No Good Deed Goes Unpunished: The true story of Balto
- Staff
- May 14
- 9 min read
Updated: 6 days ago
by #LizPublika
One hundred years ago, dogs that are still remembered and those who have been forgotten by history engaged in a heroic act that saved a small village in a remote part of the country from what would have otherwise been certain death. How we treat our heroes says a lot about who we are, and so does how we treat the animals that have served and coevolved with us for millennia. In this case, they are one and the same. This is the story of Balto.
In the winter of 1925, Nome — then the largest town in northern Alaska located some two degrees south of the Arctic Circle — was on the verge of a diphtheria epidemic. It was placed under quarantine by its only doctor after the demand for a diphtheria antitoxin (a serum) greatly exceeded its availability. Fortunately, more was made available in Anchorage, but transporting it to Nome was extremely difficult due to a variety of factors.
From November to July, the port on the southern shore of the Seward Peninsula of the Bering Sea was icebound and inaccessible by steamship. And, the only three available biplanes in the region were grounded for winter due to their open cockpits. Fortunately, many of Nome’s residents were sled dog breeders and mushers, which presented an opportunity; use sled teams to ferry the serum over the "Seward-to-Nome Trail.”
Initially, the plan was to use two teams. The serum would first be sent by rail from Anchorage to Nenana, the closest railhead on the Alaska Railroad. From there, the sled dog teams would complete the 674-mile relay. One team would start in Nenana and the other in Nome, they would meet roughly half way, in Nulato. Unfortunately, the region was also hit by the worst blizzard in 20 years, so more mushers were scheduled to join the relay.
The first musher, "Wild Bill" Shannon, picked up the serum at the train station on January 27th. The blizzard conditions gave him hyperthermia and frostbite and at least three of his dogs passed away due to complications resulting from the arduous journey. Edgar Kalland took over but didn’t fare better than Shannon. On his way, the extreme cold, −56 °F, froze his hands to the handlebar and required careful thawing. Those who followed had similar difficult experiences.
Normally, the run from Nenema to Nome took roughly 30 days. But Leonhard Seppala – a native Norwegian, sled dog breeder, trainer, and accomplished musher — had previously made the run in an astounding and record-breaking four days. His lead dog, the 12-year-old Togo, was equally famous for his leadership, intelligence, and ability to sense danger. As such, the team was initially selected to run the most difficult section of the relay on its own.
When Seppala was handed the serum, night was falling and a powerful low-pressure system was moving towards the trail from the Gulf of Alaska. He set off, knowing he could not see or hear potential warning signs from the icefacing gale-force winds that drove the windchill to an estimated −85 °F, though the real temperature was only −30 °F. When he and his team finally arrived at the first resting point, they had covered 84 miles; after a short rest, they set out again.
As the blizzard conditions worsened, the relay organizers decided to recruit additional mushers to help him and his team as well as to save time that he would otherwise require to rest. But because the telephone and telegraph systems bypassed the small villages Seppala was riding through, there was no way to tell him to wait at Shaktoolik. Instead, the plan required mushers to catch him on the trail, which was a difficult task with minimal visibility.
Meanwhile, Seppala and his team were facing the most challenging part of the trail that involved climbing an 8-mile ridge formation that led to the summit of Little McKinley. The trail was exposed and the steep grade was grueling for the dogs, who were sleep-deprived and had already raced 260 miles over the previous four and half days. Still, that very afternoon, Seppala and his team arrived at Golovin and handed over the serum to the next musher.
At Nome, Gunnar Kaasen — a fellow musher, Norwegian, and Seppala’s employee — was selected to lead a team of Seppala’s backup dogs, which were originally set aside for company business during the run. Before departing, Seppala chose a dog named Fox as the pack leader, but because every musher could appoint the dog of their choice, Kaasen decided on a dog called Balto to co-lead his team, a move that Seppala did not approve of after-the-fact.
