S2: Stop the Presses; We got a Story…it's Juicy!

[written by NPC Jimmy Clark, an undercover newspaper reporter who has joined the expedition as part of the film crew.]

Thursday, 31 August, 1933: Jimmy walked into the newsroom, tossed his hat&coat on his desk, stopped at the pay window to submit his voucher, then strolled into the editors office where he was greeted with, “Damn it, Jimmy, you’re gonna singlehandedly bankrupt me!” Jimmy tried to calm him down, “I’m telling you boss, I’ve got a nose for headlines and THIS expedition will have a life of its own. I can smell multiple angles, whether exclusive rights reporting their success, or revealing behind-the-scene calamities that will spell its doom. And that glory-hound Mr. Starkweather is practically writing THAT story for me.”

“Remember that May article I wrote where Starkweather gloated about ‘stealing a member of Byrd’s team’? There’s competition and one-upmanship for you. What, three expeditions heading south within months of each other? And Starkweather unable to get backing for his and thus forking out his own money. Even Miskatonic University, who lost members in that failed ’31 expedition, refuse to back him. That spells desperation…and mistakes. I gotta get back to the hotel to sign in as member of the expedition film crew, but trust me on this one. I’m getting inside info from the hotel elevator operator, a ship steward, and a few dock workers.”

Starkweather-Moore Expedition Notes

Friday, 1 Sept: I settled upon a trio of academia to follow. I wrote the article about Mr. Wilbur Sampson being "stolen from the Byrd expedition team." My first-impression survivalist turned out to be a recent Science graduate specializing in Botany and Chemistry. Then there is Dr. Oskar Orendorf who just finished his Pharmacy Doctorate at MU. A little research to learn he is the son of THE Dr. Orendorf lost in the failed ’31 expedition. Disgruntled that MU wouldn’t help finance this expedition that intends to find and recover the bodies. Oskar seems driven to find answers to what happened; make sure his father’s legacy remains clean. Then there is the Professor of Paleontology, Mr. Robert Cope. Apparently, he and Professor Lake (of the failed MU expedition) were best friends. Sports a rich southern drawl, waxed moustache, and clawed walking cane (that could either hide a dueling blade or tube of whiskey. He was proud to boast how the claw was a souvenir of his first dig; from a velociraptor.). Easy man to find in a crowd, considering, a permanent cigar cloud wafts behind him like the smoke billowing from a coal train lumbering down the tracks.

We’re all assigned residency on the 4^th floor of the Amhurst hotel where the desk clerk hands out individual notes. My assistant Len in the lobby taking pictures, “Smile for the camera.” Each of us tasked to report to the ship for duty. Pier 74B along the Hudson River where we find the SS Gabrielle. Blaring ship horns, constant noise of cranes/trains and delivery vehicles, the squawk of seagulls, trash, and the unbearable stench of oil mixed with seagull shit and fish-guts remains left by the birds. I should have paid attention to Oskar who rubbed camphor under his nose, “Six months working in a morgue alongside cadavers, you learn a thing or two.” Later I learned the hard way, with a finger rammed up my bung, that Oskar was helping perform pre-sailing physicals. As for Robert, he demonstrated a valuable lesson barked by the dock guards, “No smoking!” His tossed cigar igniting something flammable.

I hustled aboard ship, past First-Officer Turlough, to find my steward contact. Then set about getting acquainted with the crew and expedition team. Such as the crew lounge for equipment fitting by Peter Sykes’ outfitting team who repeated ad-nauseam how to properly wear the gear, “To avoid sweating which leads to frostbite.” I overheard Wilbur whispering to the others, “Even touching metal barehanded causes painful frostbite. They aughta make a movie about a dumb kid sticking his tongue to a metal flagpole.”

Had to slip away to follow the trio “on special assignment; photo-op by Life magazine.” Complete with ‘Queenie’ (one of the Siberian husky sled dogs) along with her handler Enka Fiskarson, fake backdrops of arctic landscape, and even a fan blowing powdered flakes to simulate snow. I slipped in afterwards to order up a print-set for our paper.

