anchorage. It would take nearly 24 hours for the train to travel the 300 miles north to the town of Nenana.

The Dogsled Relay to Nome Begins

Around 9 p.m. on January 27, 1925, the first driver of the relay, “Wild Bill” Shannon, met the train at its arrival and was immediately handed the 20-pound package containing the serum. He left immediately, even though he would be traveling at night, when the temperature drops and the darkness makes the trip even more dangerous. But every second counted – the children of Nome were depending on him.

Shannon perhaps should have waited until the morning to take off. The temperature dropped to -62 degrees, well beyond the -40 degree limit that most drivers used for safety. He almost died on the journey, freezing to death. Luckily, he reached it to the next driver at Tolovana, after driving 52 miles, mostly in the dark. His face suffered severe frostbite and three of his nine dogs died from the journey. The serum was warmed by the fire and then the next driver, Edgar Kallands, started on his 31-mile journey in the freezing cold.

All of the 20 drivers and their 150 dogs were heroes. Each one risked life and limb, traveling in severely cold weather over dangerous, frozen terrain to bring the serum to the children of Nome. Each one knew that if they didn’t make their leg of the journey, if they got lost or froze out in the snowstorm, then children would die. It was a great responsibility and each and every one of the drivers gave it their all.

However, as in all stories, there were two particular drivers and dogs that stood out from the rest.

Togo and Seppala

Leonhard Seppala, called the “King of the Trail,” was known throughout Alaska as one of the best dogsled drivers around. He had dedicated his life to dogsledding, working as the main dogsled driver for the Hammond Consolidated Gold Fields and winning many dogsled races. He lived in Little Creek, just three miles outside of Nome, and raised his own dogs. One of those dogs was Togo.

Togo, born in October 1913, was small and sickly as a puppy but he eventually showed himself to be a born leader. Togo was Seppala’s best dog and had travelled back and forth across the Alaskan Interior throughout his life. There was more than one time during these travels that Togo had saved Seppala’s life.

It was because of the amazing bond between Seppala and Togo that made them such a strong team. It allowed them to do what other “mushers” couldn’t – travel farther and faster. Thus, when Nome needed serum, they asked Seppala to go get it. Before the relay was set up, Seppala was sent out into the freezing cold, to travel half way to Nenana, pick up the serum, and then drive right back home. To most drivers and dog teams that would be an inconceivable task. Seppala was sure he could make it.

After Seppala left for his long journey, the plans changed and a relay was set up with the 20 drivers. Unfortunately, there was no way to let Seppala know of the change of plan. Everyone hoped that a driver would run into him somewhere on the route.

Seppala, Togo, and the other 19 dogs on Seppala’s huge dog team had traveled an amazing 170 miles in just three days and had crossed the treacherous Norton Sound before dogsled driver Henry Ivanoff spotted him near Shaktoolik and waved him down. Seppala was so focused on his task that he nearly didn’t stop. It wasn’t until Ivanoff shouted, “The Serum! I have it here!” that Seppala put on the brakes.²

Exhausted but still determined, Seppala took the serum and headed back in the direction from which he’d come. The journey over Norton Sound had become even more treacherous since he had just crossed it. The winds, which could rage up to 70 miles per hour, were just one of the Sounds obstacles. The most dangerous thing was the constantly changing ice. Often, the ice would crack right under a dog team and the chunk of ice they were on would carry them out to sea.

Knowing that by crossing Norton Sound rather than going around it would save an entire day of travel, Seppala risked everything by crossing it again – this time in the dark – on January 31, 1925.

Seppala and his dog team, led by Togo, made it across the Norton Sound safely, but their journey was not yet over. They still had to make it to Golovin to hand off the serum. And to do that, they had to climb to the 1,200-foot summit of Little McKinley, by first climbing four other ridges – an amazingly rigorous trek even if driver and dogs weren’t already exhausted.

Filled with purpose, Seppala, Togo, and the rest of the dogs gave it their all. They raced as fast as they could through the last part of their journey, arriving safely at 3 p.m. in Golovin on February 1. They had done it. But the journey was so taxing that Togo was never again to lead a dogsled team.

Balto and Kaasen

Gunnar Kaasen worked with Seppala and was left behind when Seppala took off with Togo and 19 other dogs to retrieve the serum. But when the plan was changed to a relay, Kaasen was asked to join in.

Seppala had left specific instructions for Kaasen to use Fox as lead dog if Kaasen was to need a dogsled team while Seppala was away, but Kaasen disregarded this and chose Balto.

Balto was a black Siberian Husky that looked like he was wearing white socks on his front feet, with one being longer than the other. Seppala had not considered him much of a leader, but Kaasen saw something in Balto that Seppala had not.

Kaasen chose 13 dogs, put Balto in the lead position, and headed to Bluff to await the arrival of the serum and his part as the second-to-last driver in the relay. However, unbeknownst to Kaasen, the mayor of Nome had temporarily called off the relay, wanting the last two relay drivers to wait until the snowstorm had passed. Conditions were just too cold and too harsh to go out – the serum must not be lost.

