← Against The Odds
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- [00:00]
Mike Corey
Wondery subscribers can listen to against the Odds early and ad free right now. Join Wondery in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Dr. Curtis Welch sits in a meeting room at the Maynard Columbus Hospital in Nome, Alaska, watching as snow and ice pelt the window. His face is pinched with worry. He knows no one will want to hear what he's about to say. One by one, other members of the Emergency Board of Health enter the room, including Mayor George Maynard. It's Sunday, February 1st, 1925. Twelve days since the beginning of the diphtheria outbreak and six days since the start of the dog sled relay to deliver life saving serum to the town. Five children have died so far and the total number of cases has risen to 28. Welch gets right to the point. Gentlemen, I think we need to suspend the relay. This is turning out to be the worst storm that we've seen in years. If one of those mushers gets blown off the trail, we're in serious trouble. Mayor Maynard stands up. What do you mean suspended? Are you crazy? They could be here tomorrow. Yes, I know. But the temperature keeps dropping and the snow is coming down harder. It's too dangerous for them to continue in these conditions. They could easily crash or lose the trail. No, these men are the best mushers in Alaska. They know what they're doing. Mr. Meara, I'm sure they do. But it's not just them I'm worried about. What if the serum freezes? It's better to lose a few hours or even a couple days than to lose the whole batch. After more discussion about the blizzard, everyone agrees that they should send messages out to the roadhouses along the mail trail and order the relay to wait until the weather clears. Welch then sends a cable to the public health office in Washington, D.C. violent Blizzard is delaying progress. Have ordered antitoxin to be stopped.
- [02:15]
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- [03:16]
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- [04:00]
Mike Corey
Mike Corey and this is against the OD By February 1, 1925, the diphtheria outbreak in Nome, Alaska was at a crisis point. With the disease spreading fast, the dog sled relay carrying the antitoxin serum had traveled nearly 600 miles and was less than 100 miles from the town. But the storm that had been pummeling the mushers wouldn't let up. In Nome, the Board of Health made the difficult decision to pause the relay until the storm lifted. But the messages about the delay didn't reach all the mushers. Several of them continued the last stages of the relay through some of the harshest weather anyone in Alaska had ever seen. This is episode three, the Final Miles. Leonard Seppala and his dog team race across the frozen surface of Norton Sound just 100 yards offshore. Lead dog Togo is angling towards shore as the solid ice starts to crack and splinter beneath their sled. Geysers of water shoot up between breaks in the ice. Seppala knows it's no longer safe out here. Gee, Togo, gee, get us back to shore. Seppala feels the team surging to the right, but suddenly Togo skids to a stop and somersaults backwards into the dogs behind him. Seppala is furious as the dog sled comes to a stop. Togo, what the hell are you doing? Seppala runs to the front of the gang line, then stops in his tracks. Up ahead, he sees a Dark patch of open water. Togo stopped the team just before it plunged off the ice and into the sea. It's not the first time that Seppala owes Togo his life. Seppala gets the team untangled and Togo guides them around the open water and across the uneven ice. In a few minutes, the they're safely back on shore. Whoa, Togo. Seppala stops the sled to catch his breath. He brushes snow and ice off the feet and faces of his panting dogs. Togo nuzzles his face against Seppala's legs. Good boy, Togo. We made it. We made it, boy. Seppala turns to look back at the stretch of Norton Sound that they've just raced across. The ice field looks like a giant jigsaw puzzle getting pulled apart. Seppala watches as the ice floes break up and start drifting further out into the Bering Sea. Thanks to Togo, they barely crossed in time. It's now late morning, February 1st. It's been five days since Seppala left Nome and headed east to intercept the westbound mushers. Yesterday, he luckily stumbled across Henry Ivanov on the trail, who handed over the package of serum swaddled in quilting and wrapped inside a wooden crate. Seppala then raced back toward Nome, traveling through the night. He still has 50 miles to the next relay