Mike Dillingham - Alaska Dogs and Iditarod Mushers - The Adventures of Balto, Back of the Pack, Honor Bound, Rivers

Kimble had arranged for the dogs to be trucked to a ranch outside the city to rest up for their long train ride home. Home? At last, they became part of the lush California landscape, with its fertile valleys, faraway mountains and sweet scent of ripening oranges. It was like a trip to a spa!

After weeks without sunshine, fresh air or human warmth, the dogs got to run again and were showered with attention and affection. They were bathed and professionally groomed. They dined al fresco, or outside in the open air. They ate fish laced with ground up pills with all the nutrients they had been deprived of for so long. Their fur began to regain its beautiful luster. Balto’s white “socks” looked freshly laundered; his dark brown fur gleamed like sable. The dogs looked — and smelled — like great, regal Siberians again — awesomely handsome (except for Tillie, the only female, who was awesomely beautiful).

Finally, the dogs were crated up individually and sent with their sled and harnesses in a cargo car of a train bound for Cleveland. But these crates were like roomy, first-class kennels, little relaxation tanks where the dogs could float in a waterless sea of comfort. And the cargo car was posh: Owned by the American Railway Express Company, it was filled with gold and silver bullion, or gleaming bars that had not yet been minted into coins, and fresh flowers — a trove worthy of Tutankhamen, the ancient Egyptian pharaoh buried in a vault of gold!

The cross-country trip took three days and seven hours, with many stops along the way. Each day at 6 p.m., Mr. G. M. Watson, a Balto Committee member and American Express official, tapped into his national telegraph wire and interviewed the train’s baggage agent — in Santa Fe, Denver, St. Louis. “How are the dogs doing?” he would ask. “What did they eat for dinner?” He would take notes and relay the information to the Plain Dealer . The dogs’ cargo car was dubbed the “The Balto Pullman,” a reference to the famous Pullman passenger car, which had especially comfortable furnishings. Excitement mounted as the train rolled closer and closer to Cleveland.

The dogs started barking as soon as the train pulled into Cleveland at 9 a.m. on Wednesday, March 16. They were quickly uncrated, put on leashes and led off the train. But there was no repeat of the long-ago scene in Seattle, when the team was engulfed by fans, reporters and photographers. This time, there was no official welcome, no blinding cameras, no smothering fans. Train-lagged and stiff from their 79-hour trip, the dogs would soon get what they most needed: a good stretch and a good meal.

A city truck whisked them away to the Brookside Zoo, where they were taken to the basement of a large building that housed lions, tigers and parrots. To the exotic din of roar and squawk, the dogs were fed all-they-could-eat servings of boiled beef, dog biscuits and milk. They ate quickly, then went to bed — gladly — behind a wire screen inside the kennel-sized crates from the train.

For the next two days, the dogs rested, ate and played in the building’s basement and outdoors. A team of veterinarians examined them all, pronouncing each to be in “reasonably good health,” the Plain Dealer reported. Each day, the dogs were escorted outside and allowed to run around the zoo grounds. They were petted lavishly by the kindly zoo staff and — yes! — their little paws were lovingly massaged, just as in the old days in Alaska, when Kaasen would sometimes rub them energetically to remove the ice after an especially hard run. But these massages were more gentle — more sensual, or luxurious. They made the dogs tingle and want to roll around! Everyone was so nice!

After so much suffering and sadness, the dogs began to come alive again, one by one, like a sleeping princess and six sleeping princes awakening from a spell. The life that had drained out of them in the dime museum began to flow back, filling them with renewed vigor, spirit and Siberian husky-ness! They would soon be their old selves again. But would the good time last?

On Saturday, the zoo staff mounted the team’s long wooden sled on a dolly, or platform with wheels. The dogs were to pull the sled through the city’s streets in a big parade at 1:30 p.m., but there was no snow. Hopefully, the wheels would glide over cobblestones and streetcar tracks as smoothly as iron runners over snow!

All morning, a light drizzle fell on the elegant Lake Erie port city. But the enthusiasm of the dogs’ many well-wishers was undampened. By 1 p.m., thousands of fans lined the downtown parade route, standing six and eight deep at every curb. Thousands more hung their heads out of high office windows to glimpse the famous dogs — and to soak up the good feeling that flooded the city like Erie overrunning its banks.

At 1:30 p.m., the parade left Frankfort Avenue at Sixth Street for the long march to City Hall. Four mounted police officers, dressed in bright yellow rain slickers, led, followed by a dozen more police officers on motorcycles. The members of the Balto Committee rode by in 15 Buick sedans, followed by more police on motorcycles.

Next came Costello’s 12-piece band, which everyone knew because it had played at Indians’ opening games for years. The musicians roused the crowd with their brass instruments. A troop of bright-faced Boy Scouts shyly carried a 10-foot-by-12-foot map of Alaska, showing the exact route of the serum run. Then came the dolly, pulled by Balto and his six teammates looking more regal and brave than ever!

Balto held his head high, carrying himself with the natural dignity of a true leader. (The next day, a reporter would describe him in the paper as having a “fox-like keenness, with ears that are always alert.”) Even Old Moctoc, the oldest dog, rallied, caught up in the fun ride and cheering. With his sharp features and coarse coat, some people thought he was a wolf!

A zoo attendant with a long leash walked alongside each dog — just in case, though the dogs were harnessed to the sled. To make the sled-float seem authentic, the zoo staff had rigged it for the North, with a 300-pound pretend load lashed under a bearskin. There was even a pretend package of diphtheria serum — a small box wrapped in fur to keep the “serum” from freezing.

“The Nightingale of Alaska,” Miss Marye P. Berne, a cabaret singer who was brought up in the Alaska Klondike, stood in for the missing Kaasen as driver. Dressed in her old fur parka and hood, fur boots and fur gloves, the former musher rode the 12-foot sled’s brake — a large iron claw under the platform — to slow Balto down when things got rolling too fast. And they did — about every other block.

Five “sourdoughs,” or old Alaska hands, who lived in Cleveland, escorted the team to prevent mishaps. Fortunately, they were able to stop the dogs in the nick of time each time they threatened to knock the Boy Scouts onto the sidewalk or run into the band member’s heels.

The hour-long parade wound its way in stops and starts through the city’s public square — down Euclid Avenue, Ninth Street, Prospect Avenue, 14th Street; up Euclid and Ninth Street again to Sixth Street and, finally, to City Hall for a special ceremony on the steps.

Judge James B. Ruhl, chairman of the Balto Committee, gave a short but moving speech that is still quoted today. “The dog is man’s best friend,” the judge said solemnly. “A dog’s love is akin to a mother’s love. He is man’s last friend when the cloud of misfortune hangs over him. And he is to be found watching at his master’s grave when the last friend has departed.”

With those words, the good feeling breached its banks. Tears spilled over, rolled down fat little cheeks and even stubbly beards. The huge crowd thought about how much mankind owed the humble dog for all its help down through the ages. It was a debt that never could really be repaid. But one city could help seven dogs — could take good care of them and give them the comfortable retirements they deserved. The great heart of Cleveland, composed of all the little hearts of the people, opened wide and welcomed the dogs home.