Saturday, 2 Sept: Crack-of-dawn and Jimmy slipped into the newsroom to drop off another voucher. His editor stopping him, “What’s this charge for pictures?! You already get paid as a photographer.” Jimmy explaining, “The boys made a long night of dancing down in Harlem, listening to Chick Webb belt out some ‘Lindy Hop’ beats. Wilbur’s the one who actually took the pictures. Damn good ones too despite his failed sobriety. If the need ever comes to publishing them, what better way to ‘pass the blame’. Show off the team drinking. Gotta go; got an 8am team meeting at the hotel.”

More Notes

Wilbur nursing a severe hangover. Oskar and Robert a little better, considering their 3am return. Nice spread of food. Wilbur hogging the black-coffee pot. Starkweather and Moore arrive to announce, “Today is the first official day of the expedition. But we actually set sail September 15th.” Maps of our sailing route thru the Panama Canal, then Melbourne for refueling and re-supply, before entering the Ross Sea with an expected November 1^st arrival. Only planning a 3-month stay as he hopes to depart before February. Ambitious; or short on funding?

Starkweather recognizes Dr. Orendorf and the loss of his father. Somber words; his pledge to recover the bodies for proper respect and burial. Continued outline of activities using the dogsleds and airplanes to scout ahead. A lot of skirt-fluffing bravado: overconfidence, “This expedition will MAKE each of your careers takeoff.”

Moore stands to point out the competition; three other expeditions are planned around the same timeframe. “There will be overlapping radio chatter. We plan to use communication code to hide our intentions and discoveries.” Starkweather is more concerned about, “We don’t want them stealing our headlines.”

• 1)   Ellsworth-Balchen Expedition doing a flyover.
• 2)   Byrd planning a year-long solo meteorological trip using his 1928 established 'Little America' base camp.
• 3)   Barsmeier-Falken Expedition (Germany) plans to explore the Antarctic coastline along the Weddel Sea near the Ronne Ice Shelf.

Moore pulled Roberts away for a private chat, “We need to be discreet.” Away from my eavesdropping. Has something to do with ‘who’s captaining the ship.’

All exploration team members directed to the ship for cargo inventory, divided into manageable manifests. Daunting tasks for us non-accountants. Line-by-line verifying each items location. Abundance of discrepancies. Wasted time crosschecking, double-check, retracing steps. Many items eventually found in wrong warehouse. Sunset and still items missing. Could this be sabotage by the other exploration teams? Hell of a story if I can prove.

Some discrepancies proved to be incompetence. Barrels of sour-cream actually left on dock instead of refrigeration: spoilage. Missing exploration cooking set finally found aboard ship in the galley. New aircraft tools but for wrong airplane. Further investigation found Starkweather had botched the order. Moore stepped in to correct. Other items mismarked. Unfortunate (for me) sabotage seems less likely.

Sunday, 3 Sept: Jimmy rushed thru the newsroom lobby, straight to the editor’s office. “Hot damn boss!! We got a story to follow. Starkweather laid us another golden egg. Did you pay attention to this morning’s article announcing the ship captain? THAT’s what Moore pulled Robert aside for, to keep a lid on Douglas being the captain. He’s the one who captained the brig Arkham from the failed ’31 expedition. Apparently, the newspapers raked him over the coals when the ship returned. He took it hard and soon retired. Only agreed to captain IF Starkweather kept it private. And the real zinger: Starkie even promised interviews from the man. I gotta get back to the hotel before Moore reads the paper and the shit hits-the-fan.”  

More Notes

Another 8am meeting with work assignments. As expected, I overheard Moore as he called Robert aside, “Jesus Christ!! He does know how to make life difficult. I need you to…” That’s when he closed the door. Meanwhile, Wilbur was (volun-told) sent to Trenton to resolve an airplane issue (missing tech orders needed to disassemble and re-assemble planes). Hope to learn the end results later.