station. His dogs are exhausted, and so is he. Two of them lay down in the snow. Hey. Sorry, pups. Gotta keep going, guys. Up. Up. Seppala is relieved to have Norton Sound behind him, but now he faces an eight mile ascent up and along the ridge of Little McKinley Mountain. The trail is exposed and it's steep. Four grueling hours later, he descends into the bayside village of Galavin and pulls up in front of the trailside cabin known as Dexter's Roadhouse. His dogs have run 260 miles over the past five days. They're cold, hungry and sleep deprived. Charlie Olson steps out of the roadhouse as Seppala's dogs drop to the ground. Sepp. My God, man, you made it. I thought the storm had taken you. Oh, close to it. Here's a serum. Better take it inside and warm it up before you leave. The serum is now 78 miles from Nome, and Seppala is sure the next few teams can get it to Nome in a day. A full week earlier than expected. But what if the serum froze during his long run through the blizzard? Will it be his fault if the entire batch is ruined? He'll just have to wait and pray. He won't know whether it's usable until he gets word from Gnome about an Hour later, the serum is warmed up and Olson is ready to go. Seppala shakes his gloved hand. Hey, good luck, Charlie. You might need it. Hey, thanks, Sepp. I'll take it from here, okay? You get some rest. Seppala watches from the door of the roadhouse as Olson's sled disappears into the swirling white of the storm. Then he collapses by the fire. He's done his part. Now it's time for those final mushers to make sure the children of Nome are safe. Gunner Kosson pushes open the roadhouse door in the village of Bluff. He feels snow sting his face as it blows sideways in the wind. He slams the door shut and returns to the chair beside the wood stove. It's 5pm on February 1st, and he's been at the trailside cabin since just past midnight, anxiously waiting for the serum to arrive. Kassin will be the 20th musher in the dog sled relay. He's eager to get on the trail before the conditions get any worse. 12 of his 13 dogs are staked outside in the kennel, hitched to the towline and ready to go. He decided to bring his lead dog, Balto, into the roadhouse with him. He needs Balto to be as fresh as possible if he's going to lead them through the blizzard. Two and a half hours later, Balto begins growling, and Kassan opens the door to see Charlie Olson and his team approaching. Kosson helps Olson inside and slams the door. Olson's fingers are stiff white blocks. That wind outside, it's. It's fierce. It blew us right off the trail. Took me forever to dig my way out and untangle the dogs again. You don't say. You stay here by the fire. I'll bring your dogs in. Kosson brings the package of serum inside and places it near the stove. Then he runs back outside to carry each of Olson's seven dogs into the warmth of the roadhouse. Olson is still shivering. I've never felt cold like that. You should wait here until this storm blows over, Gunnar. No sense of going out there now. I'll wait until the serum's warmed up. Then we'll see. But two hours later, the storm is still raging. Kossin gazes out the window and frowns. Listen, Charlie, if. If I don't go now, I could be stuck here for God knows how long. The way it's blowing out there, the whole trail could be covered in drifts. Yeah, it's your call. Just be careful. It's easy to get lost in a storm like this. Kossen is Bundled in seal skin, boots and pants, in a reindeer parka and another parka over that. But when he steps outside, the wind cuts right through him. In his 24 years in Alaska, he's never felt such extreme cold. He hitches his 13 dogs to his sled, putting Balto in the lead. His friend Leonard Seppola doesn't think much of Balto. The dog doesn't usually go on long runs and mainly works the trails around the Hammond Company's gold fields. But Kassan has always admired Balto's strength and grit. He just hopes he's not wrong to trust the young husky as his lead, especially on unfamiliar terrain. It's 10 o' clock as Kassan sets off into the night, straight into the teeth of the blizzard. Between the snow and the darkness, he can barely see past Balto at the head of his team. Fortunately, the storm has blown snow off portions of the trail, leaving it fast and hard packed. So despite the conditions, he's making good time. But then, after about five miles, the trail is blocked by a towering snowdrift. Before Kasen can yell halt. Balto plunges straight into it. The whole team is stuck, and the snow is up to Kassen's chest. He tugs on Balto's harness, trying to drag him out of the snow