S1: A Parka in July, in New York? Are You Crazy?!

Bill (Wilbur Sampson, 25)	Jeff (Dr. Robert H. Cope, 35)	Orin (Dr. Oskar Orendorf, 30)
Science Degree from New York University/Photographer/Winter Survivalist	Paleontologist	Medical degree from MU School of Pharmacy. Lettered on Wrestling Team.

Thursday, 6 July, 1933: Wilbur excitedly opened the letter from the Starkweather-Moore Expedition office. “Dear Mr. Sampson, you are hereby invited for an interview as candidate for the expedition team. Please present yourself to the NYC Amhurst Hotel front desk, on Thursday, 13 July for your 2pm interview.” Wilbur couldn’t believe his good fortune. “I guess my bosses for Byrd’s 1928 expedition came through with character references for me. Now what should I bring for the interview?”

Wilbur pulled out the original newspaper article announcing the Starkweather-Moore Expedition. “A September departure and only 3 months to explore? And that’s after trying to recover the prior expedition team-members (led by Prof Lake) lost in a freak storm? I’d best do some research about that 1931 Miskatonic Expedition. Tallest mountains in the world?! Is that a physical challenge for Prof Moore who has already climbed the Himalaya Mts? I understand the air is quite thin at 26,000ft. Can man breathe at higher altitudes?! Can a plane even climb that high?”

Amhurst Hotel

Wilbur Sampson

Thursday, 13 July, 1933: The doorman could only stare in wonder as the stranger entered the Amhurst Hotel and walked up to the front desk. The desk clerk had to do a double-take, “And just who or what are you supposed to be?” Dressed in his parka and mukluks, Wilbur replied, “I’m Mr. Sampson here for my Starkweather-Moore interview.” Next, the elevator operator asked, “Did I miss a weather report?” Wilbur repeated his destination, “Fifth floor please.” Seems the Starkweather-Moore Expedition had reserved the entire 5^th floor.

Suite 502 had a small bench just outside the door. As Wilbur approached, the suite door opened as a suited man wearing a fedora exited, pausing to stare. “You must be another candidate. I’ve heard they have already accepted a Medical doctor. I must say you are dressed the part. Will you be our guide or survival expert? I’m Pierce Ablemeyer (NPC), Meteorologist. Word of advice: Starkweather may ask the questions but its Moore you need to impress.” As Wilbur settled on the bench, he smelled then saw the overflowing ashtray. Either a severe chain-smoker or a LOT of candidates sat out here. That, or candidates had been left out here to test their patience.

Mr. James Starkweather

Professor William Moore

Yet 2pm sharp, the door opened. Per the May newspaper article and picture, Wilbur recognized Mr. Starkweather himself. James walked around, tugging at the parka to ensure its authenticity and pliability; definitely worn versus just out of a box. “Cloths make the man. And as they say, dress for the job you want. Come, come, let Prof Moore see you too.” Wilbur could only hope he’d made a good first impression.

For the next hours, James questioned the newest candidate. “You come highly recommended by the Byrd team. So, tell me a little about your last expedition. You’ve already been to Antarctica; what draws you to THIS expedition?” Wilbur reflected, “5 years ago I had just graduated college with a Fine Arts degree in Photography. I jumped at the chance to join Byrd’s 1928 team to ply my new trade behind the lens. But my eyes were opened to more than just the grand vista of the new frontier. I chanced upon a microbial fossil that made me realize life once existed on their desolate stretch of frozen land. And I wanted to be among those who discovered their existence. So, I returned to college and got another degree in science (Botany and Chemistry). I offer my scientific degree in aid of your coming exploration and discovery of potential life.”

Prof Moore suddenly spoke, “This is not a walk in the park boy. Life and death await. The threat, both physical and mental is real. The last expedition lost good men…both to a freak storm and those who came back forever mentally scarred. Professors Lake and Dyer were good friends of mine. Good friends. They succumbed to the storm. So, what makes you think YOU won’t crack?!” Wilbur could only offer, “In 1928, while searching for more rolls of film, I opened a box full of straight-jackets. Months later, as I watched a few men crack under the stress and isolation, I quickly realized why the jackets. Expeditions rely on teamwork. One man can bring the entire operation to a halt, if not demise. I can only pray to God I remain a loyal and supporting teammate.”

Wilbur continued, “I can only promise my best effort. I’m not superhuman. I have not scaled the Himalaya like you good sir. I can only imagine the challenge of survival at such high altitudes. And if I understand correctly, you hope to explore mountains that are even higher. God help the team complete the mission. I can only offer my expertise in photography to help record the exploration and my scientific skills in Botany and Chemistry to help make onsite analysis of our finds.”

Obviously, Wilbur HAD made a good first impression as he received handshakes and instructions to be at the pier by September 1^st for the sailing. “Earlier as we’ll have plenty of work prior to sailing. Supplies to load.” Wilbur barely made it to the elevator door when he began to whoop and holler. Loud enough for even James to hear inside their office. It wasn’t till Wilbur returned to his own apartment when he realized he was still dressed in his parka. In the middle of a sweltering July.

