SOCIAL LIFE IN ALASKA
I have more than once been forced to endure the suppressed sympathy of
friends who live in the Interior because of my enforced residence on
St. Michael. It is a sympathy wholly wasted. St. Michael is a bright,
clean little place. There are few mosquitoes,--a fact which in itself
is a recommendation. Although the temperature is sometimes very low,
and although the Arctic winter sends down some terrific blizzards at
times, as a rule the short winter days are bright, still and pleasant.
If one wishes sport it is right at hand on the mainland,--wild geese,
duck, ptarmigan and caribou. There is also salmon fishing.
As a brilliantly-colored thread is sometimes woven into a piece of
embroidery I find one vivid memory running through the years I have
lived on St. Michael. To me the most wonderful thing in connection with
those years is the transformation which takes place each year on the
day that the first ship anchors in the Bay. Like the Sleeping Beauty of
the fairy tale St. Michael suddenly wakens from her long winter's
sleep. No words can describe that awakening. It must be seen to be
appreciated.
When the last boat leaves the island in October almost every one who
has been employed there during the summer season returns to the States
as there is nothing for them to do here during the long, dark months.
When the first boat comes in June, however, laden with tourists,
prospectors and business men, they all come back, and the scene which
follows their arrival is one that I have never seen equalled elsewhere.
I have in mind at this writing two good friends, the men who during the
years that I served as United States Commissioner at St. Michael, were
responsible for this transformation. When one remembers that fifty
thousand people passed through the port of St. Michael during the rush
to Nome, it is apparent that theirs was no small task. One of these men
was Mr. A. F. Zipf, Traffic Manager of the Northern Navigation Company.
The other was S. J. Sanguineti, a splendid son of sunny California.
Everything connected with transportation in and out of Alaska was in
the hands of Mr. Zipf, while Mr. Sanguineti had charge of the
provisioning of hotels and boats, the providing of eating and sleeping
accommodations for the many who flocked each summer to the country.
The efficiency displayed by these two men was a thing to create
admiration and enthusiasm. Because of Mr. Zipf's capability in managing
details, within thirty minutes after the landing every one employed in
St. Michael was in his place. The clerk was behind his counter, or back
of his desk in an office. The cook was in the kitchen and the
laundryman in the laundry. They did not even go first to the rooms
which had been engaged for them. Their baggage was placed therein for
them and within the hour St. Michael fairly teemed with activity. The
men who had just gone to work looked as though they had been there
always. In the same deft manner did Mr. Zipf handle the transfer of
passengers, baggage and freight (enormous in volume) which passed
through the port of St. Michael and went on up the Yukon. Every detail
had been carefully worked out before the landing.
In these stirring days of our national life I have thought many times
of these two men and wondered that the United States Government has not
sought them out for positions of responsibility. Both would be master
hands in helping to untangle the complicated mass of detail which now
taxes the strength and the ability of our country. Uncle Sam never had
greater need for her men of proved efficiency.
Social life is not wanting in St. Michael, or in any other community in
Alaska. We have reached a period in our career where we thoroughly
resent being pictured as a collection of wild and lawless mining camps
where faro banks, drinking joints and vigilance committees abound. The
resident of the Outside, unless forewarned, would open his eyes wide if
asked to attend a garden party, or a four o'clock tea, in one of the
larger Alaskan towns. Evening dress after six o'clock is not at all
unusual for both men and women. The women's clubs are very much alive
and engaged in the same activities as those of the States. In fact, one
finds in the various sections of Alaska most of the normal
manifestations of cultured civilization,--the elements which contribute
to the upbuilding of an intelligent, law-abiding commonwealth.
[Illustration: "SCOTTY" ALLEN AND BALDY]
[Illustration: GENE DOYLE, ONE OF THE OLDEST MAIL CARRIERS ON SEWARD
PENINSULA. A HERO OF THE TRAIL!]