pile. Finally, he gets his dogs out. But now he can't find the trail. It's buried under fresh snow. Balto lowers his head, sniffing around, searching for the scent of dogs that have passed through before. Suddenly, Balto's ears perk up as he plunges ahead. He's found the trail. Then, just as suddenly, Balto stops. They veered offshore onto the frozen Top Cock River. The surface is wet and slick with pools of overflow. Unfrozen river water that seeped up through the ice. Balto refuses to cross it. Yeah, you win, Balto. We'll find the trail again. Hike. Kassan drags the team off the river and dries Balto's feet. Next, they climb the ridge up Topcock Mountain. On the downhill side, the team picks up speed. With all the snow blowing into his face, Kassen can't see a thing. He has no choice but to trust Balto and the other dogs. As they cross a series of frozen creeks and lagoons at full speed between gusts of wind and snow, Kosson glimpses enough of the landscape to realize where they are. They've entered a sunken marshy area known as the Bonanza Slough. That means he's missed the turnoff for the roadhouse at Solomon, which is now two miles back. He had hoped to stop there to rest and warm up the serum, but he decides to keep moving toward the next roadhouse at Port Safety, where another musher should be waiting for him. But soon he finds himself in a tricky, open stretch of trail. The wind here is gusting so hard, it keeps blowing the team and the sled off the trail into snowdrifts. After one rough tumble into the snow, he pulls the sled free and straightens out the dog's harnesses. But then he realizes the package of serum is no longer strapped to the sled. It's gone. Ed Roan jumps at the sound of the ringing telephone inside the cabin at Paul Port Safety. It's the evening of February 1st, and Rhone and his brother have been waiting at this roadhouse for the next musher to arrive. Roan has been selected to carry the serum the final 23 miles into Nome. The Rhone brothers made names for themselves last year, winning every dog sled race they entered. Ed even once beat out Leonard Seppele, who hadn't lost a race in years. So Ed Rhone feels more than capable of running this important last leg of the relay. But no one, including him, knows where the serum is. The last update came yesterday from a Signal Corps station nearly 200 miles east of Nome. Rhone picks up the ringing telephone, hoping it's new information about the location of the serum. Instead, it's the mayor of Nome, George Maynard. The mayor tells Roan about Dr. Welch's decision to temporarily halt the relay to prevent the serum from getting lost or damaged in the storm. From where he stands, Rhone can see out the window. He looks out across the frozen lagoon that separates Port Safety from the wider expanse of Norton Sound and the Bering Sea. Even from here, Rhone can tell that the ice is shifting, a swell of constant motion, pushed by the blizzard's heavy winds. Yeah, yeah, okay, I understand. It does make sense. It looks pretty bad out there. Ron hangs up the phone and tells his brother about the decision to halt the relay. Okay, but did the mayor say who has the serum? No, he didn't mention. I have no idea where it is now. Roan had been looking forward to playing his part in the relay, to be the last musher to deliver serum and help the children of his hometown. But now he decides he might as well try and get some rest. He and his brother step out outside to unharness the dogs from the sled and to feed them back inside. The brothers sit by the fire. Near midnight, Ed decides to go to sleep. But first he wants to check on the situation in Nome. His call gets through to the hospital and he asks to speak with Dr. Welch. But the connection is full of static. Hello, Doc? Can you hear me? Are you there? Aa Doc, if you. If you can hear me, the weather here, it's terrible. Winds gusting to 80 miles an hour. It's impossible for a man or beast to face this storm. Hello? Doc? Hello? Anyone there? The line has gone dead. Gunner Kaasen grapples in the dark, searching frantically for the serum package. He reaches into the snowdrift again and again, but he can't find it. Oh, damn it. Where did it go? Kossen decides to risk frostbite and rips off his gloves so he can feel around in the snow better. His hands are so numb that he worries he won't be able to feel anything. But finally his right hand bumps against something hard. It's the serum package. He lashes it back to the sled, puts his gloves on and hollers to his dogs. Finally. Lets go, Balto. Hike. Hike. Kassin's lead dog guides the team on toward Port