Little House in the Arctic

Little House in the Arctic

An adventure story…

Kathy Slamp, M.Ed.

Copyright © 2010 by Vessel Ministries

www.alaskathy.com

Electronically published by Dust Jacket Press at Smashwords

All rights reserved. Written permission must be secured from the publisher to use or reproduce any part of this book, except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles.

Print ISBN 978-0-9713345-3-3

eBook ISBN: 978-1-937602-84-0

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Dedication

To my two brothers who shared this adventure with me…

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyrights

Dedication

To the Reader…

Chapter 1: A New Baby and a New Life

Chapter 2: The Long, Long Trip North

Chapter 3 :Fairbanks – The Golden City

Chapter 4 :Our New Life in the Little House

Chapter 5 :We Settle In...

Chapter 6 :The Land of the Midnight Sun

Chapter 7: An Unforgettable Winter

Chapter 8 :World Events Touch Our Lives...

Chapter 9 :Outside for Christmas!

Chapter 10 :The Alcan Highway in Winter

Chapter 11 :Snowbound by the Lake

Chapter 12 :Buried Alive

Chapter 13 :Alaskan Escapades

Chapter 14 :A Room of My Own and a BIG Scare

Chapter 15 :The Baranof

Chapter 16 :We Leave Alaska... but Not for Good!

Appendix

One

Two

Three

Four

Glossary

Index

About the Author

To the Reader…

Little House in the Arctic is an adventure story told about five amazing years of my childhood. World War II had just been won, and the United States was moving into an era of prosperity. Before prosperity could have its full impact, the U.S. was once again thrown into another world conflict—the Korean War. Our family was caught in the crossfire of these global conditions when my parents moved us from our comfortable life in South Texas to a rugged and frontier life of Fairbanks, Alaska and the North.

Throughout many years of teaching school, I have told and retold these adventures to hundreds of students. As the calendar moves farther and farther away from the 1940s and 1950s, these true stories of five captivating years seem more and more unbelievable and even more fascinating.

Little House in the Arctic is a story of adventure and romance written for my children, my children’s children, and the hundreds of young people I have taught. Ordinary life is sometimes more intriguing than fiction as these stories of my childhood illustrate.

Chapter 1

A New Baby and a New Life

Jason and I were both born during World War II. He was born toward the beginning of the war, and I was born right smack dab in the middle. During the war all men in the United States between the ages of 21 and 36 were required by the Selective Service Act to register for military duty. This system required every male to register for military service by his eighteenth birthday, and during the war everyone had to serve unless he had an exemption.

There were only five military exemptions, and our Daddy qualified for one of them. He was a pastor, and that classified him as 4D—an exemption from military service. Daddy’s 4D exemption meant that he was part of the ministry, but his exemption from full time duty didn’t mean that Daddy had no official responsibilities as a result of the war. Often ministers had the job of delivering KIA (killed in action) or MIA (missing in action) telegrams. So, Daddy did his service to the country here on the home front by sometimes performing one of these difficult tasks.

Since we were little kids, we had no say so whatsoever about where we lived. Our parents lived in South Texas in San Antonio, so that was our life. I don’t remember much about the final two or three years of the war, but my memories accelerate around the time the war was over, and that is when my story begins. The war might have been over in 1947, and the boys had been home for a couple years, but America was still feeling the effects of the war.

During the war, all Americans did their part to help the United States win. Many women were called Rosie the Riveter because they worked in airplane and Jeep and tank factories that built a lot of the machinery for war. Families were encouraged to plant what the government called victory gardens. These were just private family vegetable gardens, but by growing their own fruit and vegetables, these families were helping the war by making large farm supplies available to our troops overseas.

One strategic element about the war effort that I do remember is rationing. Each individual—regardless of age—was issued ration cards. A ration card indicated how much that person could purchase of a certain item. Rationed items that were in short supply because of the war were things such as gasoline, sugar, nylon, cotton cloth, and tires. Even though we were just kids, Mama and Daddy were issued rations cards for Jason and me. Somehow, having my own ration cards made me think that I, too, was helping win the war. In World War II everyone wanted to lend a hand to do his or her part to win the big one.

Despite the war, my early memories are wonderful ones. Living in San Antonio was great. I don’t believe that Jason or I would have ever known there was a war except we heard so many people talk about it all the time. South Texas was the only life we knew, and Daddy and Mama made it fun. Mama stayed at home with us and took us to Breckenridge Park and the San Antonio Zoo where we enjoyed great, fun days together. Sometimes she took us to the Alamo, and afterwards we would walk along the famous San Antonio river walk and eat enchiladas, rice, and beans at our favorite Mexican food restaurant. Possibly, Jason understood the significance and historical importance of the Alamo, but for me as a four-year-old, the Alamo was just a fun place to go with Mama.