[Illustration: COMING IN TO ST. MICHAEL WITH OUR THIRTY-THREE-DOG TEAM
AFTER GOING OUT TO MEET THE MAIL CARRIER]
[Illustration: DUTCH HARBOR]
The subject of intemperance in Alaska has been much dwelt upon, and
rightly, for it became such a menace to the future development of the
country that the Alaskans themselves voluntarily did away with it. It
was not forced upon them by any legislation. Formerly liquor played a
great part in the life of the country and in this connection, no matter
what one's convictions may be, it must be acknowledged that there were
extenuating circumstances. The same is true of the men now in the
service in the European War. The soldier who, wounded, has lain on the
battlefield eight or ten hours in a driving rain, or all during a
chill, frosty night, often has to have a stinging hot stimulant if his
life is to be saved. It is not a matter of principle. It is a thing of
necessity. What man is courageous enough to take upon himself the
responsibility of saying that it shall not be given him? He may never
have tasted it before in his life. It was just so with these Alaskan
pioneers,--were they not soldiers, too, the advance guard, as it were,
of a new civilization? They entered into a bleak and practically
unknown land where Nature frowned savagely upon them on every hand. The
half-starved, half-frozen, not-sufficiently-clad follower of the trail
had to keep life in him some way while he made those first long, hard
journeys through a practically unpeopled land. It was not always
possible to have fire. So his flask was often his salvation. But liquor
came to be the curse of Alaska and now the country, of its own
volition, has gone "bone-dry." The only business which has now no
chance of succeeding in Alaska is the saloon.
Not a great while ago an Alaskan Carrie Nation broke forth from the
ranks of patient and long-suffering women and did some effective work.
She lived at _Mile Twenty-three and a Half_, the other name of which
village is _Roosevelt_. It is a station between Seward and Anchorage on
the new government railroad. Her real name is Mrs. Dabney and she does
not in the least enjoy being regarded as the prototype of her
belligerent sister from Kansas, U. S. A. In fact, her method is
different from the original Carrie. She does not harangue on the
subject, neither does she go forth with an ax and smash saloons. Her
way is just to remark quietly that "she won't stand for it!"
Anchorage was a tiny village until they began building the railroad.
Then before anyone knew it it became a bustling town of eight thousand.
The government made it a prohibition town, announcing that drinking
among the employees would not be tolerated and that liquor should not
be sold at the road houses. Now, having had some experience in this
line, I am convinced that nowhere else in the world (with the possible
exception of the Foreign Legion) can so many different types of men be
found as in a railroad construction gang or a lumber camp! And there
were all kinds at _Mile Twenty-three and a Half_!
Mrs. Dabney was a fine housekeeper and cook. She saw no reason why she
should not make the best of her ability in this line so she established
herself in a square log house and often fed from seventy-five to a
hundred men a day and gave sleeping quarters to as many as the house
would accommodate. As has been said, she let it be known that there
would be no drinking because "she just wouldn't stand for it!"
The Fourth of July came along, however, and about twenty-five of the
men decided that they would celebrate the event. They proceeded to
collect the ingredients for said celebration, a part of which consisted
of a demijohn and several bottles of whisky. While they were in the
midst of their hilarity,--enter Mrs. Dabney! She ordered the "boss"
(who, by the way, was her employer!) to his room. In fact she escorted
him thither and locked him in after telling him to go to bed. Then she
went back down stairs, gathered up the bottles and the demijohn and
threw them into Lake Kenai. When she returned she said quietly that she
had no intention of cleaning up after a lot of drunken men, that the
government had forbidden drinking and that not one of them could ever
come to her table again. The men departed without argument. The next
day, however, headed by the "boss," they returned. They stated in the
outset that they had not come to ask her to take them back but merely
to express their regret,--that she was quite right in refusing to be
bothered with a crowd of men who would not obey the law.
This act is characteristic of Alaskan men. I know no corner of the
earth where a good woman is held in higher esteem. The men themselves
are often unconscious of this characteristic, but it crops out in their
little mannerisms. For instance, there are two ways of addressing a
woman in Alaska. As one writer has already expressed it, "We call one
kind of woman by her first name and don't know that she has any other.
But the other kind of woman,--we call her _Mrs._! And we don't know
whether she has a first name or not!"
It was so with this woman. Neither miner, traveler, trader, workman nor
wayfarer ever thinks of calling her other than Mrs. Dabney. But my
experience is that there is no straighter way to a woman's heart than a
manly and sincere apology! So, in this case, when she said quietly to
the men that she had tried to give them good, clean food to eat and a
comfortable place to sleep, that all she asked of them was that they
obey the rules and not make her work more difficult or more
disagreeable than was necessary, she made friends of those men forever.
They respected her because they realized that she herself respected
the law and stood for its enforcement. Finally she permitted them to
return, but she ended the interview by saying:
"You needn't think you can fool me, either. Any time one of you brings
whisky into this house I can find it. More than that," she finished,
"B---- says to-morrow is his birthday and he's going to celebrate. But
he ain't,--even if he _is_ the Mayor of Roosevelt!"