Safety, where Carson's expected to hand the serum package over to Ed Roan. That's it. Just a few more miles, pups straight ahead. It's about 3am when the roadhouse at Port Safety comes into view. Kassan slows the dogs and comes to a stop. He stares up at the roadhouse. It's dark inside. His mind races. Should he pound on the door and see if Ed is there? Even if he is, it'll take time for him to wake up and get his team harnessed. Or maybe Kasan should just keep going. Nome is just 21 miles away. His team has momentum, and Balto seems to have found his groove. In the lead position, Kassen feels a surge of optimism. The wind is dying down some. He trusts his dogs. He decides to keep going. The trail winds along a rocky shoreline. Occasionally, a heavy snowdrift blocks their way, but Balto manages to lead the team around it. Kossen grips the crossbar of his sled as tightly as he can. His fingers are growing stiff with frostbite. Several of the dogs are moving awkwardly on their frozen paws. By throwing, they keep going. After two hours of hard sledding, Kassin can just make out the flickering yellow lights of gnome in the distance. And then, like a beacon, the glowing outline of the electric cross above St. Joseph's Church. Yes. Hike, Balto. Hike. Straight ahead, boy. Almost there. The dogs can sense that home is up ahead. They lean into their harnesses and sprint forward. The slow streets are deserted. The moon is out. Kasen is nearing collapse. But he's made it. We did it pups. We did it. Good dogs. Good dogs. After five and a half days, 20 different dog sled teams had traversed 674 brutal miles in a blizzard. And now they finally delivered the serum. But the question is, did the serum even survive the journey? And will it be enough to save the town?
- [20:51]
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- [21:51]
Lindsey Graham
In the first half of the 20th century, one woman changed adoption in America. What was once associated with the shame of unmarried mothers became not only acceptable, but fashionable. But Georgia Tann didn't help families find new homes out of the goodness of her heart, she was stealing babies from happy families and selling them for profit. Hi, I'm Lindsey Graham, the host of Wondery show American Scandal. We bring to life some of the biggest controversies in US History. Presidential lies, environmental disasters, corporate fraud. And in our latest series, a young adoption worker moves to Memphis, Tennessee and becomes one of the most powerful women in the city. By the time her crimes are exposed decades later, she's made a fortune and destroyed hundreds of families along the way. Follow American Scandal on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Experience all episodes ad free and be the first to binge the newest season only on Wondery Plus. You can join Wondery plus in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. Start your free trial today.
- [22:54]
Mike Corey
Dr. Curtis Welch wakes to the sound of distant thumping in the bed next to him. His wife, Lula lets out a sleepy Groan. Is that someone at the door? What time is it? It's early, I think. Go back to sleep, my darling. I'll see who it is. Welch drags himself out of bed and puts on a robe. Then he pads out into the hallway of the modest apartment he and his wife share in downtown Nome. The grandfather clock at the end of the hall says a few minutes after 5:30am Welch wonders what could bring someone to his door at this hour. Has there been another death? I'm coming. Fearing the worst, he hurries to open the front door. But instead of Nurse Morgan or yet another worried parent, he finds the dog sled musher Gunnar Kassin clutching a package wrapped in brown canvas. Unbelievable. Is that what I think it is? Document. We did it. It's here. Welch grabs the dog sled driver in a bear hug and pulls him inside. Okay, listen, let's get this up to my office and make sure it survived the journey. Welch bounds up the stairs while Kossin slowly follows. Welch is grateful to the musher, but he needs to make sure that the serum is intact. If it's arrived this early, that means the relay was never suspended. And in this blizzard, the vials could have easily frozen and cracked. In his office, Welch places the package on his desk and slowly unwraps it. He peels away the pieces of canvas and quilt, all stiff from the cold. Finally, he gets to the vials of serum. He's relieved to find that none of the glass appears to be broken. But then his heart sinks. Oh. Oh, my God. They're frozen. They're all frozen solid. Kassan looks gutted. Can they be thawed? Yes, I