THE YUKON TODAY

Evening Post, Volume CXXVIII, Issue 43, 19 August 1939, Page 7

THE YUKON TODAY

PANORAMA OF DAWSON

GOLD RUSH DAYS RECALLED

FAMOUS CHARACTERS

I was walking down the main street !of Dawson, says a writer in the "Winnipeg Free Press." Less than twelve hours before, I had stepped from the plane at Whitehorse that had carried me from Vancouver on the first Van-couver-Port St. John and Yukon airmail run. In but a few hours the lights and bustle of Vancouver had faded from my mind. I was in a new world. My imagination knew no bounds as I pictured in my mind the stampede of 40 years ago in Dawson that drew good and bad alike from all points on the continent in search of gold. I could imagine the old sourdough throwing, his poke of gold on the bar for drinks. 1 could imagine hearing the music and shouting of those gay days, for now I A'as standing in front of the old Floradora Dance Hail, the present Royal Alexander Hotel. I could imagine how the town would go mad with the arrival in from the hills of a prospector who had struck it rich in a new area. On first seeing Dawson from a big tri-motor plane at an altitude of 7000 feet. I remarked to the pilot that it was a very neat-looking town. He said—wait until you get down and see it. On arrival in Dawson from the airport my interpretation of his remark proved correct. Most of tLe buildings have stood from 30 to 40 years, and I don't think there is a building in the town without some kind of angle. Some roofs sink in. On other buildings, verandahs are propped up and the roofs of not a few places are covered with straightened five-gallon gasoline tins. A TOWN OF DRAMA. This was the town of drama and romance that I had read and heard so much of. It has a population of only 800 or 900 people now, but in the better days of which we like to think, its population was 30,000 or 35,000 people. On arrival, the first thing to do was arrange a room at the Yukonia Hotel. The town was so full of tourists that hotel accommodation was taxed. I inquired for a room at the desk and was told that 1 would have to share a room with another man. I said I wouldn't mine that, and the desk lady answered: "Then do you mind if I tell you that this is the last room available in the j hotel and that it is the snake room of bygone days?" I didn't answer but followed her. The room didn't look bad. In it were twin beds, an old table, and a couple of pictures of old prospectors. I gave a passing thought to some of those gay devils who at times overrated their capacity to carry "firewater "and were forced to repair to this famous room until the effects of their escapade had worn off. AI;, thoughts then turned back to Sam McGee, whose name is known the world over through Robert Service's poem, "The Cremation of Sam McGee." I had met, him just a few hours before in Whitehorse. Sam had been in hiding all day to keep away from the tourists in Whitehorse who wanted his picture and autograph. "Is that really Sam McGee?" I heard some tourists ask. RELUCTANT TO TALK. Others said they thought he was dead. Sam was very quiet and reluctant to talk. I asked what he was going to do about the man who had been selling hia ashes for the last fifteen years, and he answered: "I guess he is welcome to any money he made from them. I didn't know Service was going to use my name in his poem," he said, "and I didn't know so many people thought I was dead." Sam has spent the last few years in Montana building roads. He says he thinks he will stay in the Yukon for some months and do a little prospecting. It was on Lac Laßarge, the setting for Service's poem "The Cremation of Sam McGee," that the steamer Olive May became frozen in in the fall of 1898 and passengers abandoned it. Some time later a Dr. Sugden travelled to Lake Laßarge to aid a man suffering from scurvy. On his arrival, he found the man dead. The ground was hard and he had no tools to bury the body. He placed the body in the fire box of the Olive May, cremated it, and returned with the ashes. Dr. Sugden lived with Service in Whitehorse for some time, so the origin of the famous poem is quite apparent. Finally located at the hotel, I headed for the main street again to further inspect the town. • Only a few steps from my room I walked into the confectionery shop owned by "Apple Jimmy," who has spent 41 years in the Yukon without "going outside." Apple Jimmie, whose real name is James Oglow, is another character of the Yukon. Apple Jimmie was never a prospector. He devoted his time to tojjring the dance halls in the early days with a basket of apples on his arm. He sold apples for a dollar apiece, and sometimes made as much as 100 dollars (£2O) a night. I asked Apple Jimmie if he knew "Klondyke Kate.' A DOLLAR FOR A DANCE. "Know her!" he said. "She cost mo lots of money. Many times I pay one dollar for two minutes of dancing with her," he said in broken English; "but was O.K. because I get drink of champagne at same time. Poor old Kate—she getting old now," he said. "She was real pretty girl when she came here nearly forty years ago. She no come up this summer because too sick. Anyway, I no kiss her last time she come up—getting too old." Her real name is Kate Rockwell. She now lives in Oregon, and is recuperating from an operation. Her husband, whom she married just a few years ago, is still mining in Ihc Yukon. I asked Jimmie how well he had known Robert Service, whose works did much to make Ihe Yukon famous. Jimmie said: — "Yes, I know him too. He tells lots of lies about Yukon, but guess it's all right." Jimmies proudest possession is a picture of Will Rogers and himself, taken when the comedian called into Dawson on his fatal trip into the northland with Wiley Post. "Will Rogers promise me he send fare and money to Dawson for me to come to Hollywood, but he get killed first. Too bad; he was nicest man I ever know." It was in Jimmies store that I learned ort# code of the Yukon. I asked for a bottle of pop and handed him ten cents. He gave me the pop and said, "You keep that." I was puzzled and insisted -on paying for what I was getting, and he then told me there is nothing less than 25 cents in the Yukon.