Balto was presumably born in 1919 at Seppala’s kennels. His birth records and those of his litter were discarded, since his body type did not align with the other racing dogs that Seppala was breeding; he had a largely black fur coat, was small and stocky, and because his build was unique for a Siberian husky, he was regarded as “second rate” and a “scrub dog,” so Seppala neutered him at six months old and had him haul freight and large cargo during short runs.
But Balto was held in higher esteem by Kaasen. To him, Balto was an overlooked dog with a lot of potential. The canine’s short stature, believed Kaasan, made him strong and steady. And, as some have speculated since, he felt a kinship with the underdog who would soon become the most well-known of all the sled dogs involved in the historic serum run. Sadly, that notoriety would come at a price.
Charlie Olson passed Kaasen the serum on February 1st, who immediately set off to Nome. But the blizzard threw off their orientation, which prompted Kaasen to move Balto to the lead, allegedly yelling at him: "Go home, Balto.” Balto's experience pulling heavy freight allowed him to steadily navigate the team; at one point, he even stopped in front of a patch of ice on the Topkok River that broke underneath him, saving Kaasen's life along with the entire team.
But their trek, too, was merciless. Kaasen suffered frostbite after his sled flipped and the serum package fell into the snow, forcing him to search for it bare-handed. Still, Kaasen and his team, led by Balto, pressed on. They arrived at the next point early and in relatively good health, and then continued to their final destination, arriving on February 2nd. Organizers set the due date as February 6th, but the date was moved up several times, as teams repeatedly broke records.
While four of Kaasen's dogs were partially frozen at the time of the team’s arrival, all 300,000 units of the antitoxin were intact. Seppala reached Nome two days later and praised Kaasen for having continued on through blizzard conditions. But Kaasen gave all credit to Balto, telling a United Press reporter: "I gave Balto, my lead dog, his head and trusted to him. He never once faltered ... [i]t was Balto who led the way, the credit is his.”
The feat performed by the mushers and their sled dogs was nothing short of heroic. And while all of the participants deserved to be treated as such, Balto and Kaasen were singled out by the media, virtually eclipsing the efforts made by the other 19 mushers and roughly 150 dogs. This, of course, is understandably unfair and disrespectful to each and every one of them; but it was also particularly unfair to Seppala and Togo, who had a longer and harder run overall.
It’s wrong to say that Seppala did not hold Kaasen’s journey and Balto’s accomplishments in high esteem, but the disproportionate attention paid to them soon started to build resentment on Seppala’s behalf as well as the other mushers. The media recklessly attributed the success of the run almost exclusively to Balto, and even though the heroic dog absolutely did deserve to be acknowledged as a “damn fine dog,” he soon became a victim of his fame.
Balto’s popularity attracted the attention of Sol Lesser, a film producer who signed Kaasen and the sled dog team to a contract with Educational Pictures. He wanted to make a movie about the serum run and began the L.A.-based production in April of 1925. The two-reel movie, Balto's Race to Nome, debuted the following month to positive reviews, but Lesser withheld payment, causing Kaasen to sue him. So Lesser sold the existing contract to the vaudeville circuit.
Kaasen and Balto soon traveled across the country, making public appearances and being bestowed gifts from the cities visited. Furthermore, a statue of Balto, sculpted by Frederick Roth, was erected in New York City's Central Park on December 17th, 1925, ten months after Balto's arrival in Nome. This did not sit well with Seppala, who tried to stir up the same excitement for Togo by embarking on a similar tour a year later but ultimately failed to do so.
With Seppala growing increasingly frustrated with his former friend, the relations between Seppala and Kaasen quickly deteriorated. The human factor shouldn’t have affected Balto and his teammates, but unfortunately it did. It’s not fully understood why, but after the dispute with Lesser was resolved, the heroic sled dog team, including Balto, were sold to Sam Houston, the shifty owner of a traveling circus, thereby effectively leaving their futures in limbo.
