By Teddy Janton Richter ’46

In January 1954, Teddy Richter moved to the Arctic with her husband and children. Due to her then husband’s army assignment concerning the Distant Early Warning System (DEW), Teddy lived a reality most of us only read about. Here are her recollections from the two and a half years she lived Above the 58th Parallel.

“Welcome to the Polar Bear Capital of the World. We’re having a heat wave! It’s only 65 degrees below,” announced the sergeant who greeted our arrival on “The Polar Bear Express” train. We had reached the last station — Churchill, Manitoba, Canada.

He guided us to the Tundra Buggy that would make the ten-mile trek to Fort Churchill and our assigned quarters. There was little to see of the surroundings en-route at nine-thirty at night in January 1954. This sub-arctic area sees little daylight from October to May.

The terrain from Winnipeg to Churchill is tundra. Since no roads can be built, you either fly MATS (Military Air Transport Service) or take the overnight Polar Bear Express. MATS enforces strict regulations, regardless of the season, winter gear is mandatory. This is a precaution in the event of a crash or emergency landing. Snow and ice are omnipresent. Snow begins falling in September and continues until the June thaw.

Summers are generally in the 40 to 60 degree range and colder at night. Teenagers use the melted snow pools that settle between huge boulders as swimming holes. “The Rocks,” as they were dubbed, formed a barrier from the beach along Hudson Bay.

The town of Churchill sits by the Churchill River, near the bay. It’s about four hundred miles north of Winnipeg. During the 1950s there were a small number of shacks, and only three had indoor plumbing.

Cree Indians camped in primitive tents along the river. Cree mothers could bring their children to the post hospital, where they received treatment. The hospital, doctors, and staff were excellent, matching any ranking stateside ones. My son, Jeff, was treated there for pneumonia, and my daughter, Cynthia, was born there.

Teddy’s mother spent time with the Cree Indian women while visiting Teddy’s family. Right: Teddy and her husband take their children to the ice rink for a Halloween party.

The Hudson Bay Company had a large store in town that catered to the ‘”townies” as well as the military and their dependents from the fort. It was rather like today’s Wal-mart. An abandoned whaling factory remained on the waterfront at the point. There was also a Mission Chapel for the locals.

When the thaw did set in, the snow-capped and frozen roads became beds of gravel chunks that made walking almost as treacherous as the ice. Carrying groceries from the commissary could be hazardous. Losing one’s grip or footing was a real possibility and heavy-layered clothing added to the balancing act. From the commissary to the housing area was open space. It was adjacent to the airfield giving the wind free reign. The wind gusted so hard it became more of a trot than a walk to move about.

Surprisingly, our quarters, a two-story house, were very modern. We had three large bedrooms and bath upstairs, walk-in closets, and a large upstairs foyer with a separate storage area. An outside entrance opened into a mudroom that led to the eat-in kitchen with modern appliances. The entrance foyer was expansive with a winding staircase and entrances to the living room, kitchen, and dining room. Every house was centrally heated and the windows were double paned and insulated.

The front entrance came off a heated hallway that connected the units. These indoor corridors negated weathering the cold. Youngsters used the corridors as a playground, riding their tricycles, playing tag, tossing balls, or whatever else they concocted. When encountering a stray and considered rabid animal in your path as I did one evening, the many entrances provided an escape route.

When venturing outside, it was necessary to wear layers and layers of clothing: personal undergarments, snuggies, wool slacks, wool socks, Army-issued balloon pants and cumbersome “Mickey Mouse” Army boots. Under a fur-lined hooded parka, we wore woolen sleeveless jackets and a wool cap. Facemasks were issued to protect noses and cheeks from frostbite. Children wore modified attire of the same layers en route to school or for outdoor play.

In the summer, for about one week, a hat covering net was worn to keep enormous flies at bay. I’ve never seen the same species of fly anywhere else. They swarmed and stung like wasps!