Pennies in Dawson are as scarce as

hens' teeth. I went to the post office and tendered a dime for a six-cent airmail stamp. For the four cents change I received two 2-cent stamps. . THE FIRST PIANO. From Jimmies store I proceeded to the Floradora Dance Hall, whose walls could unfold many a story were they able to talk. Although one part of the hall has been turned into a poolroom, the greater part of it is the same as in the old days. <

The first piano ever brought to Dawson lies covered with dust against one wall of the hall, while directly above it hangs a painting of an almost nude woman, which is said to have been considered a little bold even among the tough prospectors of old.

From the dance hall I went to the bar and ordered a bottle of beer, and found it to be 50 cents a bottle, the most expensive drink in the Yukon. A man standing beside me first looked at the bottle of beer and then at me. I don't know whether he thought I was sissy for drinking beer or whether I might be a millionaire, but from then on I thought it best to take the cheaper and more potent drinks, if for no other reason than to be in stj'le.

I found in Dawson, and through the whole Yukon, that we in cities are pikers when it comes to getting the tourist trade. I wouldn't say their methods of getting it were most honourable, but the fact remains they get it.

Some of the stories the guides and river boat captains tell the tourists to the Yukon are the most amazing; yet I am told the tourists eat it up and ask for more.

Down the river from Dawson is an old abandoned boiler which one wellknown captain has told tourists was used for the cremation of Sam McGee. He has been telling this story for years. I suppose he will have to tell a different story now that Sam has returned to the Yukon as though stepping out of the lines of Service's poem. "SHOT BY SAM McGEE." A further indication was given of their methods when one man had three bear skins which he had a hard time to sell. He easily disposed of them once he thought of the idea to put up a sign "Shot by Sam McGee."

In the* Florodora Dance Hall there is a picture of a number of dance girls of 1900 with a sign attached, "Florodora Dancing Girls."

I was told by more than one of the pioneers that the girls in the picture had never seen Dawson and that they were the New York Follies girls of 1902. However, none of the pioneers will deny that the Florodora girls were every bit as good-looking and talented as the Follies girls.

Overlooking Dawson from behind on a small hill is the cabin in which Robert Service lived an I where he wrote some of the poems which are so famous today The cabin stands just as he left it. with possibly a few additions. His bed is there and scrubbing board, indicating that he possibly washed his own clothes. An old hammer and bucksaw hang from the wall.

It is said that Service's greatest in- | spiration for his poems was the exj cellent view of Dawson. the Yukon j River, and the surrounding hills which he commanded from his cabin. He was a teller for cither the Canadian Bank of Commerce or Bank of Montreal in Dawson during the boom. ■ LONDON AND RICKARD. Apart from Service, many famous men succumbed to the call of the Yukon during the hectic boom days before and just after the turn of the century. Jack London, author of "The Call of the Wild," was among them. The late Tex Rickard, fight promoter in New York when Jack Dempsey was at his peak, made big money in Dawson, as did the late Alexander Pantages, owner of the string of theatres i that bore his name.

They were part of the pioneers of Dawson in those wild days when gold dust was used almost exclusively for the purchases of the needs of the day. Straight gold dust was used so much that it is said operators of dance halls would pan the sweepings from the floors each night and recover as much as 25 or 30 dollars in gold.

Even today, some of the unemployed pan the dirt beneath the old sidewalks for gold, and whenever a house is torn down, gold-panners are right on the job to handle the dirt beneath the floor.

It took weeks and months for the early prospectors to cover a few miles, ford streams, and climb mountains in their fateful trips into Dawson, while in four days the writer travelled more than 3500 miles from Vancouver to Dawson and return.