World War II Ration books and stamps – A varying number of stamps was needed for each rationed item.

In the evenings Daddy and Mama often took us to a small little amusement park where we would sit on wooden horses and ride the merry-go-round. Or, we would ride the live ponies or circle around in little boats that floated on an imaginary river. Occasionally, we bought ice cream from the Good Humor Man. Milk and eggs were delivered to the door as we needed them. We seemed to have everything we needed or wanted. Life was great, and life was warm!

On Saturdays Mama took our white Sunday shoes to the shoeshine man downtown who polished them for church the next day. I never knew where Mama got that custom, and it always intrigued me. On Sundays after church we ate at a popular San Antonio restaurant where an organist played music on the Hammond organ while we ate. When we left the restaurant, we kids were always given a balloon on a stick to carry out into the warm South Texas sunshine.

It was a wonderful life that as far as I was concerned at four years old would just continue forever and ever.

One day, though, Mama had a surprise. She and Daddy went shopping and returned with three brand new dresses. By this time, it was 1947; the war was over, and it was actually possible to purchase clothes in the store without having ration coupons. Jason and I thought it was unusual for Mama to buy three dresses at once since we couldn’t remember when she had purchased even one. Mama tried on the dresses for all of us, and I remember thinking that my mother never looked prettier than she looked the day she modeled the three new dresses. The dresses weren’t the biggest surprise. These were special dresses—maternity dresses. Mama was going to have a baby!

Jason and I had never thought about other brothers and sisters. We were just little kids; life was good as we knew it, and we thought we were a complete family. But now life was going to change—and change forever! What none of us knew, though, (including Daddy and Mama) was that the new baby was only one part of major changes that were in store for our family in 1947. These changes would affect all of our lives (including the unborn baby) forever.

Daddy pastored a very good church, and it was a large one for his denomination at that time. We lived in a comfortable parsonage with a pretty yard. Mama put a swing set in the backyard for us to play on, and she had also made us a little picnic table just our size. Daddy was well paid for post war America. He and Mama often got to travel together out of town to church conventions, and Daddy was well respected and admired as a maturing young pastor. Today, people would say that he was on a positive career track, but in 1947 people didn’t talk like that.

A few months after the big announcement, but before the new baby was born, Daddy returned home one day with a big announcement of his own. This announcement was so big that we nearly forget the imminent arrival of a new brother or sister. This new announcement was that Daddy had been appointed by his denomination to move to Fairbanks, Alaska to pastor a small mission there.

Fairbanks is over 5,000 miles from San Antonio. It is a totally different climate with four time zones between them. I was too little to understand anything about Alaska and cold weather, but Jason understood. We had never even owned coats, and now we were moving to the coldest part of the North American continent. A lot of preparation had to be made, but with it, there was a lot of excitement.

One thing was certain, though, there would be no moving to Alaska until the new baby was born. And so we all waited. The baby was not due to be born until September so that meant that our move to Alaska would take place after the cold weather had already begun in Alaska. In the spring of 1947 Daddy resigned his church in San Antonio so they would have an opportunity to hire a new pastor right away. Over night, our family was without a place to live until the baby was born and we could move to Alaska. That would not be until early October.

Daddy and Mama approached this unsettled time with a sense of faith, optimism, and adventure. Daddy spent the time from spring until October traveling around the country talking to churches and civic groups about Alaska. These talks also helped the denomination raise money for the mission work he would be doing when we arrived in Alaska.

But we had to have housing. Jason and Mama and I just couldn’t live on the streets or at the mercy of friends and neighbors—especially when Mama was pregnant. The first residence Daddy found for us to live was in a vacant Mexican seminary. His denomination maintained this seminary in San Antonio for Latin American students who came to South Texas to study theology. We lived in the seminary during the summer when there were no students, and it was a great place for Jason and me. The seminary was large enough to accommodate several dozen students, but Mama, Jason, and I were all alone there except for the times that Daddy was home from his money raising trips.

Several interesting events happened while we lived at the seminary. All four of us got the mumps. But we didn’t get them at same time. Jason got them first, then two weeks later, I got them, and finally both Daddy and Mama got the mumps. Our family had the mumps for nearly two months straight. Mama also thought I should have my tonsils taken out before we moved, so I had a tonsillectomy while we lived at the seminary. I’ll always remember that day. The smells at the hospital made Mama so sick that the doctor sent me home as soon as the surgery was over.

