Nome No More

The story goes that a cartographer, mapping the central peninsula that jutted into Bering Strait from the Russian territory of Alaska, had no identification for the cape on its southern side. He simply made a note there: "? Name." In 1849 an erring draughtsman labeled the place Cape Nome.

In 1898 gulch gold was found on the shores of Anvil Creek, a few miles from Cape Nome. Overnight a rip-roaring canvas-and-scantling town sprang up, sheltering, feeding and quenching the notable thirsts of 20,000 miners, gamblers, tradesmen and wenches. Among that gaudy citizenry were such characters as Klondike Kate, Alexander Pantages and Key Pittman, now U. S. Senator from Nevada. By 1900, there was no place like Nome for placer mining. Then, when the beach and tundra had been furrowed of its treasure, Nome languished as a commercial city. Today less than 1,500 people live there. Last week Nome was all but wiped off the map by a $1,000,000 tire.

It started when a spark from a nearby chimney lit on the roof of the Golden Gate Hotel. A 34-mi. wind puffed the flames through every room. From the Golden Gate Hotel the fire spread rapidly to the business section on Front Street. Up went the offices of the Nome Nugget, up went the airplane office, saloons, poolrooms, garages, almost every business place in town. By nightfall every building in Nome was in ruins except the Government wireless station, which sent out the bad news, one hotel, a hospital and Lomen Commercial Co.'s north side warehouse. The winter food supply was entirely destroyed. That night the thermometer dropped to 38DEG.

In Manhattan, 4,000 mi. away, Carl Joys Lomen, son of a late Alaskan judge, brother of an Alaskan Senator, husband of Andrew Volstead's daughter Laura and supersalesman of reindeer meat, announced that he was off to Washington to get help for his fellow-townsmen. "The lack of shelter for the 700 to 900 whites who usually winter in Nome will be hard to overcome," said he. "But the most urgent need is for food, medical supplies and the like which cannot be brought in from the outside in quantities after the freeze-up."

Soups and serums were soon on their way to Nome when the Coast Guard ordered three vessels of the Bering Sea patrol to proceed there at once and share supplies with stricken inhabitants, who by this time were huddled in rude barracks and eating in a community kitchen. A food-laden boat was hurrying up from Seattle. Alaska Steamship Co., aware that not more than two round trips could be made to Nome before the Arctic winter clamped down, cut rates on food and building material in half. Luckiest break for Nome, however, was a Lomen boat which had just come down the coast with a load of reindeer meat destined for Seattle.

Pressed by Carl Lomen and Governor John W. Troy, who wired an urgent appeal from Juneau, Federal Relief Administrator Harry Hopkins dug down into his misery chest for $50,000 to rebuild and re-victualize the ashy remains of Nome.

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