believe so. But we will have to warm them very slowly so the vials don't crack. I'll bring them to the hospital. The staff there can keep an eye on them. Welch wraps the serum up in a quilt and throws on some clothes. He leaves Carson to rest in his office, then runs across Front street to Maynard Columbus Hospital. He finds a room where the temperature is 46 degrees, warm by Alaska standards, but not too warm. By 9am the liquid inside the vials is melting. Welch is relieved that none of the vials seem to be cracked. He sees no leaks, but he's not sure if it's safe to start injecting patients, especially if the serum has been repeatedly frozen and thawed over the past few days. He races to the nearby telegraph office to send a message to the Public Health Service seeking their advice on whether the frozen serum will be effective. An hour later, he gets a reply. If the serum is thawed slowly, it is safe to use. Welch heaves a huge sigh of relief. Back at the hospital, he calls Nurse Morgan. Nurse, the serum is here. Please come as fast as you can. But his relief is fleeting. Welch is already worried that this batch will run out quickly. Emily Morgan and a second nurse walk side by side toward the native village of Sandspit. It's midday on February 2nd, seven hours since the antitoxin serum arrived in Nome. The two nurses already helped Dr. Welch give doses of serum to a few seriously ill patients in town. Now they're headed to Sandspit to treat more people who've been exposed to diphtheria. Each nurse has a few vials of serum wrapped in cloth inside their black medical bags. Morgan suggests stopping first at the home of Henry and Anna Stanley, whose daughter Bessie had died at the start of the epidemic. I believe we should give about 5,000 units to each parent and child. They have all been exposed. Yes, I agree. But poor Bessie, Poor family. You know, till it was a child, I can't imagine. Yes, but thank goodness we've only lost five people. A few days ago I was sure it was going to be much more. So was I. I really think the quarantine helped. Inside the Stanley home, the nurses inoculate Henry and Anna, but their two daughters are wary of the needle. Morgan offers each girl a piece of candy, and they finally agree to the injection. The nurses spend the next two hours going from home to home in Sanspit, repeating the same process. When their supply of serum is gone, they return to the hospital to meet with Dr. Welch and report on their progress. It's a good start, but Morgan knows that at this rate, they'll exhaust their supply of serum soon. There are 28 known cases of diphtheria, and who knows how many others might have been exposed? The heroic efforts of the mushers and sled dogs have likely saved some lives, but they're not out of the woods yet. Dr. Curtis Welch looks around at the members of the Board of Health, all of them smiling and clapping. It's Monday night, February 2nd, more than 12 hours after Gunnar Kassen was delivered the serum into Welch's hands. News of the serum's arrival spread quickly, and residents are already heaping praise on the dog sled mushers, especially Kassen and his lead dog, Balto. But now Welch needs to temper the celebration with some serious news. Unfortunately, gentlemen, there's more work to be done here. A large new batch of serum is on its way, but we're going to need it sooner than expected. Welch explains that he and his nurses expect to use up half their current supply of serum in a few days. Another batch of 1 million units is coming and should reach the port of Seward in six days. Then it'll get delivered by train to Nenana just as the initial batch had been. From there, it'll again be 674 icy miles to Nome. But thankfully, now the storm is easing up so we can plan for another dog sled relay. But that will take at least another five days, or even maybe longer, if, you know, portions of the trail are buried under snowdrifts. So, gentlemen, I'm wondering, maybe we should consider flying some of that serum in. Mayor George Maynard raises his eyebrows. Excuse me, doc. I thought you were opposed to that idea. I was, and I do still think it's risky. But what if we split it up? We could set up a dog sled relay for half a million units and then fly the other half in. Well, I'm sure our friends in Fairbanks will gladly agree with that plan. William Thompson, co owner of the Fairbanks airplane corporation, lobbied hard to deliver the first batch of serum by plane. Governor Scott Bone rejected that option. He felt the risk of a plane crash was too great. But now the board members agree it's worth taking a chance on