Followed Oskar assigned with overseeing delivery of medical equipment. Fragile beakers and vials and sterilized tools. Very organized. Found ship orderly to help inventory, pack, and label. Finished too soon as he was next assigned to resolve construction of dog crates. Fiskarson irate at poor construction; nothing but the best for his babies. Wisely, Oskar employed the smooth-talking southerner Roberts to calm the waters. Minutes later, Roberts, Fitz, and the carpenter were smoking cigars while sipping brandy.

Evening when Wilbur returned from the Trenton Boeing base to debrief Moore over dinner. I sat close enough to hear. Sounds like the arctic pilots are a bunch of 3-stooges. Bickering, fighting, “Nope. Ain’t gonna work guys. We’re screwed!” I can just see them trying to pull hair or poke out eyes. Planes are ready but the tech orders missing. Need to order new ones. Claimed minimum of 10 days to order news one to be delivered from Seattle. Wilbur suggested they meet halfway, in Chicago, to eliminate crew rest and other delays. Sounds like the kid used Moores’ name as a threat, “You’ve got 4 days to deliver else Moore will release a news article describing Boeing’s incompetence. And NO, Boeing mistake so Boeing foots the bill.” Damn, that kid is good.

I stumbled upon gambling. Young Mr. Avery Giles, grad student accompanying Professor Charles Myers, owns the cards. Calls himself a ‘go-fer’ with black market connects for booze. A klutz. Interesting boss though. Charles a Chicago University Archaeologist. Even he questions why an archaeologist. Apparently, during his interview, Moore alluded to the possibility of prehistoric civilizations. Mentioned “Hollow Earth.” Theory about a volcanic temperate zone able to support life.

Monday, 4 Sept: 1am report, “Boss. You can’t make this shit up! It keeps getting better! I need you to proof this article so we can rush to print. We just got a 4^th expedition and this one tops them all.”

More Notes

5am pounding on a door down the hall. Starkweather raving mad, still in his pajamas, yelling as he pounds, “MOORE! Wake up man! It's her. Who else would have switched cans of fish? Saboteur. Damn that woman!" Impatient; shoulders door open. Not only pissed about a 4^th expedition but apparently has some connection to the industrialist Acacia Lexington who plans to be “the 1^st woman to stand at the bottom of the world.” Stark’s face was red with rage, his veins bulging. This Acacia hit a nerve. Stark raving, “Advance the schedule; we leave on the 9^th. And get me a woman!”

Can I quote the man later if this expedition fails? Yeah, Moore corrected the comment as he directed Oskar and Robert to interview competent female scientists to join the Starkweather-Moore Expedition. But it sounded better the way Stark said it.

It was hours before I saw Oskar and Robert again. They’d been on the phones calling MU and other universities. Oskar called out for a Medical grad student, but Robert nixed that idea as too obvious a sexist hire. Oskar then suggested a female Veterinarian considering all the sled-dogs we are bringing along. Robert nixed that idea too, as a vet is not of a high enough caliber status. “Only a Veterinarian.” Now apparently, they have a lead on a young Bowdoin College Botanist grad student. Charleen. I’m sure Mr. Sampson will be pleased if she’s accepted.

Speaking of Sampson…suspicious manners tonight. Returned to the hotel lobby constantly looking over his shoulder. Rushed to the 4^th floor to chat with Oskar and Robert. I’m thankful this hotel has the old-style heating vents. With them open, I can hear next-door conversations. Wilbur read them a queer note someone slipped to him. Ravings of a mad man. Something about, “…the old old things that wait and move and work and plan…Do not wake the Sleeping One…prison walls of black…The cage must not open…Turn back or we all die.” Gave me the creeps!!!

That’s when I heard Robert mention the name Danforth. Who the hell is Danforth? Was he one of the crazed survivors of the ’31 expedition?

Next episode: https://rigglebmm.blogspot.com/2020/10/s3-i-dont-believe-in-coincidences.html