The Legacy

By S.F. Gilbert

The Legacy is several stories, intertwined and layered, that reveal more and plumb deeper than any one story could alone. It is set against the tableau of a heroic mush to save Nome during the great diphtheria epidemic of 1925. It is a story of Philippe Morrell and his lead dog, Balto, who made the run and the people, places and events that made his life stand out above those who had condemned him to the life of a social outcast. It is also a story that spans one hundred years in the lives of the Morrells, a prominent Canadian family who built and controlled a powerful financial empire, but also of what they owed to the man who was their patriarch. Philippe faced the harsh elements and his own demons during a ragging blizzard in subzero temperatures, driving his dogs and himself with superhuman effort to deliver the diphtheria vaccine from Nenana to Nome across 650 miles of rough pack ice and frozen rivers. Near the end of a life filled with tragedy and triumph, at the extreme limit of human endurance where sanity and madness meet, on the verge of death itself, he finds redemption in himself.

The Legacy is both a sprawling adventure, a powerful love story and an intimate character study where past, present and future are inextricably joined. In the end, it reveals what beats in the heart of a great family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781684568895

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The Legacy

S.F. Gilbert

Copyright © 2020 S.F. Gilbert

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

New York, NY

978-1-68456-890-1

First originally published by PAGE PUBLISHING 2020

PUBLISHING PUSH LTD

London, England

United Kingdom

ISBN 978-1-68456-888-8 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-68456-890-1 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-68456-889-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Foreword

PROLOGUE

The Family

New York City, March 5, 1995

Philippe's Journal: February 14, 1925

Nome: St. Valentine's Day, 1925

Pierre Hotel, March 5, 1995

Nenana, January 30, 1925

Skagway: August 23, 1897

Philippe's Journal: Nenana, February 1, 1925

Philippe's Journal: February l, 1925

Miles Canyon: April 29, 1898

Dawson: Yukon Territory, January 1905

Yukon Territory: February 1906

Philippe's Journal: Tanana River, February 2, 1925

Yukon Territory: December 12, 1907

Philippe's Journal: Tolovana, February 2, 1925

Montreal: August 8, 1908

Philippe's Journal: February 3, 1925

Quebec: Spring 1913

Philippe's Journal: February 4, 1925

The Western Front: March 22, 1915

Philippe's Journal: February 5, 1925

The Second Battle of Ypres: May 3, 1915

Hill 60: May 8, 1915

Hill 60: July 12, 1915

Philippe's Journal: February 6, 1925

Third Battle of the Somme: April 1, 1918

The German Hospital: April 2, 1918

Philippe's Journal: February 7, 1925

Vienna: January 19, 1919

Philippe's Journal: February 8, 1925

Alexandria's Daybook: February 17, 1919

Philippe's Journal: February 9, 1925

Nome: December 7, 1920

Philippe's Journal: February 10, 1925

Alexandria's Daybook: January 1922

Philippe's Journal: February 11, 1925

Alexandria's Daybook: March 1922

Philippe's Journal: February 12, 1925

Alexandria's Daybook: Winter 1923

Sixty Miles from Nome: February 15, 1924

Philippe's Journal: February 13, 1925

Philippe's Journal: February 14, 1925

Philippe's Journal: March 5, 1925

Pierre Hotel, March 6, 1995

ALEX'S JOURNAL

Acknowledgment

In today's market of digital publishing it's hard to find a

Max Perkins.

I was fortunate to of had Nicole Reefer as my Publishing Coordinator and editor. The hours she spent, and her suggestions prove to be invaluable. This was not an easy book to edit and it took a long time. I am greatly indebted to her and Page Publishing for their support.

Special thanks to the American Heritage Institute at the University of Wyoming for making the diaries of John Burnham available to the public.

Though thirty years late, I would like to extend a belated thanks to David Katz, who was my agent at Don Buchwald & Associates in New York, John Campisi at Creative Artist in Los Angeles, and Don Lockery at Sony for their efforts on my behalf, when this story was a film project. I would also like to thank Tom Delaney at CBS for taking the pictures of the statue of Balto in Central Park, Dr. George Comstock, SI Newhouse endowed chair who did the initial edit. Michael and Yvonne Lawler for their encouragement.

If it were not for their early support this novel as it appears now could not have been written.

The graphic illustrations and cover design were produced by Page Publishing art department.

This novel is warmly dedicated to those who have the courage to take a trail untraveled in search of their destiny.

To the thirty-five Syracuse University SI Newhouse students, who died in the terrorist bombing of Pan Am flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland.