The Mexican seminary had a large, screened in porch that wrapped around the building, and Mama let Jason and me sleep out there some nights. We would lie there in the humid Texas nights on little cots, listening to crickets and watching fireflies flit by and looking at the evening stars. It was so hot and humid that all we needed for cover was one single sheet. All the while, Mama kept the long days filled with trips to the zoo and the park.

Mama had a favorite seafood restaurant downtown that she often took us after our excursions. One day at that restaurant Mama choked on a fishbone. Jason and I watched in horror as the restaurant owner rescued her from choking to death. Little did any of us understand how soon our life in South Texas would be gone forever and those sights and sounds of the South would be replaced with brand new sights and sounds of the North—sights and sounds and experiences that none of us could even imagine.

When early fall arrived, our family had a new dilemma. The seminary students began to return from Mexico and Central America, and it was no longer possible for us to stay at the seminary. Daddy was forced to find someplace else for us to live. Since our stay at this next place would be short—possibly one to two months—he looked for an inexpensive apartment. He found one all right. I remember that apartment as a rundown two-story building.

Our apartment was on the second floor. There was no air-conditioning in those days, and the end of summer 1947 was stifling as we waited the final days and weeks for the arrival of the new baby. We had always lived in a house in a neighborhood, so the apartment was exciting for Jason and me. It had a front balcony that faced the street. On stifling summer evenings Mama sat with us on the balcony with our new neighbors attempting to escape the hot apartment and enjoy what little breeze might be blowing.

One night as we sat on the balcony, there was a fight in an apartment below us. Shortly, the police came in their paddy wagon and carried away a man from the floor below. This was a brand new world to me. Our home had always been calm. I couldn’t believe that people could scream and yell at one another so much that the police would need to come. I was wide-eyed, and Mama tried to shelter Jason and me from what was happening, but it was virtually impossible in our tiny little apartment.

After this big event, the rest of the summer seemed quite dull as the three of us waited for the new baby. It was at the apartment that Mama introduced us to the popular radio shows of that time: Fibber McGee and Molly, Digger O’Dell, Amos and Andy, The Lone Ranger, etc. That summer Mama was busy making preparations for our big adventure to Alaska as well as getting ready for a new baby.

One of the biggest preparations necessary for Daddy and Mama to make for our move was to buy our family a new car. During the war, Daddy—like most Americans at home—got by with whatever car was available. New cars were unheard of during World War II. Actually, Daddy was more fortunate than most people because gasoline was one of the biggest rationed items.

Since Daddy was a minister, though, and needed in the community, he was always able to get gasoline ration cards, but seldom tire ration cards. Many Americans during the war didn’t even drive cars. It was part of the war effort to conserve resources. People took the bus or walked. New tires were unheard of. Tires were rationed just like sugar, coffee, and other items. Daddy’s old Mercury had broken down numerous times, and finally it caught on fire. There was no way that old car was going to Alaska.

The mission board told Daddy that if possible they wanted him to buy a brand new vehicle to drive to Seattle and then have it shipped to Fairbanks. It is a relatively easy task these days to buy a new car, and it’s nearly impossible now to understand how difficult it was in 1947 for Daddy to purchase our family a new car. Today, there are car dealerships on every corner and television ads blare night and day about the deals they can offer consumers.

This wasn’t the case in 1947. To begin with, Daddy had to put his name on a list even to qualify to buy a new car. Then, all he could do was wait for the automobile agencies to call him and let him know they had an available new car. Daddy didn’t get to choose the color or the model or even the brand name. Things were different in the United States after the war. Even in 1947 when war had been over for two full years, it wasn’t easy to buy a new car.

After weeks of waiting, Daddy returned to the apartment one day with good news. An automobile dealer had notified him that a new car was available for us to purchase to drive to Alaska. All four of us were so excited—it was almost unbelievable. A new car! What kind would it be? What color was it? When would we get it? We all bombarded Daddy with these questions nearly at the same time. The car we got wasn’t a brand new model, but it was close. Our new car was a 1946 Hudson Commodore sedan. It was a surplus new car from 1946 that hadn’t been sold, and so Daddy was given permission to buy it.

I’ll never forget that car. It was the first time in my young life that I had ever smelled a new car, and regardless of how old you become, you will always remember that new car smell. You always recognize it. It’s a wonderful smell. And it means something. In 1947 it meant that the war was over and that Americans could begin buying new