By February in 1927, the dogs that were regarded as national heroes just two years prior were reportedly living in the back room of an L.A. dime museum (freak show). Displayed chained to a sled, they were malnourished and mistreated. Jack Wooldridge of the Oakland Tribune wrote: "[t]here probably was never a more dejected, sorrowful looking lot of malamutes than these as they now appear. Balto will never see the snow again. He's simply an exhibit in a museum.”
But their fortunes were about to change. The dime museum was visited by a Cleveland businessman named George Kimble after he noticed a sign outside advertising "Balto the wonder dog." Outraged by what he saw, he offered to buy the dogs from Sam Houston then and there, who was more than willing to sell them for $2,000, the equivalent to $36,203 in 2024. It was more than Kimble could afford, but he refused to give up on the heroic dogs.
He reached out to his contacts in business, the press, and the government, going so far as to assemble the Cleveland Balto Committee, led by Common Pleas Judge James B. Ruhl. The committee began negotiations with Houston, who agreed to reduce the price by $500. This began a fund-raising campaign that involved influencers of the time to spread awareness. The Brookside Zoo agreed to place all of the dogs in a suitable home within its facilities.
The grassroots effort became a genuinely massive international marketing campaign. During the negotiations, the dogs were placed in a foster home and money was allotted for their safe transport to Cleveland. On the morning of March 9th, enough money was raised to purchase all of the seven dogs, much to the relief of all of the people who were emotionally invested in their story both locally and abroad.
Balto along with his six teammates — Alaska Slim, Fox, Tillie, Billie, Old Moctoc and Sye — were transported by train from Los Angeles to Cleveland. They arrived on March 16 and a grand parade took place at the Public Square on March 19th. In the rotunda of Cleveland City Hall, Judge Ruhl read a document that formally transferred the ownership of Balto and his team to the city "forever.” Shamefully, Kaasen and Seppala were not involved.
Balto and his teammates made their official debut at the Brookside Zoo on March 20, 1927, with an estimated 15,000 people visiting the zoo that very day. Generally, the conditions at the zoo were mostly regarded as “excellent.” And the dog team even got a chance to show off its sledding skills; the Brookside Zoo was located in a valley, which allowed them an occasional opportunity to pull sleds during winter weather conditions.
The dogs lived out the remainder of their lives at the zoo. Balto died on March 14, 1933, he was 14 years old. His death was attributed to both an enlarged heart and bladder, the former as a result of stress incurred from the serum run. The following day, the Cleveland Museum of Natural History (CMNH) agreed to display Balto in taxidermy form. His mounting cost $50 (equivalent to $1,215 in 2024), which was again raised through a fund-raising campaign.
Balto was and is among the museum's most iconic specimens that are represented in the Hall. But the overlooking of Togo in popular culture has come to the displeasure of mushers, some of whom have reared dogs with bloodlines traced directly to Seppala's dogs and Togo specifically. Even today, Balto’s role in the historic serum run continues to be controversial, with a growing number of people demanding recognition for the other dogs and mushers.
To appease some of the critics, the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo, the successor to the Brookside Zoo, unveiled companion statues of Balto and Togo in 1997. In 2001, a statue of Togo was unveiled at Seward Park in New York City's Lower East Side, and later moved to a prominent position in the park by 2019. The same year, a change.org petition was launched calling for the removal of Balto's Central Park statue in favor of a statue for Togo. This is unfortunate.
In the end, each and every dog who participated in the serum run is an absolute and indisputable hero deserving of gratitude, appreciation, and respect. To think about their efforts is to realize that none of them ever demanded a prize, acknowledgment, or a monument — because they’re dogs. Much like Kaasen and Seppala allowed their egos and competition to result in the mistreatment of Balto and his team, people are still missing the point:
They were all very good boys who were tasked with saving a village from a deadly diphtheria epidemic, which they did in record time. What they needed was love, dedication, and respect from the people who asked them to give their all, and then gave up on them. Balto’s story shouldn’t eclipse the efforts of the other dogs involved in the sled run, but it should be a testament to how much more people still have to learn about loyalty from our furry counterparts.