December 21, 1988

Lest We Forget

-Rudyard Kipling

Anyone who says writing is easy isn't doing it right.

—Amy Tan

Foreword

It is uncommon to see a foreword written by the author. Normally it is written by someone else. However, nothing about this novel followed a traditional path. Originally it was written and scheduled as a feature film, unfortunately unexpected things happen.

It has been over thirty years since I first discovered the Statute of Balto in Central Park and read the slate plaque that told its incredible story. The characters along with the story of Balto have been fictionized for dramatic and filmic purposes. It's what Alfred Hitchcock referred to as the MacGuffin, the backdrop for the story. The accounts of the epidemic and the dog-sled run came from articles that appeared in leading newspapers during the months of January, February, March, and April of 1925. The story of Balto received so much notoriety in the first quarter of the 20th century.

A period in history with so many important news breaking events, that the only stories that surpassed it in news coverage, were The San Francisco earthquake in 1906, The Harry Thaw Stanford White Murder Trial in February of 1907, labeled by the press as the trial of the century. The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire March 25, 1911, The Sinking of the Titanic in April 1912, The First World War, The Spanish Flu Epidemic of 1918, The Black Sox Scandal of 1919, The Socco and Vanzetti Trial in April 1920, The Teapot Dome Scandal in April of 1922, The Leopold and Loeb Trial, for the murder of Bobby Franks, May 21st, 1924, and The John T. Scope Monkey Trial in July of 1925. This brought to an end the news highlights for the first quarter of the 20th century. Many of anecdotal descriptions depicted in this novel actually took place and came from journal articles, letters, news clippings.

The actual account of the dangers and hardships of 1897 Gold Rush, where found in an old worn cloth bound limited publication of the highly respected Adirondack Press which helped inspire the actual writing of this book. I incorporated them because they were true and gave authenticity to the extreme conditions of the area and the hardships of the time.

In 1925 a statue of Balto the lead sled dog who brought the first sled of diphtheria vaccine into Nome during a raging blizzard was erected in New York Central Park at the urging of the New York Commissioner of Parks, and the United States Senate, it was funded through contributions from people all over the world. Much of those funds came from children.

The statue of Balto is not just a tribute to the efforts of one dog team, led by a remarkable dog. It is symbolic of all the teams and drivers.

One of the most moving stories was that of an undersized 12-year-old Siberian husky named Togo, and his owner-driver Leonard Seppala.

They did the heavy lifting covering over 261 miles of the most dangerous and treacherous part of the mush. To minimize any aspect of the run and those who took part, diminishes the mark they all left on Alaska's history.

The tradition is honored today in the thousand-mile world famous IDATROD dog sled race from Anchorage to Nome Alaska, held each year on the first Sunday in March as a tribute to that heroic mush. It attracts some of the finest dog teams and drivers in the world, who annually compete for a sizeable financial purse. Most importantly the impact of the epidemic led to major legislation changes in the United States Health Services and its policies toward the use of anti-toxin in remote sections of the United States and its territories. My fictional account is not an attempt to retell their story.

When I first started to write, television was still black and white. Video tape was just starting to come in, almost everything we aired was live, and network news departments were concerned about reporting the truth.

Now at my age I consider every day I am still here a gift. It never bode well with me to leave things I value left undone. Finishing this story as a novel has been on my bucket list for a long time. Going from a visual medium to a verbal one for me took time and commitment. Some of the names of the dogs that appear in this novel are dogs I owned, raised, and loved. Each met a tragic end. I still can remember the little traits that made each of them so special.

As I wrote this novel, there was not a day that I did not think about how they lived, the way each of them died and just how important they really were. They gave so much and asked for so little in return.

It's why after all of these years this story held such importance and the reason I could not let it go unfinished, and at eighty-five they still remain an important part of my life.

The heart of the story is not in the event itself but the development and the inner struggle of the central character. At some point in time we all face how we answer that challenge, and there is where the importance lies.

The reason the House of Morrell is set in Canada.

The first book that opened my eyes to great literary writing was the classic children's novels by Lucy Maud Montgomery Anne of Green Gables. Set in the Maritimes in the turn of the 20th century and published by Page in 1908. It helped me chose how I wanted to live my life. Forty years ago, I used my first consulting check to purchase 5 acres overlooking the Bay of Fundy in Whale Cove, Nova Scotia.

In that time, I have hunted and fished Northern Canada and Maritimes. Enjoyed the beauty of its natural resources and wildlife.