Some animals native to the area are polar bears, wolverines, foxes, and whales. Any animal was considered rabid if it wandered into camp. When this occurred an alert was put out by radio. (Radios were in constant use.) During an alert, all household pets were to be kept indoors. If a pet was caught outside during an alert, it was considered rabid and euthanized.

Almost everyone in camp knew and loved our lab-mix dog, Pud. Pud always walked Eric, our son, to school. Once unbeknownst to me, she sneaked out to catch up with him when an alert was called. Bringing her home would make Eric late for class and no amount of shooing would turn her homeward. He worried about her all day.

Somewhat later Pud came scratching and panting at the outside door to be let in. When I opened the door, she made a mad dash upstairs to the boys’ room. Not thinking much about it, I went back to my chores. Later, I answered a knock at the front door to discover a MP (military policeman) who said, “Ma’am, I hate to tell you, but your dog was picked up during the alert. We have her down at the Provo Station. I guess you know what that means.” I told him our dog was upstairs in the boy’s room, and invited him to see for himself. Believing me, he declined and left apologetically.

The following Saturday night, at the NCO Club, a young Canadian soldier greeted me and laughingly asked, “Did Pud get home all right?” I must have looked puzzled and before I could reply, he went on to say, “I was coming into the Provo Office when I saw Pud there. So, I didn’t bother to close the door and she ran off. When I told him of my encounter with the MP over Pud, we had a good laugh! Of course I thanked him profusely. It was one example of the many courtesies shown to us during our stay.

The NCO Club was as well appointed as any private club stateside. There was an enormous lounge and bar, ballroom, kitchen, poolroom, and dining room. Beside various weekly activities, each Saturday evening there was dancing to live bands, and on occasion, feature entertainers courtesy of the USO.

When I remember the club I can see the Canadian Sergeant Major saluting the Queen’s picture whenever he entered and left the foyer where it hung. Gowns replaced our arctic gear. Our only concession was wearing our “Mickey Mouse” boots en-route and carrying our heels to change into when we arrived.

With the NCO Club as the main source of entertainment, everyone improvised excuses to have a party at their quarters. Socializing was the main cure for cabin fever, and everyone took their turn. Many friends were made, good times were had, and soldiers found a home away from home.

Our departure in June 1956 was by MATS to Winnipeg, where there really was a heat wave—the temperature was 93 degrees! We couldn’t locate the airport restrooms fast enough to peel off our arctic clothing.

During balmier weather, Fort Churchill was a stop for the entertainers on the USO tour.

The Sergeant’s Mess was a great place for parties like this New Year’s Eve celebration.

We began the drive to our next assigned posting in Virginia, another hot spot. Our first stop was at a motel in Wisconsin. The two younger kids took off their shoes and socks and had their first encounter with grass. They hopped about like bunnies on hot coals because it tickled their feet so much. At every stop thereafter the first things they did was shed their footwear to have the grass tickle and cool their feet.

Today Fort Churchill no longer exists. Most of the buildings have been dismantled and all of the housing is gone. Canadian Army and Navy personnel, and U.S. Army troops once used the fort as a military supply base for the DEW Line (Distant Early Warning) in the 1950s. In 1995, when my daughter visited the fort area and the town to see where she was born, only the Hudson Bay and its boulders were visible. Churchill has grown and at certain times of the year, polar bears frequently venture into town.

On a cold winter’s night, usually in November, you can still see the Aurora Borealis in all its glory, shimmering in the sky. The one I witnessed was a fabulous, unforgettable sight. As far as one could see enormous flaring candle-like objects encircled the sky, it appeared as if someone placed a gigantic birthday cake in the heavens. It was a breathtaking sight.

We were fortunate to have had so many interesting experiences, and make so many friends in such a remote and desolate, but beautiful region. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, as they say.

Our friend and post photographer, Jay Williams, of Allentown, provided us with duplicate pictures he took of the region, as well as photos of our family. “Willie” and the Canadian aerial cartographer, Dick Taylor, of Toronto, were friends. He generously gave Willie some of his aerial shots, who passed copies on to us. Family members took other photos.