100 years ago, Robert Peary
was on his way south from the Arctic Sea, returning to the United States to claim the adulation of the world. Peary had become the first man to reach the North Pole. His expedition, the last of several attempts, was as interesting to people in that era as the Apollo missions were to people in the '60s.
Trouble is, Dr. Frederick A. Cook
had recently declared that his expedition had reached the Big Nail
a year before Peary. Peary was incensed, Cook stood his ground, and the controversy swirled for months. Scientific panels and public opinion chose Peary's story.
In the century since then, Peary is exulted while Cook has a bad reputation. But the question of who and when is alive, still debated
among enthusiasts. The evidence both ways
is very, very interesting. It's still a question of time—of history—before absolute, final proof one way or the other.
Meanwhile, the triumph is Peary's.
For what it's worth, I assume that the first man to the North Pole was likely Inuit.
I mean, they've been there for centuries—it makes sense that someone would have trudged across the Pole, maybe lost, maybe on some hunt or rite of passage. Maybe the first Polar guy was Scandinavian (those guys are tough.) Could the first North Pole visitor have been a woman?
Personally, I think the first one to the place would be someone who lives there.
But that's just my opinion....

Growing up in Southern California, I never realized how much the car culture turned so many things into proper nouns — those formal names preceded with "The." Traffic reports always talked about "The San Diego Freeway," "The Golden State Freeway," "The Hollywood Freeway," etc. When I would give directions to such places as downtown, I would advise the driver to take "The 405 to The 10." Only when I moved to Northern California did I realize directions could be given without the article, as simply numbers: "take 80 to 980 to 880."
Bleary-eyed, we watched the event, and I remember my Mom and sister wept softly. 





Inside Herbie, they listened to a traveler's tale of his stagecoach journey in the 1860s, while viewing passing scenes helped them imagine a 3-week journey inside a stagecoach, crammed with eight other passengers. Little tots loved our Kiddie Ride, or pretended to be daring drivers on our model stagecoach. 




Back in November 2007, I attended a coin convention in Santa Clara, California. I was looking for the "usual suspects" —