In a lifetime of traveling the world there are few places that surpassed its beauty and size.

I would like to thank Page for providing me with Nicole Reefer as my Publishing Coordinator and editor. From the very beginning she enabled me to take a page from D.H. Lawrence to tell this story the way I wanted it told. Irrespective of the outcome. I hope the results prove to be an enjoyable read, and I can now lay it to rest!

S.F. Gilbert

Whale Cove, N.S.

Canadian Maritimes

May 7, 2018

The Legacy

Rise of the

House of Morrell

In the wilderness is the preservation of Man.

—Henry David Thoreau

PROLOGUE

The Family

The story I am about to tell ignores the canons of conventional storytelling. It has neither a beginning nor an end, and like life, it is an ongoing process coming to an end only to be reborn with each new generation that follows. It does not neatly fit into any one genre. Nor is it written linearly, but rather in a series of flashbacks. This was not done to confuse or make the tale or its writer sound profound. It is so because it was the way it was originally understood from excerpts found in journals, letters, old newspaper clippings, and rough sketches that was how it came to my attention, and I find no reason to change it. Like the fabric of the story, it is a tightly woven pattern that is akin to the frozen river against whose tableau it is set, weaving and turning until it returns to the source from which it started. To pull apart its threads for whatever purpose would alter the pattern of its design.

My name is Benjamin Cassidy. I became involved because the family at its center has long been my client. The family I speak of is the House of Morrell. Some of you may have heard the name; others may not have. They are the foundation upon which my firm was established. This, I feel, qualifies me to be their spokesperson. The Morrells, like many great and powerful families, that have looked to their past to find modest origins. But, in time, through perseverance, foresight and a great deal of luck, they grew into a dynasty, much in the same way a pond grows into a brook that becomes a stream, which feeds into a river that increases with each new tributary that adds to its size and force as it fights its way out toward the open sea to fulfill its destiny. Quite a few of these families have found it difficult to distinguish among fact, fiction, rumor or just interpretation in what has been said about them. Such was the case of the House of Morrell. As their attorney I felt obligated to extricate my client from such misgivings. To set down their story to get at the truth. So those who are interested in such things will know from where they came and what sets them apart from other great families that have left their imprint upon society.

It opens five years ago in the spring of 1995 when Peter and Marie Morrell flew from Montreal to New York City for the reading of their grandfather's will. I booked them into his suite at the Pierre Hotel on the corner of 5th Avenue and 61st Street, directly across from Central Park. I did this to comply with his instructions. Their grandfather, Alexander Morrell, was not only my client but my oldest and closest friend. We had grown up together as boys in Canada, and though I never had the opportunity to meet his heirs, I actually knew a great deal about them through Alex. I regarded Peter and Marie Morrell as if they were members of my own family.

Benjamin D. Cassidy, Esq.

La Villa de Nouvelle Esperance

Cap d'Antibes, France

French Maritimes

March 17, 2000

CHAPTER 1

THE APPOINTMENT

New York City, March 5, 1995

The gun lay on his desk, the last rays of the afternoon sunshine reflecting off its shiny black barrel. Alexander reached down and, feeling the icy hardness, wrapped his frail fingers around it and picked it up. How peaceful and harmless it looked, glistening and sparkling in the waning sunlight as if it were a valuable work of art. He thrust the cylinder open and spun it around, viewing the backs of tiny shells slumbering innocently in their chambers. He snapped the revolver shut with a quick jerk of his wrist and set it back down. He mopped his perspiring brow, swallowing hard. His days were filled with pain caused by an inoperable brain tumor. Medicine and pills were his daily menu to relieve that pain. His nights were filled with agony. Medicine and pills were his evening toddy and nightcap. He had made up his mind of what he was going to do. He was in control and could now end his constant pain. Would this be a courageous act or a cowardly one?

Alexander Morrell, son of the House of Morrell founder, Philippe Morrell, was not a coward! When Philippe died in 1938, Alexander became head of the company, pushing it beyond the visionary goals set by Philippe. Alexander took risks that allowed the company to prosper and grow into a giant financial company that had developed Canada. As the pain increased and his strength waned, he hurried to put his affairs in order. He wanted to leave the board of directors of the giant conglomerate with seasoned, well-prepared leadership. He wanted his twin grandchildren, Marie and Peter, to assume leadership roles in the business, but they were not ready. For this Alexander blamed himself. Marie and Peter had lived with him in Montreal since the untimely death of their parents, his son and daughter-in-law, in a skiing accident. Alexander wanted them to grow up happy and carefree, not being involved with business dealings. Now, at 25 years old, easygoing Peter was a conservationist who spent his time promoting environmental causes. Just out of law school, brash Marie was full of idealism and altruism. Both were outsiders to the business—neither knowledgeable about their rich heritage nor ready to assume the responsibilities that come with running the House of Morrell It was time now and Alexander vowed to change this. Not wanting to alarm them to his true intentions, he wired Marie and Peter to leave Montreal and fly to New York City, arriving early tomorrow morning.