When driver Charlie Olson and his seven-dog team arrived with the serum around 7 pm on February 1, 1925, he and his dogs looked like they had barely survived the journey. Between the snow, the hurricane-force winds, and the -70 degree temperature, it was more than miserable out there -- it was extremely dangerous. Olson warned Kaasen not to go, but if he waited too long the blizzard would make the path impassible.³ Kaasen decided to go.

Kaasen hooked up each of the 13 dogs to the gang line and grabbed the serum. Since it was after 10 pm, Kaasen would be travelling at night in a blizzard. Not many people or dogs would be that brave.

In the blizzard, Kaasen lost track of the path and had to rely on Balto’s sense of smell to find it again. The team also had to go over a number of ridges, with the highest being 600-feet high. This was not something most drivers would do at night and definitely not something they would do at night in a blizzard. But Kaasen, Balto, and the rest of the team gave it their all.

The wind and snow got so bad that Kaasen lost all direction. He gave the entire lead to Balto and hoped that Balto could find his way through the awful blizzard. If Balto couldn’t, then they would all die.

Balto pulled through and led them exactly where they were supposed to go – Port Safety. Ed Rohn was waiting there as the last driver in the serum run, but he was sleeping and the dogs were not yet harnessed. Rohn had heard about the mayor’s request to delay the relay and wait out the blizzard. Kaasen, realizing that Rohn was unprepared, made a snap decision -- he bypassed that stop and just continued on toward Nome.

Around 5:30 a.m. on February 2, 1925, Kaasen, Balto, and his team of dogs pulled into Nome with the serum, stopping in front of the Miners & Merchants Bank on Front Street. They had travelled 53 miles in a blizzard to get there. Witnesses reported seeing Kaasen stumble off his sled, collapsing, yet murmuring, “Damn fine dog.”⁴

They had done it. The children of Nome could finally be saved.

Balto Goes to Hollywood

Gunnar Kaasen and Balto were heroes. Reporters wanted to talk to them. Their pictures appeared everywhere. They were instant celebrities.

About a month after making the serum run, Kaasen, Balto, and the rest of the dog team left Alaska. Balto was never to return. The trip began because Hollywood producer Sol Lesser wanted to capitalize on Balto’s fame by making a movie about the serum run. The short film, Balto’s Race to Nome, was released in 1925. (Unfortunately, no known copies of the film still exist.)

After the filming, Kaasen, Balto, and the other dogs spent a year and a half on the aging Vaudeville circuit, crisscrossing the country, sharing the story of their adventure with hundreds of small audiences. During this time, famed sculptor Frederick George Roth made a lifelike statue of Balto, which still stands in New York’s Central Park.

In December 1926, Kaasen went back to Alaska, leaving the dogs behind. Balto and the other dogs became forgotten and neglected in a run-down dime museum in Los Angeles.

When a Cleveland businessman named George Kimble stumbled upon the dogs in February 1927, he reported the appalling state of the dog-heroes to his city’s newspaper -- the Cleveland Plain Dealer. The newspaper, in turn, made an appeal to the citizens of Cleveland to raise money for the dogs’ release. The people of Cleveland responded en masse and a total of $2,362.94 was collected.⁵

On March 16, 1927, Balto, Alaska Slim, Billy, Fox, Old Moctoc, Sye, and Tillie arrived in Cleveland. They were to be taken and housed at the Brookside Zoo, where a special enclosure was built for them. It was here that they would spend the rest of their lives.

The End of the Story

On, March 14, 1933, 14-year-old Balto passed away from old age. The people of Cleveland, who had loved Balto, were not quite ready to say goodbye to the dog hero; thus, they had a taxidermist stuff Balto. Balto remains on display in a glass case at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History.

Seppala and Togo never received the level of fame that Kaasen and Balto received and it was something that bothered Seppala immensely for it was they who had made the epic 261-mile journey. After Togo passed away in 1929 at age 16, he too was stuffed by a taxidermist. His remains were not as well cared for and have passed from museum to museum. Togo is now on display at the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race Headquarters in Wasilla.

The 300,000 units of serum brought to Nome by Kaasen and Balto had helped save lives, but it did not end the diphtheria epidemic. Nome needed more serum. On February 15, less than two weeks after Kaasen and Balto had arrived with the first batch of serum in Nome, a second relay of dogsledders that had crossed the Alaskan Interior ended when driver Ed Rohm and his dogs arrived safely in Nome with another package of serum. Finally, the epidemic was to end.

Notes

1. Gay and Laney Salisbury, The Cruelest Miles: The Heroic Story of Dogs and Men in a Race Against an Epidemic (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2003) 90.
2. Salisbury, Cruelest 207.
3. Salisbury, Cruelest 219-220.
4. Salisbury, Cruelest 225.
5. Patricia Chargot, The Adventures of Balto: The Untold Story of Alaska’s Famous Iditarod Sled Dog (Anchorage, Alaska: Publication Consultants, 2006) 56.