Friday, 14 July: Wilbur’s jaw dropped when he read the morning paper, “Starkweather-Moore Expedition steals away one of Byrd’s great members.” Even his college photo to accompany the glowing article. Wilbur’s face flushed at the flattery, before reality settled in, “If I hope to be a valuable member, I need to learn all I can about the failed expedition.” A few phone calls later, he learned there was an exhibit at the Miskatonic University in Arkham which had sponsored the 1931 failed expedition. He even arranged an interview with Prof Pabodie; one of the few survivors of the expedition.

With that, he took the 2-hour train ride north to Arkham and the campus. Arriving with hours to spare before the 3pm interview. Enough time to sneak into one of the professor’s Engineering classes to get a look at the man. Short, stocky, wearing a tweed vest. [Psychology 03] Subdued and monotone, sounding sad, lacking enthusiasm. Which matched his tone during the interview, “I developed the drill they used in the exploration. But I was with Dyer and the rescue team.” A heavy sigh at the mention of “rescue.” A long pause before continuing, “I lost my friends. Tell Starkweather to let them rest in peace. I’m late for my next class. What little we found and brought back is on display at the MU museum. Good day sir.”

Unfortunately, there was little to display as most of the great find was lost with the team at the freak-storm drill sight. There were radio broadcast transcripts that sensationalized the finds as, “Fantastic, exciting news that rocked the scientific world…a treasure trove of wonderful fossils. Even a 6ft specimen with fins and wings.”

Wilbur remembered the pictures he'd provided, as one of the expedition photographers, for the 1930 National Geographic Magazine, documenting Admiral Byrd's Antarctica mission.

Which reminded Wilbur of Admiral Byrd’s Popular Mechanic interview where he hinted at “the possibility of prehistoric life in Antarctica. How thrilling discoveries await. The chance to find life forms completely new to us.”

Summary reports were also most insightful. Excitement about the “great find” that described items found at one location. A plant/animal form of sealife, an 8ft giant primordial specimen, that resembled a sea-cucumber. Post expedition interviews of a distraught Frank Pabodie who strongly hinted the missing student George Gedney was to blame for the destruction and death of the lost team. And another clue: the mention of Arthur McTighe as another survivor. The team radioman and pilot who delivered supplies to the failed team and later piloted the rescue attempt. Now living in Kingsport, MA operating the local radio tower. Wilbur called to arrange another interview.

Friday, 14 July: The bus pulled into the quaint seaside town of Kingsport at the height of its tourist season. The streets crammed with cars and foot traffic of tourists window-shopping. The beach lined with colorful huts that served as changing stations for the sun and surf bathers. But Wilbur’s eyes settled on the 1800ft cliff that stretched out toward the sea. A single, small house nestled atop the rise with a tall radio-tower rising higher. “That must be the WARC radio station.” Wilbur called Arthur’s phone again. “I have the 3-11 shift. But I’ve enough time to meet you for lunch. Say 2pm at the Crabclaw restaurant. Just ask around for directions.” 2pm: Wilbur realized Arthur wasn’t allowing much time for conversation. He’d have to get straight to the point.

Only 11am: finding the restaurant, Wilbur stepped into a nearby bar and settled into an easy conversation with the bartender, “So, what’s the dial for that radio station atop the hill? Does he broadcast anything worthy?” Without missing a beat, Lou pulled a draw while wiping the countertop, “93.3 WARC plays about anything. You got a preference? I favor ‘Amos and Andy’ when the Red Sox aren’t playing.” Wilbur nursed his beer while trying to work “Arthur” into the conversation. The bellowing of a ritzy tourist entering the bar too demanding and distracting, “Service. It’s hot outside and I’m thirsty. Yes you; get over here and serve me now.” Lou slowly rose while whispering, “Five will get you ten he orders one beer and leaves without tipping. Tourists!”

McTighe (blue jacket and tie) was already settled in a booth when Wilbur entered the restaurant. He ordered the same crab sandwich and drink as Arthur, made the requisite chit-chat, before asking about the 1931 expedition. “Prof Lake called them the ‘Mountains of Madness’. You could see em over 50 miles out, rising higher than the Himalayas…at least that’s what Lake said. As I flew closer, there were peaks like cones sticking straight up. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were like skyscrapers you see in New York City. But bigger. Anyways, the team started drilling around the mountain base. Found fossils and soon breached a cave. Dug an opening wide enough to crawl in. Began finding fossils. From what I understand, that’s when all hell broke loose.”

Arthur paused to look at his watch. [Psych-regular] Obviously wanting to end the conversation. [Persuade-Extreme] Wilbur pried harder, “Please! I’m about to sail with the Starkweather-Moore Expedition to hopefully recover the bodies and continue exploration. What else happened?” Arthur used his napkin to wipe his sweating brow, “Things got out of hand. Danforth lost his mind. Fucked up, when it all was avoidable. I gotta go; my shift is about to start. Good luck; and stay safe.”

As Wilbur rode the bus back to New York City, he mentally reviewed all he’d learned. “I’ve got almost 6 weeks to get in physical shape for this grueling expedition. How do you prepare for high-altitude climbing? And if things get as dire as hinted, maybe I should take some firing lessons. Whether I need to drive off a polar bear…or raving lunatic. And who the hell was Danforth?”

Next episode: https://rigglebmm.blogspot.com/2020/09/s2-stop-presses-we-got-storyjuicy.html