Preparing for their visit and his task of readying them for the business, Alexander took out the well-worn box containing bits and pieces of family memorabilia. He fingered its all-too-familiar contents: Philippe's journal, his mother Alexandria's daybook and photograph albums, newspaper clippings telling of Philippe's heroic dog mush to save the diphtheria-ridden townspeople in Nome, Uncle Michel's watch from the old country, letters from Jean Louis and his colorful sister, Mme. Bouchard. These things, innocent and unassuming, represented the spirit of the Basque brothers, Philippe and Michel, who, at the turn of the 20th century, set out to find their fortune by panning for gold in the Yukon and instead founded an empire—the House of Morrell.

*****

Here's the address. That's the Twin Towers. How long do you think it will take to get us there? asked Peter.

Well, Mister, it depends on traffic conditions. It's the morning rush hour and you're going to the World Trade Center that's heavy traffic.

Marie, flashing a $50 bill at the driver, barked back, All we want to know is can you get us there by ten?

Yeah, lady, I sure can. The driver stomped on the gas pedal and the cab lunged forward, screeching its tires as it pulled away from the curb at the airport. Relieved, Marie and Peter sank into the back seat of the taxi for the ride from Kennedy Airport into New York City.

The 7:00 am flight from Montreal had been smooth and without incident. Unable to sleep during the flight, a tired Marie now put her head back, closed her eyes and rested, rolling the $50 bill over and over in her fingers. Peter had no great love for airports or cities with their noise and pollution. Away from the pristine mountains, pure lakes and vast tundra of the Northwest Territories where he lived and worked, he felt like Antaeus being lifted from the earth and his strength left him. Weary but unable to rest, he turned and looked at his twin sister.

How different they were! Marie had just completed her law studies and was waiting to take the bar exam. She was strong-willed, independent and goal oriented. Once she made up her mind, she went straight for it, trampling anybody or anything that got in her way. He was easy-going, quiet and concerned about environmental issues. Peter had completed his studies two years before and was now an active conservationist. He loved the outdoors and room to roam. His wants, needs and desires were simple and few.

Alexander's wire simply said for them to come to New York City to meet Benjamin Cassidy, the company's longtime trusted lawyer. This request seemed odd since Alex had always kept them out of any business dealings. However, neither Peter nor Marie questioned the request because nobody ever questioned Grandfather when it came to business.

The lunging and jerking of the cab ride came to an abrupt end, thrusting Peter forward as the driver's harsh voice brought his thoughts back to the reality of New York City.

Hey, Mister, we're here! That building is the one you want.

After collecting their two pieces of luggage from the trunk, Peter paid the driver, including Marie's $50 tip, and helped her out of the cab. He hoped the rest had improved her disposition.

You really should have dressed better, Peter. This is our first meeting with Cassidy. It is so important to make a good impression.

Peter looked at his attire: jeans, denim shirt, corduroy jacket, and red knit tie. He looked at Marie's smooth black suit, long sleeves, white silk blouse and comfortable black stack heels. Trying to appease her, he said, I'll let you look great for both of us.

These verbal spats didn't bother him. They set a pattern established long ago. Although they competed with each other, they had always been close, a result of having lost their parents when they were only seven years old. They had learned to depend upon and look out for each other. Ever since he could remember, they had argued. Over the years it had become part of their lifestyle. It was not so much that Marie was mean and domineering. She was just used to getting her own way. Peter found it easier to go along with her. It wasn't that he was weak. It was that he avoided any type of confrontation. Besides, time showed that she was usually right, so why oppose her?

The cab pulled away from the curb, spraying them with exhaust fumes. Peter covered his nose with a handkerchief to protect himself from carbon monoxide and coughed. I think I'm allergic to the twentieth century.

Don't worry. It will be over soon.

What? The twentieth century?

She laughed, Yes, I suppose it will, thought that wasn't what I meant.

I know, he answered. He interpreted her noncommittal response to mean that Marie was thinking about the meeting with Ben Cassidy, scheduled to take place in just a few minutes. Don't worry, Marie, we'll probably be out of there in twenty minutes.