the planes. They'll petition the governor for permission to deliver at least some of the next batch of serum by plane. And they'll get a message to Thompson asking him to get a pilot and a plane ready. Roy Darling picks up a spare propeller from a workbench at the Fairbanks airplane warehouse. He carries it to the biplane that's parked outside the plane. He hopes to fly to Nome later that day. It's February 8th, and Darling is preparing the plane alongside his mechanic and co pilot, Ralph Mackey. Hey, Ralph, hand me those spare engine parts, will ya? Sure. But hey, where's the other parachute? We've only got one. We'll have to share it. How are we supposed to do that? Well, if it comes to that, I guess we'll just have to figure it out. The two men continue to pack the plane with gear including beans, rice and axe. Two thermoses full of hot broth and extra fur parkas. They've even stowed rifles and camping equipment in case they need to land in the wilderness. They've tuned up the engine and even replaced replace the landing gear with skis to allow them to take off and land on snow. They want to be prepared for anything. Governor Bone had initially Refused to authorize their flight. But after more pressure from officials in Nome, Bone finally approved plans for half the serum to be flown from Fairbanks. Darling wasn't the first choice for this mission, but the airplane company's two main pilots weren't available. Darling happened to be in town on business and eagerly volunteered. He hasn't flown in six years, not since he crashed a navy seaplane off the coast of Maryland. That crash left him with a scarred face and a pronounced limp. Still, Darling and Mackie threw themselves into preparations, Thrilled to have a chance to make history and come to Nome's rescue with a daring mid winter flower flight. Darling and Mackey are bundled in layers of clothes, and their faces are smeared with a thick layer of petroleum jelly to protect them from the icy wind. It's 40 below outside, but it will be far colder. Traveling at 60 miles an hour, the serum is on its way into Fairbanks by train. As soon as it arrives, they'll take off. Finally, they get word. It's here. It's time to warm up the engine. Darling and Mackie climb into the cockpit while a mechanic grabs hold of the propeller, which has to be spun manually to spark the engine. Darling raises his hand. Contact. The mechanic tugs as hard as he can to spin the propeller. It usually takes a few tries to get the engine started, but now it fires up instantly. The startled mechanic slips and his overcoat gets caught in the propeller, which throws him 10ft into the air. The mechanic lands hard on the cold ground, but signals to Darling that he's okay Now. Darling has a new problem. He tries to slow the engine down to an idle, but it keeps roaring. The plane starts crawling forward. He yells to another mechanic standing nearby. She won't idle. Quick, come grab the tail. The mechanic tries to hold back the plane, but his hands start to freeze and he's forced to let go. Darling keeps fiddling with the engine controls, but he can't get it to slow down. Ah, she's starting to overheat. Let's shut her down. Darling, Mackey finally get the engine stopped. Defeated, they drag the plane back to the warehouse. Darling isn't sure what the problem is, but it's clear they won't be able to fly today. It looks like once again they'll be relying on the dogs to deliver more serum to Nome. Psst.
- [34:39]
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- [34:46]
Mike Corey
I know.
- [34:47]
Guy Raz and Mindy
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- [35:33]
Meisha Brown
Behind the closed doors of government offices and military compounds, there are hidden stories and buried secrets from the darkest corners of history. From COVID experiments pushing the boundaries of science to operations so secretive they were barely whispered about, each week on Redacted Declassified Mysteries, we pull back the curtain on These hidden histories, 100% true and verifiable stories that expose the shadowy underbelly of power. Consider Operation Paperclip, where former Nazi scientists were brought to America after World War II not as prisoners, but as assets to advance US intelligence during the Cold War. These aren't just old conspiracy theories. They're thoroughly investigated accounts that reveal the uncomfortable truths still shaping our world today. The stories are real. The secrets are shocking. Follow Declassified Mysteries on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Redacted early and ad free right now on Wondery.
