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Bill LaBar was working 2,500 kilometres away from his wife Helen and their three sons. He had signed a contract to work for The Okes Construction Company of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Okes was upgrading 400 kilometres of the crude tote road known as the Alcan, or Alaska Highway.
In March of 2007, John Steins, who was mayor of Dawson City at the time, made a trip to Hollywood sponsored by the Yukon Film Commission.
Last week I wrote about a family photograph album and its connection to the Cascade Steam Laundry in Dawson.
My wife Kathy gave me a fascinating Christmas gift, something befitting a history hunter. It is a photograph album covered in leather with a fringe more than 40 centimetres long along the lower edge.
When the 20th century began, the Yukon had a population that rivalled that of today. More than a third of the population was scattered along the creeks surrounding Dawson City.
There are many rags-to-riches stories during the early days of the Klondike Gold Rush, often ending with an unceremonious return to poverty. One of them is about a young man from Texas who arrived in the Yukon basin before the gold rush even began, stone broke and who four years left the same. But this story has a good ending.
How could the Yukon ever live without the automobile? The answer is that we did quite well a century or more ago, but time and technology have shifted our frame of reference.
Ninety nine years ago, the Battle for Passchendaele (also known as the Third Battle of Ypres) lasted from July 31 to November 10, 1917.
In 1898, Inspector Moodie of the North West Mounted Police had proven that a route to the Klondike overland from Edmonton was possible, if not realistic or practical.
On August 27, 1897, Commissioner L.W. Herchmer, the head of the North West Mounted Police, issued written orders to Inspector J.D. Moodie.
The story of film, the Klondike Gold Rush and Hollywood are intimately intertwined by director Bill Morrison in the film Dawson City: Frozen Time, which is, at once, both a documentary and an art film.
I have just returned from a trip to Bennett City, British Columbia, at the terminus of the Chilkoot Trail, where I went to investigate a century-old abattoir site.
Before the Klondike gold rush, a Juneau butcher named Willis Thorp got the bright idea that there might be a market for beef in the tiny gold camps of Forty Mile and Circle City.
Some years ago, I uncovered an intriguing collection of photographs at the Bancroft Library in Berkeley, California.
In the pantheon of gold rush luminaries, Sam Steele stands tall and imposing: an incorruptible man of unquestioned integrity, who ruled with an iron hand, but one wearing a velvet glove.
She was an American woman who gave up the life of high society, comfort and privilege to live the tough life of a miner in the wilds of the Yukon and northern British Columbia.
Much Yukon history has been hidden by the immense shadow of the Klondike Gold Rush. Such was the case with the silver mines of the Keno district.
When you visit the Binet House Museum in Mayo, you will see some interesting artifacts. There is an iron lung, a relic from the era when the scourge of polio was much feared.
Kathy and I recently visited the Keno City Museum in search of the quintessential artifact — something from the collection that defines the essence of the community.