It's just the jitters of not knowing.

Together they made their way into the building. Stopping at the security desk, Peter said, Marie and Peter Morrell here for a ten o'clock appointment with Benjamin Cassidy.

If you like, you can leave your bags here and collect them on your way out, suggested the guard. Take Elevator Number 3 and get off at the 15th floor. Mr. Cassidy's office is the first door on the right, Suite 1502.

Getting off the elevator, Marie rushed ahead of Peter, opened the office door, entered and began speaking with the woman behind the receptionist desk.

I'm Marie Morrell. My brother, Peter, and I have just arrived from Montreal. We have a ten o'clock appointment with Benjamin Cassidy.

The woman listened to Marie and then smiled. I'm Liz Joyce, the office manager. How was your flight?

We had a g— started Peter but Marie interrupted. Is Mr. Cassidy ready to see us? Our grandfather, Alex Morrell, made this appointment for us.

Sensing Marie's hostility, Liz tried to smooth things over. Won't you please have a seat? Perhaps you would like some coffee or tea?

Is he ready for us yet? demanded Marie.

I'll check. Liz chose to pretend to buzz Cassidy's office. It will be just a moment. Then she left the receptionist's area and went into Cassidy's office. They're here. The young man seems pleasant enough. The girl is quite rude. Ben, I don't think they know yet.

Thinking for a moment how he should handle this, he picked up the phone and called Alex. Give me a few minutes, then buzz me and show them in. Five minutes later, Liz led an angry Marie and docile Peter to Ben's door.

Knocking and then opening the door, Liz said, My husband will see you now.

Unabashed Marie strode in, followed by Peter who extended his hand to Ben. I am pleased to meet you, sir. Marie said nothing.

I am Ben Cassidy. Alex has told me a great deal about you. Now, at last we meet. Smiling and gesturing for them to sit down, he continued, Coffee? Tea? Perhaps you would prefer a soft drink?

Tea sounds good, responded Peter, settling into a chair across from Cassidy. Marie nodded in agreement.

During the next hour it was a different Marie who sat quietly and listened to Cassidy tell of his friendship with Alex which went back to their boyhood years. He told of the personal hardships they both endured, including the deaths of their children and Alex's wife Irene and Cassidy's first wife. Cassidy then explained the terms of their entering into the business. The terms were explicit. Peter and Marie were to share equally in the wealth. Until they reached age 30, each would receive $120,000 yearly with annual increments of ten percent. Cassidy would oversee all daily operations and supervise them during their training period. If Cassidy should pass away before their 30th birthday, one of his senior partners would take his place. The board of directors would review their performance on two occasions: after the third and fifth years. During the final review a decision would be made by the board to determine which one was best qualified to assume operational control of the parent company. And, if the final review showed that neither was qualified, their stock would revert to nonvoting status and the twins would be barred from taking an active role in the management of the House of Morrell and a successor from outside the family would be selected to succeed Alexander Morrell.

Cassidy began, "The business started by your great-grandfather Philippe Morrell was successful due to a great deal of hard work and wise decisions. I would like to leave you with a parable.

Many years ago, an Immigrant Jewish peddler came to Canada to escape the persecution of Czar. He lived by going door to door, selling shoelaces from a rug sack. In time he added other items to sell, and as the years passed, he built his business into one of the largest and most important department store chains in Canada. His success was due in part to hard work, vision, and concern for both his patrons and employees. As he got older, he turned the running of his business over to his grandchildren. They felt his methods were old-fashioned and out-of-date and with the aid of a marketing consultant and high-priced lawyers, they changed the operation of the business, and in less than eight years, their business was bankrupt. The problem was that they never learned the value of shoelaces, and what they conveyed in terms of people. It was the foundation their stores had been built on. I want to make sure that this parable is not repeated.

The lesson I learned from that story Peter, that it is fine to be a person with a cause, but an activist without money is regarded by most as a troublemaker. A wealthy activist is looked upon as a visionary. Maria- a person whose sole concern, is money and thinks manual labor is the name of a Mexican ends up with little else.

I want both of you and this company to continue to move forward. It was my promise to your grandfather and it's my promise I make to you. The House of Morrell is a legacy that stood the test of time, and will continue to do so, it was established on firm ground.

It's my responsibility when your time comes you are ready.

Wise decisions require many qualities, the most important being good health. And Alexander—now—he's—

uh—"

What? a disbelieving Peter queried. Grandfather has always been a tower of strength and good health—not even a cold or a flu. What are you saying? Are you saying that our grandfather is going to die?

