Originally published in The Nome Nugget, Summer 1994
My sons have heard the story of the threatened diphtheria epidemic in Nome nearly 70 years ago. I’ve read them the stories of the cylinder packed with the 300,000 units of serum on the train to Nenana, the great hearts of Balto and Togo, and the courage of Leonard Seppala and Gunnar Kaasen and the other eighteen mushers. I’ve tried to paint a picture of the desperation of the situation back then but these boys don’t really understand epidemics. My kids had routine diphtheria-pertussis-tetanus (DPT) shots in the convenience of their pediatrician’s office when they were infants. How could they know what I was talking about? Their version of desperation came on a cold and windy night last April.
We had just moved into our apartment and I’d managed to stock up on peanut butter, bread, bologna, a can of my husband’s favorite cashew halves, and a one-gallon bucket of Vitarich vanilla ice cream. But we were dangerously low on chocolate syrup. There was only about a third of a cup left, barely enough for two servings. It wouldn’t be enough for this family of five. My husband said nothing could be done. We’d just have to let this run its course. I pushed the ice cream back into the freezer, resigned to our fate. But our oldest son said, “Wait. I think I can make the run!”
The wind was whipping around the buildings and the ice was slick and unforgiving beyond our porch steps as Sam ventured into the cold. Pulling his parka hood tight around his face, he staggered the block and a half to the store. He had to get through!
He tromped up the metal steps and numbly walked down the aisles. He ripped off his mittens and took a one-pound can of Hershey’s syrup off the shelf. Stiffly pulling the folded bills from his pants pocket, he paid his $1.59, and strode back into the night with the precious syrup dangling in a white plastic bag.
But a careless step on the ice sent Sam sprawling, and the plastic bag burst. The syrup can slid away, skittering toward a Ford Bronco with the engine running parked outside the store. Madly searching for the syrup under the truck, he almost panicked. He’d come so far! He couldn’t fail now! Sam’s hands at last found the can and he stuffed it into his parka’s muff. He kept both hands on the precious cylinder.
He hurried to the apartment building, knowing his family was depending on him to bring the syrup. He looked up and saw our faces pressed against the window. He raced up the stairs, pushed open the door, and burst into the living room. Had he succeeded? Had he made it in time? Five dishes of vanilla ice cream sat waiting on the table in front of the television. He pulled the can out from his muff and we all cheered. Yes, he’d done it! Sam was the hero! He had made the great syrup run! He had saved dessert!
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