- [36:39]
Mike Corey
Ed Roan glides along Front street in downtown Nome, but no one is there to greet him. The streets of downtown are deserted. Another blizzard is turning toward Nome. Roan looks down at his injured lead dog, Star, bundled up in the sled basket. Where is everyone? Star no heroes welcome for us. It's Sunday night, February 15, 1925. Roan has been on the mail trail since Saturday, mushing non stop across the tricky 90 mile run from Galavan. While attempting a shortcut across a frozen section of Galavan Bay, two of Roan's dogs fell through a gap in the ice. One dog was unharmed, but his favorite dog, Star, broke a leg and was unable to continue. Roan bundled the dog into a quilt and placed him in the sled right beside the package containing more than 500,000 units of antitoxin serum. Now he ties the team to a post in town, unlashes the serum from the sled and hugs it to his chest. He tells the dogs to stay put and heads toward the hospital. The first batch of Serum reached Nome 13 days ago Rhone had been stationed at the roadhouse in Bluff during that relay and was set to be the final musher who brought the serum into Nome. He's still angry that Gunnar Kassen didn't stop that night to wake him up and hand off the serum. Instead, Kassan kept going straight into Nome, and now he's being hailed as a hero. Kassan has even been invited to Hollywood by a producer who wants to make a movie about his lead dog, Balto. Rhone is also upset on behalf of the man who carried the serum the farthest, Leonard Seppala. As far as Rhone's concerned, Seppala is the real hero of the relay. But no one outside of nomenclature seems to know that. After missing the first relay, Roan is grateful for the chance to be part of this second one. But it feels eerie to have completed his run and come home into downtown Nome only to find no one is waiting for him and his dogs. This second relay has been mostly ignored by the press and the public. Still, as Ron carries this serum into the hospital, he's proud that they beat all expectations. It normally takes a musher at least 20 days to make the trip from Nenana to Nome along the mail trail. The second relay did it in just seven days. Emily Morgan stands outside Nomes Government school, her black medical bag strapped over her shoulder, a collection of tongue depression pressers in her pocket. It's Monday, February 23, 1925. The quarantine has been lifted and it's the first day back at school. A low winter sun rises slowly over Nome, catching ice crystals in the air and painting the snow covered streets pink and gold. For the first time in a month, children's voices echo as they make their way to the schoolhouse. Good morning, children. Welcome back. Please line up. This will only take a minute. Morgan's breath is visible in the cold air as she greets the students. They approach her on the steps one by one to have their throats checked. Some wear black mourning ribbons, while others sport new scarves and mittens sewn during the quarantine. Most of Nome's diphtheria patients have fully recovered. There have been a few new cases, but they've been quickly treated with the serum. Dr. Welch feels confident that the most recent delivery of serum will be enough to prevent any further illnesses. This past weekend, Welch declared the epidemic over. The American Legion held a dance to celebrate, and the movie theater reopened to show a double feature. But to be safe, Welch assigned nurse Morgan to check students entering the school. Morgan watches the children as they return to their normal lives. Then she spots Mary and Dora Stanley walking hand in hand. Mary, the older sister, guides Dora up the icy steps. Dora gives a shy wave. Hi, Ms. Morgan. Hello, Dora. Hello, Mary. It's good to see you both. Morgan kneels down to Dora's level and tell me, how are you doing, sweetheart? Good. Mama made us new mittens. She said Bessie would have wanted us to stay warm. Morgan feels her chest tighten, remembering the night they lost their sister Bessie. She quickly checks their throats, relieved to see no sign of diphtheria. She sends them on their way. Go inside now. Your teachers are waiting. As the last students file inside, Morgan lingers on the steps. She watches a musher guide his team past the schoolhouse as the winter sun climbs higher over Nome. The town has survived. After the quarantine was lifted, a few additional cases of diphtheria were reported in Nome, but they were quickly treated with antitoxin serum. The official final death toll was five, but Dr. Welch later said it was likely much higher, since native families in outlying areas may not have reported their deaths. Commendations and congratulations poured into Nome, many of them addressed to Gunnar Kassen and his lead dog, Balto. Both became national heroes. The manufacturer of the antitoxin Serum sent a $1,000 reward to Kassen and gold medals to the other mushers of the relay. The mushers are also received $25 each from Governor Scott Bone and a letter of commendation from President Calvin