The men of Alaska, while they admit that the free use of liquor was
once almost a necessity in the country, see no reason why it should be
so now. Civilization has brought with it other and better means of
keeping warm and in good spirits. Like many another thing of this
twentieth century it has outlived its usefulness. There are comfortable
homes in all the populated sections of Alaska now,--homes where one
sees just what he would find anywhere else in the world. Social
intercourse and family life are the same here as elsewhere. There is
tennis. There is golf. There are music and dancing, and a "chummy"
feeling seems to possess all the occupants of the land. There is a
general impression that life in a thinly-populated country is not
conducive to sociability. I have never found it so. There is a _bon
camaraderie_ in Alaska that I have found nowhere else in the world.
Perhaps it is of a brand not to be found except in the far spaces of
the universe!
There is one Great Day in Alaska,--the day when the ice goes out of the
Bay in the spring! There is something about the sight and sound of
_flowing_ water which moves one strangely after nine long months of the
"still" cold. One relaxes unconsciously from a tenseness which until
that moment he has not realized has possessed him and in this
connection I would relate a bit of personal experience.
Life here, as elsewhere, seems to take on new meaning in the
springtime. Merry boating or sailing parties are one of the favorite
amusements of the Alaskan summer. One evening,--it was the day that the
ice went out of the Bay,--I made one of a jolly party which went
sailing. The presence of an Army Post always adds to the social life of
any community, large or small, and stationed at St. Michael at this
time was an officer whose heroism and self-control saved the lives of
all but two of our party of eight. Captain Peter Lind was in charge of
the boat. We had known him long as an able seaman and therefore put
ourselves and our ladies into his keeping without the least thought of
possible disaster. From the Fort were two officers, Lieutenants Wood
and Pickering. The other members of the party were Dr. and Mrs.
McMillan, Mr. and Mrs. Bromfield and myself. When we were well out from
shore the boat suddenly capsized. Before we realized that anything was
happening we were in the water. The water was very cold, but the men
were good swimmers, and we managed to get a hold on the capsized boat.
We were all clinging to it when without the slightest warning over it
went again. The hour that followed was one which no member of that
little party will ever forget. Captain Lind disappeared. But the
magnificent cool-headedness of Lieutenant Wood caused the rest of us to
put up a stiff fight and resolve to die game if we had to. Finally
after a battle which reduced the strongest of us to utter exhaustion we
had the satisfaction of seeing six of our little party safely ashore.
Mrs. Bromfield and Captain Lind were lost. And the getting to land was
by no means the least thrilling part of the experience. The Eskimos on
the shore heard our calls, and although their little boats had not been
used all winter and were in need of repairs, they launched them quickly
and came to our aid. The boat in which I came in took water badly. But
one sturdy little Eskimo baled industriously while the other rowed.
I once heard an old Frenchman singing a song about the wind in the
springtime. It ran like this:
"Le vent que traverse la montagne
M'a rendu fou!"
(The wind which crosses the mountain
Has driven me mad!)
Each member of our little party realized that Captain Lind could not
have been himself at the moment of our disaster. The winter had been
very severe and I have frequently wondered whether the sight of the Bay
which for so long had been solid ice and had then so quickly melted
into beautiful, sparkling, _moving_ water,--just as a lovely woman
sometimes gives way suddenly to tears,--had not been the strongest
element in his sudden mental undoing.
Civilization follows the flag wherever it goes. Army men are splendid
the world over, a fact formerly realized by the few but which is now
being driven home to the many by the great war. And the Army women----.
They are such "good fellows!" They, too, go with the flag to make a
home for their soldier husbands. And they care not a whit whether they
follow them into the sands of the desert or over the Arctic snows!
I can not leave the story of St. Michael without reference to Gene
Doyle, the oldest mail carrier in our part of the country. Have you
ever thought what it means to be a mail carrier in Alaska? These men
are the real heroes of the trails. Over in the Canadian Yukon they
tolerate no such inhumane treatment of men. There no man may take out a
horse or a dog if the mercury registers lower than forty-five below
zero unless it is a case of life or death and even then one must get
permission from the Northwest Mounted Police. But the American mail man
_must_ go,--or lose his job! Many a time has Doyle set forth with the
temperature at sixty below, and you may rest assured that if he did not
show up on schedule time we made ready our sleds and went out to meet
him! There is no resident of Alaska who is not in sympathy with the
Rev. Hudson Stuck who has more than once expressed an ardent longing to
serve as Postmaster General for just one week!