Everything Cassidy had he owed to Alex Morrell. Not only was he his most important client, but he was also his closest friend, a friendship that spanned more than fifty years. Now Alex Morrell had left Cassidy in charge of his business and what was lacking in Cassidy's life—children.

Looking away from Peter, Cassidy shook his head, becoming choked up, unable to say anymore. The few moments of silence that followed answered Peter's question.

After that neither Peter nor Marie remembered much of what Cassidy said. Neither had ever thought about entering the business and replacing Alex. They left the meeting with many unanswered questions:

Did they really want the responsibility?

Did they have the skills?

The commitment?

Just what was the House of Morrell?

They began to realize how little they knew of a business that spanned more than one hundred seventy-five years and had grown to be one of the largest and most important conglomerates in Canada.

They sat in silence during the cab ride to the Pierre Hotel, stunned by the news of Alex's condition. How would they act when they saw him? What could they do to make the situation easier? What would they say?

Getting out of the taxi, Marie broke her silence. I can't. I can't. I just can't face him now.

Let's take a few minutes and walk in the park. They both liked the fact that the hotel faces Central Park. Ever since they could remember Alex kept a permanent suite which he used as a residence and office when he was in New York. The walk will give us time to collect our thoughts. Peter turned to the doorman, slipped him a generous tip, and said, Hold our luggage at the desk until we return.

Marie took his arm and they crossed the street, walking North on 5th Avenue near the wall that borders Central Park East. At the corner of 67th Street and 5th Avenue, Peter stopped at a large bronze sculpture depicting a series of soldiers of the 107th infantry in battle dress with rifles and fixed bayonets. One of the bayonets was broken; another was badly bent. Several of the soldiers appeared to be mortally wounded and were being supported by their comrades. Over the years the statue had oxidized, giving it a greenish cast.

Do we have to stop at this statue again, Peter? Every time we come to the park, you stop and study it—like you are seeing it for the first time.

I like reading the inscription. It was erected to commemorate the fallen soldiers of the New York 7th Regiment who died in the First World War. Every time we walked in the park with Grandfather Alexander, he would stop here at this statue. When we asked him why he stopped here, he said it was Great-Grandfather Philippe's war. and it made an indelible mark on our family.

But he never told us what that mark was.

They continued along the wall until they reached the 72nd Street entrance. There they entered the park. It was a sunny day with just a slight nip in the early March air. They moved through the park like two travelers trying to get their bearings from familiar landmarks.

When they reached the pond, they headed for the statue of Alice in Wonderland. Sitting on the bench in front of the statue Marie said, Remember when Grandfather first brought us here? We were only seven then—scared and too young to understand what Mother's and Father's death in the avalanche meant. We just wanted to run and climb on the statues. Grandfather Alex let us. We played and played. We even talked to the statues of Alice and Hans Christian Andersen. We hugged them and put our jackets on them so they wouldn't feel the chilly air. And, like the children before us, we mounted Balto and with grandfathers help slipped our scarves around his thick neck and rode him hard as though we were traveling through fierce snow, whooping and hollering, ‘Mush, boy, mush!' Our playfulness seemed to help Grandfather deal with our parents' death. It was the start of our wonderful relationship with him.

Whether consciously or unconsciously they continued the walk in silence on familiar paths, crossing over to the children's section of the park, walking up the winding path. When they reached the little hill next to the bridge which separates the two sections of Central Park, they could see the statue of Balto through the leaf-barren trees. As the statue came into clear view it stood as it had for more than half a century—straight and majestic, like a sentinel standing guard, protecting the children who came to play under his watchful eye. There are many statues in Central Park, but something about Balto made it stand out from the rest. Maybe it was due in part to its location, tucked away on a secluded knoll, hidden by the trees that surround it. Whatever the reason, people found it hard to pass without stopping. There was nothing extraordinary about its design—just a simple bronze statue of a large Siberian husky sled dog in harness, resolute, tail upright, forming a semicircle, head bent forward, muscles set as if pulling a heavy load. You could see the wear on his back, due in part to age, and aided by children who might climbed on its back for a ride. The wear marks did not mar its appearance; they added to its character. The sculptor had captured both the spirit of the dog and the symbol of what the dog once stood for. At the base of the pedestal is the name Balto, in block letters. Under the name is the artist's signature and date it was cast (F. G. Roth, 1925). Below the base is a small slate plaque, difficult to read due to age and the hard New York winters that had caused the slate to chip and flake.