Coolidge. But the attention focused on Kassen and Balto fueled some tensions. The other mushers felt overlooked, including Leonard Seppola, who had traveled further than any other dog sled driver. Seppala was irked that news reports gave Balto credit for feat that had been accomplished by his lead dog, Togo. He continued to refer to Balto as a scrub dog. Kossen was invited to bring Balto and other dogs to Hollywood to appear in a 30 minute film called Balto's Race to Nome. The film's producer hired Kassan to tour and promote the film. Then Kassan traveled to New York for the unveiling of a bronze statue of Balto in Central Park Park. But Kassan's fame was short lived. He accused the movie producer of failing to pay him and ended up selling Balto and other serum run dogs to a traveling circus. A fundraising campaign later rescued Balto, and he lived the rest of his days at a zoo in Cleveland, Ohio, where He died in 1933. His mounted body is still at the Cleveland Natural History Museum. Leonard Seppola toured with Togo in 1926, then co founded a breeding kennel for Siberian huskies in Poland Spring, Maine. Togo lived there for the rest of his days until he was put to sleep at the age of 16 in 1929. Many of the native Alaskan mushers who delivered the serum were overlooked, especially those who participated in the second relay. Some met tragic ends, which was not uncommon for men working on the Alaska frontier. Wild Bill Shannon was killed in a grizzly bear attack, George Nolner drowned on the Yukon river in 1930 and Henry Ivanov died when his mailboat capsized in a storm in the Bering Strait in 1934. Dr. Curtis Welch and his wife Lula left Alaska in September of 1925. He returned to his home state of Connecticut, but he suffered from depression and took his own life in 1948. Emily Morgan left Alaska and served as a nurse in World War II. She died in 1960 at the age of 82. In July of 1925, the Fairbanks Airplane Company made its first round trip flight from Fairbanks to Nome. In the years ahead, airplanes and snowmobiles began carrying passengers and mail through Alaska, replacing the dog sled teams. Alaska's last mail delivery by dog sled took place in 1963. Four years later, Leonard Seppala died at the age of 89. That same year, 1967 marked the start of an annual tribute race, the Iditarod Trail Seppele memorial race. In 1975, this became the annual Iditarod Document Sled Race from Anchorage to Nome. Ultimately, the epidemic and the serum race helped raise awareness of diphtheria and accelerated the push for children to get vaccinated. The disease began a steady decline and today is extremely rare. The last confirmed diphtheria case in the US was in 1997. On our next episode, I speak with Jonathan Nathaniel Hayes about recreating the Gnome Serum Run in honor of the 100th anniversary. Hayes is a musher who breeds the registered descendants of Leonard Seppala's dog team, including his lead dog Togo.
- [46:17]
Lindsey Graham
If you like against the Odds, you can binge all episodes early and ad free right now by joining Wondery plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey@wondery.com survey.
- [46:37]
Mike Corey
This is the third episode of our three part series Gnome Serum Race Against Death A quick note about our scenes. In most cases we can't exactly know what was said but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we recommend the book the Cruelest Miles by Gay Salisbury and Lainey Salisbury and the Race to Nomenclature by Kenneth Ungerman. I'm your host, Mike Corey. Neil Thompson wrote this. Sound design by Odd House Audio. Audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez Original theme music by Scott Velasquez and 2K for Freeze N Sync Fact checking by Alyssa Jung Perry produced by Emily Frost Managing producer is Desi Blaylock Senior Managing Producer is Callum Plews Senior producer is Andy Herman Executive producer are Jenny Lauer, Beckman, Stephanie Jens and Marshall Louis. For Wondery.
- [47:39]
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Every big moment starts with a big dream. But what happens when that big dream turns out to be a big flop? From Wondery and Ill Media, I'm Meisha Brown, and this is the Big Flop. Every week, comedians join me to chronicle the biggest flubs, fails and blunders of all time. Like Quibi, it's kind of like when.
- [48:02]
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You give yourself your own nickname and you try to, like, get other people to do it.
- [48:05]
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And the 2019 movie adaptation of Cats.
- [48:09]
Mike Corey
Like, if I'm watching the dancing and I'm noticing the feet aren't touching the ground, there's something wrong with the movie.
- [48:15]
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Find out what happens when massive hype turns into major fiasco. Enjoy the Big Flop on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to the Big Flop early and ad free on Wondery. Plus get started with your free trial at wondery.com plus.